cherryexplosives - Tumblr blog

cherryexplosives · 4 days ago

Note

This made me miss people who don't know me

Hey can I ask you, rufy x grumpy, badass reader? from the beginning she was against joining the crew but Luffy practically forced her and even when she could leave in the end she does not. during the journey many men court her, but in the end she never stays with any of them. Years later, when Luffy is forty, they travel together and she realizes that she has fallen in love with the only man she found childish and unsuitable for her, but when she and Luffy meet the crew again and are now in love, the crew is stunned at the turn of their relationship.

Reluctantly Yours

Monkey D. Luffy x (fem) Reader

⋆˚꩜｡ Words: 11,487

⋆˚꩜｡ Warnings: fem reader, alcohol use, emotional immaturity, idealization vs reality, slight angst, swearing.

You were a ghost, a legend whispered in the smoky taverns of the Grand Line. You didn't make grand entrances; you simply appeared. Ships were found sunk in still waters, their captains left dangling from their own masts like macabre decorations. No one ever saw you coming. You once stole a Warlord’s prized sword, not for riches, but just to see if it was worth the hype (it wasn't), then sold it back to him with a bored shrug. You never looked impressed, not even when the sky cracked open with lightning during a storm and you walked through it like a light drizzle. You were the type to eat a silent meal while chaos erupted around you, the world a blur you couldn't be bothered with.

So when you met him—that stupid Straw Hat boy with a mind as bright and empty as the sun, and a voice like a cannon blast—your first thought was a resounding, absolute no.

You didn't know how it happened. One moment you were in the middle of your own business, leaving your signature ghost mark on a corrupt Marine base after stealing a Log Pose. The next, that rubber moron was bouncing beside you, grinning like you'd just become best friends. You tried everything: ignored him, threatened him, even knocked him on his ass with a well-aimed elbow. But he just laughed and said, "You're strong. Wanna come with me?"

You said no. He didn't care.

You said hell no. He just beamed brighter.

You even tried phasing through a wall to escape, but when you reappeared in a different alley, there he was. Arms crossed, a strangely stubborn look on his face. You blinked, and suddenly there was a ship. A crew. A dinner plate with your name on it, as if they'd been expecting you all along. He dragged you onto the Sunny like you were a prize catch, blissfully unaware you were drowning in a quiet, murderous rage.

God, you hated him. You hated the way he never stopped talking, the way he'd call your name like it was a nickname he'd earned. You hated the way his laughter echoed across the deck at sunrise, a cursed sound you couldn't silence. You hated how he ate like every meal was a feast, how he fought like nothing could touch him, how he smiled even when he was bleeding. You hated the way he stood at the bow, as if the world owed him a path and the sea would just obey. You hated that he didn't treat you like a monster. That he never flinched. You hated that he looked at you like you were something more than your scars, your silence, your ghosts.

But most of all, you hated the quiet moments. The times he wasn't laughing, when he'd sit with his back to the mast, staring at the sky with a look that was strangely lost. You hated how you'd catch yourself watching.

"You'll like it here," he promised the day you "joined." You bit back a laugh. You? Like it here? You, the walking embodiment of rain clouds and ruin?

But here you were. Unwilling. Irritated. Inescapably tied to this idiot and his crew.

Every day, it got worse. Every day, it became harder to pretend the only thing you felt when he smiled at you was pure fury. The crew noticed, of course. How could they not? You didn't hide your scowl when he burst into the galley like a cannonball or when he dragged you into island trouble with a shout of, "C'mon, Y/N! It'll be fun!" You didn't soften your glare when he threw an arm around your shoulder or grinned like you shared a private joke. You'd peel him off like a leech, muttering curses that made Zoro snort and Nami shake her head. They saw how much you hated him.

And they saw how he looked at you like you were solid sunlight, some mysterious island he'd never seen before, one he wanted to camp on forever. His admiration wasn't quiet or gentle; it was loud, clumsy, and unapologetic. He followed you like a shadow at dawn, calling your name as if just the sound of it filled him with joy. You tried to act unaffected, to act like he was beneath you, like the whole crew was a minor irritation. But it never felt the same when Sanji served you food without asking, or when Robin handed you a book with your favorite type of story already bookmarked. You'd give an awkward nod, a grumbled half-thanks, and turn away before you could appreciate it.

The sharp edge of your resentment wasn't just for Luffy; sometimes, it licked toward them, too. You didn’t want to belong to this bright, stupid, hopeful world they carried on their ship like a floating dream.

Still, they were patient. Nami would give you space, offering a look that said she understood—a woman who chose this life, not one dragged into it. Zoro would spar with you in silence, letting you burn your fury out on steel. Even Usopp, scared senseless, learned to read your silences.

But Luffy never changed. He didn't give you space; he closed it.

One night, you sat on the edge of the ship, watching the sea as if it held the answers you needed. He joined you, dropping down beside you with his arms behind his head like you were old friends. You didn't even look at him.

"Why are you always here?" you muttered. "What do you want from me?"

He blinked up at the stars. "Nothin'. Just like being near you."

You stared at him. "You don't even know me."

He grinned, lazy and stupid and terrifyingly warm. "Not yet."

You hated how that made something twist in your chest. Something ugly, close to fear. Because the worst part was this: You didn't hate him as much as you said you did. And the crew? Yeah. They knew that, too.

It had been almost a year since the idiot captain dragged you onto his floating circus, and somehow, you hadn't snapped and left yet. You'd tried. Three times, actually. Each time with a bag of food, your weapon, and the full intent to vanish. Each time, he'd "coincidentally" bump into you at the last second, smile wide, and walk beside you like your disappearance wasn't even on the table.

Each time, you returned. Not because of him. Because of them.

Impossibly, the others had started to matter. You'd warmed up to Chopper first. He’d asked about your injuries one night after a brutal fight, all wide eyes and a shy voice. You’d told him to scram; he didn't. You woke up the next morning with neat bandages and a note in his crooked handwriting: "You heal slow. Stop being dumb." You didn't say thank you, but you left him an herb pouch the next day. A quiet truce.

Robin came next. It was slow, patient. She’d bring books you’d been looking for, sit with you during storms when you couldn’t sleep, and just listen. She never pressed. Never assumed. She just let you be. You hated how much that meant to you. Zoro earned your respect in sweat and bruised knuckles. Nami, loud and perceptive, became a quiet anchor in the chaos. Even Usopp, terrified in the beginning, managed to get a rare laugh out of you once. He told that story like it was his greatest accomplishment.

But Luffy? Never.

You made sure of it. You went out of your way to be rude to him. You pushed away the food he offered. You rolled your eyes at his praise. You snarled for him to shut up when he cheered for you in battle. The others noticed how you’d softened to them—how the harsh lines of your expression bent when Chopper was scared or Nami was tired. But with Luffy, it was barbed wire.

And yet, he didn't care.

He never stopped hovering in your orbit. Never stopped offering you meat, dragging you into games, or sitting beside you at meals, even if you didn’t speak. He never got angry. Never got tired. He just kept choosing you. He was kind. Infuriatingly kind. And protective in a way that made your skin crawl. You hated how he could be laughing one second and snapping the next the moment someone raised their voice at you.

Because every day, he made it harder to hate him. And every day, the silent, terrifying truth became a little clearer: You were beginning to feel at home.

But worst of all? He was possessive.

You remember the first time Sanji tried to flirt with you. He’d handed you a drink with that stupid smirk of his, complimented your hair, your eyes, your “mysterious beauty.” You didn’t even have time to roll your eyes before Luffy appeared out of nowhere and took the glass from your hand.

“She doesn’t like wine,” he said, simply, as if it were a universal law. As if it were a fact he was the sole keeper of.

Sanji blinked. “Huh? Since when—”

“Since always.” Luffy leaned against you, an arm lazily slung behind your back as if it belonged there. “Right, Y/N?”

You didn’t respond. But you also didn’t shove him off, and that made everything so much worse.

From that moment on, Sanji couldn't get near you without Luffy materializing between you two like an overprotective bodyguard. Once, Sanji made the mistake of offering you a second helping of dessert. Luffy snatched it mid-air and took a giant bite. "Mine," he’d said, crumbs falling from his mouth as he looked you dead in the eyes. You thought he meant the food. But later, lying in your bunk and staring at the ceiling, you weren’t so sure.

It wasn't just Sanji, which was fine—you understood. You were desirable. You had a presence that burned slow and hot, a quiet confidence and a sharp tongue, power behind your every step. You didn’t need to beg for attention; you just had to exist. Grumpy, intimidating, always armed—it only added to the mystique.

Every island the crew docked at brought the same parade of trouble. Men tried to charm you with flowers, flattery, promises of riches, and duels fought in your name. You never asked for it, and you never wanted it. But it happened again and again. It had become a running joke, or at least it was for the crew. Not for Luffy, though.

You’d just step off the Sunny and—

"Miss, I saw you from the port—I must know your name. Please, allow me to carry your bag—”

“You look like you could kill me with a look. Gods, I'm so into that.”

One time, a rival pirate captain got down on one knee in front of the whole damn market square, offered you a cursed blade, and said, “Be my queen of the seas.” You took the blade. You left the man. Luffy saw it all and never said a word.

Well—that’s a lie. He didn’t say much, but he acted.

He’d wedge himself into your conversations, laugh louder than necessary, and wrap his rubbery arm around your shoulder like you were already taken. He glaringly invited himself into every private moment. One guy tried to give you a necklace; Luffy snapped it in half “accidentally” and said, “She doesn’t like stuff around her neck. Right, Y/N?” Another tried to write you a song. Luffy sang over him with a terrible, off-key tune called “Y/N is really strong and also really cool and mine mine mine mine mine—” until the poor guy gave up.

It was pathetic. It was embarrassing. And the worst part? Sometimes—just sometimes—you flirted back. Not at Luffy, but at the others. Because why shouldn’t you? You were free. You weren’t his. Sometimes it was harmless, a smirk here, a comment there. One man at a tavern bought you three rounds of rum and asked for a dance. You said yes. Luffy knocked over three tables trying to cut in, said he wanted to learn how to dance, too. You didn’t speak to him for a week after that.

And yet—sometimes, he flirted back.

Not that he meant to. That was the worst part. He’d smile at you with that wide, stupid grin. Tease you in front of the crew. Challenge you in a fight with a cheeky, “Bet I can make you work for it this time.” He’d lean close without realizing it. He’d compliment you like he was just stating facts.

“You look scary today. That’s cool.”

“You were awesome in that fight. Like, woah.”

You hated how your stomach twisted every time. But he was unsuitable. He was childish. Naive. His head was full of meat and dreams and sun. And you—you were sharp, cynical, complicated. You didn’t trust easily. You didn’t believe in love stories. You weren’t looking for some fairy-tale romance with a boy who wore his heart on his sleeve and mistook obsession for affection. He wasn’t for you. He never would be.

But gods help you, he still watched you like you hung the moon.

Years passed. Years. And he never gave up. Not when you ignored him. Not when you snapped at him. Not even after battles that left the world trembling, after blood and scars and near-deaths. Not even after you told him—flat-out told him—you didn’t want to be here. That you didn’t belong.

Luffy, damn him, just kept smiling. Kept making space for you at dinner. Kept saving you the bigger piece of meat. Kept inviting you on errands you didn’t want to join, into card games you didn’t know how to play. Kept standing too close. Kept trusting you with his back.

Years blurred into battles, into adventures, into the kind of memories people would write songs about. And somehow, you stayed. Because by the time you realized you could leave—really leave—it was already too late.

You’d helped find All Blue with Sanji, and watched him cry over the boiling waters of that impossible ocean, a boy in love with food, finally fed. You’d been at Zoro’s side when he beat Mihawk—after a bloody, legendary duel that nearly killed him. He won. You held his blade as he collapsed. You were there when Nami mapped the last corner of the world. When Robin found her answers. When Franky built a ship that could outlast time, and Usopp told lies so grand they became real. You were there when Luffy stood at the summit of the Grand Line, battered and burned, his straw hat torn, his flag flying high above every empire. King of the Pirates. He’d done it. They all had.

And yet, no one left. Not at first. Even after their dreams were carved into the bones of the sea, the crew stayed together. Celebrated together. Laughed and drank and healed. Still a family, even with nothing left to chase.

And you? You stood in the middle of it all, unsure of who you were without the hate holding you together. You never joined them by choice. You were pulled in. Dragged like wreckage behind a golden ship, always watching, always distant. You weren’t chasing anything. No grand dream. No title. No revenge. You were just there. And now… you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

Everyone had changed. Stronger. Older. Smarter. But Luffy—he was still him. King of the Pirates, and yet still that same boy who burned like sunfire and followed you like gravity. Still smiling at you like you were his, like nothing had changed, like the whole world didn’t know his name now.

You stood beside him on the deck one evening, staring at a sunset too orange to be real. The others were below—drinking, laughing, alive.

“I didn’t want to stay,” you said, voice low, almost unsure why the words came out. “I didn’t want to be here. I never did.”

“I know,” he said, simply.

You glanced at him. He was watching the sun, not you. Wind tugged at his hat. The crown of kings, held by a string.

“So why didn’t you let me go?” you asked.

He turned to you then, his expression soft, uncomplicated, and devastating. “Because you were always supposed to be here.”

You hated how your throat tightened. You hated how you couldn’t deny it anymore. That after all this time, after all the battles and resistance and barbed words… you didn’t know how to be anywhere else but here.

The day the crew disbanded came without thunder. No storm. No final battle. No grand speech. Just a quiet sunrise, a shared breakfast, and the kind of stillness you could only recognize after years of chaos. They had all done what they set out to do. Every dream reached. Every mountain climbed. The sea had given everything—and taken just as much. So it only made sense.

It started with Nami. She was the first to say it out loud. “I want to go back to Cocoyasi,” she murmured over coffee, a map spread out beside her like an old friend. “Just for a little while. See the girls. Finish the world map… from home.”

Robin didn’t say anything, but you knew it the moment she nodded. She had places to return to. Lost ruins to uncover. Libraries that needed her hands. She had a new history to write.

Sanji kissed everyone on the cheek, cried like a faucet, and boarded a supply ship bound for the All Blue. He’d built a floating restaurant—Baratie II, because of course—and said the second time would be perfect. He offered you a job in the kitchen. You scoffed. He laughed. Luffy glared.

Usopp returned to his village, taller than when he left, his stories truer than ever. You didn’t say goodbye properly—just handed him a bag of shiny pebbles he once said looked like “treasure” and punched him on the arm. He cried harder than Sanji.

Chopper went to work in a massive research hospital somewhere near Drum, teaching and healing and experimenting. He wrote letters. Long ones. With doodles in the margins.

Franky built a floating shipyard with Iceburg. Brook went on one last tour. Zoro left without a word, his sword hung low on his hip, heading wherever the wind was stupid enough to take him. You were the one who noticed the note he left behind, stuck under an empty bottle of sake: “Tell Y/N not to slack off. She still owes me a rematch.”

And then… it was just you and Luffy.

You stood on the deck of the Sunny, alone for the first time in a decade. He looked out at the sea, the same stupid grin, but softer now. Worn-in. He was older. Wiser, in his own ridiculous way.

“I’m not gonna stop sailing,” he said, casually. “I just wanna go wherever. Y’know. No goal. Just… sail.”

You didn’t answer. You’d expected to feel free. But you felt something else. Empty.

“What about you?” he asked, finally. “What’re you gonna do, Y/N?”

You didn’t have an answer. Not then.

You traveled alone for a while. Took small jobs. Fought when needed. You spent a few months with Robin once, helping her excavate a sunken ruin. You ate lunch with Zoro in a mountain dojo. You traded letters with Nami—who knew that woman would get sentimental? But it wasn’t until you stopped at a tiny island, unknown and half-forgotten, that something shifted.

There was a village. Tired. Poor. But it had children who ran barefoot and old men who played cards in the street. You didn’t plan to stay. But when the village asked for help building defenses—pirates had been raiding—you stepped up. You trained them. Fought beside them. Protected them. And then you stayed.

You didn’t become famous. You didn’t carve a name into history. You just became known. A protector. A myth. A grumpy, scarred woman who showed up at the right moment and never left. You weren’t chasing anything. You weren’t running anymore, either. You were just… living.

And sometimes, when you walked by the sea, you still looked over your shoulder, half-expecting to see that straw hat bobbing through the crowd. Because even after everything—after the crew, the laughter, the wars and the love you never let yourself feel—he never really left you.

And maybe, somewhere out there on that endless blue, he was still watching the sky, waiting for you to catch up.

He was forty when you saw him again. The years had been good to him—sun-kissed and scarred, still lean but thicker with muscle. The straw hat was still there, worn and weathered, hanging on his back like a second spine. He’d grown into his title, and into himself. King of the Pirates or not, he was still Luffy.

You hadn’t changed as much. At least, not where it counted. Sure, there were more lines on your face. Fewer fires in your fists. The island had softened your edges, maybe. Or dulled them. But inside? Inside, something had always felt… off.

You’d thought maybe that life—helping, protecting, fixing fences and scaring off thieves—was the peace you’d never had. And it was, in a way. The people here adored you. They feared you. They brought you food and called you Captain Y/N even though you never asked for it. You had a bed. A role. A quiet purpose.

But sometimes you’d walk to the coast alone, feel the breeze and the pull and that low ache behind your ribs. The sea always whispered like it missed you.

So when you saw him—really saw him again, standing at the edge of the village like a ghost from a better nightmare—your heart kicked hard. He hadn’t sent word. Of course he hadn’t. He never did anything that way. He just showed up. Like he always had.

“Yo,” he called, his voice lazy, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “You look older.”

You snorted. “And you look like shit.”

His grin split wide. “Missed you too.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, waiting for something—judgment, awkwardness, a speech. But he didn’t offer any of that. He just walked up the hill with you, side by side, like no time had passed at all. Like the two of you had just stepped off the Sunny yesterday. The conversation was easy. Too easy.

You didn’t tell him you’d thought about him more than you wanted to admit. You didn’t mention the sea chart Nami gave you, still tucked away in your drawer. You didn’t confess that on stormy nights, you still woke up expecting to feel the thrum of the Sunny’s hull beneath you, not the goddamn creaky wood of this inland home.

Instead, he said, “I’ve been traveling. No destination. Just going.”

You nodded. “Alone?”

“Sometimes,” he said. “Sometimes with friends. Met a few old faces. Fought a sea king that looked like Zoro. Think it was his spirit animal or something.”

You smiled, barely. He noticed.

It wasn’t until sunset that he said it. “I’ve got an extra room. On the ship.”

You didn’t answer right away. He looked at you, serious now, and something about it dug under your skin.

“No battles to fight,” he said. “No war. No end-of-the-world stuff. Just… the sea. And me. And wherever we go next.”

You opened your mouth to argue. To tell him you had responsibilities here, that your place was with the people who needed you. That you had a life now, that this wasn’t some fantasy anymore. But the truth was, you were insane for even thinking it—this life, bound to this island? It wasn’t yours.

Yours was full of shouting and storms. Of yelling at idiots and protecting them anyway. Of sleepless nights and laughter around the fire. Of sunburns and ship decks and always, always the sea. You were meant to be grumpy. To hate people. To yell at the ones you cared about and patch them up anyway. You were meant to be free and furious and fierce and loved, even if you never said the word out loud. You were meant to go.

So you said it. Not with bitterness. Not with resentment. Not with reluctance. You looked him in the eyes and said, “Yeah. Okay.” And this time, you weren’t forced. You chose him.

The first week back with Luffy was… unsettling. You’d expected a few things: that maybe time had matured him, or that the sea had finally knocked some sense into his sun-baked skull. Or, the worse possibility—that he had actually stayed the same, that the years hadn’t touched him at all. Neither was true.

He was the same. He still slept like a rock, still woke up like he’d been launched from a cannon. He still ran everywhere for no reason, still laughed at his own jokes, and yours too, even when they weren’t jokes. He still ate like the food might disappear if he didn’t inhale it, and still managed to make every problem seem like a passing breeze.

But there was something else now. A quietness under the noise. A calm in his chaos. A kind of awareness you’d never seen before. He wasn’t clueless anymore.

He still didn’t ask for permission, of course. The first morning, you woke up to him banging on your door with a, “Get up, Y/N! I caught a giant fish! It might be cursed! Wanna cook it together?” You groaned. “Do you ever let anyone sleep?!” He just laughed. “Not when I’m excited!” You dragged yourself out anyway, half-hoping the fish was cursed.

By the second day, you tried to find a quiet corner on deck to watch the sunset. Two minutes later, he was beside you. Didn’t say anything. Just sat cross-legged and ate fruit straight out of the rind. You glared at him. “Do you always have to sit next to me?” He chewed. “You always sit next to me.” You stared. “I was here first.” He shrugged. “Same difference.”

By the third day, you started testing him. Little things. You barked at him when he left the galley door open. You mocked him for forgetting where he’d tied the anchor. You called him names—Rubber-brain, Dumbass Emperor, Meathead King—waiting for the usual blank stare. But instead, he’d grin. Sometimes even wink. As if he understood exactly what you were doing—and liked it.

He caught on to your moods fast. Knew when to leave you alone, when to talk, when to tease, and when to back off. You hated how good he’d gotten at reading you. Hated that you’d catch yourself looking for him when he wasn’t in sight.

He still pissed you off constantly. He still burst into your room uninvited. Still pouted when you said no to his wild ideas—like spearfishing off a Sea King or trying to sail into a live whirlpool just to “see what happens.” But now, when you snapped at him, he didn’t flinch. He just stood there with that same lazy grin, watching you like he was trying to memorize the lines in your scowl.

And you realized something else, around the fourth night. You were still angry. Still short-tempered and bristling and sharp. But not because you hated this. Not because you didn’t want to be here. You were just alive again.

By the fifth day, you found yourself helping him with the sail. Not because he asked. Just because it needed doing. He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t need to.

That night, you sat on the deck after dinner, feet up on the rail, sipping tea he’d definitely ruined by dumping orange slices in it “for fun.” He sprawled beside you, arms behind his head, staring up at the stars.

“I missed this,” he said simply.

You didn’t answer. Just took another sip.

He rolled his head to look at you. “You’re not gonna leave again, right?”

You looked back at him. And despite everything—the years, the fights, the silence, the distance—you didn’t have to think about it.

“No,” you said. “I’m not.”

He smiled like he already knew. Like he’d known since the day he saw you on that island, standing in the doorway like a ghost out of time. Luffy hadn’t changed. And yet, somehow… he had. And maybe you had too.

The days blurred into nights, and the nights into soft, drifting moments on the open sea. You didn’t mean to fall in love. In fact, you were sure you never would. Not with him—the rubber idiot, the sea-obsessed manchild with a bottomless stomach and a brain made of wind. He had always been the one person on the ship who grated under your skin more than salt and sun. He was too loud. Too free. Too everything.

But freedom had a way of getting under your skin. And Luffy… he always did feel like freedom.

You started to notice it during the little things. The way he always saved the last bite of meat for you now—not because he remembered, but because it felt like a habit he couldn’t unlearn. The way he’d listen when you talked, really listen, even if you were just ranting about the way the waves made the ship tilt in the mornings. The way he looked at you—gods, how had you never noticed it before? It wasn’t infatuation. It wasn’t a puppy-eyed stare. It was just… simple. Present. Like he’d been watching you for years and didn’t need to understand everything you were—he just wanted to be there to see it.

He still pissed you off. He still poked you when you were trying to nap. Still used your leg as an armrest. Still said the dumbest things at the most inconvenient moments. But now? You’d find yourself biting back a smile. You’d find yourself letting him stay.

One night, you docked on a small island—no town, no taverns, just cliffs and stars and sea foam. You made camp near a fire and sat shoulder to shoulder, watching the flames flicker. He handed you a skewer of grilled fish. You didn’t ask for it.

“Why do you always feed me?” you muttered.

“You forget to eat when you’re thinking too hard,” he said without looking at you.

You blinked. “I do not.”

He grinned. “You do.”

He said it like he’d been counting the seconds. Like he noticed every part of you, without ever making a big deal about it. And that’s when it hit you. Slowly. Like a tide rising against the shore. It wasn’t one moment. It wasn’t sudden or dramatic. It was all the little things he did that made your chest hurt in that stupid, unbearable, gentle way.

You’d fallen in love with him. Not because he changed. Not because he suddenly became suitable, or elegant, or deep. But because he didn’t need to. He was the same barefoot, sunburned, ridiculous boy you’d fought against every day on the Sunny. Still carefree, still good in that rare, untouched way that nothing could stain.

You’d fallen in love with the only man you’d once sworn off completely. The one who laughed like a child. The one who never forced you to stay—but who always gave you a reason to. And when you looked at him beside you, firelight dancing across the soft lines of his older face, his smile lazy and sure—you realized the part of you that had always hated him wasn’t hate at all. It was fear. Fear of loving something so pure it might break you.

You didn’t say it that night. You didn’t need to. You just leaned your head on his shoulder. And for once, he didn’t say a word.

Luffy was used to being blown off. That was just how it had always been with you. He never took it personally. Well—maybe he did, a little. But not in a way that made him stop. That wasn’t how he worked. He didn’t give up on people he cared about. And he’d always cared about you, even back when you’d scowled at him like he was gum stuck to your boot and told him to get lost for the fifth time in one day.

He was used to your sharpness. Your insults. The cold shoulder. The sighs and eye rolls and muttered “you’re such an idiot.” He remembered all of it. Like the time you elbowed him in the ribs just for sitting too close. Or when you chucked a whole bowl of soup at his head after he called you “grumpy, but kinda cool.” Or when he made the mistake of comparing your bounty to Zoro’s—“Not bad for someone who never smiles!”—and you kicked him so hard he bounced off the mast and into the sea. He remembered the time he tried to hug you after a close fight and you said, flatly, “Touch me and I’ll gut you.” He’d always brushed it off. That was just Y/N. That was how you were. You didn’t say no—you just shoved. Loudly. Violently. Consistently.

He never expected much else. So when you flirted back… it wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t planned.

It was day seven back at sea, quiet and breezy, and Luffy had just finished bragging about his latest catch. Some massive, ugly sea beast with teeth the size of your leg.

“I wrestled it with one arm,” he said proudly, his arms stretched behind his head, hat tipped back.

You looked over at him lazily from where you sat, book forgotten on your lap. “One arm, huh?”

“Yup!” he beamed. “Used my teeth too!”

You snorted. “Wow,” you drawled. “You’re so strong and manly. I’m getting hot just listening to you.”

He blinked. His eyes went wide. His head slowly tilted sideways like you’d just spoken an ancient, cursed language. “…Huh?”

You didn’t repeat it. You just raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth, and went back to your book like nothing had happened. He stared at you for so long he forgot to chew the jerky in his mouth. You waited for him to say something—anything. Instead, Luffy stood up so suddenly he nearly tripped over himself.

“I—I’m gonna check the sails!”

“The sails are fine,” you said, barely glancing up.

“I’m gonna check them again!”

And then he ran. Like actually ran—straight to the mast and up the rigging like he was on fire. You heard him shouting things to himself up there. Something about “What does that even mean? Hot? Is she hot? Is she hot?” followed by him nearly falling out of the crow’s nest. You sat there, hiding your smile behind the pages. It was the first time you’d ever watched him scramble. And gods, it felt so good.

That night, he barely made eye contact. Barely sat still. Fumbled his chopsticks. Choked on his drink when you reached across him for salt. At one point, you brushed his arm casually—and he short-circuited so hard he accidentally stretched a hand across the table and slapped himself in the face.

You didn’t push. You didn’t tease. You just… let it sit. Let him stew in the realization. You’d flirted with him. You—you, who once nearly stabbed him for stealing your pillow—you had actually flirted with Monkey D. Luffy. And for once, he had no comeback. He wasn’t used to you leaning in. He wasn’t ready. But goddamn, he liked it.

It was the small things that changed first. The accidental grazes you didn’t shake off. The way your body no longer tensed when his shoulder bumped yours, or when his hand—calloused, warm—briefly touched your lower back to guide you across a narrow dock. It wasn’t that you’d suddenly become soft. No, gods no. You were still grumpy. Still snappy in the mornings. Still had the expression of someone who hated joy until you got your coffee. Still cursed the tide when it wasn’t in your favor. But Luffy… he didn’t seem to mind. And for the first time, neither did you.

You caught yourself doing it once—leaning into him. It was on a cold night. Fog rolling in over the sea, damp and bitter, no island in sight. You were shivering on the deck, arms crossed, staring out at nothing like it had wronged you. He appeared beside you without a word, sitting cross-legged on the wood.

“Cold?” he asked.

You gave a gruff little grunt. “Obviously.”

He opened his arms wordlessly. You blinked at him like he was insane. “…What are you doing.”

“Huggin’,” he said, casual as anything. “You want one?”

You stared at him. And then, with a dramatic sigh, you turned and dropped down beside him. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t look at him. You just leaned in. His arm slid behind you carefully, slowly, like he didn’t want to scare off a wild animal. You let your weight rest against his side, chin tucked toward your chest. It was warm. And quiet. And for once, your mind wasn’t filled with screaming static. You thought, goddammit, maybe this was nice.

The real shock, though, came later. Days later.

You’d been tossing in your bed for over an hour. Restless. Irritated. The sheets felt too cold. The ship creaked too loud. You hated the way the sea rocked tonight, like it knew you were trying to sleep. You slipped out of your room barefoot. Quiet. Not bothering with a robe or any of the reasons you could’ve told yourself to not do what you were about to do.

His door creaked when you opened it. He was already awake, hat tipped over his face, arms crossed behind his head. He didn’t sit up, just cracked one eye open.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked.

You didn’t answer. You just walked over. Laid down. Right there beside him.

He froze for a second. Then blinked. Then blinked again. “…Y/N?”

Still no answer. You just shifted until your head found the crook of his shoulder and chest. Your arm lazily slung across his middle.

“Don’t make it weird,” you muttered, your voice muffled in his shirt.

“I’m not,” he whispered, but you could feel the grin tugging at his lips.

You didn’t care. You were warm. The sea felt further away. And for the first time in a long time, your heart didn’t ache like something was missing.

You stayed there all night. And in the morning? You didn’t apologize. You didn’t explain. You just bumped his leg with yours at breakfast and grumbled, “You drool in your sleep.”

He beamed at you. “Only when I have good dreams.”

It didn’t happen suddenly. It happened in the quiet spaces between normal days. It was in the in-between moments, like when he handed you a slice of mango without asking because he knew it was your favorite. Or when you tied his hat down for him before a windy port, grumbling, “If you lose it again, I’m not diving in after it.” He would just grin and say, “I know,” as if it were the best threat in the world.

He flirted without trying, in ways that weren't words. He'd sit too close, practically draped across your side while pretending to watch the clouds. Or he'd keep coming into the kitchen to “check” on you while you were cooking, even though he wasn't allowed to touch a damn thing.

“Don’t burn it,” he’d say with that stupid grin.

“Don’t breathe on it,” you'd snap.

But you never told him to leave.

You flirted back in your own way, too—not with softness, but with jabs that carried a different weight than before. Once, he asked, with that infuriating, wide-eyed curiosity of his, “Do you think I’m handsome?”

You scoffed. “Handsome? You look like you crawled out of a tree and haven’t washed since.”

He paused, considered it. “…That’s not a no.”

You threw a spoon at him. He ducked, laughing, and you rolled your eyes, but you were smiling, and you didn’t even realize it.

Another time, after a long day, you sat beside him on the deck, your legs stretched out. The stars were thick above the ship, and his hand brushed yours. You didn’t pull away.

“Do you miss them?” he asked softly.

“The crew?”

“Yeah.”

“…Every day.”

He was quiet for a long time. Then he said, “I’m glad you stayed with me anyway.” You didn’t answer, but your fingers curled around his, just once.

Then there were moments that weren't so gentle. Like when another pirate captain tried to proposition you in the middle of a port, loud and smug, offering you a position on his crew “more fitting for a woman of your talents.” Luffy was there before you could even respond.

“No.” Just that. One word. No smile.

You blinked. “You don’t speak for me.”

“I know,” he said. “But he doesn’t get to either.”

You didn’t say anything after that. You just walked away with him in silence. You never looked back at the pirate, and your hand brushed Luffy’s as you passed through the crowd.

Another night, you made dinner, grumbling and complaining the whole time. “This is why I hate people. They eat too much. And they’re loud. And they get all emotional when you feed them.”

He leaned against the wall, watching you stir. “Yeah, but you still made me the spicy rice thing I like.”

“Shut up.”

“You care about me.”

“I will stab you with this spoon.”

“You love me.”

You turned, spoon raised, and he dodged it with a laugh, catching your wrist and pulling you forward. His grin faltered when your face was inches from his. He looked at your lips. You didn’t move. And then he whispered, like a secret, “You really love me.”

You hated how warm your face got. You hated even more how right he sounded. You froze, the spoon still hovering mid-air, caught between the urge to shove it into his chest and the sudden rush of something you hadn't expected—warmth, vulnerability, a crack in your own armor. Luffy’s grin softened into something quieter, something that felt like hope wrapped in sunlight. His eyes searched yours, unblinking, unafraid.

“You don’t have to say it back,” he whispered, his voice gentle but steady. “I just… I want you to know. I’ve felt this for a long time. Even when you yelled at me, even when you pushed me away.”

Your breath hitched, the words settling over you like the calm after a storm. It wasn’t a fairy tale confession—no fireworks or dramatic pauses—just two people, standing close in the flickering kitchen light, raw and real.

You dropped the spoon, letting it clatter against the floor. For a long moment, you didn’t speak. Then, quietly, you said, “I’m… not good at this.” Your voice was rough, gruff, but sincere. “I didn’t want to like you. Thought you were too childish, too… everything.”

He laughed softly, a sound full of relief. “I’m still childish.”

You snorted, shaking your head despite the way your heart fluttered. “But maybe,” you said, stepping closer, “I’m tired of pretending I don’t care.”

His hand found yours again, fingers lacing together with ease, like they’d always belonged. “Then we’re both idiots,” he said, his eyes shining.

And in that quiet kitchen, with the sea humming just beyond the walls, you let yourself believe in something new—something fierce and wild and utterly yours. You let yourself fall.

Somehow, being with him didn’t feel like a shift. It felt like you’d finally stopped fighting something inevitable. Like you’d been gripping the edge of a cliff for years and finally let go—only to realize there was solid ground beneath you the whole time.

Luffy didn’t change. Not really. He still laughed too loud and talked with his mouth full. Still left his laundry everywhere and didn’t understand personal space. But now, when he did those things, he looked at you like he expected you to be there, like you belonged beside him. You didn’t say “I love you” often. You weren’t that kind of person. But you showed it. When you patched him up after battles, swatting at his hands every time he tried to help. When you cooked his favorite meals without being asked—grumbling the whole time. When you waited up at night, even if he was hours late getting back to the Sunny, just to see him come through the door.

He showed it too, in quieter ways than you’d expected. He’d rest his head on your lap when he was tired, his arms loose around your waist. Sometimes he’d tug you into bed at night—not for anything lewd, just because, in his words, “I sleep better when you’re here.”

Sometimes, it was more than that. He kissed you like you were the only thing that had ever made him hesitate. Like he didn’t quite understand what he was doing, but he meant every second of it. It started awkwardly, sure—a clumsy crash of teeth, a laugh against your mouth—but then he’d pause, look at you, and kiss you again, slower, like he was learning. You let him.

Once, during a quiet night docked at a moonlit island, you were half-asleep when he leaned over and murmured, “Can I kiss you again?”

You pulled him down by the collar. “I’d kill you if you didn’t.”

You’d end up on top of him sometimes, tangled up on the bed, the tension hot and teasing—lips brushing over skin, hips shifting slightly. Nothing more. Nothing rushed. Just slow-burning desire in the safety of warmth and trust. You’d press kisses to his neck, and he’d shiver, his hands tight on your waist, eyes dark with something new.

But not everything was soft. You still fought.

“Why the hell would you throw yourself into the middle of that fight alone?” you barked one day, slamming your hands on the table.

Luffy blinked at you, confused but not defensive. “Because I knew I could win.”

“You’re not invincible, dumbass. You could’ve died.”

His jaw tightened. “I didn’t.”

You glared at each other for a long moment. Then, quietly: “I would’ve been pissed if you did.”

His face softened, the fight dissolving like steam. “I know,” he said. And then: “Sorry.”

You kissed him hard that night, shoving him against the wall and tugging at his shirt with frustration and need. He didn’t complain.

There were good days. Lazy days. Days you spent with your legs over his lap, a book in hand while he napped against your shoulder. Days where you walked through markets, fingers brushing, him pointing at sweets like an overgrown child, you pretending you weren’t smiling. And there were days where you didn’t get along. Where you were irritable, moody, silent. He gave you space. You always came back.

You didn’t need fireworks or perfection. You had something better. You had each other.

It started with a laugh. One of Luffy’s—sharp and bright and echoing through the room like a clumsy firework.

You barely glanced up at first, lounging on the edge of the hammock, chewing lazily on a piece of dried mango while he hunched over the transponder snail—or whatever stupid nickname he’d been calling it lately.

“Reunion!” he whooped. “Everyone’s in!”

You froze. “Reunion,” you repeated flatly. “When?”

“Next week!” he beamed, still crouched beside the snail like a child on his birthday. “Everyone’s been missin’ each other. Been years! And they all wanna meet you again!”

You blinked. Once. Twice. You stood without a word, walking toward the window like you were just admiring the sea. But inside, you were panicking. Your fingers gripped the frame hard enough to turn your knuckles white. The wind brushed your face, but you couldn’t breathe right. What would they say? What would they think? You were ruthless to them, not just distant. Cold. You barely talked to Chopper. You picked fights with Zoro for no reason. You made Sanji cry—twice. And Nami? Nami had the sharpest eyes of all. She always knew how you looked at Luffy. She knew it wasn’t fondness. You hated him, and you made sure they all knew it.

And now? You were sleeping in his bed. Wearing his shirts. Letting him carry your bags at dock markets like some domestic couple. Letting him kiss your forehead when you were tired, letting him hold you when the world was too loud. What the hell were they going to say?

You turned slowly to look at him. Luffy was still rambling, starry-eyed, probably dreaming about meat platters and tall stories.

“You told them?” you asked.

He blinked up at you, confused. “Told them what?”

“That I’m with you.”

“Oh. No,” he shrugged, like it didn’t matter. “I figured we’d just tell ‘em when we see ‘em.”

You stared. “No.” The word came out harsher than intended.

He tilted his head. “Why not?”

You didn’t answer right away. You sat down on the edge of the bed and let your hair fall into your face. You hated how stupid it sounded, how vulnerable it felt. “I don’t want them to know,” you said finally. Quietly. “Not yet.”

Luffy was silent for a moment. Then: “You ashamed of me?”

Your head shot up, eyes narrowing. “No.”

His expression didn’t change. Not angry. Not hurt. Just… curious. Patient. “Then what’s wrong?”

You rubbed your eyes. “I just… I spent years acting like I couldn’t stand you. Like I didn’t care about any of them, either. What if they think it’s fake? Or a joke? Or worse—what if they think you’ve changed me? I don’t want to be seen like I lost something.”

“You didn’t lose anything,” Luffy said softly. “You found something.”

You looked away, jaw tense. He sat beside you, his fingers brushing over your thigh, warm and grounding.

“I won’t tell them,” he said after a moment. “Not unless you want me to.”

That startled you. “You won’t?”

He shook his head. “I’m not in a rush. I’ve waited this long for you. I can wait longer if you need me to.”

You stared at him. That stupid smile. That warm, unshakable certainty. You reached out slowly, your fingers slipping into his, and mumbled, “A week, huh?”

He grinned. “Yeah.”

You exhaled and leaned your head on his shoulder. “Guess I’ve got a week to act like I don’t love you again.”

He laughed. “You were really good at that.”

“Shut up,” you grumbled. And for now, he did.

The decision was unanimous—of course it was. “Let’s meet on the Sunny!” Usopp had cheered through the Den Den Mushi.

You wanted to scream. You only had a few hours. And in that short window, you scrubbed the entire damn ship like your dignity depended on it. You tucked away the little mug that said “GRUMPY’S TEA—touch it and die,” shoved your sketchbooks under the bed, dumped all your clothes into a barrel and locked it, and wiped the smudged lipstick off the bathroom mirror that had his name written in the fog from last week.

By the time you heard the thunk of ships docking and the stampede of footsteps, you were standing at the bow with your arms crossed, like you’d been there the whole time.

“Y/N?” Nami blinked up at you. “Wait—you’re already here?”

“Duh,” you said, voice flat. “Luffy dragged me again.” You walked past them, sharp as ever, straight into the galley, pretending not to hear Luffy’s dumb mouth already ruining everything.

“She lives here,” he chirped from the deck behind you, grinning like a kid spilling a secret. “Has for a while!”

You stopped walking. Sanji immediately followed with a whistle. “Lives here, huh? That explains the shampoo. And the—wait, was that lingerie in the laundry—?”

“WE ARE NOT TOGETHER,” you barked from the kitchen doorway, not even turning around.

Silence. Then: “…Never said you were,” Usopp muttered suspiciously.

You turned slowly, your arms crossed, and glared at them all with the same fury you had the day you were forced onto this ship. “Luffy drags me around. He always has. I just stayed on the Sunny because it’s easier than listening to him whine. We’re not friends. Not really. Just—unfortunate traveling companions. Like always.”

There was a long pause.

“Uh-huh,” Nami said, arms crossed.

“You sleep in his bed,” Usopp said bluntly.

“NO I DON’T.”

“There were two mugs on the table this morning.”

“I like coffee now, is that a crime?!”

“There’s literally a coat with your name stitched in it hanging next to his.”

“It was cold!”

There was a beat.

“Right,” Nami said again, voice wry. “Not together.”

You scoffed, rolled your eyes, and turned back into the kitchen. “Anyway,” you called over your shoulder, “I made food. You can eat or starve. I don’t care.” They followed after you slowly, some smirking, others suspicious. But thankfully, no one pressed it further. You got out of it. Barely.

But you could already feel it—the shift. The stares. The way Nami’s eyes flicked between you and Luffy. The way Robin chuckled when you passed him a plate, and your hand lingered too long on his wrist. You didn’t say anything. You just shoved more rice in your mouth and acted like you didn’t notice. Like you always did.

It was mostly jokes. Teasing. Half-hearted jabs between mouthfuls of food and warm sake under the stars.

“Can’t believe you live with Luffy,” Usopp snickered. “You probably wake up every morning wondering why you didn’t smother him in his sleep.”

“Still can,” you deadpanned.

Nami cackled. “No way. I bet you like it. Bet you two cuddle.”

You nearly choked. “Cuddle? With him? No. Absolutely not. He starfishes in his sleep and smells like sea salt and raw freedom.”

“That’s a scent now?” Robin mused, raising a brow.

Sanji, wine glass in hand, added, “He’s not wrong. That idiot’s somehow got a smell. It’s like… adventure. And poor hygiene.”

Luffy just laughed through it all, sitting beside you like it didn’t matter. Like your thigh wasn’t brushing his. Like you hadn’t just kicked his foot under the table when his hand had started drifting too close to your knee. You were good at this. Deflection. Dry sarcasm. Grunts and shrugs and long glares that said I don’t care, even when your heart stammered like a traitor in your chest. They didn’t know.

But then it happened. It was stupid, honestly. No big revelation. No dramatic kiss under the stars. It was a scrape. A little cut on Luffy’s palm. He was trying to slice open a mango with a spoon, because of course he was, and managed to somehow slice right into his hand. It wasn’t deep, but it bled more than it should’ve. He hissed, clumsy fingers smearing juice and blood down his wrist. Everyone groaned or laughed, because Luffy, but you didn’t.

You snatched his hand without a word. And suddenly, the table went quiet. You weren’t looking at anyone—just him. Your brows were furrowed, your mouth set in that familiar grumpy pout, but you were wiping his blood away with your sleeve, inspecting the cut with your fingers, muttering under your breath.

“Idiot. Why would you even do that. Use a knife like a normal person. Spoon doesn’t even make sense—”

“I just wanted the mango—”

“You want a hole in your hand next?”

He grinned at you, soft and dumb. “You’re worried.”

You froze, your hand still wrapped around his wrist. And then it happened. You leaned down—maybe too fast, maybe without thinking—and kissed the scrape. Just a soft press of lips, like it would seal it closed. Nothing big. Nothing romantic. Except everything about it was.

You didn’t realize it until you lifted your eyes. Until you saw the entire crew staring. Mouths hanging open. Nami’s eyes wide. Usopp’s jaw halfway to the floor. Zoro blinking in slow disbelief like he needed a reboot.

Chopper whispered, “She just—she just—kissed him.”

“Ohhhhhh shit,” Sanji breathed.

You stared back, heartbeat crawling into your throat. “I—” you started, then shut your mouth. “It wasn’t—”

Robin was smiling. Way too knowingly.

Luffy, of course, just beamed like it was nothing. “She does that sometimes.”

“She WHAT?” Nami practically screeched.

You stood up so fast your chair scraped. “I’m going to bed,” you said stiffly, already walking off. “I’m done. I’m done with this. Enjoy your stupid mango.”

“You love me,” Luffy called after you.

“Do not start with me right now, Monkey D. Luffy!”

But the damage was done. You’d kissed him. In front of everyone. And even you couldn’t lie your way out of that one.

The moment you stormed off, a cold wind swept over the Sunny—or at least that’s how it felt. The deck, once bubbling with laughter, fell into stunned silence. They stared at the empty space where you’d disappeared. Then, slowly, every wide, shocked gaze shifted to Luffy. He sat exactly where he was, legs crossed, his fingers now loosely bandaged thanks to you. There was a smear of mango juice still drying on his chin, and a completely oblivious smile tugged at his lips.

Zoro was the first to speak. “…I’m sorry. What the hell was that?”

Nami snapped to attention. “No, seriously, what was that? She kissed your hand.”

“She took care of you,” Robin added, thoughtful. “With actual… intention.”

Usopp nearly fell over the railing. “You—her—you kissed her?? No, wait—she kissed YOU! That’s even worse! Better! Worse!”

“She touched him like she liked him,” Chopper said, horrified.

“She didn’t punch him after,” Brook added gravely. “That alone speaks volumes.”

Sanji was just slumped over, looking into the depths of his untouched wine. “I’ve lost everything.”

Luffy tilted his head, his grin unwavering. “Yeah, she does that now.”

“‘Now?!’” they all chorused.

Zoro leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “I remember when she used to flinch if you so much as looked her way.”

“Or when she nearly bit your head off 'cause you shared food with her,” Nami added.

“She stabbed your hat once,” Usopp offered. “Said she was aiming for your face.”

Chopper shuddered. “And she hated your laugh! Said it sounded like ‘a dying donkey being strangled by sunshine.’ I remember that exact quote.”

“She said his smile was violent,” Robin recalled.

“And now she’s… what? Playing nursemaid?!” Sanji exploded. “What’s next? Giggling at his jokes?!”

“Sometimes she does that too,” Luffy said casually, still lounging. “Like, not real laughing. But that little huff she does. It counts.”

“LUFFY.”

“What?”

Nami clapped her hands together once, hard. “Spill. Everything. Right now. We’ve been gone for years, and last we saw, she was still threatening to ‘accidentally’ feed you to sea kings in your sleep.”

“She meant that,” Usopp added, pointing.

Luffy looked around at all of them, a bit confused at the intensity of their disbelief. “She didn’t always like me,” he admitted with a shrug. “But I always liked her.”

“She hated you.”

“Yeah.” He laughed. “That’s true.”

Sanji blinked. “Why are you smiling?”

“Because now she doesn’t.”

They all stared. Robin gave a soft, amused hum, like she’d expected nothing less.

“Seriously, though,” Zoro asked, voice lower, “how the hell did this happen?”

Luffy tilted his head back to the stars like he was trying to find the answer there. “I dunno. I guess… she just stayed. For a long time. And I stayed too. She hit me a lot. And called me names. But I never wanted her to leave.”

Chopper blinked up at him. “So… you just waited for her to like you?”

“I never asked her to,” Luffy said with a shrug. “But I didn’t stop her.”

Usopp looked like he was having a personal breakdown. “You weaponized patience.”

“She used to say I was too loud,” Luffy continued, laughing. “And too happy. And too stupid. But I saw her smile once when she thought I wasn’t looking. That was a long time ago. I remembered it.” He looked down at his bandaged hand and touched it gently. “She pretends she doesn’t like me still sometimes. But she always sits next to me.”

They all stared at him. Silent. Until Brook finally spoke, tapping his chin. “You know what this means?”

Everyone looked at him.

“We were wrong. All of us.”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Sanji muttered.

“I mean… maybe she didn’t actually hate him.”

“She did,” Nami and Usopp said in unison.

Brook nodded solemnly. “Yes, but maybe she hated him like someone hates the sun. Loud. Unbearable. But the only thing keeping them warm.”

Nami turned toward the hallway where you had vanished.

And—you. You were pacing. Back and forth inside Luffy’s room. You were mortified. Because you slipped. You kissed him. In front of them. You didn’t even think. You never didn’t think. They were going to laugh. Or worse—they’d pity him. Or assume you were just being soft. They didn’t understand that this was… this was different now. It didn’t feel like weakness anymore, letting him in. You looked at the doorway, hearing his laughter echo from the deck. And you whispered to yourself, like a confession: “…shit.”

You stepped back onto the deck with your arms crossed and your glare sharp enough to slice through steel. They all turned like they’d been caught talking about the teacher behind her back.

You didn’t even stop walking. You just passed through the middle of the crew and said, cold as salt-soaked steel: “Say one word about it, and I’ll throw every single one of you off this ship. One by one. I don’t care how far we are from land.”

A beat of stunned silence.

Then you paused at the edge of the stairs, turned, and added—eyes blazing, voice like flint: “And yes. We’re together. Now you know. Happy?”

And with that, you walked off toward your—his—no, your shared room. The soft sound of the door clicking shut behind you echoed like a gunshot. The rest of the crew stood in a circle of stunned silence, not daring to speak. Even Luffy, who’d stayed back, blinked once and then grinned—wide and dumb and absolutely thrilled.

“…She said we’re together,” he said with a dreamy little laugh.

“She also said she’d murder us,” Usopp croaked.

“She meant both,” Robin added with a smile.

The next morning was worse. Not in the way they expected—no angry outbursts, no snide comments, no threats. No, that would’ve been comforting. It was worse because it was off.

You were in the kitchen. You. Cooking. That alone was a crime against everything they thought they knew about you. Sanji had come down early, expecting to chase you away from his sacred space. But instead… you were already there. Apron on. Hair tied back. Singing softly. Something that sounded hauntingly like an old lullaby.

Luffy was there too, sitting on the counter, kicking his legs back and forth and grinning like a kid watching his favorite show. You handed him a slice of something warm and golden. He took it happily.

“You cooked for him?” Sanji asked, like it physically pained him.

You glanced back over your shoulder. “Relax. I made enough for everyone. Don’t burn your hair.” Then you went right back to humming.

Luffy snuck up behind you, wrapped his arms around your waist, and rested his chin on your shoulder. You didn’t even flinch. You leaned into it.

The rest of the crew gathered in the hallway, silently watching through the crack in the doorway like witnesses to a miracle.

“She’s smiling,” Chopper whispered.

“She never smiled while cooking,” Nami whispered back.

“She never cooked,” Zoro corrected.

“Or sang,” Brook added. “Or let Luffy get that close without throwing him into the ocean.”

“She’s… calm.”

They watched you wipe flour from Luffy’s cheek, your glare half-hearted, muttering something like “you’re a mess,” even though the corners of your mouth betrayed the tiniest twitch of amusement. None of them had seen this version of you. You were family—yes—but this? This was a side of you that was guarded. You’d never let them see it. Never let yourself relax this much, joke like that, speak that softly. You’d always been their grumpy protector, the one who barked at them when they got hurt but carried them back anyway. The one who threatened to leave a hundred times but stayed every single time.

And now, somehow, Luffy had unlocked the side of you none of them had even imagined existed. A version of you that was soft. Patient. Even… affectionate.

Robin smiled faintly, her arms crossed as she leaned against the wall. “She’s always cared. She just never felt safe enough to show it.”

“And he makes her feel safe?” Zoro asked, suspicious.

“No,” Robin said. “He makes her feel like she doesn’t have to pretend anymore.”

From inside the kitchen, your voice rang out suddenly. “If anyone’s spying on us, I swear to god—” The hallway cleared in record time. But even as they scattered, none of them could quite stop staring. Because no matter how well they knew you, they’d never seen you like this.

That night, the ship was buzzing with the kind of easy warmth only years of shared battles, laughter, and quiet moments could bring. The crew had settled into their usual spots, some sprawled on the deck under the stars, others gathered near the galley sharing stories. You, however, were sitting a little too close to the bottle—or maybe it was the bottle that was just a little too close to you. Either way, it wasn’t long before the room was spinning a little more than usual.

Luffy was laughing, that wide goofy laugh that never failed to lift everyone’s spirits. “You okay, grumpy?” he teased, watching you wobble slightly as you tried to lift your cup again.

“I’m… fine,” you slurred, cheeks flushed with warmth and something more than just the rum. “Just… celebrating, that’s all.”

Nami snorted quietly, exchanging amused looks with Robin. “She’s definitely drunk,” she murmured.

Sanji grinned, polishing a glass. “About time she loosened up.”

Usopp was half chuckling, half worried, while Zoro merely raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

Luffy, ever the eternal optimist, kept nudging you gently. “Want to see the pictures again?” he asked, brandishing a small stack of worn photographs.

You blinked, your eyes lighting up with sudden clarity. “Oh! The photos!” You grinned, barely able to sit still. “You always bring those up.”

With a hiccup, you pushed yourself to your feet, weaving slightly but determined. “Watch this,” you announced, and with a dramatic flourish—one that made everyone hold their breath, half expecting disaster—you bent down and lifted a wooden board in the deck that no one knew could be moved.

A collective gasp.

You pulled out a thick, battered album, its edges frayed from years of use. You tossed it at the group with a triumphant laugh. “Here! Enjoy!” you declared. The crew scrambled to catch it, flipping open the heavy pages with a mixture of curiosity and disbelief.

Photos spilled out—candid shots of each crew member, captured in moments both tender and hilarious. There was Nami laughing with the sunset behind her, her eyes crinkled in genuine joy. Zoro caught mid-yawn, a sword slung over his shoulder, looking utterly unbothered. Sanji mid-flip in the kitchen, flour dusting the air around him like fairy dust. Chopper’s surprised face as he tried to hide from the camera.

And then—there were the pictures of Luffy. Dozens of them. Sleeping in every conceivable position, grinning wildly as he ate, shouting out orders with fiery enthusiasm. The back of each photo held small notes, written in your neat, precise handwriting. Notes only Luffy could fully understand—teasing, affectionate, sometimes downright brutal.

The crew flipped through the pages, silent at first, then chuckling softly as they read your comments.

“It’s like a diary,” Usopp whispered.

“Yeah,” Robin smiled. “A very grumpy diary.”

Luffy leaned back, beaming proudly. “I didn’t know she took so many pictures. She never said.”

You hiccupped again, swaying slightly. “I did say. Just… not aloud.”

Nami looked up, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “So you’ve been watching us all this time?”

You shrugged, the corners of your mouth twitching. “Maybe.”

Zoro grunted. “Figures.”

Sanji chuckled, shaking his head. “She’s got a softer side after all.”

You leaned into Luffy’s side, your voice low and unsteady. “Don’t tell them everything, okay? Some things are mine.”

Luffy smiled, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

The crew shared quiet laughs and warm looks as the night wore on, the album passed hand to hand—a testament to years of shared lives, unspoken feelings, and the surprising ways people show they care.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself relax completely, surrounded by family—the imperfect, chaotic, beautiful family you never thought you’d have.

#one piece

263 notes · View notes