#monkey d garp x reader

The crew dragged their feet like sulky children, slapping lazily at flies and fanning themselves with whatever paper or hat they could find. One man had tucked a fish down his shirt to keep cool. Another had mistaken sugar for salt in the rations. The cannonballs were miscounted. The ink on the manifests was smudged to the point of illegibility. The rice balls he’d brought from town were sad and soggy, warm in the worst way. Everything, in short, was going to hell. Slowly. Inefficiently. With the infuriating calm of a man being bled dry by ants.

And the sun. Gods, the sun. It pressed on him like a weight, baking through his uniform and leaving him sticky and half-feral, a warhound being slow-cooked in navy blue.

He tugged at his collar for the tenth time and roared something unrepeatable at a sailor who dropped a crate of cannon primers. His voice cracked over the water, startling a flock of gulls from the rafters. Bogard winced from a respectful distance. A bead of sweat slid down the side of Garp’s face and disappeared into his collar, right as he bit into a lukewarm rice ball and seriously considered committing violence.

That was when it happened. The moment everything stopped.

A shape stepped out from the haze at the edge of the port. Not a pirate. Not a marine. Not anyone who belonged in this heatstroke of a warzone. A woman.

You.

You walked with the unbothered sway of someone completely unsuited for a place like this, and somehow made it feel like everything else was the one out of place. Your shoulders were bare. Your sandals were delicate. And your sundress—small, yellow, and criminally light—moved with the wind in a way that was not appropriate for wartime. Or peacetime. Or any time that required a man of discipline to remain disciplined.

It was the kind of dress that didn’t hug curves so much as whisper to them. It flirted with your knees. It played with the breeze. It sparkled a little in the sun, as if it knew exactly what it was doing. The color was bright and wicked, like sunshine licked over honey. Or sin.

You had a little bag tucked over one arm. A parasol spun lazily in your hand. And your expression, God help him, was the sort of thing that could get a priest excommunicated just for noticing it.

Garp choked on his rice ball.

Bogard, who had been checking the harbor log, followed the line of his commanding officer’s suddenly stricken gaze. He paused. Blinked. Then looked again.

“…Sir?” he asked cautiously.

Garp said nothing.

He just stared, rice ball half-chewed, one hand still mid-motion at his collar.

You met his gaze as you strolled closer, the picture of afternoon leisure, a summer day in motion. You smiled—easy, lazy, sun-warmed—and it was the kind of smile that promised nothing but mischief and slow, thorough ruin.

From that moment forward, Vice Admiral Monkey D. Garp would never know peace again.

“I’m fine,” Garp snapped, wiping his mouth and chest in one frantic motion. “Just—the heat.”

Sure. The heat. Not the way your dress dipped low at the back. Not the flick of your fingers adjusting the hem like it was riding up, which, spoiler alert, it absolutely was. Not the soft, bouncing step you took as you moved toward the harbor, like you didn’t have a damn clue the Hero of the Marines was one breath away from barking on all fours.

He watched the way the light caught your hair. Watched the sundress flutter against your thighs, fabric teasing like it had a personal vendetta. His brain—veteran of a thousand naval battles, siege master of coastal strongholds, slayer of sea kings—emptied.

You weren’t even trying.

You stood with one hand on your hip, the other lifting your parasol with a gentle turn of the wrist. The sun caught the tops of your shoulders. Your smile was bright. Your eyes were all kinds of trouble. You wore yellow. Garp, now and forever, loved yellow.

Awooga.

He didn’t say it out loud, but the sentiment echoed in his soul with the clarity of cannon fire.

You weren’t loud. You didn’t need to be. You vibrated on a frequency only his poor, overheated bones could detect. You were a danger dressed like a daydream, sunshine painted with warning stripes. That little dress clung to you like it had opinions—tied in scandalous bows at the shoulders, swaying well above your knees, moving like it knew exactly how to weaponize a breeze.

Garp stopped walking.

Then he stopped breathing.

And then, like a man struck directly in the spine by divine interference, he grunted, “Huh.”

You caught his gaze and smiled again. Slower this time. Measured. Your sandals whispered over the stone, and the parasol twirled lazily in your hands like you had nowhere to be except exactly where he was.

He hadn’t noticed how long he’d been staring until Bogard leaned over and said, low and dry, “Sir. Your rice ball is leaking.”

Garp didn’t blink. “Don’t care.”

You smiled again and let him look.

Let him take it all in.

And oh, he did.

He devoured you with his eyes—starved, stunned, silent. He took in the curve of your waist, the sunlight on your thighs, the ribbon sliding from your shoulder like it had secrets. You weren’t showy. You weren’t flirting. You were worse. You were possibly interested. Like a dream that walked toward him instead of vanishing. Like an invitation that didn’t need words.

It did something unholy to him.

By the time you reached the ship and tilted your head in a show of gentle confusion, Garp had already imagined bending you over every stable surface of the vessel. Twice.

“Vice Admiral, isn’t it?” you asked, squinting just enough to pass for innocent. “Could you help me? I’m a little turned around.”

He made a noise that might have once been language. “Uh. Yeah. Sure. Of course.”

He cleared his throat. Adjusted his waistband. For stability. No other reason.

“Hi?” he offered, with the helpless tone of a man trying not to drown in thigh-high water.

“Hello,” you replied, voice smooth as honey poured slowly over warm stone. “Quite a day for a stroll, no?”

You let the wind catch the hem of your dress again. Just slightly. Just enough.

His eyes dropped. You felt them settle, hot and unrelenting, like fingertips dragging across skin.

“You don’t look like you’re from around here,” he said. His voice came out too low, too rough around the edges.

You stepped closer, your sandals silent, your parasol tilting like punctuation at the end of a flirt.

“Neither do you.”

You smiled like a girl who knew exactly what she was doing. Knew that he knew it. Knew he wouldn’t stop you even if he could. Sweetness bloomed across your face, innocent on the surface, soaked in sin underneath.

“I do wonder,” you murmured, your tone soft and rich, like butter left to melt over rum cake. “Would you happen to know if there’s a ship heading east?”

He was reasonably certain he was headed east now. Spiritually. Mentally. Possibly even physically.

Garp’s jaw twitched. He opened his mouth, and nothing came out. His brain had thrown itself overboard.

“Yeah,” he managed, dragging the word out like he was lassoing it from a distance. “Yeah, maybe. Why? Where you headed?”

“Anywhere cooler,” you said, lifting the parasol to your shoulder with a faint sigh. “It’s sweltering.”

Your skin gleamed in the sun. Your lips curved like you knew what they did to a man. And Garp, veteran of wars, scourge of pirates, Hero of the Marines, stood in the middle of a dock in full uniform, sweating like a schoolboy at confession.

“You look a bit warm yourself,” you added, tilting your head. “Are you all right, Vice Admiral?”

He coughed into his fist, loud and aimless. “Peachy.”

Somewhere behind him, Bogard made a strangled noise like he had just swallowed his tongue.

You shifted again, fingertips brushing the hem of your skirt with casual elegance. Garp’s hand jerked, and his rice ball slipped in his grip for the second time that day. He fumbled it back into place with the desperation of a man clinging to the last shred of dignity.

There was a freckle.

One.

Right on the inside of your thigh.

It caught the sunlight like it had been placed there on purpose, and it stole every rational thought he’d ever had.

“You, uh, need an escort?” he asked, chest puffing up with the blind confidence of a man experiencing religious awakening. “Could give you a tour of the flagship.”

Behind him, Bogard made another sound. Garp ignored it. His blood was hot. His vision was hazy. His soul had already fled.

You tilted your head, gaze soft and considering. “Would you?”

Garp grinned. He flexed, just a touch, like a bear trying to impress a butterfly. “Sure. I mean, can’t let someone so delicate wander around alone in pirate waters.”

Your lashes lowered in the kind of blink that should be classified as a controlled substance. When your fingers brushed his arm, light and grateful, something behind his eyes flickered dangerously.

Garp nearly shut down.

He believed it. He wanted to believe it.

Because for three whole seconds, the world slowed to a crawl. No gunfire. No sirens. No orders barking across the harbor. Just you. Just your touch. Just the idea of possibility cracking open in his chest like spring after war.

And in the place where logic once lived, only one thought bloomed: Wife material.

You let him offer the tour.

You accepted.

Bold of him.

Bolder of you.

Around you, the Marines had stopped pretending not to stare. Some watched with awe. Some watched with terror. A few whispered behind their hands, unsure if they were witnessing courtship or an oncoming scandal.

Garp didn’t notice.

He was grinning like a fool and offering you a skewer of grilled fish from a street vendor with the enthusiasm of a man who believed himself blessed.

He was trying to guess your background. Diplomat, maybe. Or royalty. Possibly the daughter of some high-ranking admiral slumming it in disguise. An angel, if angels had wicked smiles and legs for days. A mirage, if mirages could touch.

Definitely wife material.

“I don’t usually escort civilians,” he said, puffing up like a peacock showing off his medals. “Too busy keeping the seas safe.”

“Oh, you seem very safe,” you said, voice sugared and innocent.

He preened like a rooster on parade.

He told himself it was a matter of professional courtesy. Basic good manners. Chivalry, even. You didn’t argue. You just walked beside him, steps light, questions softer still, your laughter slipping into the air like the scent of something addictive.

You let your fingers brush his arm. Once. Just once.

His entire body reacted like he had been struck in the gut.

You paused beside the cannons, leaned forward with the curiosity of someone very new to weaponry. Your dress slid a little higher as you bent to examine the rigging, and your lip caught gently against your teeth. It was unintentional, probably. Maybe.

He stood behind you, fists clenched at his sides, trying to remember what year it was.

“Something wrong, Vice Admiral?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder. Your voice was polite. Your eyes were not.

He looked like a man on trial, guilty of crimes against restraint.

“No,” he said, a little too fast. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.”

You stepped toward him, slow and unhurried, like the thought of falling into his arms had simply crossed your mind and you were entertaining it for sport. He didn’t move. Couldn’t. His whole body had locked into place, spine tense, hands twitching at his sides.

He watched the fabric of your dress shift with each step, soft as smoke and dangerous as gunpowder. Every sway of your hips sent his brain further into emergency shutdown. You walked like a question he didn’t know how to answer.

And then you whispered, “You’ve been watching me since the dock.”

His throat worked around the sudden dryness. He swallowed hard. Too hard.

“You wore that dress on purpose,” he growled, voice cracking at the edges with something between accusation and desperation.

“Of course I did,” you murmured, tilting your head just enough to be lethal. “Wouldn’t you, if you knew someone like you was watching?”

That was it. That was the moment. The moment he broke.

Not physically. Garp was still every inch the Marine. Built like a fortress. Steady as war. He didn’t buckle, didn’t tremble, didn’t collapse in any obvious way.

But something cracked. Deep inside. Quietly.

Because you had undone him. With a sundress. With a voice that sounded like heatstroke and sin. With thighs he had been trying, and failing, not to think about since the second you stepped into the sun.

He didn’t know it yet, not fully, but this was the start of his downfall.

Because once you stepped aboard that ship, his brain stayed behind, tangled somewhere in your dress, and never caught up.

You let him lead. Let him think he was in charge.

He pointed out the helm, still trying to sound composed. Showed you the cannons again, now with fewer coherent sentences. Took you to the map room, where he gestured at things with a lot of unnecessary flexing.

You cooed softly at each station he showed you. Nodded in all the right places. Eyes wide. Smile bright. Every inch the sweet, attentive civilian.

And then, when no one was watching, you stepped behind him.

Your fingers moved fast, practiced. Two ropes twisted into a sailor’s knot. A dagger, slipped from your parasol, drove cleanly into the pulley control. The mechanism jammed with a metallic groan. Somewhere deep in the ship’s rigging, tension snapped.

Garp frowned. “Huh. Did you hear—”

You didn’t let him finish.

You stepped in close, reached behind him, and pulled.

His belt came undone with the crisp efficiency of someone who had absolutely done this before.

His trousers hit the deck with a heavy thunk.

Garp spun, half-naked, boots on, pants pooled at his ankles, outrage forming like a stormcloud.

Before he could speak, you kissed his cheek.

“Thanks for the tour, sweet thing.”

Then you were gone. One smooth dive over the side. A small splash. And there you were, already landing on a waiting raft bobbing just offshore.

You turned and gave a little wave.

Garp remained frozen, stunned, pantsless, red-faced, and unfortunately aroused. Not just with fury, but with something much worse.

Want.

Because you had pantsed the Hero of the Marines. Not figuratively. Not in some lofty, political, metaphorical way.

Literally.

One flick of your parasol, lined on the inside with kairoseki, how very rude—and a quick tug of his belt while he was gesturing gallantly at the horizon. Down went the whites.

The Marines screamed.

You blew him a kiss.

“SHE STOLE MY WALLET!”

Garp’s roar shook the harbor. He was still trying to yank his trousers up when the first explosion rocked through the fleet.

One by one, his ships began to spin in place. Anchors dragged like drunken sea serpents. Sails flapped and tangled. Masts knocked together with splintering groans. Ballasts came loose. Compasses spun like they’d been cursed.

You had sabotaged the rudder controls during the walk. Loosened the anchors. Unclipped sails. Cut half a dozen key lines and trapped the others in knots so clever they’d take a full crew a week to untangle.

It was adorable chaos.

Strategic humiliation.

You waved from the raft as it bobbed into the sea lane, now significantly richer in both beli and the priceless treasure of Garp’s tactical embarrassment.

“Thanks for the tour!” you called, voice warm and bright over the rising sounds of mayhem. “I’ll write!”

Back on the deck, Garp stood trembling, pants halfway secured, hair askew, eyes fixed on the horizon like it had personally betrayed him.

Bogard approached in silence and handed him a report.

“She destroyed the formation, sir.”

Before Garp could respond, a second ship behind them swung hard off course, performed a majestic, slow-motion spin, and slammed into the pier with all the grace of a drunk cow. The sound of crunching wood was deafening.

Both men winced.

“She rewired the helm lines,” Bogard added quietly. “In less than fifteen minutes. Walking with you.”

Silence followed.

Then came the bellow.

“She—she—I had plans for that woman!”

Bogard said nothing.

Garp pressed the note to his chest like a war medal and swore into the ocean with all the fury of a man wronged by fate itself.

Then, much softer, almost reverent, he whispered to no one at all.

“She’s perfect.”

Aboard your raft, you unpinned the parasol. Inside it: his wallet, his compass, and a map of the Marine fleet’s entire formation schedule for the next three weeks.

“Vice Admiral Garp,” you said dreamily, kicking your feet up, “you are not ready for me.”

The raft had long vanished beyond the horizon by the time the full scope of your crimes revealed itself.

One warship had beached itself completely on the western sandbar, its anchor lovingly wrapped around a fishing hut like an ill-mannered embrace. Another had unfurled half its sails upside down, flapping uselessly in protest. That one had you to thank for your “accidental” fiddling during the cannon tour. A third was now on fire. Not from battle. From a lemon cake.

Specifically, a lemon cake strategically placed in the boiler room.

It had combusted with comedic timing and surgical precision.

Vice Admiral Monkey D. Garp stood in the center of it all—shirt open, belt crooked, eyes bloodshot—watching his entire command structure collapse like a drunken domino game.

“You see what she did?” he bellowed, voice cracking under the weight of disbelief. “She undid everything! In a sundress!”

Up the mast, halfway tangled in chaos you had left behind, Bogard called down dryly. “She also pickpocketed you mid-stare and rerouted our supply crates to the Revolutionaries, sir.”

That one stung.

This wasn’t just humiliation. This was sabotage delivered with a smile and executed with satin gloves. Tactical carnage in soft yellow cotton.

The image of your bare shoulders lingered behind his eyes like a fever dream. The smirk. The parasol. The way your dress had shifted with the breeze like it was conspiring against him. You moved like you already owned him and had chosen, generously, to leave just enough of his ego intact to let him pretend he still had a chance.

It was the most brutal defeat he had suffered since God Valley.

And he wanted it again.

A few minutes later, a breathless marine officer stumbled across the wreckage with a torn envelope in hand.

“Sir! This was in your boot.”

Bogard took it and passed it over. “Left you this.”

Garp opened the note. The handwriting was elegant. Teasing.

Next time, I’ll take the pants too.

He stared at it.

Read it again.

And again, slower this time.

Then whispered, like a man standing at the edge of something sacred and terrifying, “Damn.”

He folded the note with the care of a man tucking away a medal. Slipped it into the inside pocket of his coat like it was a love letter written in blood.

“…And god damn.”

Bogard climbed down from the rigging, landing beside him with the tired gait of someone emotionally bracing for impact.

“That was no ordinary woman,” Garp said at last, eyes still fixed on the horizon.

“No, sir,” Bogard replied. “That was a whole naval disaster in lipstick.”

Garp looked out to sea, haunted and awestruck.

“She’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life.”

Bogard raised an eyebrow. “In a good way or a bad way?”

“…Yes.”

Later, Garp’s command office was quiet.

The paperwork hissed at him. He wasn’t sure if it was cursed or if the memory of your thighs had finally driven him over the edge.

Garp sat hunched at the table, staring at reports like they might bite.

Bogard entered like a man delivering a eulogy.

“Sir.”

“Don’t,” Garp muttered. “I’m still recovering. She’s in my dreams now. I hear her voice every time I close my eyes. She pantsed me spiritually.”

Bogard placed a sealed folder in front of him. The wax crest shimmered with the kind of clearance that meant secrets. Dangerous ones.

“You’ll want to see this.”

Garp opened it. He expected the worst.

He did not expect the name.

Gol D.—

He blinked. Stared.

“…Gol D.?”

Bogard nodded.

Garp flipped through the rest. Faster now. His finger trailed down the page as if afraid the words might vanish.

Pirate ties. Sister of Gol D. Roger. Suspected strategist. Operator for the Revolutionary Army. Known saboteur of Marine operations.

The blood drained from his face.

“I flirted with Roger’s sister?”

“You dry-humped her with your eyes for fifteen minutes, sir.”

“I gave her a tour! I let her on board!”

“You tried to carry her parasol.”

“She kissed me!”

“Yes. And stole your wallet.”

Garp groaned and dragged both hands down his face. “She’s a Gol.”

“A certified one.”

“She dismantled my fleet and made me want to propose.”

Bogard, without comment, handed him a bottle of rum.

Garp took it. Chugged half. Slammed it down.

He stared at the wall. Flushed. Ashamed. Aroused. Something in between.

“God damn that family. No business being that smug. That sharp. That—”

He exhaled hard through his nose, like a man approaching grief. Or acceptance.

“…I’d still marry her.”

Bogard blinked. “Sir?”

Garp began pacing, wild and uneven. “She made me look like a fool. Stole classified documents. Sank two ships. Mocked my authority. Humiliated me in front of my entire crew.”

He turned. Locked eyes with Bogard.

“And I’ve never wanted someone more.”

Bogard did not blink. “So that’s your type, huh?”

Garp dropped into his seat with a heavy thud and ran a hand through his hair.

“She’s dangerous, Bogard. Emotionally dangerous. She’d run my life into the ground and leave me thanking her for the experience.”

Bogard nodded slowly. “She’d never let you retire.”

“She’d monogram the word ‘coward’ into my laundry if I forgot our anniversary.”

“She’d seduce you and dismantle your command chain in the same breath.”

Garp’s voice dropped to a reverent whisper. “And I’d help her.”

They sat in silence.

Outside, another warship finished sinking sideways into the harbor.

Neither man flinched.

The Oro Jackson, a few months later:

Mid-Grand Line, aboard the Oro Jackson, the Rodger crew is enjoying a rare moment of peace. 

Until Garp’s warship appears on the horizon for the fourth time that month. 

Roger groans. Rayleigh makes tea. Shanks and Buggy place bets. And you? You just sit on the railing, swinging your legs and looking like sin in silk.

“There he is again,” said Rayleigh calmly, sipping from a chipped mug.

Shanks leaned over the railing with Buggy clinging to his ankles. “Think he’s after the captain?”

“Think he’s after her,” Buggy muttered, pointing directly at you.

You waved cheerfully at the Marine warship growing larger in the distance. “Twelve minutes before he starts shouting.”

Roger groaned, face already in his hands. “Twelve minutes before I jump overboard.”

“You know,” Rayleigh offered casually, “we could just hand her over. Solve two problems at once.”

You shot him a look.

He amended quickly. “Three problems. He gets a wife. We get a break. The Marines get therapy.”

Roger raised his head. “I would, except he doesn’t chase her like a man in love. He chases her like a man who can’t decide if he wants to put a ring on her or a collar.”

“He wants to die married,” Rayleigh said.

“Same thing,” you muttered.

On Garp’s ship, currently steaming toward the Oro Jackson like a man possessed:

“FULL SPEED!” he bellowed, fist in the air, cape flapping like it owed him money.

A Marine scrambled up the lookout. “Sir, are we engaging Gol D. Roger?”

“I’M GONNA KILL ROGER!”

The crew shouted in unison: “YES, VICE ADMIRAL!”

Garp’s next breath was slightly softer.

“…AND THEN I’M GONNA MARRY HIS SISTER!”

The crew: “…Sir?”

Garp grabbed the rail and stared dead ahead.

“You ever seen a woman destroy your command structure, steal your wallet, and still make you think about naming children?”

Bogard muttered, “Only when I’m dreaming of her, sir.”

“THEN YOU GET IT.”

Back on the Oro Jackson:

“I don’t get it,” Shanks said, clapping as the warship approached. “Is he here to kill us or flirt with her?”

“Both,” Buggy said, hiding behind a barrel. “Probably at the same time. He’s going to punch Roger with one fist and propose with the other.”

Roger braced his foot on the helm. “HEY, MONKEY!”

From the Marine ship: “ROGER, YOU BASTARD!”

“WHAT IS IT THIS TIME?” Roger shouted. “YOU WANT MY HEAD OR MY SISTER’S HAND?”

“I’LL TAKE BOTH!” Garp roared back, fist cocked and sparkling with Haki. “AND I HAVEN’T DECIDED WHICH ORDER!”

You leaned into the shouting as if it were dinner theater. “Sweet of him to ask, though.”

Roger turned and glared. “Do you like this?”

Love was chaos.

And Monkey D. Garp?

He was chaos. The very embodiment of it.

You were a newcoming marine. A rookie, nothing more. You were happily recruited, you simply did your job. Smiled politely, bowed to superiours when necessary, filed paperwork, the daily training drills. You were simple, efficient and professional. Got the routine work done and left.

And then, there was Garp.

The vice admiral you only heard about on newspapers and lunch talk after a fight. You barely saw him around. Marineford HQ was quite big, and you worked on the opposite side, under Admiral Kuzan. But each time you passed by him, for some reason, it always felt like you were being deliberately watched.

It all started with a small act of kindness, rice crackers.

You made the horrible mistake of buying your own, enjoying them at the gates of marine HQ. And god, was he watching and drooling at the mouth like a maniac.

So naturally, being the ever so kind soul you are. You gave him the remnants with a smile.

"Help yourself, vice-admiral, you work hard, too."

Terrible mistake. Because that day would be marked as the rice cracker incident among his co-workers. And Garp would soon start being everywhere you went. At a comfortable distance. Not invasive, or weird.

Just there.

Watching. And so very inlove.

And sometimes, he'd do simple gestures when you weren't around, just to show, that he's here, and thankful. The first signed note on your desk that said "Thank you for the crackers." And another one that read: "You're doing great", sometimes a coffee, warm, not too sweet, the way you liked it. (Don't ask how he knows.) And you smiled at each one of them in appreciation.

Because even with his overly confident demeanor and cocky self, he simply could not bring himself to directly approach you, he knew himself too well to know that he'd do something reckless and embarass himself. But you were very well aware, you always noticed his presence, the way his eyes lingered a little longer than necessary whenever you passed with your friends, smile blinding his eyes like sunshine.

You were the only topic of conversation coming from his mouth. He'd grip the spot on his chest where his heart is, very dramatically so, as he spoke of you.

"She's inlove with me."

Tsuru pinched the bridge of her nose, "She gave you rice crackers."

"Exactly! She's flirting with me through strategically planned rice crackers." He affirmed, ever so sure of himself.

Sengoku sighed, feeding him more rice crackers to shut him up. "You're inlove with her, not the other way around. Rice crackers aren't a romantic advance."

"They are.. to me."

And you? You weren't exactly oblivious, but you thought to yourself, he's.. a vice admiral. And you were simply, well, yourself. There's nothing going on, just him being nice and motivating.. to you only.

You never spoke much, beside the occasional polite smile as you passed by eachother in the hallways. You couldn't deny one thing. He was.. oddly charming. He smiled, big and wide in the way that made you reciprocate it, even despite yourself.

He walked with an air of confidence you admired, cracked jokes that had you chuckling from a distance. But he was also serious when times called for it, trained like there's no tommorow, and despite how silly he seemed, he was just doing his job.

No conversation sparked between the two of you.

Until one morning, you were doing your running laps in training drill. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

And unbeknowst to you, he showed up, running alongside you like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You didn't notice, not until he comically cleared his throat.

You didn't stop running, simply turning your head to face him.

Blinked once,

Twice.

"Vice admiral Garp??? Wh—" You stuttered, eyes slightly wide, your pace never slowing. And then he was gone. You tried to brush it off, striding again,

Until he showed up once more. He just finished another lap, before everyone else.

"To your left."

You looked again.

"Hey. Humid morning, isn't it? How're you doing?" Garp smiled, ever so naturally.

You blinked again. "I'm— sweating like a popsicle at a summer barbecue, that's not the question here. How did you get here??"

"Sweetheart, I'm a Vice Admiral, I can go wherever I damn please." He laughed,

"You're just making the others feel inferiour."

"I'm motivating them to be better, that's different." He spoke, running comfortably at your pace now. Lips parted to speak again, but was interrupted by a shout.

Your captain, Togo.

"What did I say about chit chat during training? Hmm?" He walked up to the both of you, arms crossed. "And.. what are you doing here, Vice Admiral?" He continued.

You slowed your running pace progressively until you stopped infront of Togo.

"I could ask you the same question, sir." You sighed, looking at Garp from the side of your eye as he stood there, ever the so innocent face.

"I don't care who it is you're talking to, you know the rules." Your captain continued.

"I'm sorry, sir, I—"

"Don't," Garp cut you off, stepping between you and him, arms crossed. "It's my fault, I started it." He defended, voice firm and unyielding.

Togo looked back and forth between the two of you, a raised eyebrow.

"..Is that so? Then I guess you both share the same punishment. You'll stay behind and clean the training ground." He said, not like a request, or an order. It was just statement, leaving no room for argument.

"Seriously??" You grunted in irritation, shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Do you want me to double down?"

"..No, sir."

"Good, I expect proper work next time."

You slumped to the floor, hands on your head in defeat.

Garp stood beside you, giving you a small pat on the head. In a feeble attempt to make you feel better.

The training was long over now, others retreated, until the training ground was fully empty, leaving only you and Garp together. Standing across from you, watching with a guilty expression on his face. Because when he finally built the courage to talk to you, it just had to end like this.

But on the bright side, he had an excuse to spend time with you.

As you reached for a heavy piece of equipment, he pounced in dramatically, grabbing it first.

"Nuh-uh, I've got this, princess." Garp smiled, throwing it over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. "Don't overwork yourself, I'm here to help, alright?"

You stood upright, matching his posture. "You didn't have to stay, y'know."

"Nonsense, you wouldn't be here if I didn't barge in— I'm sorry." He placed the crate aside, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. This is the first time you've heard a vice admiral apologizing to a lower ranking marine. Especially Garp in the flesh. "Might aswell make it up to you." For someone who always seemed so sure of himself, he was quite humble.

"I'm not mad at you, atleast I'm not alone, otherwise this would take forever." You waved your hands dismissively, letting out a lighthearted chuckle, focusing on your own cleaning duty.

He laughed back while still taking care of his own work, mainly the heavy boxes and crates, piling them aside. "This isn't how I imagined our first hangout but, atleast I'm spending time with you."

Garp said that. He admitted to wanting to be with you, and so, very nonchalantly too.

"Uh-huh, so.. this was just an excuse to spend time with me."

"Hey— Not that I did it on purpose, but yeah. Who else is gonna put up with my endless appetites?" He joked, taking another box from your hands casually, fingers brushing against yours faintly, a gentle whisper.

"Oh right, the rice crackers." You laughed, recalling the "incident" and how his face lit up at the sight of them. "You owe me, then."

Garp stepped infront of you, arms crossed, a grin plastered on his face like a bad decision.. he was definitely thinking of something.

"Say.. we're gonna be stuck here for like— Hours? Let's make things.. interesting." His voice dropped an octave, leaning closer to you.

"Hmm? Do let me know."

"I say.. let's make a bet. I could finish this entire area before you do. Loser has to treat the winner to anything they want."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

There it is again. That shit eating grin of his. You could just tell there was a hidden motive here, but you played along anyway. Because what else was there to do now?

"I bet you'd just ask me for rice-crackers again or something."

"You underestimate me, sweetheart."

"Bet."

You chatted for a while longer, the laughs and jokes came naturally. He seemed embarassed at first, you couldn't tell if he was sweating from the heat, the cleaning, or your presence.

Probably the latter.

But give him some time, and Garp was surprisingly good at keeping the conversation going, almost making both of you forget the tedious work you were charged with.

He watched you work for a moment, gaze sharp and competitive, jumping into action himself. He moved with swift efficiency, lifting barrels effortlessly and taking them to their designated areas. He even stacked them to save space. Rearranging the weapons and whatnot.

As the two of you worked, Garp couldn't help but occasionally glance your way. The sight of you so focused on the task at hand was, in a way, captivating to him. The way you wiped the sweat off your face, the sunlight reflecting your features. Your every move did awful things to him.

The bet was still on, but he found himself enjoying this impromptu moment more than he expected.

Eventually, around an hour rolled by, and you were absolutely exasperated. And Garp? Garp was standing proudly, like this was just another Thursday and he hadn't just cleaned half of the training ground by himself without catching a break. He finished with just enough time to watch you still tiring yourself out.

You panted, catching your breath and wiping beams of sweat off your forehead, slicking the damp strands of hair back from your face.

"Alright, alright. I give up, you win." You raised your hands slightly in a surrendering gesture, laughing. Because despite your loss. It was awfully more entertaining than it should've been.

He promptly plopped himself beside you, sitting against a wall, elbows propped on his knees, breathing easy.

"I told ´ya I'd finish before you, sweetcheeks. That's the second time you underestimated me today." Garp grinned.

"Fine, just tell me your end of the deal already." You rolled your eyes, feigning annoyance.

"Mm..—" He hummed, eyes glinting with mischief as he pretended to think about what he wanted. "—Well, I'm a simple man, really.."

"Uh-huh, and what does the simple man want?" You placed your cheek in your palm comfortably, watching him with an almost bored expression as he spoke.

Garp smirked, enjoying the anticipation. With a mock-thoughtful look, he spoke. "You see, there's this one thing I really crave, that no amount of money can buy.." He looked at you again, meeting your gaze.

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

He was dragginggg this.

"Mhmmmm.."

"It's a simple thing, really, but for some reason, it always eludes me." He paused for a moment, clearly relishing your impatience. "And now that I've won the bet, I think it's finally my chance to get what I wanted."

"Just spit it out already!" You blurted out, louder than you intended, then placed a hand on your mouth. "..Sorry."

Garp threw his head back and laughed, before leaning closer to your face, barely inches away. His breath a warm whisper on your skin.

"Don't be so impatient, sweetheart." He reached out, gently tucking a stray hair behind your ear. His fingers lingering on your cheek longer than necessary.

The sun began to set, sinking lower until it brushed the horizon. The sky slowly exhaling after a long day, just as yourself. The warm light clinging to your skin in golden layers, softening every edge, turning your eyes into shimmering pools.

Eyes that Garp was helplessly lost in, his earlier cocky grin melting into a softer expression as he took the time to focus on your features.

You glared back at him, didn't say anything, didn't dare to. But your cheeks warmed up under his fingers and your heart was doing things you couldn't quite explain.

Then, he broke the sudden silence.

"This.." Garp trailed off, leaning closer until finally closing the distance between your faces in one swift motion. His hand cradled the back of your head, fingers gently threading into your hair as his lips met yours. Firm, warm, and undeniably sure.

No hesitation.

No teasing.

Just him, pouring every bit of that loud, reckless love he felt right into the kiss. It wasn't rushed, it wasn't hungry. But it was possessive, gentle, loving.

You were definitely taken aback, eyes widening ever so slightly, your hands hovering over him hesitantly. Though it didn't take long for you to melt into the kiss, fingers resting on his shoulders comfortably.

And when he finally pulled back, just an inch. Garp rested his forehead against yours for a beat longer than necessary, before fully letting go.

"..This is what I wanted. Ever since you handed me that damn rice cracker." He finished his earlier sentence. His grin was soft now, not in the earlier cocky way— but in a real way only you'd ever seen.

You, on the other hand, were completely dumbfounded, staring at him in awe, like you just discovered your favorite song was written about him. And his gaze lingered on you. The gaze of a man who just tasted sweetness for the first time. Which, technically, he did.

"..Oh, you— I knew it!"

"Knew what?" He chuckled.

"I knew you liked me." You pointed your finger at him like an accusation, but your smile and blush dusted cheeks betrayed everything you wanted to deny.

"Aw shucks.. well, since it's already obvious, let me make it clearer." He leaned in closer once more, and gently caught your chin between his fingers, tilting your head to look at him only. "What I want.. is right here infront of me."

"..Me?"

"Who else could I want, sweetheart?" He nodded, finger still softly brushing your chin as he spoke. "You've had me wrapped around your finger for months."

You reached and placed your hand ontop of his on your chin, promptly moving it away, but not quite letting go.

"I like you too but.. what about your rank?"

Garp's eyes softened at your words, smile widening at your confession. All teeth. Hearing you say you liked him back filled his chest with warmth and only added to his affection.

"Pfft— Who taught you that nonsense??" He scoffed in mock-offense, shaking his head. His free hand moved to your shoulder comfortingly, like he was breaking down the deepest secrets of the world to you. "I'm head over heels for you, it doesn't matter if you're a few ranks lower than me. Love is love, dear."

"..You really don't care about that?" You looked at him in awe and surprise, squeezing his hand a bit tighter.

Garp hummed softly in confirmation, letting go of your hand, only to reach and wrap his arms around your back in a gentle embrace, slowly. Giving you time to pull back if needed.

You didn't. Reciprocating the hug.

"Mhm, really." He whispered, the sincerity in his voice genuine. "You have me completely smitten, sweetheart. I've seen you work, relax, laugh. And all I can say is i've loved every version of you. You're smart, beautiful.. and yet, so damn dense."

You chuckled at that last one, giving him a lighthearted punch to the back. It was odd seeing the usual silly, fierce hero of the marines.. right here, hugging you and confessing his love to you. It came so easy, yet, you couldn't wrap the thought around your head.

But it was happening, and you weren't letting it slip away from you.

"..I love you too." You admitted. It was simple, three words, just enough to let him know it was mutual.

And there he was, chin rested ontop of your head, grinning ever so wide, eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Took you long enough to say it." He chuckled, face nuzzled in your hair, his hands moving up and down your back in a soothing motion. "Good. 'Cause I'm not letting go now."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

.

.

Garp ended up walking you back to your apartment safely later on, before parting ways.

Safe to say,

You didn't sleep that night.

The next day rolled by. You rested your eyes for a total of one hour and fourty-three minutes. But somehow, you bursted with energy like no other day. Getting ready swiftly, uniform fully buttoned, but just today, you let your hair loose, and helped yourself to something new. Lipgloss. Not too red, just the perfect shade between brown and pink, subtle, but nice enough.

You looked at yourself in the mirror more than enough times before leaving, and made your way to HQ like a toddler on their first day of kindergarten. Who wonders why?

You hadn't even made it halfway past the front gates when whispers started fitting through the air like sparks. Tsuru shot you a knowing smirk while Sengoku simply adjusted his glasses like he just witnessed the inevitable.

He definitely told them already. Because of course he did.

And then, like a storm rolling in, you heard it— heard him.

"SWEETHEART !!" Garp's voice rang out, he came barreling around the corner like a freight train in uniform, cape fluttering behind him like a hero from an epic ballad. He didn't stop until he was right infront of you, towering and grinning like he'd just conquered an island. And then promptly leaned down and planted a kiss on your forehead.

You planted your face in your palms in embarassment, hair slouching down your shoulders, before looking at him, face entirely red. If word didn't get around, it definitely did now.

"Did you have to do that so loudly??" You complained with a sigh, crossing your arms. "What happened to goodmorning?"

"Good morning?? Sweetheart, I gave you a goodmorning. That's top-tier greeting protocol. Vice Admiral's Seal of Approval." He threw his head back and laughed, loud and unapologetic.

Suddenly, Tsuru rolled by with a clipboard, muttering: "Lord knows how she ended up with that one. Poor girl."

Garp shot her a mock-offended look, puffing his chest. "Hey, she's lucky!"

You only laughed, responding back. "I don't think I mind him."

He turned to face you again, and that's when he noticed it.

"So.. Seal of approval, huh?"

No response.

You raised an eyebrow, looking at him.

He was also looking. Very hard. Your lips were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

"..Garp?" You repeated, waving a hand over his face. "Earth to Garp."

And just like that, he grabbed the same hand you were waving at his face, fingers gently curled around your wrist as he led you away from everyone,

"Hey!!" You protested, he only dragged you to the nearest empty office, locking the door behind and pinning you against the door in one swift motion, hands on either side of your head, chest heaving up and down like he just ran a marathon.

"You're doing that on purpose."

You hadn't even processed what just happened. Blinking rapidly in his direction.

"Doing what on purpose??"

"That!" He pointed at your lips, fingers holding your chin up.

"Lipgloss?"

"A tactical charm offensive." Garp affirmed, voice unyielding.

You held back a laugh, snorting. " 'You serious? It's just-"

"Listen, I don't care what it is, but I know where I want it." He leaned closer, catching your chin between his fingers and lifting your head up.

"Uh-huh?"

"Smeared. On my face."

And without further ado, your lips crashed against eachother like a storm, captivating eachother in a hungry, urgent kiss. Your hands draped around his neck like silk, his own roaming on your sides, fingers pressing like they can't get close enough as he deepened the kiss with time-limited urgency and depth that said "I need this for my own sanity."

The room filled with sounds of heavy breathing, a messy, breathless kiss, pouring all the desire and love into it. Your gloss leaving stains all over his lips and cheeks.

"God, you—" Garp spoke, breathless, interrupted,

A knock on the door, then a voice chimed in from behind.

"Vice Admiral Garp, you have a meeting with Fleet Admiral Kong!" It was Bogard, his right hand man.

You both flinched in the spot, like teenagers caught sneaking out.. close enough.

Garp sighed, pulling away from you and breathing easy, you caught your breath aswell, adjusting yourself before unlocking the door, both of you exited looking like a total mess. Garp's hair tousled, face marked in kisses.

Bogard blinked, twice. Looking back and forth at both of you. Didn't say a word about your appearances.

"..Am I interrupting?" He said, quieter this time.

"No it's fi—"

"You are." Garp cut you off, before walking away from him alongside you.

"Did you hear what I said, sir?" Bogard repeated.

"Yeah, yeah." Garp didn't even flinch, just waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder, not looking back. "Tell him I'm busy securing my heart's patrol routine!"

Somewhere in the distance, Sengoku groaned, Tsuru snorted.

And god help your giddy self, you could only laugh and giggle. Throwing a light punch to his side.

"Go, idiot. Before I'm late too." You cackled.

Garp huffed in mock indignation as you pushed him back, "I've priorities." His eyes shone with warm mischief as he spoke proudly, like a man planting his flag on quicksand.

You threw another punch. "That's not an excuse." He rubbed his side like he just took a canonball to the ribs.

"Hey, hey now, no need to get violent." He protested with a laugh. "I'm going, I'm going."

He leaned down and placed yet another kiss on your forehead, feather light, but there.

"Don't overwork yourself." He spoke, voice lower now. "And don't miss me too much when I'm gone." And of course, a cocky remark.

You simply turned back and walked your own way, waving a hand from over your shoulder.

"Could say the same to you!"

He smiled, standing there for a moment, hands on his hips. Watching you stride away with that stupidly-him grin on his face. Like he'd just won a war instead of a rookie's heart.

Then, still smiling to himself, he turned and marched off to the command building.

Sengoku met him halfway. Eyebrows raised, taking his side and walking along.

"Did you just.. blow off the Fleet Admiral, for flirting?"

Garp clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"BWAHA! No, I was on official patrol duty. Secured my woman's heart. That's national security."

"A woman, huh?"

"She's not just a woman. She's a covert charmer in lipgloss."

Sengoku groaned again, but didn't even try to hide the smirk peeking at the corners of his lips. Because only his great friend Garp could show up at 0800 to spend five minutes doing— god knows what, with his lover, and then proceed to promptly show up late to a Fleet Admiral meeting like it was a birthday party.

And on the other side of the base, you smiled to yourself the whole morning during training, like a lovestruck teenager. Because you were dating a walking disaster.

But you loved said disaster.

Sometime before noon, after another harsh training morning, you sat on a bench in the barracks' locker room, a few buttons undone, enjoying a well deserved water break and wiping sweat off yourself with a towel. Wrapping a piece of cloth tight around a scraped knee.

Until, your peaceful, comfortable silence was interrupted as another rookie sauntered his way beside you with a sly grin, like he always belonged there.

He was the last person you wanted to talk to now, or, all the time, really.

"Oh.. Reginald." You sighed, burying your face in your towel for a second like it could shield you from his presence and teleport you away from him.

"Wellll, look at you." He teased, voice dripping with gossip. "Got yourself a high-class boyfriend all of a sudden?"

You didn't even give him a glance, still wiping your face with that same towel.

"Mhm. Guess word gets around, huh?"

"Sure does.." The guy propped his arm on your shoulder ever so casually, eyeing you with a mix of curiosity and.. something else you couldn't pinpoint. He spoke, leaning in conspiratorially. "Some folks think it's crazy to date a Vice Admiral as a rookie. Others say he's way out of your league, and some even say you're doing it for clout."

He grinned. "So which one are you?"

You finally turned to look at him, looking him dead in the eyes with a blank expression, then you excused yourself and stood up.

"I'm not entertaining you, piss off." You spoke, firmly.

"Ohh? That's sad, we're already placing bets on how long it'll take for him to leave you for some tavern bunny." He laughed, his friends behind chuckled aswell.

"Ha, ha. You're so funny. Get a life instead of butting on others', Reginald."

"Hey, I'm just sayin'.. High ranking dudes like that all have the same pattern going. And you don't see any other Vice Admirals around here and whatnot, going for rookies. Do you?"

You froze in place, stopping in your tracks. You couldn't think of anything to say. He opened his mouth again to speak, probably another jab, when a deep, rumbling voice cut through the silence.

"Oi."

The air dropped 10 degrees.

Garp filled the doorway, still in full uniform but coat unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up to his elbows like he'd just come out of a fight— or was about to start one. He stormed halfway across the base, eyes locked onto the guy beside you, sharp and threatning.

"You done talking to my girl?"

He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. The weight of it and his presence alone made Reginald shrink back an inch. His earlier confidence crumbling to shreds.

Garp stepped forward, ignoring him completely, now completely focused on you, his gaze softening as he took sight of your wrapped knee.

"..Should've told me you got hurt." He muttered, walking towards you, an arm draped around your shoulder, pulling you close to his side, then looking at the guy again with a grin that wasn't quite friendly.

"Garp, I can handle th—"

"Shh." Garp cut you mid-sentence with a little squeeze on the shoulder. "Next time you wanna gossip, try not breathing."

The rookie nodded, fast. Unsure of where to shove his face now.

"Get lost."

He then picked himself up and left in a blink.

You sighed in relief, looking up at Garp, a slight smile crossing your face.

"You didn't have to intervene, I was handling it."

"Sit down, sweetheart." He shushed you with his finger on your lips, placing you back down on the bench again. You didn't protest.

He then kneeled beside you, ever so casually, taking your scraped knee in hand and undoing the makeshift bandage cloth you wrapped around it. Taking his own bandage roll from his coat pocket and wrapping it around the cut.

"You just keep bandage rolls in your pockets?" You chuckled.

"Plenty." Garp said, his eyes never leaving your injury.

"Why?"

"Incase a beautiful woman such as yourself gets herself in this sort of predicament." He spoke again between cutting off the bandage with his teeth, sealing it tight. "There you go, princess."

You smiled, your lips crinkling at the corners despite yourself.

"Stand up now, silly."

"Oh, right." And so he did, standing upright and dusting off his clothes, giving you a hand as leverage to stand up and wrapping his arm around your shoulder again.

"..Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

.

.

╰─..★.──────────╯

The walk back to your apartment, once again, was comfortably quiet. For once, you didn't speak much, no cocky jokes from Garp and earned chuckles from yourself, you just walked. Arms interlocked, head rested on his shoulder, until you got to the door.

You turned to face him, reluctant to let go of his hands this time.

"..Same time tommorow?" Garp gave you a lopsided, awkward smile, scratching the back of his neck like he suddenly cared about formalities.

You tilted your head slightly to the side, but didn't comment on that, just nodded.

"Mhm, of course."

And just as he turned around, you reached and grabbed his wrist again, making him turn around.

"Hm?"

"Stay over today."

Three words. One simple request, and a perfectly practiced smile.

That was all it took for Garp to fold, his heart was doing cartwheels at the thought of what that meant.

And so he stayed, making himself comfortably at home on your couch beside you. You'd seen him without a uniform for the first time, just.. naturally himself. And so did he.

"So.. What was that guy telling ya anyway?" Garp broke the awkward silence that filled the room the first few minutes of his entrance. You crossed both legs on the couch, stretching your arms out.

"Ahh, it's nothing. Y'know how they are, always trying to get to your head." You dismissed it, but deep down, Reginald's words affected you, somehow. Because part of you wanted to believe he was wrong but.. was he really?

Garp placed a hand ontop of your head, gently carding his fingers through your hair. That simple gesture alone, made half of your worries disappear into thin air.

"It wouldn't be nothing if I didn't walk in on you looking like you got slapped in the face." He ruffled your hair gently, pulling you closer to his side. "Just tell me. I'm all ears, sweetheart."

You sighed, and talked away, with each word spoken, Garp's eyes widened just barely enough to notice.

"..And you believed him? Sounds like he was just jealous." He tilted his head, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your arm.

"Of course I didn't! But I just.."

"Listen." You felt his fingers pause, a deep frown creased his brow as he thought of the right thing to say. But when he spoke, his voice was uncharacterstically tender. "I don't care who that guy is, or what he said. But I wan't you to never listen to him, ever."

"Mhm.." You nodded.

He turned you to face him fully, both hands now on your shoulders.

"If he gives you crap again, or anybody else does— remember I'm here. I'll always be."

"..Thank you." You leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "I'll let you know. Just.. don't scare the newcomers. Or try not to."

"No promises." His shoulders relaxed at your kiss, the tension from a moment ago suddenly slipping away under your familiar touch.

"Garp." You insisted.

"Fine, fine, I won't intentionally scare them off."

"Good. Now shut up and kiss me again."

"Why of—" Before he could continue, you pulled him by the collar of his shirt, catching him in another dance of your lips. He exhaled like you just lifted a weight off his shoulders, melting into it.

Slow at first, deliberate, like tasting him for the first time. Your hands on either side of his head, fingers through his hair, his own hands steady and soft on your waist, slowly pushing you down on the couch until you were pinned underneath him, never breaking the kiss as it grew faster, hungrier, like he was claiming you, rather than kissing.

Then he pulled back for just a second to catch a glimpse of a breath, before the embrace resumed. Your legs on either side of his hips, hands around his neck smoothly.

"You're a tease." Garp dipped his head to your ear, close enough to whisper, his voice taking a more intimate edge. His breath quickening.

Then, comfortably enough, he trailed open mouthed kisses down your jaw, to your neck. A mark here and there. The air between you grew heavy, charged with a quiet urgency neither of you tried to resist.

Each passing second stretched, blurring time into something softer, slower, as if the world outside had dimmed, leaving only you two together.

Clothes were discarded, carelessly tossed on the floor, a shirt hung lazily and coincidentally on a chair.

Garp's hands wandered with unhurried purpose, finding just the right spots as though drawn by instinct. Every touch lingered just a little longer, drawing out just the right sounds from you. Tracing unspoken promises across skin. A silent conversation deepening with every gentle shift, press, and thrust.

The first time wasn't perfect. It didn't have to be. You chuckled and laughed through it as hard as you tried to be serious.

He wasn't the rough brute you expected him to be. Everything hurt in the right places, in a good way. He always made sure you felt good, never uncomfortable, prior to anything else. And before you knew it, the hours melted away as you both laid on the couch. Breathless, laughing and smiling ever so widely.

You slicked back a few slightly damp strands of hair from your forehead.

"Garp.. what was that?" You giggled, your voice barely above a whisper.

And Garp, sprawled beside you with an arm possessively draped around your waist, cracked one eye open. Hair tousled, his lips curved in a lazy, utterly satisfied grin.

"That, my dear.." He shifted closer, warm breath ghosting over your ear as he pulled you against his bare chest. "That was the night cardio drill."

You slapped his chest lightly, snorting. "That's not funny!"

"Oh, but it is." He chuckled, the sound vibrating from his chest. "And if you're lucky, we might do it again at sunrise."

"Garp, we have to leave at six.. It's four something."

"You underestimate me, once again."

He winked, you buried your face in his chest like it could shield you from him for just a moment.

"..Just.. don't move now. Feel too damn good." He mumbled against your hair, lips brushing your forehead, gentle and almost unapologetic.

You, infact, didn't move. Arm draped around his chest, snuggled against his side ever so comfortably. The thought was still unbearably unrealistic. Because it started with just silly love confessions? Okay, crazy. But now this?

You sighed contently, unbothered to think much now, just relishing the moment, his embrace. The warmth of it, as sleep got to the both of you.

It felt like you only blinked until your alarm went off, about an hour and a half later only.

Garp stirred awake with a grumpy groan, one hand blindly fumbling the table beside your couch, while his other arm remained stubbornly wrapped around your waist.

"Mm.. Hell with it." He muttered, fingers finding the off switch and silencing the offending alarm. Then flopped back onto the blankets and buried his face in your hair. "Why'd you set that again?"

You rubbed your eyes, barely opening them. "..For..Work?"

He finally cracked both eyes open. Squinting at you like you'd just personally offended his bloodline.

"What?? Not my fault you have that much stamina." You sighed, though there was no bite behind your words. You stretched your arms with a yawn.

Garp grumbled under his breath, "Five more minutes," He mumbled against your forehead quietly, while his hand worked lazy circles on your side under the sheets. "They won't notice if we're fashionably late."

"Garp, we're always fashionably late."

"Nonsense, I'm not late, I'm strategically delayed." His gaze dropped to your face, drowsy, slightly flushed. And then to how you slightly winced when stretching. "And you're definitely sore. ´s what happens when you keep saying 'more' instead of 'mercy'"

You grumbled, sitting up suddenly and punching his chest again. "I hope you eternally run out of rice-crackers."

"Ouch. My feelings."

You stood up slowly, leaving him be while you got ready in peace, coming back to grab your uniform and dressing up. Buttons tied, hair tied in the tightest bun your skull could possibly, humanly resist.

And Garp relished. He'd have been slightly disappointed if you didn't look so damn good in uniform.

"Y'know, if you keep dressing infront of me, we might not make it to work at all."

You tossed his uniform coat at his face.

"Shut up."

"Understood." He replied, muffled against the cloth.

.

.

Garp stood by the door now, fully ready, hair slightly wild from sleep, but he still looked every inch the legend... and yet, his eyes softened the second you stepped infront of him again.

He held out his hand, not demanding, not pushing, just there. Offering.

"Let's go." He said, voice low and inviting.

And you held said hand, one that stopped wars and spilled blood, was now holding yours. Calloused, warm in the right places, intertwining with your still delicate fingers.

The early morning air was crisp as you left the premises of your apartment. The sky painted in soft creaks of pink and gold as you walked side by side with Garp.

Like this was just another morning.

Like you were always meant to walk alongside him like this, fitting just right.

His stride was slower than usual, deliberately matching your pace as he noticed the slight hitch in your step from last night's.. activities. He noticed. Of course he did.

Everytime you shifted, he glanced down, lips twitching like he's fighting a smirk.

But when you leaned into him a little more as the wind picked up, his grip on your arm tightened just slightly. Protective. Proud.

And then,

He laughed. Out of nowhere.

It wasn't obnoxious. Or cocky.

It was warm, like sunlight spilling into a dim room. Head thrown back like a madman.

You blinked at him. "What?"

"Nothing." He said, grinning down at you. "Just thinking about how lucky I am to be with the cutest rookie in Marineford like this."

A faint blush dusted your cheeks despite yourself, your ears warming up as you clung closer to him, entering the front gates of the HQ.

Sengoku and Tsuru were already waiting there, facing eachother with coffee mugs and talking about whatever.

They both froze mid-conversation as they saw you two. Arms linked like birds out on a stroll.

Tsuru sipped her drink slowly, deliberately. Sengoku pinched his nose.

"..I give it three days." Tsuru muttered.

Garp shouted across the yard.

"Make it fifty years!"

You laughed, giving a small bow to Tsuru and Sengoku as you passed by them through the gate. "Please do excuse him."

"Excuse me?!" He bellowed, following behind you in dramatic strides. "Betrayal."

"You'll get over it."

Sengoku sighed somewhere behind you; "It's gonna be a long carreer."

Inside the base courtyard, a few soldiers paused mid-drill to stare. One rookie tripped over his own feet.

Meanwhile, Garp slid up beside you carelessly, he was never the type to care about what others thought. Infact, he prized and showed you off, very loudly so.

Grinning with that shameless pride in his eyes, he spoke. "Just wait till lunch.. I'm bringing donuts, and sitting right next to you. No excuses."

You were calmly at the coffee machine, grabbing yourself a cup and taking a slow sip as you glared at him through the edge of it, holding back a smile.

"You'd sit while they whisper about you in your face?"

Garp leaned against the counter beside you, arms crossed and grin unfazed by your remark.

"Let ´em talk, they'll run out of things to say eventually." He turned his head to you, eyes glinting with that reckless fire you loved.

"Besides.. If I sit with my girl during lunch, that's not gossip."

A pause. Then louder, on purpose.

"I'm just showing off what's mine, in my own way."

You only chuckled, clapping a hand at his shoulder.

"You're insufferable.." you sighed, happily.

"You love me."

"God help me, I do."

.

.

end ! ♡ i had lots of fun writing this, i hope you enjoyed.