nagislemontea

[nagislemontea]

Demon hunters, ya say?

[nagislemontea]

Things I Never Said - pt.2

shanks x fem!reader (+ platonic luffy x fem!reader)

part 1

after years of running from a love too painful to face, you’re forced to confront everything you tried to bury when you meet your old little friend, luffy... and shanks

words count: 5.0k

a/n: here we aaaaaaareeeeeeee

tags: angst, past love, reunion, bittersweet

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The silence that follows is sharp.

Then footsteps. Measured. Slow. Inevitable.

You see his boots first. Then his long shadow. Then... him. Red hair. Familiar coat. That face. Those eyes.

He stops when he sees you.

Just for a second.

No smile.

No smugness.

Only something unreadable. Something heavy in his eyes. A flicker of something breaking through that confident mask.

You step out from the crates, spine straight, chin high.

“I never liked playing hide and seek with you.” you say, steady as you can manage “You always found me too fast.”

He opens his mouth but you don’t give him the chance.

“Anyway,” you add, brushing off your coat like it’s nothing, “I’m leaving now. I have nothing to do here. And you can’t stop me.”

You walk past him like your knees aren’t shaking.

Like his presence doesn’t feel like the tide pulling at your ribs.

He turns as you pass, quiet.

“…Y/N.”

You stop but you don’t look back.

“I didn’t come here for this.” he says.

“I know,” you reply “You never do.”

Then you keep walking.

One foot in front of the other.

Like if you just keep going, your heart won’t turn back.

You don’t look back but you feel him there. Still. Like a shadow behind your ribs.

The air feels thinner the farther you get, like walking out of gravity and into open space.

You tell yourself this is what freedom feels like.

You lie.

Your boots hit the ground hard as you keep walking. Past the alley. Past the crates. Away from his voice and the weight behind it.

You hear his steps, slow behind you, not chasing, not leaving either.

But then “HEY!!”

You freeze.

So does he.

That voice could only belong to one idiot.

Luffy appears around the corner like a lightning bolt with legs. His straw hat is tilted back on his head, hands on his hips, frowning at both of you like an annoyed big brother.

“You’re both so dramatic!”

You blink “Excuse me?”

He points at you “Running away.”

Then at Shanks “Brooding in doorways.”

Shanks raises a brow “I wasn’t brooding.”

“You were absolutely brooding,” Luffy says “You were doing the squint thing.”

“I don’t do a squint thing.”

“You do...” you mutter, arms crossed.

Luffy claps once, loud.

“Okay. That’s enough. I’m not letting either of you leave until we sit down and have a drink like normal people.”

“Luffy—” you start, already shaking your head.

“Nope,” he cuts in “You’re both stubborn and stupid. So I’m forcing this.”

“I don’t want a drink.” you mutter.

“I do,” Shanks says behind you “I think I deserve one after being lied to by entire towns.”

You shoot him a glare over your shoulder. He just smiles faintly.

Luffy grabs both your arms.

Not gently.

You both stumble slightly as he drags you toward a bench at the side of the restaurant, one of the little outdoor tables.

“Sit.” he says.

You hesitate.

So does Shanks.

But the look Luffy gives you is impossible to argue with.

It’s not angry. It’s not desperate.

It’s… hopeful. And that somehow hurts more.

You sit.

Shanks sits too.

You stare at the table like it just insulted your mother. He leans back like this is all just fine.

Luffy plops down across from you both, already calling out to someone inside for drinks.

“You’re both gonna thank me later” he grins.

You sigh.

Shanks chuckles.

And for one brief second it feels almost like old times.

Almost.

Three drinks in front of you now.

You haven’t touched any of them.

Shanks is nursing his, slow. Luffy already downed his and is loudly demanding meat from a passing waiter.

You keep your eyes on the middle of the table. Neutral ground.

Safe territory.

Luffy leans forward, grinning like he didn’t just drag two emotionally constipated exes into a forced reunion “So! This is fun, huh?”

You stare at him.

“Luffy,” you say flatly “This is not fun.”

“You will thank me later.” he insists, still too cheerful.

From the next table over, Zoro leans back in his chair like he’s just coincidentally resting while keeping an ear out.

Nami is pretending to polish her bracelet.

Robin is very obviously reading a book upside down.

Usopp is behind a potted plant that’s way too small to hide him.

The only one not being subtle is Sanji, who’s beside you, chin in his palm, eyes practically twinkling.

“So, Y/N-swan,” he says in that velvet-smooth tone, “what are the chances a woman like you is single for good reason and not just waiting for the wrong man to get lost at sea?”

You blink at him.

Shanks’s hand tightens a little around his glass.

“Careful, cook” he mutters.

“Oh? Did I strike a nerve, Red-Hair?”

Sanji beams.

Shanks smiles. His eye doesn’t.

You suppress a grin and finally sip your drink. Just to do something.

“You never liked lemon in your drink” Shanks says casually.

You freeze.

Just a second.

“I changed” you lie, placing the glass down like it didn’t hit the wrong part of your heart.

Shanks hums “You haven’t.”

You roll your eyes “And you still think you know everything.”

“Just the important things.”

You scoff and lean back.

Sanji offers you a lighter drink from his tray “Ignore him, mon cœur. Men like him always think they’re the center of our stories.”

Shanks stares at Sanji like he’s deciding whether to flip the table or just the cook.

“You know,” Sanji says thoughtfully, “it’s not too late to write a new chapter. With better characters.”

Shanks sets his glass down.

Firmly.

Luffy slaps both hands on the table “OKAY!! Let’s talk about something else!”

“Please” you mutter.

“Like—uh—weather!” Luffy tries “Or meat! Or—hey, Y/N, did you ever punch Shanks in the face?”

Shanks makes a sound that might be a warning.

You smirk “Once.”

“Twice,” Shanks corrects “The second time was definitely for something small.”

“You cut my braid off in my sleep.”

“…Right.”

More suppressed laughter from the surrounding eavesdroppers.

Luffy beams, completely ignoring the fire under the surface “See! Look at that! Talking! Bonding! Healing!”

You sip your drink again.

Shanks watches you over the rim of his glass.

And behind his calm eyes, you know exactly what he’s doing:

Waiting.

Waiting for you to stop dodging.

Waiting for the next crack in your walls.

And somehow, that’s more dangerous than anything he’s said out loud.

The drinks are almost warm now.

You’ve said little. Shanks has said less.

But the tension between you is loud enough that the entire table can feel it. Even Luffy’s smile has started to dim.

Then Shanks says something simple, stupid “You still talk too fast when you’re nervous.”

You bristle.

“I’m not nervous” you snap.

He lifts an eyebrow “Could’ve fooled me.”

“You always think you know everything.”

“I just know you.”

“Not anymore...” you shoot back, harder than you meant to “You don’t know me at all.”

A beat.

The crew is quiet.

Then Shanks leans back, casual voice, but the edge is sharp now “No one changes that much. Not even after years of running.”

You slam your glass down “I didn’t run—”

“You hid,” he cuts in, voice rising “You hid so well the world convinced me you didn’t exist.”

“And what would you have done if I didn’t hide?” you snap “Would you have dropped everything? Left the crew? Given up the sea for me?”

Shanks doesn’t answer.

And maybe that silence is your answer.

You nod, bitter.

“That’s what I thought.”

Then, you say it.

The line you’ve held back for years. The one you promised yourself you’d never say out loud.

“Are you enjoying the sea now that you don’t have a distraction?”

Shanks’ jaw tightens.

He looks at you like he can’t decide whether to shout or laugh or fall apart.

And then his voice cuts through the air like a blade “Are you enjoying the sea now that you run away without saying anything?”

The table goes dead silent.

Luffy blinks “Wait—wait. You left? Without telling him anything?”

You grab your glass.

“I had to,” you say, taking your first real drink since being forced into this “He pushed me to take that choice.”

Shanks��� voice cracks, just slightly “Do you have any idea how much I searched for you?”

You don’t look at him.

“Do you know what it’s like to sail into island after island—asking if someone’s seen you—and getting the same answer every time?”

You stare into your glass.

“‘I don’t know what a Y/N is’” he repeats, bitter “It was like the whole world was under some spell. Like you erased yourself.”

You finally glance up.

“I had to,” you say again, but softer “Because if I didn’t disappear… I would’ve gone back. And I knew I couldn’t survive that again.”

He swallows hard. And for once, he has nothing to say.

Luffy doesn’t speak either.

Nobody does.

Just the sound of waves brushing the edge of the island outside. The weight of everything unsaid finally spoken.

And no one is laughing anymore.

The silence stretches so long you wonder if it’s done.

But Shanks speaks again. Low. Steady.

“…It was that night, wasn’t it?”

You close your eyes.

Don’t answer.

You don’t need to. He already knows.

“That last island,” he says, “with the storm. When we fought.”

You look up “Fought?” you echo “We broke.”

“I didn’t know it was the last time I’d see you.”

“Neither did I.” you say, bitter “Until you made it clear I wasn’t part of your future.”

Shanks frowns “That’s not—”

“You said it!” you cut in “You said, ‘You knew what this was. The sea comes first’. Like I was stupid for dreaming of something else.”

Shanks’s expression hardens.

“You were talking about settling down. Leaving the crew. Staying behind.”

You laugh once, dry, sharp “Leaving the crew? Staying behind? I never said or meant that! I like being a pirate too!!"

"But that's what I understood. What was I supposed to say?”

"Something that sounded less like a goodbye.”

“I didn’t mean goodbye...” he mutters.

“But you didn’t stop me.”

That hangs there.

Heavy.

“I was angry,” you say “I was hurt. You looked at me in the eyes and said, ‘Don’t make this harder’. So I made it easy. I left.”

Shanks grips the edge of the table.

“That wasn’t what I meant. I was trying to—”

“To what?” you snap “Protect me? Spare me? Or just make sure your ship didn’t get messy?”

“That’s not fair.”

“You didn’t want me to stay,” you say, voice cracking, “you just didn’t want to feel bad that I left.”

Across the table, Luffy sits in silence, eyes wide. The rest of the crew is frozen, no longer even pretending not to listen.

You go quiet and then quietly, shakily, you say “You never asked me to belong, did you?”

That’s what broke you.

Not the sea.

Not the danger.

Not even the arguments.

It was being loved like a secret, not a home.

Shanks doesn’t speak.

Not right away.

He looks… older suddenly.

Tired.

“I was afraid” he says, barely above a whisper.

You blink “Of what?”

“That if I made you part of it, if I gave you a place on the crew and in my heart, it’d mean you’d never be safe again. I thought I was protecting you by keeping things… separate.”

He finally looks at you.

“And all I did was make you feel like you never had a place at all.”

Your throat tightens.

Something unravels in your chest, slow and aching.

“…I wanted both,” you whisper “You. The crew. The sea. I would’ve taken it all. I wanted to stay. But not if I had to keep standing on the outside.”

The wind stirs between you. And this time, there’s no one left pretending they’re not watching.

Not even Sanji.

Shanks reaches out slow, uncertain and places his hand over yours on the table.

Not to hold you.

Just to touch. Just to ask.

You don’t pull away. But you don’t squeeze back either.

The tavern is still.

Like even the wind’s holding its breath.

Shanks’s hand is still resting lightly over yours. Warm. Hesitant. Anchoring.

He leans in just a little, not too close, not anymore.

“Y/N,” he says softly “I really spent years looking for you.”

You meet his eyes. There’s no teasing in them now. No charm. Just something raw, stripped down. Real.

“Please,” he says, “don’t run away from me again. Not now.”

The ache in your throat pushes up fast.

And suddenly you’re not just the woman who’s survived all this time. You’re not the pirate, or the legend he once loved.

You’re just a heart that’s still cracked open.

You pull your hand away, enough.

“Shanks…” You shake your head “What am I supposed to do?”

He watches you carefully.

“I’m not who I was back then,” you go on “And you’re… you’re still you. Captain. Red-Hair. Yonko. You walk into places and everyone either runs or kneels.”

“I don’t want you to run” he says.

“Then what do you want?” you ask “For me to follow you again? Be the ghost in the corners of your ship? Watch you put the sea first every time and just smile through it? I did both of us a favour by leaving that day Shanks, and you know it.”

“No,” he says quickly, firmly “I want you with me.”

You laugh, bitter and small “You had me.”

His jaw tightens.

“I never stopped wanting you,” he says “Even when I thought you hated me. Even when I hated myself for letting you go.”

You look at him for a long moment. Really look. And maybe you see the regret and the love.

The years in his face that match the years carved into yours.

You shake your head slowly “I don’t even know how to be in the same room as you without feeling like I’m going to fall apart.”

Shanks gives a small smile. Not cocky. Just sad.

“Then fall apart,” he says “I’ll still be here.”

You turn away before your face cracks again.

And beside you, Luffy doesn’t speak.

But he shifts a little closer. Like he’s guarding both of you at once. Like he knows, more than anyone, what it means to love someone who never stays in one place for long.

The room hasn’t moved in minutes.

Your voice, his voice, the ache still hanging between you and then the door opens again.

A familiar voice cuts through like a tide pulling you out of the moment.

“Y/N?”

You turn quickly. Relief floods your chest before you can hide it “Kale.”

A man steps in. Tall, late thirties maybe. Soft brown hair tied low, broad shoulders, calm eyes that flick to Shanks without hesitation. A hunting knife at his belt, clothes worn but clean, a local, someone who belongs here.

He doesn’t bow. Doesn’t shrink.

He walks right to you.

“You alright?” he asks, voice low. Familiar. Like he’s said that a hundred times before “I saw the ship. Figured it was his.”

Shanks shifts slightly. His jaw is tight.

Kale looks at him again, and this time it’s not just curiosity, it’s caution. Not fear.

Protection.

You smile at him and nod “I’m okay.”

“Sure?” Kale asks again, not breaking eye contact “Because if you’re not, we can go. You don’t owe anyone anything.”

You reach out and touch his arm “I know.”

The touch isn’t flirtatious. It’s grounding. But it says enough.

Enough to make Sanji, from the corner, freeze mid-flirt.

Enough to make Shanks lean back, arms crossed, not blinking.

“I told you I could handle it.” you add gently.

“And I told you,” Kale says with a faint smirk, “that I don’t trust pirates with unfinished business.”

You laugh under your breath “You don’t trust anyone.”

“Only you.” he says.

And that... oh, that lands.

Shanks’ voice is quiet, but heavy “So… this is what you built while hiding from me?”

Kale turns to him, calm and unshaken “No. This is what she built when she healed from you.”

You step in, quick, before it escalates “Kale…”

But he looks at you again, and this time, there’s no challenge. Just care.

“I’ll wait inside. If you need me, you know how to whistle.”

Then he’s gone.

The silence after he leaves is loud.

Shanks doesn’t speak right away.

You stare at your hands.

“He knew about me?” he asks finally.

You nod “Of course he did. I told him the truth.”

Shanks tilts his head “You trust him that much?”

You look up, sharp “I trust him more than I’ve trusted anyone in years.”

He swallows.

And the jealousy is there, not in rage or possession, but in the realization that someone stepped in where he chose not to stay.

Someone didn’t ask you to stay in the shadows.

Someone just stayed.

Shanks is still staring at the door Kale just walked through.

Like his mind’s caught up in a different battle now.

He finally speaks, voice low but tight.

“So…” He glances at you “What is he to you?”

You exhale hard through your nose “Don’t.”

“Just a question.”

You spin slightly to face him, arms crossed “He’s someone who’s always had my back. Someone who never made me feel like a burden.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

You narrow your eyes “I know what you meant.”

His jaw tightens.

“I’m not jealous” he lies.

You snort “You’re not even trying to sound convincing.”

He opens his mouth, but you’re already stepping back. Putting distance between you and the table. Between you and everything that hurts.

“You have no right to act jealous now,” you say sharply “It’s been years since we broke up.”

The words hang in the air, sharp as a blade.

And then, quieter, you add, “You lost that right the night you let me go.”

You take another step back. You don’t want to be here anymore. Too many eyes. Too many ghosts.

You turn.

But two hands, one on each side, stop you.

Luffy, on your left, tugs at your sleeve gently “Wait.”

Shanks, on your right, steps forward “Don’t go.”

You look between them, your face tired. Not angry, just worn down.

“What do you guys want from me?”

No one answers right away.

The silence feels heavier than any fight.

And so you go on, voice cracking just a little.

“You want me to pretend nothing happened? That I didn’t disappear from the world because I couldn’t take being near him anymore? You want me to sit here and smile and drink and forget that the reason I kept running wasn’t because I hate him—it’s because I don’t?”

Luffy’s eyes widen.

Shanks’ breath catches.

And before either of them can say anything, you finish, soft and bitter “You want the truth? Fine. There’s nothing between me and Kale. Never was. He’s not my lover. He’s not my man. He’s just the one who stayed when I couldn’t move on.”

You look at Shanks then.

Full eye contact.

And he looks like you just hit him in the ribs. But he doesn’t speak.

He can’t.

The silence is unbearable.

Their eyes are still on you, Luffy’s wide and stunned, Shanks’… broken. Like he can’t even breathe, let alone respond.

You blink hard.

Then grab the drink in front of you and toss it back, barely tasting it.

It burns. Good.

You slam the cup down and breathe in like you’re preparing for battle.

You are.

“I’m too drunk now,” you say, voice louder than it should be, “so let’s tell you aaaaall the truth.”

Sanji opens his mouth but Zoro elbows him in the ribs before he can flirt again.

You keep going, swaying slightly, but steady enough to tear your heart out in one piece.

“You wanna know why I kept running every time your ship got near? Why I changed islands like shirts?” You point a shaky finger at Shanks, who doesn’t even flinch “Because I knew... I knew that if I saw you again, it’d break me.”

You’re trembling now.

“Because I’d forget everything you ever did to hurt me. Every night I cried on a ship with no one but the stars to scream at. Every port I walked through wondering if maybe this was the place I’d finally stop missing you.”

Luffy’s lips are parted. He wants to say something, but you don’t let him.

“I knew,” you say, quieter now, “that I’d fall to my knees and go back to being the fool who would do anything... give everything... just to be near you.”

You shake your head, your voice warping, breaking “And I tried to move on. You don’t know how hard I tried. You think I didn’t want to forget you?”

Shanks takes a step forward.

You stop him with a hand raised.

“No. You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to comfort me now.”

He freezes.

You breathe hard through your nose and go on.

“There were men, Shanks. Dozens. Pirates, marines, doctors, farmers, some of them sweet, some of them strong enough to make the whole town quiet when they walked by. And they wanted me. Many of them. Begged me to give them a chance.”

You look straight at him. No shame. Just the truth.

“But I couldn’t. Because no matter how many stood in front of me, my mind was still full of you.”

That one lands.

You see him flinch.

Your next words are nearly a whisper.

“I never moved on. Because I never figured out how.”

You glance around the table, the room, the crew... all dead silent. Watching a shipwreck in real time.

Then back at him.

You sniff, wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, and laugh bitterly.

“So now you know.”

And then, quieter “Now you both know.”

Shanks finally speaks.

His voice is low, rough “Y/N, I—”

“No.”

You cut him off, sharp. He tries again, but your voice barrels right over his “Don’t. Please don’t.”

He steps back like you struck him. And in a way, you did.

You rake your hands through your hair, pacing a step, heart pounding.

“I’m not done. I’ve waited years to say this, and I’m not stopping now.”

Shanks watches you, silent. Guilty. Wrecked.

You point at your chest “You think this is easy for me? That I wanted this? I spent years building a life without you. Teaching myself to breathe again. Telling myself I’d be fine, that I could do it, that I was stronger now. But—”

Your voice cracks. You blink back tears. Again.

“—but now that I’ve seen you, I don’t know how to leave.”

His jaw tightens.

You gesture wildly to the door “I should’ve been gone by now. That’s how it works! You come, I go. Simple. Clean. Safe.”

You clutch the edge of the table like it’s the only thing holding you up.

“But I saw your face again. I heard your voice. I saw you smile at Luffy like that, and it hurt, Shanks. It hurts. Because I remembered what it felt like when that smile was mine.”

Everyone’s quiet.

Even Sanji.

And then…

Luffy, bless his heart, pipes up “…So, wait, does that mean you still love him?”

You stare at him.

Zoro groans into his drink. Robin sighs. Usopp tries to slide down his seat. Nami mutters “oh my god” under her breath.

Shanks doesn’t even blink, he’s staring straight at you now, waiting for the answer with his whole soul in his eyes.

You just breathe.

One, two, three shaky breaths.

Then “Yeah, Luffy. That’s exactly what it means.”

The table is silent.

Everyone is still processing your answer.

Luffy has the decency to look sheepish “…Sorry.”

You give a weak laugh and shake your head “It’s fine. You’re just being you.”

Shanks hasn’t said a word. You can feel his stare on you.

When you finally meet his eyes again, he looks… different.

Not broken. Not angry. Determined.

“Then don’t leave.”

His words hit you like a wave.

You blink “What?”

Shanks stands, slow and steady, like he’s afraid you’ll bolt if he moves too fast.

“I said don’t leave. Stay. With me.”

“Shanks—”

“I don’t have a speech,” he says, cutting you off, “because I don’t deserve to explain anything. We both know I ruined it. I let you go. I let the sea take me away from the one thing that ever felt like home.”

You freeze.

He steps closer.

“I didn’t come here to find you,” he says quietly “But now that I have—I’m not walking away.”

You shake your head, lips trembling “It’s not that easy—”

“Then make it easy.” he pleads, voice low and full of something rough and raw “Y/N… I’ll stay all the time you need. Or I’ll take you with me. I’ll build a new ship, I’ll burn mine down, I’ll steal an island—just tell me what you need me to do.”

You stare at him.

You’re not sure if your heart is breaking or healing.

Maybe both.

“I’m scared,” you admit “Because you’re Shanks. And I’m just… me. I don’t know how to trust that you won’t leave again.”

He nods once, serious “Then I’ll prove it. Every day. For as long as it takes.”

You look down and whisper, “Why now?”

He steps close enough that you can feel his warmth again “Because I could finally meet you for the first time in years… and you’re looking at me like I still have a chance.”

And maybe you are.

There’s silence again.

Shanks is still in front of you, hand out, heart in his eyes.

Your breath is shaky.

You feel the weight of everything, years of pain, love, longing, anger. All of it pressing down like the sea itself.

You want to say something, you try but nothing comes out. So you just… move.

You step forward, quick and quiet, and you hug him. Hard.

Your arms lock around his shoulders, your face hides in his neck, and for a second, he doesn’t move.

You feel his breath hitch. You hear the sound he makes, like a laugh choked in the middle of a sob.

Then his arms wrap around you, tight. Stronger than you remember. Like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

No one speaks.

Robin sets her glass down softly. Nami wipes at her eyes like she’s not crying. Zoro just sighs like, finally.

You don’t want to let go and you don’t.

Not until—“NOW KISS!!!”

Luffy... Of course it’s Luffy.

You break the hug just long enough to reach out and sock him right in the face.

“OW! WHAT?!” he cries, holding his cheek.

“That was a perfect moment, you absolute dumbass!” you snap.

Shanks bursts out laughing, forehead against yours now, not letting you go.

“You still hit like a storm” he murmurs.

“And you still talk too much” you whisper back.

But you’re smiling. And he’s smiling. And even if the past still stings…

This feels like the beginning of something better.

You step back, slowly pulling away from the hug. But your hand stays on his chest.

“I’m not saying yes,” you murmur, still catching your breath “Not yet.”

Shanks doesn’t flinch.

“I need time, Shanks. Real time. No promises, no pressure. You show me you still care, and then I’ll decide what to do.”

A wind passes. It’s soft. Gentle. Like even the sea is holding its breath.

Shanks smiles, not cocky, not confident. Just grateful.

“I’ll stay on this island for as long as it takes,” he says “Could be weeks. Could be years. I don’t care.”

You glance up at him, eyes searching.

“I mean it,” he says again, voice low “I’ll wait.”

Later, on the docks, the Thousand Sunny is getting ready to leave.

Luffy’s hugging you like he’s never letting go. He’s full-on bawling.

“WAAAAH!! I don’t wanna goooo! You were so cooool! And this was just getting GOOD!”

You laugh, patting his head “We’ll meet again, Captain. You’re good at finding people.”

“I am!” he sobs harder.

Nami shakes her head “Let him cry it out. He’ll be fine once we hit the next island.”

Robin smiles “You’ve made a mark on him. Not many people do.”

Sanji’s holding your hand dramatically “My lady… if you ever get bored of that red-haired pirate, remember: my kitchen is your castle.”

You snort “Goodbye, Sanji.”

Shanks casually drapes an arm over your shoulder and smirks “Careful, you’re breaking a young man’s heart there.”

Sanji cries harder “I KNOW!!!”

As the Sunny pulls away, you wave until they’re out of sight, Luffy still screaming your name over the sea breeze.

You turn to look at Shanks and say "Okay, now that Luffy isn't here... I'm going to be honest with you. Forget everything I said, I'm leaving."

His face goes pale and then you smile, "Oh I was kidding, don't cryyy!"

"YOU EVIL WOMAN!" he yells faking a pout.

"Too soon?"

"WHAT DO YOU THINK??"

Then you smile at each other and you turn to face Shanks’ crew.

A few of them freeze mid-step when they see you beside him.

Benn Beckman raises a brow “You… brought her back?”

Shanks shrugs like it’s no big deal “I’m taking a break. We’re staying here a while.”

The crew looks at each other.

Roux drops a piece of meat.

Lucky Lou whistles low “Did hell freeze over or somethin’?”

You just smile quietly and walk past them toward the town, boots crunching on sand.

Shanks watches you go. And when his crew turns to him for an explanation, he simply says “She’s the only treasure I ever lost and regretted.”

No one says anything after that.

Because they all get it now.

Tag List: @matronofthevoid - @thatanonymouschocolate - @gakkaiisnotgappy

[nagislemontea]

Things I Never Said pt.1

shanks x fem!reader (+ platonic luffy x fem!reader)

after years of running from a love too painful to face, you’re forced to confront everything you tried to bury when you meet your old little friend, luffy

words count: 3.6k

a/n: I already imagined you all asking for a part 2, so I beat you to it and already prepared it!

tags: angst, past love, reunion, bittersweet

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

You’ve lived on this island for a year now. It’s small, quiet, peaceful, nothing like the wild sea you used to know. You still sail sometimes. You still fight when needed. You haven’t given up the pirate life completely.

But you take it slower now.

It’s not the same, being alone.

You sit by the edge of the market, half-watching the sea, when you see him.

A boy with a red vest. A straw hat. A smile big enough to split the sky.

Your heart jumps before your brain catches up.

“That’s him,” you whisper “That’s Luffy.”

He’s walking through the crowd like it’s not even there, grinning at fruit stalls, laughing at a dog. You stand up fast, knocking over a crate behind you. Someone curses. You don’t even look back.

You move fast. Years haven’t slowed your legs.

You cut around the street and slip behind him just before he turns the corner.

And then you do it.

You snatch the hat clean off his head.

“HEY!!!” he shouts, spinning around “WHO THE HELL—”

He stops.

The rest of his crew is on alert instantly... blades out, feet planted, ready to fight.

You smile, holding the hat between two fingers “Still not fast enough, Captain.”

Luffy blinks. His jaw drops “Wait… no way. YOU?!”

You nod “Hey, Monkey D.”

“Y/N!!!” His face lights up like a bonfire. He throws himself forward, full hug, no hesitation “You’re alive!”

“I am” you say softly, still holding the hat.

The others glance at each other, confused but now more relaxed, slowly putting their weapons away.

“You’re here! On this island?! What?! Why didn’t you say anything?! How long—wait.” His eyes land on the hat in your hands “You okay?”

You freeze.

The straw hat is warm from his head. But to you, it’s not just his. It was someone else’s before him. And back then, you touched it with the same fingers.

You run your thumb along the brim. It almost hurts.

“I remember when he gave this to you” you say quietly.

Luffy goes quiet, face suddenly serious “You mean Shanks.”

“Yeah.”

You hand the hat back. You don’t want to hold it anymore.

He takes it carefully, like it’s more than just cloth and string.

“Hey, Luffy? Care to introduce this beauty to the rest of us?” Sanji steps forward, ever the charmer, taking your hand to kiss it with a wink.

You raise an eyebrow but let him do it. Luffy snaps back to reality.

“Oh right!” He turns to the crew, like he just remembered they were there “This is Y/N! She’s Shanks’ wife!”

Everyone gasps, even you.

You stare at him, stunned for a second, then bonk your hand against his head.

“You’re still an idiot!”

“Ow! What?!”

“I’m not Shanks’ wife. I never was…”

“Wait—you weren’t?? But I remember he used to tell everyone you were his wife!”

You look away for a second “He was just… exaggerating. As always.”

“Alright!” Luffy announces with arms wide “Since you’re already amazing, it’s time to meet my amazing crew!”

You fold your arms, amused.

“This is Zoro—he’s scary but he’s cool. That’s Nami—she’ll punch me but she’s nice. Usopp—he’s awesome and brave and lies sometimes but it’s funny. Sanji—he cooks and falls in love every five minutes. Robin—she reads weird stuff. Franky—he’s SUPER. Brook—he’s a skeleton and musician. And Jinbe—he’s a fish-man and also very cool.”

You give them a long, slow look.

“I already know all of you.”

The crew looks surprised.

“You do?” Nami asks.

“Yeah,” you say with a small smirk “You lot are famous. Bounties, newspaper stories, chaos in every corner of the sea? You’re hard to miss.”

Then, your eyes settle on Usopp.

You stare just a second too long.

Luffy notices “What? You looking at Usopp? Why?”

You speak softly, but the words come sharp “You really look like your father.”

Usopp straightens, blinking “Huh?”

You pause. Then add, “But I’m sorry. I hate him a lot, actually.”

Silence falls.

Usopp’s mouth opens just a little but he doesn’t ask anything. He just nods once and looks away.

You don’t explain. You won’t.

Meanwhile, Sanji’s hand flutters over his chest like he’s been shot.

“She stares at the long-nose and hates his father, but not one look for me… life is cruel…”

Nami sighs “Ignore him. He’ll cry into a tomato later.”

You smile again, but it’s smaller now.

“Come on,” you say, turning “I’m taking you to eat.”

Luffy lights up “FOOD?!”

The walk through town is full of noise, mostly from Luffy and Brook, who’s trying to make a pun about every vegetable they pass. You wave at shopkeepers, people smile at you like you belong here.

You lead them to a small, warm place nestled between two shops. The scent of grilled fish and rice floats out from the doorway. No sign, but the smell says home.

As you open the door, the owner grins “Y/N! You brought chaos with you, huh?”

“Something like that” you say, stepping in.

Luffy’s already trying to climb onto a table.

“Before you eat the whole island—listen up!” you shout.

Luffy freezes mid-motion.

“You’re all welcome here,” you say, “but sadly—I’m not offering.”

Luffy gasps, dramatic “WHY?!”

You raise a brow “Because I know how much you eat. I’m not trying to go broke today.”

The crew laughs as they sit down. Nami gives you an approving nod.

“I like her” she says.

Sanji is still sulking dramatically “If only I were the long-nose…”

You glance across the table at Luffy “You’ve got a good crew.”

“The best” he says with a mouthful of meat already.

You sit across from him, watching the way they all move around each other, fighting, teasing, laughing. It’s loud. It’s messy. But it’s family.

Zoro leans back with a drink “So… how close were you and Shanks, really?”

You glance away “Close enough to know the smell of his coat. The way he laughed when he was lying. The way he always looked out at the sea… like something was missing.”

Robin watches you carefully “Sounds like you loved him.”

You don’t answer.

Luffy swallows and says, quiet for once, “He still talks about you when we meet.”

Your heart skips.

“What?”

“Just little things. Like if he messes something up, he goes, ‘Y/N would’ve kicked my ass for that’. Stuff like that.”

You look down at your glass.

“…That idiot.”

“You miss him?” Luffy asks.

You give him a sad smile “Every single day.”

Plates are emptying. The sun outside begins to lean lower. Warm golden light spills in through the windows. The restaurant is loud with laughter and forks clinking, until Luffy suddenly leans across the table and says:

“Wait. You and Shanks actually ACTUALLY broke up?”

You blink “You… didn’t know?”

He shakes his head fast “No! He told me you were just gone for a while. Said you had ‘family matters’ or something. He made it sound like you’d come back anytime.”

You laugh soft and sad “That’s not true, Luffy.”

Luffy frowns “So he lied?”

You nod slowly “Yeah. We broke up. Years ago.”

The table goes quiet for just a breath.

Then Nami leans forward.

Robin tilts her head.

Sanji is already gripping the edge of the table like he’s waiting for a juicy romance novel.

Zoro sighs “Here we go.”

“So… You and Shanks?” Nami says “As in, Red-Haired Shanks?”

“Mhm” you hum.

Robin smiles “So… what was he like? In love?”

You take a sip from your drink and lean back.

“Oh, he was terrible at it at first.”

“WHAT?!” Chopper yells “How?! He’s so cool!”

You laugh “Exactly. That was the problem. He thought being cool was enough. He’d lean against things, do the half-smile, act mysterious… it was all nonsense.”

Usopp grins “So what worked?”

“Once he got out of his own way,” you say “He started laughing more. Talking like himself. I think the moment I fell in love with him for real was when he burned rice and tried to convince me it was a ‘special smoky flavor from the West Blue.’ He was holding the pot with tongs.”

Nami covers his heart “That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

Zoro makes a face “You’re easily impressed.”

“I have standards!” she snaps.

Robin’s eyes glitter “Did he write you letters?”

“He tried,” you smirk “But his handwriting was awful. He’d start strong, like ‘To the fiercest flame on my ship’, and by the end it was mostly wine stains and something about missing my shoulder.”

Brook raises a hand “Yohohoho! Did he sing to you?”

“Yes,” you say, smiling fully now “All the time. Badly. He couldn’t carry a tune when he was drunk, but he insisted I dance with him anyway.”

Chopper giggles “Did he get jealous?”

You grin “One time a noble tried to kiss my hand. Shanks ‘accidentally’ dropped a whole barrel of grog on his foot.”

Luffy’s eyes are soft “See? He really was in love with you…”

You look down, hands resting in your lap “Yeah. He was.”

Silence again, soft this time. No one dares ask about the breakup. They’re smart enough to feel where the line is, even if they’re curious. But still, the questions keep coming.

You don’t realize how tightly you’re holding your glass until your knuckles ache.

Zoro watches you a little too closely, but says nothing.

Nami rests her chin on her hand “You were lucky, y’know. To be loved by someone like that.”

You smile gently “I know.”

But you don’t say the other half of it. That loving someone like that also means losing pieces of yourself when it ends... and it ended.

The crew slowly drifts back into lighter talk. But a weight still lingers, like the sea waiting outside.

You sit in it quietly, letting it rock in your chest like a ship in calm waters, grateful, still aching, always remembering.

The restaurant is warm and full of noise, clinking glasses, the buzz of the Straw Hats laughing, Sanji flirting with Nami and getting punched.

You step away from it.

Take your drink. Slip out of the main room, around the corner toward the kitchen where the air smells like herbs and steam.

The owner looks up “You alright?”

You nod with a tired smile “Just needed some air.”

She watches you, but doesn’t press.

You lean on the wooden counter, letting the wall hold your shoulder. The glass is cool in your hand, but your throat is too tight to swallow.

Footsteps behind you.

You don’t have to look to know who it is.

Luffy stops next to you, strangely quiet. No bounce in his step this time. No grin.

He stands there for a second, like he’s waiting for the words to form.

Then he sits on the crate beside you Why did you break up?”

You inhale sharply.

Straight to it. No dance.

Luffy keeps his eyes on the floor “Did he break your heart?”

The tears come fast.

You don’t even feel them build. They just happen, hot and sudden.

You turn your face away, but your voice still cracks when you whisper, “He did.”

Luffy looks up at you slowly.

“And I think I also broke his heart.”

Your hand covers your mouth like it might stop the sound. It doesn’t.

You breathe through your nose, fast and shaky, trying to pull it together. You wipe your cheek with your sleeve, then the other. It just keeps coming.

“It wasn’t about love,” you say hoarsely “We had so much love. That wasn’t the problem.”

You grip the glass tighter.

“It was the sea. The life. The way he always had something bigger waiting for him. Some war, some island, some dream… and I—” You laugh softly through your tears “I wasn’t big enough to be part of it.”

Luffy doesn’t interrupt. He just listens.

“He told me once that the sea calls him louder than anything else. Louder than sleep, louder than pain. Louder than me.” You look down “And I hated him for that. Even though I understood it.”

Luffy nods, slow.

“He never stopped loving you,” he says “Even when he talked about the sea. Even when he left.”

You smile faintly “I know.”

You close your eyes.

The tears slow. Your chest hurts. But somehow, it’s a little easier now that you’ve said it out loud.

Luffy nudges your arm “Wanna come back to the table?”

“In a bit.”

“Okay.” he says, standing up. Then adds, more quietly, “I’m glad you’re still alive.”

You look at him.

That same boy. That same hat.

And in a way, still carrying a part of Shanks.

“Me too...” you whisper.

He walks off, and for a moment, you’re left in the quiet with a full heart, and just a few tears left.

You return to the table a little later. Your face is calm again. Eyes dry. Shoulders lighter.

The crew’s already deep in a debate over whether Brook’s music counts as “live” if he’s technically dead.

“I’m telling you,” Zoro mutters, “it’s spooky.”

“It’s art!” Brook insists “My concerts slay! Yohohoho!”

“Don’t help your case.” Nami says, sipping her drink.

You slide into your seat “Miss me?”

Chopper lights up “You’re back!”

Luffy flashes a grin “Hey! Feeling better?”

You nod “Yeah. Thanks.”

No one says Shanks’ name again. They just scoot over and make space.

Robin tops off your drink. Franky pushes a plate of grilled shrimp your way. Brook offers you a bone (you politely decline).

Then Sanji clears his throat, and you feel the air shifts.

He steps up beside you like he’s on stage. A fresh rose seems to appear from nowhere in his fingers.

“Oh, enchantress of the island breeze…” he begins, dropping to one knee.

“God, no” Nami groans.

“…with eyes brighter than the Grand Line’s stars and a smile that could command the tides—”

“Get up” Zoro mutters.

Sanji doesn’t blink “I must ask… how is it that you’ve lived here a whole year without blessing my eyes before today?”

You raise a brow “It’s not like you’re always on this island.”

“Details,” he says, dead serious “Tell me, my sweet hurricane—have you ever considered falling in love again… possibly with someone who can make ten kinds of pasta and cry respectfully in your honor?”

You try not to laugh “Do you always lay it on this thick?”

Robin’s hiding a smile behind her hand “Only when he’s desperate.”

“I AM NOT—!” Sanji starts, then immediately shifts back to you with a twinkle in his eye “Only when moved by a beauty this profound.”

Luffy snorts soda through his nose “He means you’re hot!”

“Captain, please” Sanji hisses, red-faced.

You smirk “You know what? It’s nice being flirted with again.”

Sanji gasps like you just proposed.

But before he can say a word, Usopp cuts in “Don’t encourage him! You’re gonna break the poor guy.”

Chopper claps his hooves “He’s already crying!”

“I’m crying because I’m feeling things!” Sanji shouts, pressing the rose to his chest.

The whole table erupts.

Luffy’s doubled over laughing. Nami wipes a tear from her eye. Even Zoro cracks a grin.

And you laugh with them.

For the first time in a long time, it doesn’t feel like you’re carrying something heavy. It just feels like now.

Like you’re allowed to enjoy the present.

Like the sea might still have something for you, something warm, and real, and maybe even ridiculous.

You raise your glass.

“To chaos!” you say.

They all lift theirs.

“To pirates!” Luffy shouts.

“To not letting Sanji flirt in peace!” Usopp adds.

“To being alive!” Robin says, soft.

You drink and for the rest of the night, you don’t look back.

The door slams open.

Everyone flinches.

A man rushes in out of breath, eyes scanning fast until they land on you.

“Y/N!”

“Kale…” you say the name of the man in front of you.

Then as soon as you realise his pale face you’re already halfway out of your seat.

You know that look. That panic. That urgency.

You don’t even need to hear it.

But he says it anyway.

“They’re here. Docked just now. It’s the Red-Haired Pirates.”

The words drop like thunder.

You don’t freeze. You move.

You stand so fast your chair screeches backward.

Your legs know what to do before your heart catches up, grab your coat, check your pouch, feel for your knife.

Luffy rises too “Wait—what?”

You’re already walking toward the back exit.

“Y/N!” he calls after you “Where are you going?!”

You don’t turn around but his hand grabs your arm. You stop.

He’s looking at you, confused, eyebrows furrowed. His grip is gentle, but firm “Why are you leaving?”

You stare at him and then quietly, honestly, tiredly “Luffy… I change islands every time.”

He blinks “What?”

“Every time someone whispers he’s near. Every time one of his crew is spotted. Every time that damn flag shows up on the horizon.” You look around the restaurant once, then back at him “People know. Everyone in this town knows.”

You pause. Your voice lowers.

“That if Shanks comes… I go.”

The room is holding its breath. Even the crew has gone still, watching from the table.

“That’s the deal,” you say “That’s how I avoided him all these years.”

Luffy doesn’t say anything. He just watches your face.

“That’s how I survived all these years.”

You pull your arm gently from his grip.

“If he asks about me, they’ll pretend they don’t even know what a ‘Y/N’ is” you whisper, more to yourself than him “They always do.”

You turn back toward the exit.

Luffy doesn’t stop you again. But you feel his eyes following you. And you hate the silence that follows you out.

The back door clicks shut behind you.

Your boots hit the alley dirt hard as you move fast, eyes scanning for your escape route, anywhere quiet, hidden, away.

Inside, the restaurant is still frozen in place. Luffy hasn’t moved. The crew’s glancing between each other, between the door you vanished through and their captain’s tense face.

Then BANG.

The front doors slam open like the whole building belongs to him.

“LUFFY!!”

That voice.

That laugh.

That presence.

The room turns.

He’s already walking in with the swagger of a storm. Sun on his shoulders, wind still in his red hair, he's alone, and he’s smiling like this is the best day of his year.

“I heard rumours you were here,” he calls, waving off the stunned silence like it’s nothing “And since I was around, I said, why not?”

Luffy’s mouth twitches into a smile, small, tight, forced. The others don’t speak.

Shanks stops mid-step, frowning slightly.

He scans the table. His sharp eyes take in the untouched plates. The awkward silence. Zoro’s subtle hand on one sword hilt. Nami’s stiff posture. Robin’s too-calm expression.

Then back to Luffy.

“…you all look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He’s still smiling, but his voice is quieter now. Curious.

Suspicious.

No one answers.

Shanks narrows his eyes a little, not angry. Just reading the air. He’s always been good at that.

“Did I interrupt something?”

Luffy shifts his weight. Behind his back, his hands tighten into fists.

Sanji glances toward the back door.

Shanks follows the glance, subtle, sharp.

He sees it.

His smile fades slightly.

He steps forward once. Just one step.

“…was someone else here?”

Luffy opens his mouth.

He could lie. He wants to lie. But his eyes betray him.

And Shanks knows right away... You’re here. Or, at least, you were.

His gaze snaps toward the back. Just for a second.

Then back to Luffy.

“Was Y/N here?”

The question lands like lightning.

He turns to the owner of the restaurant, the older woman behind the counter. The one who always gave you extra bread when she thought you looked too tired.

“Was she in this town all this time?” he asks again.

Her hands tremble slightly as she wipes a cup dry.

She doesn’t meet his eyes “I don’t know who you’re talking about, sir.”

Too fast.

Too careful.

Too fake.

Shanks watches her for one heartbeat longer, then shifts.

His gaze slides to the man near the wall, the same one who ran to warn you, Kale.

“You?” Shanks asks, stepping closer “I saw you running in here. Seemed like something urgent.”

Kale swallows.

You can almost hear the script in his head. The one you made sure they all memorized.

He straightens.

“I don’t know what a Y/N is.”

Shanks stares at him. Not angry. Not smiling. Just quiet. Like a man putting pieces together.

“…Right, they all say like this every damn island.” he says.

Then he turns.

He walks slowly to the back door. Every bootstep echoing like a clock counting down.

Luffy stays silent. The crew doesn’t move.

Shanks opens the back door.

There’s no one there.

Just an empty alley. Breeze picking at the dust. Faint footsteps echoing from far away.

But he frowns. Something’s off.

He doesn’t step outside. He just stands there in the doorway. Eyes sweeping the edges. The corners. The crates. The narrow shadows.

You’re not far.

You didn’t have time.

You’re hiding.

He can feel it.

His voice is barely above a whisper now, but it carries.

“…I can feel you're still here.”

You hold your breath.

Tucked behind crates in the narrow alley, you press your back to the wall. It’s damp. Cold. You try to still every inch of yourself. You’ve done this before, more times than you want to admit.

But never this close.

Never with his voice that close.

“…I can feel you're still here.”

Your heart pounds so loud it feels like it’ll shake the wood beside you.

And then Clink.

Your boot... a tiny shift. Metal brushing against stone.

It echoes like a scream.

[nagislemontea]

dante x f!reader. established relationship, sappy sappy. | wc: 2.2k, reading time: ~12 minutes

Another afternoon turns into evening while you sift through paperwork, shoving aside past due bills to make sense of the invoices for his last four missions. Did he even get paid for these? You’ll have to ask him when he gets back.

The relative quiet is interrupted by Nero, who tosses something far and hard enough across the room and onto the workbench that it echoes through the room.

“Everything okay back there?” You turn in the chair, gazing over the side of it at the scowling twenty something moving through the lobby of Devil May Cry like a tornado. “This is the tenth time you’ve slammed something in five minutes so I’m just making sure.”

Nero pauses and scrubs his hand over his face.

“Yeah but it pisses me off that Dante didn’t invite me to go with him today. He’s a cocky asshole and someday he’s going to get caught out by himself.”

The young man places down his tool with a frustrated grunt, exhaling sharply through his nose. He’s young and chomping at the bit to go. You get it yet sometimes the way he speaks about the man you love rubs you the wrong way.

You still can’t help but feel like it’s up to you to bridge the gap between the two men even if your eye has started to twitch.

You lean back in your chair, voice low but steady.

“You know, Nero, Dante’s not just the demon hunter or the reckless guy who likes to joke his way through chaos.”

Nero glances at you, eyes sharp and defensive.

“I know that.”

“No, I mean…listen to me.” You pause, gathering your words carefully. “He’s…complicated. Imperfect, like all of us but there’s something about him that most people don’t see and it’s that he’s just like his father.”

Nero’s eyes narrow as he listens.

“I mean, obviously I don’t know Sparda or anything like that, just what’s in books I've read or the little tiny bit Dante has told me about him yet I can never shake this feeling that they’re so similar.”

Leaning over the desk and propping your head up with your palm, you try to make sense of the way you’ve felt for a long time. It’s harder than you thought.

“He’s one of the kindest, most fiercely protective men I’ve ever known. Especially when it comes to women.”

You see his brow lift slightly.

“It has never been about just being strong or tough to him. He treats the women in his life with a respect that you don’t find often. Eva, even after all these years, she’s the heart of who he is. Lady and Trish? They’re more than friends or partners, they’re family. And Patty… even when he was in his darkest place, he was her protector.”

Nero’s expression softens a bit. The weight of what you’re saying starts to settle in.

“And me. He’s done more for me than I can even begin to tell you. He’s not perfect.” You laugh, shaking your head. “In fact, he’d laugh if you called him perfect. But he is a knight.. Not like the stories you hear — more real, more broken — but still a knight all the same.”

You meet Nero’s gaze, voice firmer now.

“I know you look up to him. And you should. He deserves that respect, more than most men I’ve met. Because he doesn’t just fight demons outside; he fights the ones inside himself, every day. And he does it while trying to make the world better for the people he loves.”

Nero nods slowly, swallowing something unspoken.

“Thanks,” he says quietly. “I needed to hear that.”

“He’s lucky to have you, too.”

The two of you share a moment — a silent understanding.

The bell above the Devil May Cry door jingles as Dante pushes it open, a gust of street wind following him in like a stray dog. His boots hit the wooden floor with their usual swagger. Whistling, low and tuneless, he strolls in, spinning Rebellion in one hand like it’s a baton instead of a sword soaked in demon blood.

He glances your way. Then at Nero.

“Sorry for interrupting,” he mutters, voice too casual as he sets Ebony and Ivory down on the workbench, turning his back under the pretense of cleaning them.

You and Nero share a quick glance. The conversation had gotten... tender. Personal. You hadn’t realized just how personal until now.

“Everything go okay out there? Are you alright?”

Your voice is quiet as you cross the room, hand reaching for his gently, like if you press too hard, he might flinch.

Dante doesn’t flinch. But he does stop. Entirely. Still facing away, though his head dips just enough to suggest he heard every word you'd said to Nero. Every single one.

He looks down at your fingers wrapped around his hand, his calloused thumb brushing yours absentmindedly.

Then he lets out a breath. It’s long and slow, like he’d been holding it since the doorway.

“You really think I’m like my old man?”

His voice is so quiet it’s barely a scrape of sound. He finally turns to face you, and it’s not the usual cocky grin he wears like armor. It’s something rawer. Stripped down. Vulnerable in a way Dante almost never allows.

You nod.

“Yes, absolutely..”

Dante’s mouth twists. Not into a smirk, but into something between disbelief and awe. His eyes search your face like he’s trying to find the lie but can’t.

“You called me a knight.”

“You are one. I know you don’t see it, but—”

“No.” His hand squeezes yours. “It’s not that I don’t see it. It’s that... no one’s ever said anything like that about me before. Not like that. Not in a way that made me wanna believe it.”

You reach up, brushing a bit of grime off his cheek, and he closes his eyes for just a second, like your touch is the first warm thing he’s felt all day.

“Maybe it’s time you started listening.”

Behind you, Nero makes some loud, exaggerated noise with a screwdriver and a chunk of metal that definitely doesn’t need fixing.

“I’m still in the room, y’know.”

Dante opens one eye and grins faintly.

“Yeah, yeah, kid. We’re just havin’ a moment. You’ll get one someday.”

“God, I hope not,” Nero mutters.

Dante laughs, really laughs, but when his eyes finally meet yours, the mirth fades, replaced by the soft gravity that ceaselessly pulls you in every time.

“Hey,” he says quietly, “I don’t know what the hell I did to earn what you said about me… but I’ll try to live up to it. Even if I think you’re a little crazy.”

You lean in, resting your forehead against his for just a moment.

“You don’t have to try. You already do.”

He closes his eyes again, lets that truth settle in his bones.

Outside, the sun is setting. Inside, something else is rising, slow and sure and good. Maybe, for once, Dante doesn’t feel like just a man trying to outrun his past.

He feels like someone worth coming home as.

———

It’s late.

The Devil May Cry office is quiet now. The neon signs outside casting pale light through the window blinds. Nero’s long gone. You and Dante are left in the comfortable kind of silence that only happens when you don’t need to fill it.

He’s on the couch, one arm slung across the back of it, boots kicked off, hair still damp from the quick shower he took after getting home. You’re sitting sideways, your knees curled beneath you, tracing lazy circles over the worn fabric of his shirt where it hugs his chest.

He hasn’t said much since dinner. Just little things. A grunt here, a soft chuckle when you teased him about tracking blood into the kitchen. But now he’s quiet. Too quiet.

You look up and find him already watching you. His gaze is softer than usual. Troubled, maybe but it seems more like he’s deep in thought.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, voice rough from disuse. “Can I ask you something?”

You nod, shifting to face him fully.

“You said earlier that I’m a knight. Like my dad.”

He swallows. His throat moves, and he looks away like maybe he regrets bringing it up, as though even asking might break something sacred.

“Do you really think that? That I’m like him?”

There’s something raw in his voice. Not insecure, just wounded. Like he wants to believe it so badly but can’t quite bring himself to. Like repeating what you said aloud will make it evaporate.

You reach out, gently brushing your fingers along his jaw. He doesn’t pull away.

“I think you’re the best of him,” you say softly. “And everything he didn’t get the chance to be.”

He blinks. You see it hit him. the quiet force of your words, and you press on.

“Sparda gave up everything for love. For humanity. He protected people who would never know his name. But you? You stayed. You fight every day. You carry his legacy and your own. Not because it’s easy but because it’s right.”

You lean closer, your voice even gentler.

“You love like he did. Fiercely. Without hesitation. You protect people not just with your sword, but with your heart, even when it scares you. That’s what makes you like him. That’s what makes you better.”

He doesn’t answer at first. Just breathes, slow and heavy, like your words are air in lungs that have been empty for too long.

And then he speaks, barely above a whisper.

“He was a hero.”

“So are you.”

Dante closes his eyes, like he needs a second to believe it. To let himself believe it. When he opens them again, they’re shinier than before, not tearful, just full of a kind of emotion he’s never had space for.

“You know... if he were here, I think he’d like you. You’re a lot like…”

You smile, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone. He doesn’t have to finish that sentence for you to know what he means.

His mother. Eva.

“Too bad for him I’m yours.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, leans in, presses his forehead to yours. You feel his hand rest at the small of your back — grounding, steady, grateful.

“Guess that makes me the lucky one.”

The moment lingers, your forehead against his, your breath warm between you. Dante’s hand rests on your back, the other curled loosely in your lap, fingers twitching like he’s turning something over in his mind.

You know that look. You don’t rush him.

He leans back just slightly, eyes distant now, like he’s watching something that happened a lifetime ago.

“You ever think about how few memories I have of him?”

You nod.

“Sometimes I think I’ve made most of them up,” he says with a small, humorless chuckle. “Bits and pieces… like trying to hold water in my hands.”

You wait. You know what’s coming is rare.

“But there’s one I’ve never told anyone.”

He shifts, runs a hand through his hair like the memory itself makes him restless.

“I was maybe four. Real young. I’d had a dream. One of those bad ones, y’know? Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t scream. I ran down the hall looking for Mom, but she wasn’t home. I guess she was out shopping or something. And I remember just... freezing there in the dark. Couldn’t move. My legs felt like stone.”

You squeeze his hand gently. He doesn’t stop.

“Then I felt this warm hand on my shoulder. No words, no ‘it’s okay, kiddo’. Just that hand. Big. Calloused. Strong.”

He pauses, a ghost of a smile forming on his lips.

“He didn’t pick me up or carry me. He just sat down right there in the hallway. Crossed his legs. Patted the floor beside him.”

You smile too, already picturing it.

“I sat down next to him. And we just... stayed there. For a long time. Didn’t speak. He just let me sit next to him until I could breathe again.”

Dante’s voice is quieter now, far away.

“It wasn’t a grand lesson or some legendary quote. Just...presence. Safety. He didn’t try to fix it. He was the fix.”

You feel your throat tighten. He finally looks at you.

“That’s the man everyone talks about like a myth. But to me? He was just a guy who sat on the cold floor with his scared kid in the dark until the fear passed.”

Your voice catches when you finally answer.

“That’s beautiful, Dante.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. But the way he presses your hand to his chest tells you it’s everything.

“I guess I never told anyone ‘cause I didn’t want to share it. Felt like the only real thing I had left of him.”

“And you’re giving it to me?”

“Yeah,” he says, voice thick. “You earned it.”

You reach up and kiss his temple ever so softly, slowly, reverently.

“You’re more like him than you think.”

He chuckles low.

“You mean stubborn and impossible to live with?”

“I mean the kind of man who sits with someone in the dark until they can breathe again.”

His smile is quiet. Grateful. You don’t speak after that, content that all that needs to be said has been. You just sit with him — the way Sparda once did — and for a while, that’s enough.

[nagislemontea]

i.

★ pairings: dante (netflix dmc) x fem reader

★ summary: After a messy breakup with Dante and a year of silence, you've rebuilt your life from the ground up. Now, Dante's back, and one thing is clear — he's determined to make you his.

★ ❝ It's been exactly 365 since I've seen your face ❞

★ c.w.:dante being a little shit, suggestive content. not beta'd, reuploading bc it got taken down?

★ a/n:HIIIIIIIII!!!! okay so i put out a poll asking about how y'all would feel if i posted a dante fic, and omg. so many of you replied. so now here go ahead and take this shit!! damn!!! jk i want him so bad so yk i had to rush to get this done LMFAOOAOA. enjoy besties! if you're from around here, you know the drill. if not, please leave lots of comments, i love the spam and your praise gives me motivation to update quicker!!

★ w.c: 10k

pretty ; chapter index

YOU AND DANTE had a messy breakup. Contrary to how it may have seemed at the time of “The Argument” (as you had begun calling it), there was nothing sudden about it. It didn’t detonate like some sort of time bomb, but disintegrated rather slowly – like water trickling through the cracks in the cement, soft and patient, until one day everything just caved in.

It didn’t always feel that way.

When you had first met Dante, it was… effortless. (Some of which was the rose colored glasses’ doing, you were sure). He was cute as hell, first of all. He was funny, too. He had no problems laughing you right out of your panties on the first date, and… well, practically every night after that. He looked at you like you were everything to him – like a dream come true, like he couldn’t believe someone like you would actually have chosen him. You got along famously.

For a while, things stayed that way. Six months, in fact. Things were good. Simple. You’d wake up to his arms around you, his voice in your ear, calling you names that only sounded pretty falling from his lips – princess, babydoll, sweetheart. His stupid jokes – the ones that always used to make you crack a tired grin. He used to make time.

But, somewhere along the way, his job started taking more and more of him. Late nights began to bleed into early mornings. You’d wait up for him with leftovers gone cold and shows paused halfway through. At first, he apologized. Said he hated missing out on time with you. But then the apologies stopped, and so did the explanations. You’d go days without hearing from him. Sometimes weeks. You’d text—hey, you okay?, can you call when you're free?—and the replies would trickle in too late or not at all.

You tried to be understanding. People get busy, right? Life gets in the way. You told yourself that a strong relationship should be able to weather a few quiet days. But it was more than just quiet. It was absence. It was like he was slipping through your fingers and pretending he wasn’t.

And when you did talk, it was always surface-level. You’d try to tell him how it made you feel—how the silence scared you, how you felt like you were in this alone—and he’d get defensive. He’d say, “I’m doing my best,” or “You know how much pressure I’m under right now.” And you’d bite your tongue. You didn’t want to add to the weight on his shoulders. But the resentment kept building. You weren’t asking for the world. Just a check-in. A sign that he still remembered how to love you when things got hard.

The miscommunications started small. A forgotten anniversary dinner. A vague answer when you asked if he’d be home. But they stacked up like dominoes, one after the other, until the smallest push sent everything toppling. You both stopped speaking the same language. You’d say, “I miss you,” and he’d hear, “You’re not good enough.” He’d say, “I’m tired,” and you’d hear, “You don’t matter.”

Then came the argument. The big one. The one that split the foundation.

You were setting the table when he buzzed the apartment door.

It was 10:18 PM.

You stared at the intercom for a second before pressing the button to let him in. No words. No "I'm here" or "Sorry I'm late." Just the click of the door unlocking and silence.

You opened the door before he could knock. Dante stepped in looking like hell—literal hell. Blood on his sleeve, eyes sunken from lack of sleep, hair damp like he’d tried to rinse off whatever mess he’d walked through before coming to you. He smelled like copper and smoke and exhaustion.

Still, your heart lifted for a beat just seeing him. Stupid, soft reflex.

“Hey,” you said.

He nodded. “Hey.”

You stepped aside and let him in. He didn’t kiss you. Didn’t touch you. Just dropped his duffel by the door like he was clocking out of something. The sight of him like this—tired, distant, barely standing—it tugged at something in your chest.

“I made dinner,” you said, a little too hopeful. “It’s probably cold by now, but—”

“I’m not hungry,” he cut in, already moving toward the couch.

You stood in the kitchen for a second, hands still resting on the back of one of the chairs. Watching him. He sat with a grunt, elbows on knees, head in his hands like gravity was pressing harder than usual. You knew that posture. It meant don’t ask questions. Don’t start anything. Just let him sit in the silence.

But tonight… you couldn’t.

It had been a week. A week without him. A week of one-word texts, unanswered calls, and too many nights alone, replaying old conversations in your head trying to figure out when exactly he started slipping through your fingers.

“I waited,” you said softly. “I thought you were coming at eight.”

He didn’t look at you. “Got held up.”

You waited. Hoped for more. An apology. An explanation. Something that showed he realized this mattered.

Nothing.

You took a slow breath. “Dante… you can’t keep doing this.”

That made him lift his head, eyes hazy with irritation. “Doing what?”

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Ghosting me for a week. Showing up in the middle of the night like it’s nothing. Acting like I’m just supposed to—what? Pretend we’re fine?”

His jaw tensed. “I’ve been working.”

“I know,” you said, voice sharper than you meant. “I know you’ve been working. Risking your life. I get it. But I can’t keep pretending like I don’t care when you disappear. I can’t keep sitting alone in this apartment wondering if you’re alive.”

He blinked, like the words didn’t land right. Or like he didn’t want them to.

“You think I enjoy this?” he muttered. “You think I like being stuck in some sewer for three days bleeding out while some freak tries to tear me apart?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“You have no idea what it’s like out there.”

“No,” you snapped, stepping forward. “But I know what it’s like in here. Waiting. Checking my phone every five minutes. Making excuses for you. Pretending this doesn’t hurt because I’m scared if I say the wrong thing, you’ll just disappear again.”

He stood then, sudden and sharp. “You think I want to be like this?”

“I think you don’t know how to let people in,” you said, quieter now. “And I think I’ve been trying so damn hard to hold onto something that doesn’t want to be held.”

He stared at you, breathing hard, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” he said finally.

“I didn’t cook for someone who wasn’t going to show up,” you said.

The room went still.

He looked away first. Scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m tired.”

“So am I.”

Your voice cracked on that last word, and he looked at you again—really looked this time. And for a second, something in him softened. Like he saw the version of you that wasn’t angry or nagging or dramatic. Just hurting.

But he didn’t reach for you.

Didn’t say I’m sorry.

Didn’t say I missed you.

Just ran a hand through his hair and said, “Maybe this isn’t working.”

Not working?

Not working?

“You can’t be serious,” You huffed out a bitter laugh. Dante reached for you. You swatted him away. “You… We’ve been together for six months. What the fuck do you mean “Maybe this isn’t working”?”

He stood before you with his arms crossed, white hair still disheveled from his day, eyes narrowed, jaw ticked. “I mean that this…” He answered, gesturing to the space between you and him. “Isn’t working out. I don’t think– I can’t…” He swallowed, “I can’t be the man you need me to be. Not right now.”

“You’re gonna give up on us? Just like that?” You continued, still, with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Then, you stepped forward, raising a hand to reach out for him, “I love you, Dante. You’re not gonna fight for us?”

“This isn’t love,” He spoke, tone final, but the slightest trembling breath beneath his words betrayed his true feelings. His fingers slipped into his hair, trembling as they carded through his white locks and tugged at his roots. “Look at you– you don’t even see the problem. You shouldn’t have to worry about whether or not your boyfriend is gonna come back alive. You shouldn’t have to put your whole life on hold for me. You still have the whole world to see. I don’t want to have to live a double life anymore.”

“Then let me in!” You hissed back. Your arms were crossed, too. “Do you think I like feeling as if I don’t know the man I love? I could take some of the burden off your shoulders, Dante, if you just–”

“Enough,” Dante sucked his teeth. “I don’t want you wasting your life away worrying over me,” After a lengthy pause, he continued, “All we ever do is fight and fight and fight– I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore, not with you. You’d be much happier without me.”

He was probably right.

“Oh, fuck you,” you shouted, your voice cracking with fury, but even then, it wasn’t enough to hide the way your heart was shattering inside your chest. When your eyes finally met his, you knew he felt the heat of it—anger and hurt and betrayal, all coiled together like fire licking at his skin.

“You’re not going to decide what’s best for me.”

“Yes, I am,” he snapped, cold and absolute.

You took a step forward, trembling, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might break. “You don’t know what’s good for my well-being,” you bit back, chest heaving. “You don’t even know what’s good for your well-being.”

That hit him. You saw it in the way his lips pressed into a thin line, how his teeth caught the inside of his cheek like he was chewing on the guilt. Then he said the words that broke you:

“You could be so much happier without me.”

And just like that, everything inside you stopped.

Something in your gaze must’ve shifted then—something that startled even him. Because the anger didn’t burn quite as bright anymore. The fire was still there, but it flickered lower, smothered by something glassy, something wet clinging to your lashes. It was hurt. Real hurt. Deep, bone-deep heartbreak that swelled until your chest couldn’t contain it.

“Baby…” he sighed, and for the first time, his voice wasn’t sharp. His shoulders dropped like the weight of his decision had finally started to crush him. “I’m sorry. You know I love you. I just… I can’t live with myself knowing that one day I might not come back to you.”

You didn’t say it back.

Not this time.

Even if you wanted to. Even if your love for him still pulsed through every inch of your body, even if it begged for a reason to stay—how could you keep loving someone who was walking away from you like this?

Your lips parted, dry and trembling. You licked them slowly, like maybe the right words would come if you just gave them time. But all you could manage, hoarse and raw, was: “Take your shit…” You swallowed hard. God, it hurt. It hurt worse than anything he could’ve done. “And go.”

He froze.

“What?” he asked, stunned, like he hadn’t expected you to mean it. Like he thought you’d plead. Cry. Kiss him one more time just to remember what it felt like. Like you’d make it easier for him to leave you.

But you didn’t.

“I said…” You looked up at him, every inch of you on fire, your arms folded so tight across your chest they ached. You could feel yourself shaking—fists clenched, breath shallow. “Take your shit… and get the fuck out of my apartment.”

And you meant it.

Even if it destroyed you.

You saw the pain in his eyes then. The flicker of disbelief. The way his entire world seemed to crumble at your feet. Two years. Two whole years. Twenty-four months of laughter, late nights, shared secrets, and silent apologies. A thousand soft I love yous whispered between sheets. A thousand more unspoken.

Was he second-guessing it now? Did he finally realize what he was throwing away?

YOU

|  Guys we’re going out tn.

When you reached the bar, it was still early. There were a few people here, but not too many. The low murmur of voices and clinking glasses provided the background noise that you desperately craved.

You grabbed a seat at the bar and ordered a whiskey, the burn in your throat just sharp enough to make you feel something—anything, really. It felt like you were drinking to forget, and the first sip seemed to help, dulling the edges of the ache, if only for a moment.

Your friends noticed you as soon as they walked in. They must have heard the difference in your voice when you answered their text. They could tell something was off, but they didn’t press. Not immediately.

The first drink turned into another. And another. You weren’t trying to get drunk; you were just trying to escape. To lose yourself in the clinking of ice cubes, in the low hum of the bar, in something that wasn’t him. But as the minutes passed, the alcohol didn’t do much to stop your thoughts from spiraling back to him.

You thought about the night before. The argument. His face, so conflicted, yet resolute. The way he walked away without even a second glance, as if he knew the decision he was making was the right one. How could he be so sure? How could he leave you like that?

“Another?” one of your friends asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. She was smiling, but there was a glimmer of concern in her eyes.

You didn’t even think about it before nodding. “Yeah,” you said, a forced smile on your lips. "Just one more."

You didn’t want to talk about Dante. Not yet. You didn’t want to explain to anyone why you felt like the world had been yanked out from under you. But it didn’t matter. Your friends could see it in your eyes. They didn’t need you to say a word.

No, a year ago, your life changed.

So, you can imagine how it felt to walk home from a day spent at the grocery store, bags tucked beneath your arms, and see him standing there.

Dante.

It had been a year since you’d last seen him, and you were doing just fine. Really. A little grocery shopping to get your mind off the usual stuff, a bag of chips here, some pasta there. You didn’t need Dante in your life anymore, and if you were being honest, you were doing better without him. You had a boyfriend now, someone who didn’t make you question your sanity. Things were... uncomplicated.

That was until you turned the corner and saw him.

Dante. Standing there across the street, looking like he’d just stepped out of a scene from some movie you hadn’t signed up for. There he was, all messy hair and that familiar red coat, like he didn’t have a care in the world. You froze for a second, staring at him as if your eyes were playing tricks. Was he actually here? In your world, in your life, right now?

Of course he was. Why wouldn’t he be? The universe had a sick sense of humor.

You immediately felt that familiar wave of annoyance—was it even annoyance? Maybe it was exhaustion, or some mix of both. You adjusted the grocery bags under your arms and took a deep breath. You were doing just fine. He was not about to mess with your day.

But Dante, being Dante, didn’t just stand there. No, he was coming toward you now, his long stride eating up the space between you with an unsettling familiarity.

Great, you thought, shifting the weight of your bags to one side as if they were the only thing that mattered right now. But in truth, you were already calculating the best possible escape route. The crosswalk? Too far. The alley to your left? Maybe, but the sidewalk was too narrow. Okay, girl. Focus.

You picked up the pace, shifting into a power walk as though your life depended on it. Sure, you looked a little ridiculous, but it was a small price to pay for a little peace and quiet. You weren’t looking back. Not now.

Behind you, you could hear Dante’s footsteps closing in, his voice trailing after you, “Hey, wait up!”

But you didn’t wait up. No way.

You’d moved on. You had a boyfriend now, someone who would never make you feel like a damn emotional rollercoaster. Someone who didn’t show up after a year of radio silence with that same unreadable stare, acting like nothing happened. No, Dante. No thank you.

Still, you could hear his footsteps, gaining on you. It was like an unspoken challenge. You had to admit, he wasn’t slow. But neither were you. You adjusted the bags once again—damn, this was turning into a workout—and picked up the pace.

You weren’t going to make it easy for him. You weren’t even going to acknowledge the way your heart still remembered his presence, the way it beat a little faster the closer he got. You weren't going to let yourself get sucked back into that mess.

His voice was closer now. “Come on, just—”

A sigh. You were really doing this, weren’t you?

A glance over your shoulder, just a quick flick of the eyes to see how much ground he’d covered, and what do you know? He was right behind you now, practically breathing down your neck. “I’m just trying to catch up, alright?”

Catch up? You weren’t sure whether to laugh or groan at that. This wasn’t a race, Dante, and you didn’t need a personal trainer chasing you down the sidewalk. You could already feel the annoying tightness in your chest. The one that had always been there whenever he was around, the one that reminded you of how difficult it had been to move on in the first place.

He was getting too close for comfort now, and you could already tell this wasn’t going to end well if you kept this pace. So, against every instinct telling you to keep walking, you slowed down just enough for him to catch up. You didn’t want to, but here he was, breathing like he’d run a marathon just to get you to stop. And for what? So he could talk?

He stopped beside you, his eyes searching your face with that all-too-familiar intensity. His chest heaved slightly, probably from the exertion, but you’d be damned if you showed any signs of weakness.

For a second, he just stood there, catching his breath. You, on the other hand, kept your eyes straight ahead, acting like you hadn’t just sprinted for your life.

“Alright, listen,” he said, voice softer now, “I know I messed up. But can we at least—”

You didn’t even look at him as you interrupted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I can’t. I have to go.”

And that was that. You didn’t need to say anything else. You couldn’t afford to.

You were done.

That night, you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, hair tied up into a neat little bonnet. The faucet was running – lukewarm water trickling out – but you weren’t washing up. No, you were standing there, letting the water drip down your eyes, your cheeks, your neck. You were staring at your tired reflection.

You should’ve been washing away the exhaustion of the day, but instead, you just let it fall over you, droplets slipping down your face, down your chest, almost as if you were trying to wash away the past.

But you couldn’t. No matter how much water hit your skin, how much you scrubbed away at your tired reflection, you couldn’t erase him. Dante. He was there, in the back of your mind, in the way your pulse quickened when you saw him again, after all this time. It had been a year, and yet, when you looked at him across the street, the world seemed to stop for a moment. It was like stepping back into a dream.

You hadn’t realized how much of your heart you’d given to him, how much of yourself you’d let him take. And then, nothing. No texts, no calls, no explanation. Just silence, stretching on for months, the gap between you two growing wider, until you started to convince yourself that maybe that was for the best. Maybe you were better off without him, your life finally starting to take shape without the constant ache of waiting for him to come back, to acknowledge the mess he left behind.

Cupping your hands beneath the faucet, you splashed some more water onto your face. God, I need therapy.

But, being that your current rent situation didn’t exactly permit a visit to the psychologist at the moment, you threw your favorite fuzzy robe over your satin cami and shorts, popping your feet into your beat up pink slippers. You shuffled right over to your bedroom and plopped down onto the bed, limbs falling uselessly to the mattress.

Kill me, you thought.

That wasn’t viable, though. So, instead, you reached into your nightstand (past the vibrator you had bought eight months ago during the worst part of your dry streak) and pulled out a sheet mask. Biting into the package, you opened it and pulled the slimy thing out. The serum melted into your skin as you laid it over your face, leaning your head back against the pillows and relaxing for the first time in what felt like ages.

Your head was blissfully empty. There were no thoughts of men with precarious jobs and swords and… devilishly handsome faces. No, it was just you. You and your favorite pajamas and your favorite skincare routine.

You flicked the TV on. You didn’t have to change it back to your favorite channel. No, that was the glory of having a shitty little apartment in the city to yourself. It was on the same channel you left off on – your favorite drama.

The characters buzzed to life. You set the remote down and watched.

The characters on screen started a new conflict, one that you knew would keep you hooked for the next hour. You sank deeper into the couch, letting the familiar warmth of your apartment wash over you. Everything was quiet. Peaceful. The kind of quiet that only comes when you're truly alone.

Then, the sound came. A soft knock at the window outside your room, followed by a long, drawn-out silence. Your heart skipped, the peace broken. You froze, eyes still locked on the TV, the characters' voices fading into the background as your mind reeled. It was too late for anyone to be outside. Too late for anything normal to be happening. Another knock, louder this time. A rhythmic tap that sent a shiver down your spine. You slowly turned your head toward the window, your pulse quickening.

Oh, God, you thought. I’m going to die.

Still, because you couldn’t exactly ignore the sound, you slid out of your warm, comfortable bed and into your slippers once more. Then, hesitating every single step of the way, you snuck into the living room, glancing around in search of the source of the sound.

Another knock. This one louder. You held your breath, hand hovering just above the blinds. It was coming from outside. No one else came to your apartment at this hour. You knew who it had to be.

You glanced down.

There, crouched on the balcony just below your window, was Dante. His face was half-lit by the streetlights, a little smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he waved at you. As if it was the most normal thing in the world, like he hadn’t disappeared for an entire year. Like you hadn’t spent every sleepless night wondering if he was dead or alive, missing his presence as if your heart had been torn in half.

The audacity of it. There he was, grinning like nothing had changed. His hair was messy, his eyes gleaming with that same mischievous spark that used to drive you crazy. The same spark that made your chest ache, even now.

“He cannot be serious,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper, but he caught it, his grin widening.

You could almost feel his eyes on you, waiting, daring you to say something. But you couldn’t. What could you even say?

All you could do was crack the window open.

“Sorry,” He huffed out a laugh. A familiar one. One you… kinda missed, actually. “I tried calling, but I think you blocked my number.”

“I got a new phone,” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose and squeezing your eyes shut as if that would make this situation any better – as if you would open your eyes and he wouldn’t be here.

But he was. 

“What the fuck are you even doing here– I mean– the balcony, Dante, really?” You threw your hands out, eyes full of exasperation. “You could have knocked at the door like a normal person.”

“Would you have answered?” He asked. “If you knew it was me?”

“Probably not,” You replied honestly. “I should leave you out here to freeze to death.”

“Oh, right, about that,” He laughed, rubbing the back of his head abashedly. The entire encounter was so absurd that a part of you firmly believed you were dreaming. “I found out I’m, like… half demon. Crazy, right? So I don’t think I would freeze to death. Demon stamina, or whatever.”

Demon stamina. You thought. Right. Definitely awake right now.

Still, that would certainly explain his… endurance.

“Okay…” You had many, many questions, but that was the only thing you could muster, “Should I be… scared?”

What the fuck is going on?

In all honesty, if he told you that the world was ending tomorrow, you wouldn’t be surprised.

“Nah,” He waved your concerns away with the back of his hand. “I’d never hurt you. Except for… well, when I broke up with you. That’s why I came here, actually. Sorry about that. I’ve done some reflection and I…” Suddenly appearing rather nervous, he trailed off, “I fucked up. I was a real asshole to you back then. God, this is hard.”

Your arms dropped to your sides as you stared at him, completely dumbfounded. “You’re�� ridiculous.”

“I know,” Dante said, hands up like he was surrendering. “But hear me out—”

“No, no. You don’t get to just Spider-Man your way onto my balcony, confess your demon heritage, and then act like this is normal,” you said, pointing to him like you were trying to make sense of a hallucination. “You broke up with me out of nowhere. Then you vanished. For a year, Dante. Not a word. Not even a shitty text.”

“I didn’t have a phone,” he replied, offended. “I was on a mission. I was in Hell.”

You snorted. “Oh, please.”

He blinked at you. Then, very seriously, he hissed out, “No, I was literally in Hell. For a year. You can’t imagine what that was like for me.”

“Oh my god.” You pressed your fingers to your temples. “You’re insane. Hell? Really?”

“I’m not making it up! You think I wanted to ghost you for twelve months?”

“Well, you kind of did. You broke up with me, remember?” You crossed your arms. “Said I should forget you. That I should move on.”

A pregnant pause.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he muttered.

“Well, congrats. I moved on. I did the whole crying on the bathroom floor thing, I got a therapist, I drank my sorrows away, I bought this plant—” You gestured wildly at the lonely fern in the corner. “His name is Rico. And he’s thriving. Without you.”

Rico was not, in fact, thriving. He was an exotic plant. One you had purchased on impulse at a farmer’s market that you definitely should have researched prior. He wasn’t doing too well cooped up inside of your apartment in New York City. Who would?

Dante crouched down, tilting his head, squinting at Rico. “Looks a little dehydrated.”

You glared. “So do you. What do you even want, Dante?”

His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down for a second, suddenly quiet. “I want a do-over.”

You stared at him.

“I didn’t have much control over the whole… trapped-in-hell thing,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck again, “but I wasn’t happy with how we ended things. I could’ve been better to you. I kept rehearsing what I’d say to you if I ever saw you again, but I wasn’t expecting it to actually happen.”

He’s not being serious

… Is he?

One look at him, and you knew he was.

You let out a long, flat breath. “We can’t.”

“Why?”

You raised your brows. “Because we can’t,” you said again, quieter this time. And this time, it hurt.

“Why?” He asked, as if you hadn’t made yourself perfectly clear. “I’ve changed, honest. The past year I spent without you, I realized how good you were to me. How I took you for granted – I don’t wanna let you go. I don’t wanna make the same mistake twice.”

Aw, you thought, That’s… kinda sweet, actually.

No. Stop that.

Instead, you propped your hand up on your hip, “Does that mean you won’t be here on my balcony ever again?”

He paused, pursed his lips. “Okay, maybe I would,” He finally admitted. “But if you would let me in–”

You cut him off right then and there, rolling your eyes. “I can’t, Dante. I have a fucking boyfriend.”

That hit its mark.

His mouth opened, then closed again. The silence that followed made you uncomfortable in a way only Dante could manage—equal parts awkward and guilty. He looked down at the floor of the balcony like maybe it had some hidden message for him.

“Oh…” he murmured. “Oh. You… You really moved on.”

“Something like that.” You shrugged, trying not to sound as tired as you felt. “That’s what happens when you disappear for a year. Life goes on.”

“Not for me,” he muttered, lips curling downward into a pout that would’ve been funny if it didn’t come attached to so much damn history. “Fuck that guy. I could treat you way better, honest.” Then he added, almost too fast, like it slipped out before he could filter it, “I could probably fuck you better, too—”

He probably could. Honestly, your current sex life with your current boyfriend wasn’t the greatest. Still, he was consistent. He didn’t leave you hanging for nights in a row, wondering if he would come home. Not to mention the fact that, when you were with Dante, well…

You had some of the loveliest orgasms you had ever had. On the bed, on the floor, on the kitchen counter. The kind of orgasm you hadn’t achieved once since he had left. Not with your vibrator, and certainly not with your new boyfriend.

Your stare could’ve burned through glass. “I have to be up early tomorrow.”

He had the decency to look vaguely ashamed, but not enough to shut up. “Did you come here just to ask for a do-over?” you asked, already backing toward the window.

“No,” he said, and then paused. “Yes. I don’t know. Maybe.”

You almost respected his commitment. Almost.

You didn’t respond right away, just stared at him— hair as white as starlight, red leather coat, sword still strapped to his back, ridiculous expression like he genuinely thought charm could undo the year-long hole he’d left in your life. The silence made him fidget, scuffing the toe of his boot against the concrete.

“What do I have to do to convince you?”

You sighed. You really sighed this time, long and from the chest, because there was no point in even pretending this wasn’t exhausting.

“Goodnight, Dante,” you said.

Then… you shut the window.

The next day came with no promises of peace.

You were behind the counter at the diner, hair tied back, apron smudged with flour, oil, and maybe a little bit of your sanity. The coffee machine hissed in protest as you filled another mug for a trucker in the corner booth. Your feet hurt. Your head hurt. But at least it was a different kind of ache than the one Dante stirred up last night.

And then, like the universe had a personal vendetta against your emotional wellbeing, the bell above the door jingled.

You didn’t have to look up.

You felt him walk in—like some twisted sixth sense. The air shifted, and you could practically smell the cologne he always wore, something smoky and leather-soft. A second later, a voice followed.

“Damn. This place got a lot prettier since I was last here.”

You looked up anyway. Because of course you did.

There he was. Dante. Leaning casually against the host stand, all devil-may-care charm and a ridiculous leather jacket that made him look like he belonged anywhere but this greasy spoon diner. His eyes found you immediately.

You blinked slowly, then turned back to the coffee pot. “I swear to God,” you muttered under your breath, “I’m gonna lose my mind.”

He strolled right up to the counter, pulling up a stool like he hadn’t trespassed on your balcony twelve hours ago. Like he hadn’t cracked open an old wound and kissed the air with apologies.

“You look good in that apron,” he said, grinning.

You didn’t bother looking at him this time. “You look like someone who doesn’t tip well.”

“I tip amazing,” he argued. “Just like I–”

“Do me a favor and don’t finish that sentence,” you warned, grabbing a towel and wiping down a clean patch of counter for the hundredth time. “Have you always been this petulant or is it something in the air?”

“I’m a lot of things,” he said, shrugging innocently. “I’m a man of many talents. Want me to prove it? I’ve got time.”

Oh my god.

You finally turned to face him. “Do you not have demons to fight or… hell dimensions to get trapped in again?”

He laughed. “You remembered.”

You deadpanned, “How could I forget? It’s not every day your ex disappears into Hell without a cell phone.”

Dante lifted his hands like he was surrendering. “Okay, yeah, that’s fair. But look—I just thought we could talk. Maybe over some waffles? Syrup fixes a lot.”

You were already shaking your head. “No. Nope. I’m not doing this with you. Not here.”

“I’ll be good,” he said, drawing an imaginary halo over his head with his fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout,” you replied flatly.

“And you were never this mean to me,” he said with mock hurt.

“You were never this annoying. Go piss off somewhere. You had no problems leaving me alone for a year,” you shot back. Then you waved down one of your coworkers—a sweet girl named Lila with a bright smile and no idea what kind of emotional tornado she was about to serve.

“Hey, Lila?” you called. “Can you take counter stool three for me?”

She blinked. “Uh, sure. You okay?”

“Peachy,” you said, handing her a menu. “He’s all yours.”

Dante blinked as Lila approached with her notepad, looking confused and a little betrayed. “Wait, seriously?”

You leaned over the counter slightly, voice low. “You want waffles? Order them. You want closure? Write a poem.”

And then you walked away. You didn’t look back. You didn’t have to. The ache in your chest was enough to tell you exactly what kind of expression he wore.

The living room was dark, lit only by the bluish haze of the TV screen flashing between killstreaks and loading screens. Your boyfriend was sunk deep into the couch, legs wide, controller gripped like a lifeline. He hadn’t looked at you in over twenty minutes, completely absorbed in his game, spewing half-hearted trash talk at some twelve-year-old with better aim and a louder mic.

You shifted beside him, stretching a little, brushing your leg against his. Nothing. So you leaned over, nuzzling your nose lightly against his neck, just beneath his jaw.

“Hey,” you murmured, your voice soft and sweet. You let your fingers slide down his chest, slow and teasing. “Want to take a little break?”

He flinched—not from desire, but because someone on screen shot him. Again.

“Babe, not now,” he mumbled, eyes glued to the game. “I’m in ranked.”

You pulled back a bit, blinking, mouth falling open in disbelief. “Seriously?”

He didn’t look at you. Just kept clicking buttons, dead focused on the screen. “Yeah, just like… fifteen more minutes. Can you make dinner or something?”

You stared at him, chest hollowing out in quiet, stunned offense. You’d offered him your body. He asked for food.

There was a moment of silence. Your hand dropped from his chest.

You sat back against the cushion, a little colder now, teeth pressing into your bottom lip. And that was when Dante’s voice—his voice—echoed in your head from the night before.

“Fuck that guy. I could treat you way better, honest. I could probably fuck you better, too—”

You closed your eyes briefly, scoffing under your breath. God, he was ridiculous. And yet…

You pushed yourself off the couch wordlessly, heading to the kitchen without a sound.

Behind you, your boyfriend called out, “You’re the best, babe!”

You didn’t answer. Not with words. Just slammed the fridge door a little harder than necessary.

And in the back of your mind, Dante's voice lingered like a splinter.

You turned the stove on, lips pressed into a thin, tired line. Maybe later you’d lie down and try to remember what it felt like to be romanced by someone who didn’t treat Call of Duty like a second girlfriend.

One incredibly sexless night later, you took the evening to decompress. That is, you lit up some candles, had a few slices of the pie you’d kept in your fridge for days just like this one, and blocked off an hour for the sole purpose of masturbation. 

What? You needed it.

The apartment was warm, dimly lit, perfectly still. You’d even put your phone on Do Not Disturb, because tonight was about you. Your fingers itched with anticipation as you laid out your night like a ritual: the robe slipping lower on your shoulder, the cool sheets turned down, your favorite toy already waiting on the nightstand like a promise.

God. You needed this. You were wound tight. Between work, the complete lack of passion from the man you were dating, and that absolutely deranged balcony visit from Dante… you were more than pent up. You were practically vibrating with unmet desire.

You let out a long, dramatic exhale, sinking down into your mattress with the kind of grace usually reserved for tragic heroines. Just you, a flickering candle, and the fantasy of literally anyone but your boyfriend.

You reached for the waistband of your pajama shorts.

Knock, knock.

Your hand froze.

You stared at the ceiling. Maybe it was a neighbor. Maybe someone had the wrong door.

Knock, knock. Louder this time. Three slow raps, followed by silence.

You sat up slowly, groaning into the air. Then, begrudgingly, you stuffed your vibrator back into the drawer, kicking your feet over the edge of the bed and walking into the living room. It was dark, of course, so you flicked on a light. When you stared into the peephole of your front door, it took all of the strength you had to not bang your head against the door.

It was Dante. Again. No leather jacket this time, just a black hoodie, hands jammed into the pockets of his sweatpants.

You blinked, then groaned into the back of your hand.

Another knock, like he heard you. And then, muffled through the wood, his voice.

“I can hear you in there. Demon hearing, remember?” He brought his head up to the peephole, staring right back at you. “I know it’s late, Just… let me talk to you? For just a second? Please?”

You pulled the door open.

Dante stood there in the dim hallway light, hair windswept, hands in his pockets like he’d been pacing outside for a while, working up the nerve. His gaze moved over your face with a kind of stunned reverence, like he hadn’t really believed he’d see you again.

“Hey, princess,” he said.

There it was. That nickname. The one you hadn’t heard in a year.

You stepped aside without a word. He walked in like the place still remembered him. Or maybe you did.

The door clicked shut behind you.

You didn’t speak. You leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight over your chest, watching him watch the room like it had changed without him. It had. You had. But he still looked at you like he saw the girl you were a year ago. That girl who let him ruin her, and smiled while doing it.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he said, voice low. “I tried.”

“Did you?” You answered.

“Okay, not really,” He looked at you again, more serious now. “I keep thinking about you. All the time. You’re in my head constantly, like—fuck—I’ll be walking down the street and I’ll see something and just need to tell you about it.”

You laughed. Just once. It came out bitter and exhausted. “Keep it to yourself.”

“I missed talking to you about anything,” he said. “Everything.”

You shook your head, pushing off the wall, pacing just a little—like if you kept moving, you wouldn’t fall for this again. “You don’t get to come back after vanishing for a year and say shit like that.”

“I know. I know I don’t,” he said quickly, stepping toward you. “But I can’t pretend anymore. I’ve been trying to act like– like I’m not completely in love with you still, and it’s killing me.”

Your breath caught.

After all of this time?

His hands reached for yours before you could stop him. You let him take them.

Okay… what the fuck is going on?

“You deserve someone who sees you. Someone who treats you like you matter every second of the day,” he said. “Someone who doesn’t take you for granted. I could be that. I want to be that.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Because you’d heard those words before, from people who never meant them. From the person you’d curled up beside just last night, feeling more alone than ever. And yet here Dante was, saying all the right things—but he hadn’t even asked. He didn’t know.

He didn’t know how long it had been since someone had touched you like they meant it.

Your voice came out hoarse. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” he whispered. His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “I think about you when I’m trying to sleep. I think about your laugh. Your stupid, shitty taste in TV. Your coffee order. The movies you like. I want that back. I want you back.”

You yanked your hands away, jaw tight.

He’s got a lot of fucking nerve.

“Don’t do this,” you said. “Don’t show up and say these things and make me feel like this again. You don’t even know what you left behind.”

He looked at you, eyes open and raw. “Then tell me. Let me make it right.”

“Go away, Dante.” you snapped.

Silence fell between you like a slammed door. You turned your back to him, trying to catch your breath.

Then he stepped in behind you.

Not touching, not quite—but close enough that you felt the heat of him. Close enough that your body remembered every inch of him like a phantom limb. 

“Hey,” he murmured. “I know I fucked up. Can you be… like, not so mad? Just for two seconds?”

His hand slid to your hip, turning you gently toward him. You let him, still trembling, still so full of everything you never got to say.

“I’ve been in love with you this whole time,” he whispered. “And I’m so fucking sorry.”

The words were genuine. Genuine enough that you felt the tears begin to prickle at your eyes all over again – emotional at the mere thought of him, because truthfully?

You missed him, too. You just didn’t want to admit it. You missed the late nights and later mornings. You missed waking up next to him, hearing him talk about his crazy adventures as a demon hunter. You missed his kisses, the smell of him, his everything.

And, God, the sex… The sex was great.

He was taller than you. Always had been. But in that moment, it felt impossible not to notice how much he towered over you—how his shadow swallowed yours, how the air itself seemed to dip around him. You didn’t want to look up at him, but you did.

You stood frozen, breath shallow, pulse racing in your throat. You didn’t want this. You shouldn’t want this. But here you were, locked in place, every part of you screaming to walk away, and every part of you still craving the comfort of his touch.

“Please…” You whispered, trying to fight the overwhelming tide of emotion. “Please, Dante. Just go.”

His expression softened, like he hadn’t expected that—like he was expecting something more. You felt his fingers on your waist now, and they were warm, pressing gently into your skin. There was no escape now. You weren’t sure you wanted to run anymore, not when it felt like your body was already betraying you.

“I shouldn’t be here, I know,” he said, his voice quieter now. The distance between you seemed to vanish with each word. “But I couldn’t stay away. I tried to forget about you, I tried so damn hard, but I couldn’t. I don’t want to.”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “Don’t, Dante. I can’t… I can’t do this.”

His eyes searched yours, the guilt and longing mixing together in a way that made your heart ache. He was close now, so close that you could feel his breath against your skin. You knew what was coming, but you didn’t stop him. Not yet.

“I know I fucked up,” he whispered again, more softly this time. “But I love you. I never stopped. And I can’t keep pretending I don’t. I just—I can’t be without you.”

And then, without waiting for another word, he leaned in.

His lips touched yours, slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. You didn’t stop him. For that moment, for that brief, heart-stopping moment, you let yourself fall back into the pull of him. Your hands found their way to his chest, clutching at his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

God, I missed this.

You melted against him, a wave of relief crashing over you as his kiss deepened, more urgent, more desperate. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, and you responded without thinking, your body moving instinctively against his. He groaned low in his throat, his hand sliding to your neck, the other pressing you closer.

You kissed him back like you were starving, like you had been dying for this. And for a moment, it was like nothing else mattered—like the last year of silence, the hurt, the betrayal, all of it faded away in the heat of his mouth on yours.

But then, just as quickly as the warmth had started, it turned cold.

You pulled away, gasping for air. Your chest heaved with the sudden rush of emotion. You couldn’t do this. Not again. Not after everything. Your hands shook as you pushed against his chest, creating just enough space to break the connection.

“No,” you said, your voice breaking as you stepped back, wiping at your eyes. “No. I can’t do this. I won’t.”

He blinked at you, stunned, his face pale, but he didn’t move. His eyes were full of confusion, pain, and something darker that you didn’t want to see.

“I can’t,” you repeated, voice steadying with every word. You took another step back, hand reaching for the door. “We can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

There it was.

“I’m sorry, Dante,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I really am.”

He stared at you for a long moment, and for the briefest second, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes – something devastating.

But then, he nodded. The motion was slow, almost resigned, and he took a step back. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the door. As he passed you, he stopped for a moment, his gaze lingering on you one last time.

“I got a new phone. Same number,” he said, his voice raw. “You know who to call if you change your mind.”

And then, he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed was deafening.

You were sitting on the couch, the faint sounds of your boyfriend’s video game drifting from the other room, mingling with the hum of the refrigerator. You hated that noise—hated the sound of him so effortlessly immersed in a world that wasn’t yours, that didn’t care about the growing tension between the two of you. You tried to focus on the TV, tried to let the sitcom's canned laughter drown out the gnawing discomfort in your stomach. But it wasn’t working. You couldn’t stop thinking about what Dante had said.

I could treat you so much better.

Those words. God, they kept coming back to you. You didn’t want them to. You didn’t want to feel them pushing into every corner of your mind, making you question everything you thought you knew. But they did. And you were alone with those thoughts now. Alone with your insecurities that you usually kept locked away.

You huffed, pulling the blanket tighter around you as if it could protect you from the storm of doubt forming in your chest. You shouldn’t be thinking about him—about Dante. You should be thinking about how your boyfriend had been in and out of your life, barely there, barely present, always distracted. But the longer you sat there, the more it seemed like it was all just a reflection of the way you felt inside: disconnected, hollowed out, drifting.

And then, as if fate was timing it just perfectly, he left his phone on the counter.

Your breath caught, the phone staring at you like a challenge, like an invitation. You told yourself you wouldn’t. You promised you wouldn’t invade his privacy like this. But your fingers itched to touch it, to confirm the sinking feeling in your stomach that something—someone—wasn't right.

You pushed yourself off the couch, the decision feeling both slow and inevitable as you walked toward the kitchen. The phone sat innocently on the counter, waiting. You took a breath, a shaky, hesitant inhale. You could walk away. You could pretend you didn’t see it.

But you didn’t.

You picked it up, unlocking it with a simple swipe. Your heart hammered in your chest, adrenaline kicking in as if you were about to do something reckless. The phone screen lit up with messages from some unnamed number. And when you saw the first message, your throat tightened.

"I miss you so much. When can I see you again?"

It hit you hard. Like a punch to the gut. You hadn’t even had time to react before your eyes were scanning the next message, then the next, your stomach sinking deeper and deeper with every word.

“Last night was incredible. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

A sharp, painful gasp escaped you before you could stop it. You clutched the phone tighter, staring at the words, and then—bam—it all crashed into you. You hadn’t been wrong. You hadn’t been imagining the distance, the emotional coldness that had settled between you and your boyfriend. There it was, in black and white—proof of his betrayal.

You felt like you were drowning, suffocating under the weight of it all. This wasn’t just about the messages. It was about everything. About the endless late nights when he came home late from “work,” about the weekends when he’d disappear into his own world, leaving you to figure out where you fit into it. And now this—this confirmation that the man you had been with for so long wasn’t who you thought he was.

You could almost hear Dante’s voice again in your head. I could treat you so much better. The words felt like salt in a wound you hadn’t even realized you had, their presence almost suffocating in the quiet of your kitchen. Were you settling? Were you really going to let this happen? Let yourself get swallowed by someone who couldn’t even give you the decency of respect?

You exhaled sharply, your pulse quickening as the next message flashed on the screen.

“I can’t wait to see you again, babe.”

Babe.

The word made you sick, twisting your stomach into knots. You didn’t know why it bothered you so much—maybe because it wasn’t meant for you. Maybe because it was meant for someone else. Someone who got his attention, who got his time, his affection. It wasn’t you. You were just the woman he settled for, the one who wasn’t good enough for the effort.

The room felt too small, the air too thick, and you suddenly hated everything about this moment. The phone in your hand, the pit in your stomach, the way you had let things go on for this long. You could feel the tears start to prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back. You weren’t going to cry over this. You weren’t going to let him have that power over you.

But just as quickly, the rush of hurt was replaced by something else—a sharp anger that burned through you like fire. You weren’t going to keep doing this. You weren’t going to keep letting him make you feel small. You weren’t going to keep standing by, pretending that nothing was wrong when everything was falling apart around you.

You weren’t going to be the backup. The woman who stayed even though she knew she deserved more.

The sound of footsteps from the other room snapped you out of your thoughts, and you shoved the phone down onto the counter, just as your boyfriend entered the kitchen. His voice was casual, too casual, as if nothing had changed.

“Hey, babe. You alright?” He asked, glancing over at you.

You didn’t respond right away. You just stared at him, your chest tight with all the words you didn’t want to say, the emotions you didn’t know how to handle.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The raw anger, the aching disappointment—it was all building up inside you, suffocating you. You stood there in the kitchen, phone still in your hand, his lies echoing in your mind. Every text, every word, had become a blade, slicing through your trust, through your relationship. And now, standing face-to-face with him, it all came to a boiling point.

You couldn’t help it.

You walked up to him, eyes burning with fury, and before he could even open his mouth to explain himself, your hand shot out. The slap echoed through the small apartment, sharp and loud, breaking the tense silence between you.

His head jerked to the side from the impact. He didn’t even seem surprised. But you could see the flicker of guilt in his eyes. Too late for that.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your voice trembled with rage as the words spilled out. “You think I wouldn’t find out? You think I’m some kind of idiot, just sitting here while you lie to my face?”

He reached up, touching his cheek, and for a moment, he looked almost confused. “What the hell are you talking abou–”

“No.” You cut him off, stepping back, trying to breathe, to stop the angry tears from spilling over. “Don’t even try. I’ve been here, okay? I’ve been here, giving you everything, and this is how you repay me?”

You could feel the walls around you closing in. The kitchen—the place where you had made so many meals together, laughed together, fought together—it suddenly felt suffocating. This wasn’t your home anymore. It wasn’t the place you thought it was.

“I trusted you,” you spat, your voice cracking. “I trusted you, and you went behind my back. All this time, you were texting her—her—while I was sitting here, wondering what the hell was wrong with me.”

His eyes widened, but then he scoffed, trying to brush it off. “Come on, it’s not like that. She’s just—”

“Don’t!” You interrupted again, shaking your head, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care what excuses you’ve got. I don’t want to hear how you’re ‘sorry’ and how ‘it wasn’t like that’ because it was. I saw the texts. I saw everything.”

There was a cold silence, the weight of your words hanging heavily between you. He was quiet now, eyes downcast, as if he didn’t know what to say. Maybe he had no idea how to fix it—because there was no fixing it. Not this time.

“Do you even care?” You whispered, feeling the heartbreak seep into your bones. “Do you even care that you’ve been hurting me this whole time?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but you could see the hesitation in his eyes. He was trying to form the right words, trying to make it sound like he cared, like he had some kind of reason, but it was too late for that.

“No,” you said softly, shaking your head. “I’m done.”

He froze. For the first time in what felt like ages, there was an almost desperate look in his eyes. “Wait—what? You can’t—”

“Don’t try to stop me.” You took a deep breath, the anger dissipating just enough to feel the weight of the pain. “I’m not staying here. I’m not going to keep putting myself through this. I’m done.”

His face fell. You could see the regret in his eyes, but you didn’t care anymore. You couldn’t. Not after everything. Not after what you’d just found out.

You turned your back on him, heading for the bedroom to grab your things. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. You could feel the tension in the air, but you refused to acknowledge it. Not anymore. You were done.

You grabbed your bag—your jacket, your wallet, your keys—and made your way toward the door. Every step felt heavy, like you were walking away from something you had invested so much of yourself into, and yet, there was a strange sense of relief settling in your chest. You were leaving behind a lie, a hollow version of something you had once wanted to be real. 

You were leaving him.

“Wait,” he called out, his voice strained. “Please, don’t go. We can fix this. We can talk—”

But you didn’t listen. You opened the door, stepping out into the hallway, and closed it behind you. The sound of it was final. You didn’t want to hear his excuses anymore. You didn’t want to be with someone who could betray you like this.

Still, weak thing that you were, you began to cry.

“I got a new phone. Same number,” he said, his voice raw. “You know who to call if you change your mind.”

As you walked down the hallway, your phone felt heavy in your pocket. You didn’t want to look at it. 

But then, your fingers moved of their own accord, slipping the phone out of your pocket.

And there it was: Dante’s old number.

The one you’d saved with the naive hope that he might have called. You hadn’t thought about it in a while. You hadn’t dared to reach out to him—hadn’t dared to even look at his name on your phone. But now, standing there in the hallway, your heart pounding, your chest tight from everything you’d just left behind, you thought about what he’d said to you.

I could treat you better. 

I’ve always been in love with you.

A cold shiver ran down your spine at the thought. You could still hear his voice in your head, still feel the weight of his words.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, uncertainty swirling inside you. You didn’t know why you were doing this. You didn’t know what you hoped to get from it, but you couldn’t shake the pull. You wanted—needed—someone who saw you. Someone who cared.

So, in a moment of weakness, you typed the words.

YOU: I need you.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself. The words felt foreign, too raw, too vulnerable, but you couldn’t take them back now.

a/n: ok so whenn i say this is gonna be short... i MEAN IT THIS TIME LOL..... maybe. anyway! part two is almost done, so comment what you thought, let me know what you'd like to see, what you loved, etc! until next time, my loves x not sure why this got deleted? but ok

I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

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wanna join the taglist? | pretty ; chapter index

[nagislemontea]

Making the whole theme of the DMC Netflix show that "demons are actually the victims of jingoistic American military imperialism" is such a fundamental antithesis of the entire beating heart of the Devil May Cry franchise. Honestly it's exactly what I expected from a cynical western production.

The Devil May Cry series is about how humanity is superior because humanity is capable of love. Demons may have power and strength which allows them to assert their will over the world and cause suffering. But humanity will always overcome, humanity is capable of more than demons ever will be. Because devils never cry. Only humanity has the capacity for love that allows them to feel sorrow at the loss of their loved ones. Only humanity has the drive to self sacrifice in the name of protecting those we cherish and value.

The reason Dante and Nero are the badasses that they are is because of their human genetics, not their demonic blood. Vergil loses because he tried rejecting his humanity and just embracing his demonic lineage in the name of striving for more power. Vergil loses his soul and is enslaved and humiliated because he pushes his only remaining family away, he forgot that the very reason he became obsessed with power is because he wanted to be able to protect Dante the way he couldn't on the day they lost their home. And Vergil is only redeemed when he is reclaimed by his son, and has familial love forced onto him whether he wanted it or not. The theme song of DMC5 is called LEGACY for a reason, because the ties that bind for better and for worse will always be a part of you. And it is the characters HUMANITY that makes that the case.

Family and love is the FOUNDATIONAL theme of the Devil May Cry series from the very beginning. This isn't even very depthful literary analysis, the games are incredibly blunt with these themes.

This is incredibly surface level reading. And yet somehow the creators of the Netflix show either didn't get it, or deliberately disregarded it. Either way, god awful show. If you enjoy it, you CANNOT say that you also enjoy the video games. They are mutually exclusive. What exactly do you like about the games, if you derive ANY enjoyment whatsoever from this show that uses the source material as toilet paper?

At least have the integrity to admit you just think the video games are stupid and the show is superior because it isn't a video game. At least then I could respect that. Don't try and pull this "I enjoy both" bullshit. Bullshit as in you're fucking lying.

[nagislemontea]

Unintentional couple behaviour

you two acts like a loving couple all the time, so what happens when someone points it out?

characters: luffy, kidd, katakuri, shanks and mihawk

(zoro, sanji, law, ace and sabo)

a/n: since a loooot asked for more, here I am eheh

words count: around 0.4k - 1.1k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Monkey D. Luffy:

You don’t know when it started.

Maybe it was the way Luffy always stole food from your plate, but make sure to never let anyone else touch it.

Maybe it was how he always grabbed your hand first whenever the crew split up.

Maybe it was how he insisted on napping with you, his head always finding your lap, his arms always looping around you like a makeshift pillow.

Whatever it was, it had been going on for way too long. And the worst part is that you never questioned it.

Until now.

It starts with Sanji.

You’re sitting at the dinner table, picking at your food, when Sanji suddenly snorts “You two should just date already.”

You blink “…What?”

Sanji gestures between you and Luffy “You’re basically a couple anyway.”

You choke on your drink.

Luffy just tilts his head, mid-bite “Huh?”

Sanji raises an eyebrow “Seriously? You guys act like a couple all the time.”

You open your mouth to argue, to deny everything, but then Nami nods “He’s right, you know.”

Usopp grins “Yeah, I mean, have you even seen yourselves?”

Franky chuckles “Super obvious, bro.”

You stare. And then Zoro, of all people, grunts “They’re not wrong.”

Your brain short-circuits. Luffy just blinks at all of them, then turns to you “Wait… are we a couple?”

Your face burns “No!”

The crew groans.

“Oh, come on.”

“You’re in denial.”

“This is painful to watch.”

You glare “We’re just friends!”

Luffy nods “Yeah! Just friends!”

The crew stares. Then Brook smiles “Oh? Then you wouldn’t mind if I asked y/n out on a date?”

Silence.

Then Luffy’s fork snaps in half and the table goes dead quiet.

Luffy grins at Brook, but it’s not his usual happy-go-lucky grin. It’s the grin he wears before picking a fight.

“Yohoho,” Brook laughs nervously “Just kidding.”

Luffy hums, still smiling “Good.”

Your stomach flips because holy shit. That was jealousy. Luffy was jealous... Over you.

The realization haunts you for the rest of the night. Because if Luffy was jealous then what did that mean?

Did he actually—?

No.

No, this is Luffy. He’s just protective. That’s just who he is.

…Right?

You barely sleep, and the next morning you wake up to Luffy in your bed.

Sprawled across your mattress. Arms locked around your waist. Face buried in your shoulder.

Like it’s completely normal.

Like he always does this.

Your heart pounds.

Because—wait!

He does always do this. Every night. Every time you’re on the Sunny, he sneaks into your bed without even asking. And you never questioned it.

Because it was just Luffy.

But now everything feels different.

You slowly try to move, but his grip tightens.

“Mm… don’t go” he mumbles sleepily, lips brushing against your skin.

And that’s it. You lose it.

“LUFFY, WHAT ARE WE?!”

Luffy jerks awake “Huh—?”

“What are we?!” you repeat, flustered as hell.

Luffy rubs his eyes, confused “We’re us.”

You groan “That’s not an answer!”

He tilts his head “What do you mean?”

You gesture wildly “This! Us! The sleeping together! The hand-holding! The food-sharing!”

Luffy suddenly grins “Oh.”

Your heart stops “What do you mean, oh?”

Luffy laughs. And then, without hesitation, he leans in and kisses you.

Soft. Certain.

Like he’s been waiting to do it forever.

You freeze. Your brain short-circuits.

He pulls back, grinning “So? Are we a couple now?”

You gape “…WHAT?!”

Luffy just laughs “Well, we’ve basically been dating this whole time, right?”

Your eye twitches “AND YOU KNEW?!”

Luffy shrugs “I just thought you knew too.”

You sputter, because what the hell. What the actual hell. Luffy just decided you were dating. And you never even noticed.

You flop back onto the bed.

Luffy just grins, tugging you closer “You’re thinking too much” he mumbles, nuzzling against you.

Your heart races.

Your face is burning.

But… maybe the crew was right. Maybe you and Luffy were always meant to be.

Even if you were the last person to realize it.

── .✦ Eustass Kidd:

You’ve always known Kid was the stubborn type. He was gruff, intense, and always had that tough guy act. But lately, you’ve noticed something strange. The more you were around him, the more he didn’t seem to mind you being there. In fact, he almost seemed to expect it.

It starts with those small things, things he doesn’t think twice about. Like when you’re both sitting on the deck, and a gust of wind hits just as you’re about to stand. Before you can catch your balance, Kid’s hand shoots out, steadying you. He doesn’t say anything, but his grip lingers just long enough for you to notice.

“Watch it” he mutters, his usual gruff tone, but there’s something softer behind his eyes. You smile but say nothing. Killer, standing nearby, simply raises an eyebrow before looking away, smirking under his mask.

A few days later, when the crew is at port, you notice Kid keeping an eye on you more than usual. Every time someone gets too close or even bumps into you, his sharp gaze zeroes in, and he doesn’t hesitate to step in between you and whoever’s too close. At one point, a shady pirate from a different crew tries to flirt with you. Before you can even respond, Kid steps forward, pushing the pirate away with a low growl.

“Get lost.”

You blink, surprised at his intensity, but he doesn’t look at you, just at the pirate who’s now backing off.

“Kid, I can handle myself” you say, rolling your eyes.

“Doesn’t mean you should have to” he grumbles under his breath, clearly annoyed by something. He turns away before you can say anything else, muttering about how annoying it is to babysit you. But you know it’s not just that.

The crew knows it too.

Heat lets out a low whistle as he passes by “Damn, Captain, didn’t know you were the protective boyfriend type.”

Kid turns on him with a glare “Shut the hell up.”

Heat just laughs, walking away. You shake your head, but the warmth in your chest lingers.

Then, it all comes to a head one evening. The crew’s just finished a round of celebrations, the ship rocking gently in the quiet of the night. You’re leaning against the rail, enjoying the peace when you feel him behind you.

“Can’t sleep?” Kid asks, his voice low as usual.

You turn around, finding him standing there, arms crossed, the moonlight casting a soft glow over his scowling face.

“I could ask you the same thing” you reply.

There’s a quiet moment as you both stand there, not speaking. His eyes never leave yours, and the tension between you both seems to grow with every passing second.

Suddenly, you hear footsteps approaching. Instinctively, you move closer to Kid. You don’t even think about it, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his hand shifts from where it was casually resting at his side to just hovering near your waist.

The ship creaks, the quiet atmosphere making you both more aware of each other’s presence. He doesn’t speak. Neither do you. His fingers are so close, just barely grazing your side as if to assure himself you’re right there.

The closeness feels… different. Intimate.

You glance up at him “Kid?” you ask softly, your heart beating a little faster.

He doesn’t answer immediately, instead, his eyes flicker over your face, and you can see the internal struggle within him. It’s a battle, and for a second, you think he might just ignore it, keep up the stubborn front.

But then, his hand finally rests against your side. His touch isn’t harsh, but gentle. You don’t pull away.

“I don’t know why I keep doing this shit” he admits, his voice low but clear “But when it comes to you… I don’t want to risk something happening.”

You blink, surprised “Risk what?”

His gaze softens, and the gruffness in his tone fades away. He looks straight at you, the usual deflective annoyance replaced with something more vulnerable.

“I don’t want anyone else near you. Not after I saw that idiot trying to hit on you.”

You smile, your heart fluttering in your chest “Kid, I’m not a damsel in distress.”

“I know,” he replies quickly, but there’s no hiding the quiet affection in his voice now “I just… I don’t want to lose you.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and before you can even respond, something unspoken passes between you both. In a split second, his lips are near yours, and the kiss is soft, almost hesitant, like he’s still not sure if he’s allowed to show this side of himself.

But you kiss him back, your hand gently resting against his chest. The kiss lingers for a moment longer than either of you anticipated, but it feels like the world has paused, like this is the only thing that matters in that moment.

When you pull away, you both stand there in silence, but this time, it’s not awkward. It’s comfortable.

And then the moment is completely shattered by the sound of someone clearing their throat. You both snap your heads toward the entrance to the deck, where Killer and Wire are standing, watching with amused expressions.

“So,” Wire says, smirking, “you two finally gonna admit you’re basically married, or should we keep pretending this isn’t happening?”

Your face heats up immediately, but Kid just groans, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Go to hell” he grumbles.

Killer just shakes his head “Too late, Captain. Everyone’s been taking bets on when you’d figure it out.”

You gape “What?”

Wire grins “Yeah. Heat won. He said you’d kiss before the next port. Guess we owe him a round of drinks.”

Kid looks absolutely done. You, on the other hand, can’t help but laugh. Because honestly? It’s not surprising.

You look back up at Kid, who’s still scowling but isn’t pulling away from you. You squeeze his hand briefly before grinning.

“Guess we were the last ones to know, huh?”

He exhales sharply, shaking his head, but there’s no real annoyance in his expression anymore. Just acceptance. And maybe, just maybe, the start of something real.

── .✦ Red-Haired Shanks:

Being part of the Red Hair Pirates meant living in a constant mess of drinking, laughing, and reckless adventures.

And somehow you ended up being the most responsible one. Which was probably why everyone assumed you and Shanks were together.

The problem?

You weren’t.

But apparently, no one got the memo.

It starts with Yasopp.

You’re in the middle of patching up Shanks’ arm because, once again, he got into a bar fight for fun, when Yasopp smirks at you from across the deck.

“You know,” he says casually, “you’re basically married to him at this point.”

You nearly stab Shanks with the needle.

“What?!”

Shanks, meanwhile, just laughs.

And the worst part? He doesn’t even deny it.

“C’mon,” Yasopp continues, “you take care of him, clean up after him, yell at him when he’s reckless...”

“I yell at all of you.”

“Yeah, but you baby him.”

Shanks grins “It’s true. You do.”

You glare “I do not.”

Shanks just shrugs “If you say so.”

And that should be the end of it. But it’s not.

Because after that the whole crew starts treating you like... ugh.

“Oi, Y/N! Can you grab Shanks another drink?”

“Y/N, tell the captain to stop picking fights with Marines again.”

“Hey, Y/N, Shanks says he wants something spicy, maybe you could help... and it's not about food”

You want to scream.

But Shanks?

Shanks just goes along with it. Smiling. Laughing. Letting everyone assume you’re his.

And the worst part is that you let them, because deep down you don’t hate the idea.

And that’s dangerous.

Then one night, it all clicks.

You’re sitting at a bonfire, surrounded by the crew, listening to them sing and drink and bicker over who can hold their liquor best.

You’re not paying attention until you hear your name.

“So, Captain,” Lucky Roux says, “when’s the wedding?”

You choke on your drink. But before you can argue, Shanks just grins.

“Oh, give it time.”

The crew erupts into laughter.

You just stare at him.

Because... what????

Shanks turns to you, smiling like he didn’t just casually imply he plans on marrying you.

And something in his expression—

Something warm. Something knowing.

It hits you all at once.

The hand-holding. The lingering touches. The way he always pulls you onto his lap when there’s no room to sit.

The way he lets you fuss over him when he gets hurt, the way he only ever listens to you.

The way he looks at you like you’re something precious.

Your heart pounds.

And Shanks just grins against your lips.

“Took you long enough” he murmurs.

And when you pull back, breathless, flustered, you realize that maybe you’ve been his this whole time.

You blink, heart still racing as the weight of his words settles in. The laughter of the crew fades into background noise, the warmth of the bonfire casting flickering shadows over Shanks’ face. He’s watching you, waiting, like he already knows the answer, like he’s known it for years.

And maybe he has.

Maybe he’s been waiting for you to catch up.

Your throat is dry. You open your mouth, but no words come out, just a strangled sound of disbelief.

Shanks chuckles, eyes crinkling at the corners “You alright there, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like he hasn’t just upended everything you thought you knew.

Your hands tighten in his shirt, and you can’t tell if it’s to ground yourself or to pull him closer “You...” you swallow, voice quieter now, meant just for him “You should’ve said something...”

He tilts his head, considering “I thought I did. Plenty of times.”

You scowl, smacking his chest lightly, which only makes him laugh “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Oh, I know.” His fingers brush your jaw, featherlight, reverent “I just like seeing you all flustered.”

You groan, but you don’t pull away. And well, that says everything, doesn’t it?

And Shanks knows it too, because his grin softens, something unreadable flickering in his gaze “So,” he murmurs, close enough that his breath tickles your lips, “now that you’ve finally figured it out, what do you plan to do about it?”

The challenge is there, teasing, but there’s something raw beneath it, something real.

You take a breath. Then, before you can overthink it, you grab the front of his coat and pull him in, kissing him again, firmer this time.

The crew erupts in cheers. Someone whistles. Someone else yells about winning a bet.

But all you can focus on is the way Shanks smiles against your lips, like he’s just won something far more important.

And maybe you have too.

── .✦ Charlotte Katakuri:

The first time someone calls you Katakuri’s spouse, you nearly drop your mochi donut.

“Excuse me, what?”

The Big Mom Pirates stare at you like you’re stupid.

“Well, yeah,” Oven says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world “You take care of him, he lets you into his tea time, you’re the only one who sees his face—”

Brûlée smirks “And you always defend him when people talk behind his back.”

Daifuku nods “Might as well be married already.”

You sputter “That doesn’t mean—! We’re not—! He’s just my commander!”

Oven raises an eyebrow “You ever see Katakuri treat anyone else the way he treats you?”

You freeze.

Because... okay.

That’s a good point.

Katakuri isn’t exactly warm with people. He’s respected, feared, distant. A perfectionist. The strongest Sweet Commander.

And yet, with you?

He lets you tease him. Lets you see him.

Lets you in.

Your stomach flips.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

You try to forget about it.

But after that you start noticing things.

The way Katakuri always saves you the best snacks at tea time.

The way he steps in front of you during battles without thinking.

The way he lets you touch him, his arm, his back, his face.

His unguarded moments are always with you.

And suddenly you can’t ignore it.

Neither can the crew.

It all comes to a head one evening.

You’re sitting with Katakuri in his usual spot, tea cooling beside him, the setting sun casting a warm glow over his sharp features. He’s eating, as usual, but his guard is down because you’re here.

And then the words slip out.

“…Katakuri.”

He glances at you, chewing “Hm?”

You hesitate. Then screw it.

“Are we… something?”

Katakuri pauses.

Slowly, he sets his cup down. Then he exhales, like he’s been waiting for this.

“You tell me,” he says, voice steady “Would it bother you if we were?”

Your heart pounds. Because no, it wouldn’t.

You swallow “No.”

Katakuri watches you for a long moment. Then, he smirks.

“Then I suppose we are.”

Your brain short-circuits.

“Wait—WHAT?!”

Katakuri chuckles, low and deep “Did you really think I’d let just anyone this close to me?”

You gasp, because hold on. Has he known this whole time?!

Your face burns “You could’ve said something sooner, you jerk!”

Katakuri just leans closer, his presence overwhelming.

“…Would you have been ready to hear it?”

You freeze, because damn it.

He’s right.

── .✦ Dracule Mihawk:

Living on Kuraigana Island with Mihawk isn’t easy, but somehow, you get used to it.

You get used to the silence. The way he watches you over the rim of his wine glass. The way he corrects your sword stance with the barest touch of his fingers.

You get used to the way he does things for you without asking, bringing you an extra plate at meals, fixing your sword when it’s damaged, moving his coat so you don’t sit on the cold stone steps.

It’s just how he is... Or so you think.

Until one day Perona stares at the two of you across the dining table and snorts.

“You guys act like a married couple.”

You choke on your drink. Mihawk just raises an eyebrow.

Perona grins “Oh, come on! You live together, train together, eat together—hell, you even drink out of each other’s cups sometimes!”

You freeze.

Because—wait. When did that start happening?!

You sneak a glance at Mihawk, expecting him to argue.

But instead, he just takes a sip of wine and says, “And?”

Your brain short-circuits.

Because what does he mean, ‘and’?!

Perona cackles “Oh, this is gold.”

Meanwhile, you’re too busy spiraling to notice the small, knowing smirk on Mihawk’s lips.

Because the truth is, he knew all along.

The next few days pass in a strange haze. Every time you’re near Mihawk, you’re hyper-aware of his actions. The way he hands you your sword when it’s too heavy for you to lift properly, the way he adjusts your stance when you’re practicing, even the way he leaves his wine glass half-filled so you can sip it without asking.

You can’t help but start noticing the little things. And it makes your stomach do these strange little flips you can’t quite explain.

You try to convince yourself that you’re just overthinking it. After all, you’ve spent so much time together, working side-by-side, that it’s only natural for him to be a bit… attentive. But you can’t help but feel that there’s more to it than that.

One evening, you’re training in the yard. Mihawk is watching from the porch, as usual, but today there’s something different in the air. Maybe it’s the cool breeze, or the strange feeling of him staring at you.

“Focus” he calls out when you fumble with your sword.

You grit your teeth and refocus, sweat already beading on your forehead. Your movements become sharper, more determined, but you can’t quite shake the feeling that something is… off.

When you finish the routine, Mihawk’s still leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. He doesn’t say anything at first, but you can feel his gaze. You give him a quick, sideways glance, noticing the faint hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Something wrong?” you ask, trying to sound casual.

His response comes as a slow, deliberate drawl “You still aren’t quite in sync with your sword. I’ve been waiting for you to catch up.”

You feel your face flush, but you push through it “Yeah? Well, I’m not some grandmaster swordsman like you, Mihawk.”

He steps closer, his presence almost overwhelming, but his gaze softens for a moment “You’re getting better. I’m simply making sure you don’t lose track of your progress.”

The softness in his voice catches you off-guard, and for a split second, you feel as if you’re standing on the edge of something, something new.

But you quickly push it aside, shaking it off as just another passing thought. You turn to grab your sword again, determined to change the subject.

“Thanks for the help,” you mutter, trying to keep your voice steady “But I think I need a break. My arms are sore.”

Mihawk doesn’t respond at first. Instead, he merely watches you for a moment before he speaks again, his tone unusually gentle.

“Are you sure you’re fine? You’ve been training for hours without rest.”

You give him a small, appreciative nod “I’ll be fine. You’re too used to looking out for me, Mihawk.”

He lets out a faint chuckle, but you notice that there’s a strange intensity in his gaze now “I suppose I am.”

Before you can react, you feel something slightly off, a flicker of tension between you two.

It’s subtle, but it’s there. And you feel it in the way he looks at you, the way he almost seems to be waiting for you to say something.

But, just like that, the moment passes. He steps back, motioning for you to take a rest.

“I’ll prepare dinner,” he says quietly, as if nothing had happened “I’m sure you’re hungry.”

You blink “You cook?”

“Of course,” he says with a slight, almost invisible smirk “It’s not difficult, and you’ve been working hard all day. You deserve a proper meal.”

You feel your heart race at his words, but you manage to keep it together “Alright, I’ll take you up on that.”

But as Mihawk turns to walk away, you pause.

For just a second, you wonder... has this always been a normal interaction between you two? Or has it grown into something more without you even realizing it?

The unease gnaws at you as you sit down on the steps, watching him disappear into the house.

You’re overthinking it. You’re just friends.

...Right?

Later that evening, you’re sitting across from Mihawk, your meal already finished. The conversation is easy, but there’s still that lingering, unspoken tension hanging in the air.

Finally, Mihawk breaks the silence, his voice low and casual “You’ve been avoiding the subject.”

Your brow furrows in confusion “What subject?”

“The subject of us.”

You choke on your drink, sputtering “What—us?!”

His expression remains unreadable, but there’s a faint glimmer in his eyes “You think I haven’t noticed? You’ve been acting strange around me lately. Ever since Perona made her comment.”

You freeze “I—uh—”

“Let’s stop pretending,” he continues “We’ve been behaving like a couple, whether we admit it or not.”

Your heart starts to race. You open your mouth to deny it, but the words get stuck. Instead, you just stare at him, trying to make sense of what he’s saying.

And that’s when Mihawk leans forward just slightly, his voice dropping lower “I don’t know what you’re feeling, but I do know that I don’t want you to leave.”

The bluntness of his words takes your breath away.

“I never planned to leave” you manage to say, the words barely leaving your lips.

Mihawk gives you a rare, genuine smile, one that’s so small and almost imperceptible that you’re not sure you saw it at all. But something in his eyes shifts.

“Good.”

And just like that, the tension finally breaks.

You’re not sure where this will go. But for now, you’re content to just be here with him, uncertain, but sure of one thing: neither of you are going anywhere.

[nagislemontea]

Being ASLs Sister: Headcanons.

Ace and Sabo are still older, Luffy is still the youngest.

Takes place when they’re all much younger.

Ace, your oldest brother, whose words don’t match his actions. He may say things that would make you think you’re bothering him, but his actions remind you that you are truly his one and only little (baby to him) sister.

Ace, who notices what food you like and places more of that food onto your plate. He still eats like he’s eating for three at once, but he’ll make an exception for your favourite food by giving a piece or two.

Ace, who's afraid of you getting hurt, so he does all the hunting. But (unintentionally), this leaves you to do all the chores he left behind.

Ace, who always goes with you into town for groceries, noticing the way your eyes sparkled at an article of clothing you liked. You find that same piece of clothing on your makeshift bed the next day, but you’ll never know it was him. If you asked, he’d tell you it was a gift from Makino.

Sabo, your second oldest brother and your middle child duo, who’s your confidant as much as you are his. You’re the very first person he’s entrusted his background and dreams to. In return, he always makes sure to be your best listener; your biggest supporter; your biggest defender.

Sabo, who stole and ran off with a bowl of ramen for you to try when you couldn’t come to Goa Kingdom with them. If you couldn’t experience something with your brothers, he’ll bring the experience back to you.

Sabo, who’s always a few steps behind you when you join them in the forest. No one can sneak up on you this way, not when he’s always on guard and ready to swing at anything that comes too close.

Sabo, who actually helps you around the hut in the morning so you’re able to go out with them instead of taking on their leftover chores.

Luffy, your one and only younger brother, who you’ve come to adore since his arrival. The one who always lingered by your side even while you washed the dishes, because he wanted a friend in his new home. You were his first friend.

Luffy, who puffs his chest up when he walks in front of you, almost bodyguard-like to ward off the animals in the forest. Not only does he want to be able to protect his older sister, but he wants to appear strong too.

Luffy, who wants to share all of his little findings with you. He’ll enthusiastically show you his beetles; new treasure; a (stupid and silly) new trick he learned from his older brothers. In return, he also gets quite excited when you have something to share with him.

Luffy, who despite still being so young, was the most attuned to your emotions. Who never hesitated in making you smile when he felt a tinge of sadness; who effortlessly made awkward situations more bearable; who understood when you needed help even without knowing the full story.

Your three brothers, who when you had fallen asleep, followed your action soon after. Sabo, who walked off to grab a huge blanket. Ace, who grumbled about you falling asleep in a position that would hurt your neck. Then Luffy, who ran to claim a spot beside you and was the first to fall asleep on your shoulder.

The other two soon followed in tandem. With Ace claiming the last spot beside you with his arms crossed, as Sabo spread the blanket amongst the four of you, before claiming his spot beside Luffy. Before the eldest two fell asleep, they shared a small smile, an unspoken promise between them to protect their younger siblings.

The next morning, the four siblings would be found by Dadan, who almost shed a tear at the display, before telling the other bandits to be quieter so as to not wake up the children.

note: i lowkey starting giving up halfway

[nagislemontea]

Hello, I wanted to swing by to say that I absolutely adore the way you write Shanks. Like the one about Shanks and his pirate empress, that’s gonna live rent free in my mind for years to come.

On that note, if you haven’t listened to Epic the Musical (a musical retelling about the Odyssey) there is a song called “Would you fall in love with me again”. Every time I listen to it I think of Shanks.

- Xoxo

hi, anon!! :) thank you so much for your message. i posted my shanks and his pirate empress months ago, so to see it still get traction and positive feedback like this makes me really happy!

comments like these really push me to continue my writing and even gets me excited to jot something down. however, i’ve just been low on ideas and busy with university :,)

i also have not seen epic the musical, but it is in my watch list!! i will give the song a try as well, thank you for sharing <3

[nagislemontea]

Shanks as a LOVER; General Headcanons.

I was going to do headcanons involving a more specific dynamic, but I’ll do this for now

I see Shanks as a lover that would want his partner to be as free as he is. That being said, you two being in love does not change the paths you choose to walk. What matters to him most is that he fell in love with you, and that you chose to reciprocate that back.

In the time the both of you are apart, it’s clear that he carries a part of yourself with him. His crew sees the habits he created being with you carry into his daily routine; the way he talks with others; the way he makes it clear that no one can touch or hold him for as long as you can (ex. him throwing off the woman who wouldn’t let him go in Elbaph).

When you reunite, the joy Shank’s radiates is contagious. He’s grinning ear to ear, eyes crinkled, and absolutely relishing in the way you hold him. The crew can’t help but feel happy with him, even more so when he decides to cheer for your reunion.

In private is when he stops holding back with his affection— not that he isn’t affectionate in public, he would just rather smother you in his love without interference. In public, he’ll hold your hand; wrap his arm around your waist; trace patterns into your palm. In private, tender kisses linger; whispering your praise; his hands are tracing your whole figure; memorizing every detail there is about you as if you’re leaving in the next second.

Shanks is your partner and your best friend. He will tease you relentlessly; fluster you a little in front of the crew; swing an arm around you while singing sea shanties. Next he’ll be taking you to the crows nest; the sweetest words of affirmation leaving him naturally; his hand finding its place in yours as he placed a kiss on your knuckles.

He can be protective— even if you can fight. If you have the ability to, he’ll be reassured while you’re apart. When you’re together, if he’s not with you, then Beckman or Yassop is in your company / radius. However, if you’re apart and you’re in danger (from another crew for example), expect him to sail across the Grand Line at a faster speed than he did to Marineford, and expect the opposing crew with their ship to be demolished. Not only is he at your beck and call, so is his whole crew.

Honestly, I don’t see Shanks as the best at giving gifts, more so if it’s materialistic, but the way he thinks about you is endearing. Shanks is extremely attuned to your needs, so while his gift giving might not be the best, the multitude of acts of service he brings is something he does even without thinking.

[nagislemontea]

Heartfelt Deception

Law x reader (she/her)

Modern AU, fake-dating, friends-to-lovers, like one swear word.

Summary: Law asked you to attend a charity event his hospital is hosting as his fake girlfriend. As if that wasn’t enough, it’s happening on Valentine’s Day.

Words: 7.5k

Notes: For the Valentine’s Week event. I had this whole fake dating-to-hospital event idea for the ficmas event, but I scrapped it because I didn’t have much time to write it then. I’m so glad I did, though, because I think the story turned out much better for Valentine’s Day than it would have for Christmas.

English is not my first language

Masterlist

Dr. Trafalgar Law was pacing back and forth in the small office of the hospital. His fingers drummed anxiously against the table as he read the charity event invitation for the fifth time, each glance making his pulse race a little faster.

The truth was, Law never liked events like this. Fundraisers, speeches, fake smiles—it all made him itch with discomfort. His introverted nature clashed with the expectations of being a ‘people person’ in the medical field, and the last thing he wanted was to attend an event where everyone would be looking at him.

A month ago, during yet another relentless round of coworkers begging him to attend an after-work gathering, Law had casually mentioned that he had plans. But instead of letting it go, they kept pressing, demanding to know why he was always declining invitations. Frustrated, he blurted out that he needed to spend time with his girlfriend. Before he could even think, the hospital buzzed with talk about his mysterious partner, one no one had ever met. Now, he was cornered into bringing his partner to the hospital's prestigious charity gala on Valentine’s Day. The irony wasn’t lost on him—his colleagues were all too eager to point out how fitting it was to host an event focused on heart issues on a day devoted to hearts.

As one of the hospital’s top cardiac surgeons, Law was expected to be a key speaker. Worse still, he was supposed to bring his girlfriend. But the problem? He didn’t have one.

There was only one person he could turn to—you.

“You want me to do what?!” you asked, your eyes wide with shock, your coffee cup momentarily forgotten in your hand.

He sighed, running a hand over his face in frustration. “I need you to go with me to that stupid gala as my girlfriend.”

Your brow furrowed as you set the cup down. “You're serious?”

“Why would I joke about something like this?”

“Why would you make up a girlfriend just to avoid gatherings?” you shot back, leaning back in your chair, arms crossed. “You could’ve just said you weren’t interested in going.”

He glanced down at the table, clearly agitated, his fingers tapping against the surface in a nervous rhythm. “It’s not that simple. I’ve already turned them down too many times. They won’t leave me alone. And now I’m expected to show up—with a date. It’s just… ridiculous.”

You leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, as you considered his words. “Why not just say you broke up recently?”

“Because it’s obvious. Then I lose that excuse for the future,” he said, picking up his cup and drinking from it.

You stared at him for a long moment, trying to wrap your head around the absurdity of it all. “So, you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend for one night, just so you can avoid more gatherings down the line?”

“Yes,” he said simply, as if it were the most logical solution in the world.

You shook your head, unable to help the small laugh that escaped you. “You’re ridiculous. When is this supposed to happen?”

“February 14th,” he replied, avoiding your gaze.

Your eyebrows shot up. “Valentine’s Day?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, they thought they were being so clever with that one.”

A grin tugged at the corners of your lips. You couldn’t resist teasing him. “So, is this your way of asking me to be your Valentine?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Who’s being ridiculous now?” But then, with a sly smirk, he added, “So... you’re in?”

A long pause hung in the air as you considered his request. The idea of pretending to be his girlfriend was insane, yes. Pretending to be someone’s girlfriend—for Valentine’s Day, no less—was the kind of thing you’d laugh about in a bad rom-com. But the look on his face was impossible to ignore. Desperation, tinged with just enough pride to keep him from outright begging.

Finally, you sighed, crossing your arms as if it might shield you from the insanity you were about to agree to. “Fine. But you owe me big time for this.”

“Don’t worry,” The smirk on his face widened into a grin, and you wondered what exactly you’d just gotten yourself into. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

And with that, you sealed your fate.

The day of the event had finally arrived. Law was at your door, punctual as always, ready to pick you up just as you'd arranged. He stood there, dressed impeccably—his sharp suit tailored to perfection, exuding confidence and elegance. You tried your hardest not to stare too much, but it was impossible not to notice how effortlessly he pulled it all off.

“Ready?” His voice broke through your thoughts.

“Just a moment,” you replied, your voice betraying your hesitation as you moved closer to the mirror. You needed to make sure everything was just right. You were dressed in the outfit that made you feel good about yourself and was fitting for such an event. Yet, despite all the preparation, a knot of nerves twisted in your stomach. The idea of pretending to be Law's girlfriend made you nervous, no matter how hard you tried to pretend it did not. 

He sighed when you took your sweet time. “Can you stop checking yourself out?”

You glanced at him, an eyebrow arched. “Sorry for making sure people won’t judge your taste too much...” you grumbled, half-amused, half-defensive.

He scoffed as he moved closer, looking at you in the mirror. “Like I care what people think.” Then, with a pause, he added, his voice quieter, almost… sincere, “Besides, you look… stunning.”

You froze for a moment, surprised by his words. “Really?”

“Yes,” he answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. His gaze softened, and you swore you saw a hint of admiration there.

“Um, thanks. And… you look amazing too.”

He cleared his throat, somewhat uncomfortable but trying to hide it. “Let’s just go, shall we?” 

“You're sure this will work, right?” Law muttered as he turned to face you. 

“Yes, it’ll work.” You flashed a confident grin, trying to reassure him, though you were just as uncertain as he was. “You’re the one who got us into this mess.”

“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.”

“Well, I can’t believe you made up a girlfriend in the first place,” you shot back. “But here we are.”

He sighed, running a hand over his face again, not sure whether to laugh or groan. It was one thing to get himself into this mess, but dragging you in was entirely a different matter. The pressure was mounting on both of you. Could you really pull this off? 

Then you caught his eye. A flicker of humor, a spark of something you couldn’t quite place, passed between you, and at that moment, you knew you could. Maybe this absurd charade wasn’t as impossible as it seemed.

He let out a long breath and straightened his posture, his decision made. “Alright, fine. Let’s get this over with.”

“Lead the way, then,” you replied, your tone playful, despite the nerves you were still trying to suppress.

He gave a curt nod, opening the door and holding it for you. With that, you stepped into the venue. The Valentine’s Day theme was apparent everywhere— pink and red lighting bathed the space, heart-shaped centerpieces adorned every table, and a live jazz band played romantic melodies in the background. You looked over at him and snorted seeing his expression.

“I take it Valentine’s Day isn’t your favorite holiday?” you teased, leaning just close enough so he could hear without anyone else catching on.

Law’s gaze flickered to you, his brow arching slightly. “What gave it away?” he said dryly, expending his arm to you.

“Oh, just a hunch,” you said with a small smile, slipping your hands through his arm. “You’re doing great, though. Really selling the whole ‘romantic evening’ thing.”

Law’s expression didn’t shift much, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his lips that told you he wasn’t entirely immune to your teasing. “I’m thrilled you think so,” he muttered as he led you through the crowd. You caught glimpses of the people who had been whispering about Law's relationship for weeks. Their eyes fell on you both with curiosity.

“Dr. Trafalgar!” one of the nurses called out, waving excitedly. She eyed you with a wide smile. “Is this your girlfriend?”

Law’s face remained neutral. “Yes,” he answered smoothly and introduced you.

The nurse let out a little squeal of delight. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!” she exclaimed. “We’ve all been dying to know more about Dr. Trafalgar’s mysterious girlfriend.”

You gave a polite smile, taking the opportunity to slip into the role. “It's a pleasure to meet you, too. He talks a lot about his team,” you said lightly, with a little twinkle in your eye as you glanced at Law. He rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything.

The nurse beamed. “Oh, I'm sure he does,” she said, her eyes still sparkling as she looked from you to Law. “It’s rare to see him... charming.” Her voice dropped to a playful whisper, though it was clear she wasn’t trying to keep it a secret. “We always wondered what kind of woman could put up with him.”

You gave a small, modest laugh, sensing the opportunity to keep the conversation flowing. “He’s not as difficult as he looks.” You turned to Law, flashing him a playful smile. “And I'm quite lucky he let me in.”

Law’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but he quickly masked it with his usual impassive expression. “Enough about me,” he said smoothly, redirecting the conversation. “Let’s get you something to drink.” He turned toward the drink table, eager to move on.

As the two of you moved through the gala, a sense of ease settled between you. The people who approached were friendly, curious, and all too eager to meet the mysterious woman who had somehow captured the heart of the elusive surgeon. Law, as always, seemed somewhat distant, but there was a subtle shift in his demeanor, as if the weight of the event was just a little lighter with you by his side.

“Well, well, if it isn't the lovely girlfriend!” Shachi grinned, giving you a dramatic bow before standing up straight again. “You look awesome.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, Shachi. You certainly know how to flatter a girl.”

Penguin let out a low, amused chuckle from behind him. “Yeah, well, Law’s been talking about you for weeks,” he added. “He was so worried about you not showing up and ruining his perfect plan. I’m surprised you agreed to it, honestly.”

You gave Penguin a knowing smile. “What can I say? Someone had to save his ass.” You shot a quick glance at Law, who stood beside you, his expression neutral, but you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Shachi leaned casually against the table, clearly enjoying himself, and turned to Law with a mischievous glint in his eye. “So, how does it feel to finally have a real girlfriend? I mean, I’ve been hearing rumors about this for a while, but you’re actually pulling it off, huh?”

Law rolled his eyes but didn’t respond immediately, though you could tell he was trying to keep his cool. “This will be a long night,” he muttered under his breath, but his friends were far too eager to let him off the hook.

Shachi’s grin only grew wider. “I’m just curious—how’s the ‘relationship’ going so far?” He glanced at Law, whose jaw was tight, trying to suppress his frustration. “Any sparks flying between the two of you yet?”

“Shachi,” Law said in warning, but he wasn’t listening. Law rolled his eyes, though there was a slight curve to his lips, as if even he couldn’t help but be somewhat entertained by his friends' antics. “I told you I didn’t need this kind of commentary tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Shachi continued, entirely ignoring Law’s attempts to rein him in. “But it’s so much more fun when we do comment.” He threw an arm around Penguin’s shoulder, giving him an exaggerated nudge. “So, Dr. Trafalgar, how’s it feel having your friends finally meet your ‘girlfriend’? You look so… happy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at their behaviour. “I’m sure Law’s thrilled by all the attention,” you said, playing the part, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Law cast you a sideways glance, but there was something warmer in his eyes than before. “Let’s just get through tonight, shall we?” he said, attempting his best authoritative tone, though there was a clear undertone of amusement, as if he was enjoying it just a little more than he let on.

Just as the playful back-and-forth was beginning to die down, a loud, familiar voice cut through the chatter from across the room.

“YOOO! Look who it is!” 

Usopp’s boisterous voice rang out, and you barely had time to brace yourself before he was at your side, grinning like a mischievous cat. He was joined by Kaya, who was looking stunning in an elegant dress, her eyes sparkling as she waved.

Shit. How had you not considered the possibility that Usopp would be here? Kaya was a nurse at the same hospital as Law, and of course, she’d bring him as her plus-one.

“Usopp, Kaya,” you greeted with a smile, trying to remain composed despite the sudden attention being drawn your way. Usopp's loud voice had already caused a ripple of curiosity to spread through the crowd.

Usopp’s gaze darted between you and Law. “Wait a minute… what are you doing here?” he asked. His voice was just loud enough for the people around you to overhear, making you feel the weight of every set of eyes now shifting in your direction.

You glanced at Law, who was now wearing a mask of calm—though you could tell by the subtle shift in his posture that he wasn’t exactly comfortable with the situation. You quickly shot him an apologetic look, trying to keep things as casual as possible. “Isn't it obvious — I’m with Law,” you said with a playful shrug, hoping your tone would deflect any suspicion and begging to whatever higher power that Usopp won't blow your cover. 

Usopp blinked, his eyes widening in disbelief, as if you’d just dropped a bombshell. “With Law?!” His voice jumped an octave, loud enough to draw even more attention, and you felt the heat of a dozen curious stares. Your stomach churned as the pressure mounted.

“Well yeah, we’re dating,” you said quickly, trying to offer him a pointed look that screamed for him to lower his voice. You didn’t look forward to clearing that lie later, though.

“What?!” Usopp exclaimed again, louder this time, and you fought the urge to physically drag him into a quieter corner.

“Oh, for fuck's sake, don't be so loud,” you hissed, your smile strained as you resisted the urge to clamp a hand over his mouth. You just needed him to stop.

Your words earned a sharp glance from Law, who was now standing as still as a statue, his jaw tight and his eyes dark with irritation. Though his face remained unreadable to most, you could detect the flicker of unease behind his usually impenetrable demeanor.

Usopp sharp eye for detail and relentless curiosity meant he was undoubtedly piecing things together in real-time, and the last thing you needed was for him to say something he really shouldn't.

Kaya, sensing the tension, stepped in smoothly. “Usopp,” she said, with a small but knowing smile, “maybe we should let them enjoy the night.” She gently nudged his arm, giving you an apologetic look. “It’s good to see you both. I hope you’re having a good time tonight.”

You smiled, grateful for her presence. “We’re managing,” you replied before gesturing toward her. “And you? How’s the night treating you so far?”

She laughed. “Oh, it’s been lovely. Usopp keeps insisting he’s the best plus-one anyone could ask for.”

“Because I am!” Usopp interjected, puffing out his chest.

“Nah, I'm way better, right, darling?” you asked playfully, turning to your date. 

Law let out a quiet, measured sigh, his eyes narrowing at Usopp, who was still watching far too intently for comfort. Recognizing that all eyes were now firmly on the two of you, he shifted gears seamlessly. 

Without missing a beat, he slid an arm around your waist and pulled you a fraction closer. His hand rested lightly yet possessively against your side as he glanced down at you with a smirk.  “Obviously.” 

The gesture—and his confident tone—left Usopp momentarily speechless, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Even Kaya seemed surprised, her eyes darting between the two of you before a knowing smile tugged at her lips.

You couldn’t help but smile, both at Law’s quick thinking and the way his response seemed to silence any further speculation from Usopp. “See?” you teased lightly, shooting Usopp a pointed look. “Told you.”

Usopp opened his mouth, ready to say something outrageous, but Kaya quickly stepped in, tugging on his arm with a bright laugh. “Come on, Usopp. Let’s grab some appetizers.” 

“This isn’t over,” he commented, but he allowed Kaya to steer him toward the other end of the room. You gave her a grateful smile.

“That was close,” you muttered, glancing up at Law. His hand was still resting lightly on your waist.

He tilted his head down toward you, “You call that close?”

“Oh, come on,” you whispered back with a grin. “You’ve got to admit, Usopp almost blew it.”

Law’s lips quirked upward in a barely-there smirk. “Almost,” he conceded. Then, lowering his voice  even more and murmuring into your ear, he added, “But I don’t mind setting the record straight when needed.”

The way his voice dipped sent a small shiver down your spine, but you quickly composed yourself, stepping slightly closer to him under the pretense of hearing him better.

“Well, you handled it like a pro, Dr. Trafalgar,” you teased softly, leaning just enough to let your words reach his ear.

“Hmm,” he hummed noncommittally.

Before you could respond, the event coordinator’s voice echoed through the hall, announcing the upcoming speeches. The room shifted as the crowd began to find their seats, murmurs of anticipation filling the air.

“You’re up soon,” you reminded him. Reaching out, you placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “You’ve got this,” you said confidently.

He glanced at you, his eyes locking onto yours for a beat, searching for something—maybe reassurance, maybe just the comfort of familiarity—before he nodded, a small but grateful gesture. “Thanks.”

As he made his way toward the stage, you couldn’t help but watch him with a sense of pride, your heart swelling with admiration. Even surrounded by the polished elegance of the event and the watchful eyes of so many people, he carried himself with an unshakable determination.

When he reached the podium, the crowd fell silent. He cleared his throat, taking a moment before launching into the speech. He spoke about the advancements in medicine, the importance of community support, and the life-changing surgeries that the hospital’s team performed. But when he mentioned his team and thanked everyone for their hard work, his gaze subtly flickered toward you.

For a moment, he dropped the cold exterior. “None of this would be possible without the support of everyone here,” he said. “And a special thanks to my friends and…my better half, who has been my constant rock. It’s easy to get lost in the hospital. But she keeps me grounded.”

The sincerity in his words was unmistakable. His eyes lingered on you for a fraction of a second—long enough for you to feel the weight of his gratitude—before he looked away, the professional composure sliding back into place effortlessly.

The applause that followed was thunderous, but you barely heard it over the warmth blooming in your chest. As Law stepped down from the podium, his expression was back to its usual stoicism, but the slight flush to his cheeks and the quick glance he shot your way told you everything.

As the applause slowly died down, Law made his way back toward you, weaving through the clusters of guests who offered him brief nods and congratulatory remarks. His posture was relaxed, but you could see the faint tension in the set of his shoulders—a clear sign that he was bracing for your inevitable teasing.

When he finally reached you, you wasted no time, leaning in with a mischievous grin. “For someone who wanted to ‘get through the night,’ you sure know how to captivate an audience,” you teased. “And what was that about ‘the one who keeps me grounded’? Are you getting sentimental on me?”

He stopped in front of you, hands sliding casually into his pockets as his eyes met yours. “Don’t start,” he muttered, though there was no real bite in his tone. “I said what needed to be said.”

“Oh, I see,” you replied, crossing your arms and tilting your head. “So, I’m just ‘what needed to be said’ now?”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he leaned in a little, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “If you’d prefer, I can take it all back.”

“Not a chance,” you shot back, unable to keep the playful edge out of your voice. “It’s on record now. Everyone here knows I’m the one keeping you grounded.”

Before he could respond, Shachi and Penguin appeared, clearly having caught at least part of the exchange. Shachi was grinning ear to ear, while Penguin’s expression held a more subdued amusement.

“That speech was something else,” Shachi said, clapping Law on the back with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Especially that part about being grounded. You’re getting soft.”

Law’s glare shifted to Shachi, though it lacked any real venom. “Don’t you have someone else to annoy?” he asked, his voice dry.

“Not when you’re providing this much entertainment,” Shachi shot back without missing a beat.

Law rolled his eyes but didn’t bother responding, deciding it wasn’t worth the effort. Instead, he turned his attention back to you. “Are you enjoying yourself yet?” he asked

You pretended to consider his question, tapping a finger to your chin. “Hmm... between the impromptu Usopp interrogation, the surprise shout-out during your speech, and Shachi’s relentless commentary?” You grinned. “Yeah, I’d say I’m having a great time.”

Law’s exhale was sharp, but his lips twitched upward in a reluctant smile. “Good,” he sighed. “At least one of us is.”

Just as you were forming your response, the event coordinator approached the two of you with a bright smile. “Dr. Trafalgar, your presence is requested for some photos with the donors,” she said, her gaze flicking to you briefly. “And, of course, your lovely girlfriend is welcome to join.”

Law hesitated, his eyes narrowing. You could practically hear the gears turning in his head as he weighed the pros and cons of dragging you into yet another spotlight moment.

You decided to save him the trouble. “We’d be happy to,” you said smoothly, looping your arm through his. “Right, darling?”

The look he shot you was nothing short of murderous, but you only smiled sweetly, patting his arm as the coordinator led you both toward the photographer’s setup.

After the photos, you wandered back to the main room, weaving through the crowd. You spotted Usopp and Kaya near the dessert table, Usopp animatedly telling a story while Kaya giggled beside him. Heart-shaped chocolates and delicate pastries adorned the table, and you decided to grab a couple of treats before heading back to your corner of the room.

“Here,” you said, holding out a piece of chocolate to Law as you both settled near the bar.

He eyed it skeptically. “What’s this?”

“Chocolate,” you replied, popping one into your mouth. “It’s Valentine’s Day. You’re supposed to eat chocolate. It’s practically a rule.”

Law sighed, but he took the chocolate from your hand, his fingers brushing yours briefly in the exchange. He bit into it. “It’s good,” he admitted after a moment.

You smirked. “See? Valentine’s Day isn’t all bad.”

He gave you a sidelong glance. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

You just grinned wider and shrugged. Despite the occasional hiccup—like Usopp’s not-so-subtle attempts to sneak more information out of you—it was hard to deny that you and Law actually did have a great time. The whole evening felt surprisingly natural, even with the added touches and pet names that came with playing your part.

But as the night went on, the carefully constructed charade began to blur, leaving you to wonder if there was something genuine simmering beneath the surface. A fleeting warmth in the way he looked at you, a brush of his hand that lingered just a moment too long. You quickly shook the thought away before it could root itself further.

“You know,” you started, breaking the silence, “Usopp already texted everyone the news.”

Law’s brow furrowed as he glanced at you. “What news?”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look.

“Oh. Right,” he said, the realization dawning on his face.

“Yeah,” you chuckled, crossing your arms. “I had to turn my sound off completely—the group chat went insane.”

Law let out a quiet groan and reached for his phone, pulling it from his pocket with a resigned air. He turned the phone toward you, revealing a string of increasingly enthusiastic messages from Luffy:

This is amaizing!!!!

I'M SO HAPPY!!!

GOOD FOR YOU!!!

WHEN DID THIS HAPEN??

Tell me evrything RIGHT NOW!!!

You burst out laughing, nearly doubling over as you read the flood of texts. Law pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about how ridiculous Luffy was, but the small, reluctant smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement.

“Looks like someone’s excited for us,” you teased, still laughing.

Law rolled his eyes, though the faintest trace of a blush colored his cheeks. “Luffy’s always excited about something. This’ll blow over. We will explain it later or something.”

You swallowed your disappointment and tried to focus on anything other than the fact that today was not as real as it seemed. Your eyes drifted forward just as the band started playing a slow, romantic tune, and couples began rushing toward the dance floor. You could feel the weight of the moment pressing down, the atmosphere practically begging for you to make a move.

“Well, darling,” you said, extending your hand toward him with an exaggerated flourish. “Care to dance?”

Law stared at you, his expression caught somewhere between incredulous and amused. “You’re joking.”

“Not even a little,” you wiggled your fingers at him. “It’s Valentine’s Day. What’s a fake relationship without a dance under the romantic lighting?”

He let out a quiet groan but took your hand anyway, his grip firm and steady. As he led you to the dance floor, you couldn’t help but marvel at how natural it felt.

For a moment, you both moved hesitantly, as if testing the waters. Law wasn’t one to engage in things like this—public displays of affection, no matter how fake, didn’t exactly come naturally to him. Yet, as the rhythm of the music settled between you, his movements became smoother, more confident. You matched his pace, the two of you falling into an unspoken synchrony.

“You’re better at this than I expected,” you murmured, glancing up at him.

“Don’t get used to it,” he replied, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “This isn’t exactly my idea of a great time.”

You chuckled, your fingers instinctively tightening their grip on his shoulder. “Could’ve fooled me. You’re surprisingly good at this.”

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes flickering with amusement. “Surprisingly?”

“Well,” you said with a smirk, “you don’t exactly scream ‘slow-dance enthusiast.’

Law huffed, but there was no real irritation behind it. He was paying more attention to the way your body moved in sync with his, the way you shifted your weight with each step.

The scent of his cologne was subtle but intoxicating, and the way his eyes stayed locked on yours made it impossible to look away.

“This isn’t so bad,” you murmured, almost to yourself.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was meant as one,” you said, your thumb gently brushing the fabric of his suit jacket.  “I know this isn’t exactly your scene. Thanks for humoring me.”

For a moment, something shifted in his expression. The guardedness that usually defined him seemed to waver, replaced by something more vulnerable, something unspoken. His grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly, pulling you closer, and the distance between you narrowed until you could feel the faint brush of his chest against yours.

“You’re doing all of this for me, the least I can do is survive dancing for your sake,” he answered in his usual manner, and yet, it sounded somehow warmer. Then he added teasingly, “darling”

You tried to diminish how much you loved that nickname coming from his lips.

As the music faded, applause broke out around the room, snapping you back to reality. Law stepped back a little, his hand falling away from your waist, but the warmth of his touch stayed. He looked at you for a moment longer, his gaze searching, before he cleared his throat and glanced away, the mask of composure slipping back into place.

“Let’s get off the dance floor,” he said, his tone returning to its usual cool detachment. But there was a faint flush to his cheeks that you couldn’t ignore.

“Not bad for someone who doesn’t like Valentine’s Day,” you teased, keeping your tone light, even though your heartbeat had quickened as you followed him off the dancefloor.

Law smirked faintly, his amber eyes locking onto yours. “I never said I didn’t like it. Just that it’s… unnecessary.”

“Unnecessary?” You arched a brow, tilting your head. “Celebrating love and connection? That sounds pretty necessary to me.”

His grin grew. “If you need a commercial holiday to remind you of that, you’re doing something wrong.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his bluntness. “Touché,” you admitted, the moment feeling strangely intimate despite the dozens of other couples around you. He put his hand on your back and gently led you to sit down in the corner. You sat in silence for a moment before speaking again.

“So, are you enjoying the night yet? Or are you still counting down the minutes until it’s over?”

Law let out a quiet chuckle. “I’m surviving,” he replied dryly, though the corners of his lips twitched as though he couldn’t fully keep the amusement from showing. “If I’m being honest, it’s… not as bad as I thought it would be,” he looked sheepish as he added. “Your presence makes it more bearable.”

A warmth blossomed in your chest at his words, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned in slightly, your cheek brushing his shoulder. You felt him stiffen for a split second, but then he relaxed, putting his head on yours.

“I didn’t think I’d be… enjoying it,” he continued, his fingers brushing through your hair as if absentmindedly. “But I think I might’ve been wrong.”

You lifted your head just enough to look at him, finding his gaze already locked on yours. There was no mask of indifference now—just a rare moment of vulnerability, one that you hadn’t often seen. It was disarming. His hand gently cupped the side of your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone, and you could feel the slight tremor in his fingers.

Your heart fluttered unexpectedly, and you were unsure of what to say, or even if you should say anything at all. The quiet, unspoken understanding between you was enough.

“Well, well, well! Look at you two, all cozy!”

It was Shachi, followed closely by Penguin, and some other colleagues of Law from the hospital.  You froze for a split second, pulling away from Law just as his hand dropped from your cheek. Both of you turned toward the intruder, finding a group of Law’s colleagues standing a few feet away.

One of the surgeons, a tall man with a broad grin, chuckled as he shook his head. “Honestly, Law, I didn’t think you were the type to be so… affectionate.” 

Law’s face immediately shifted to that calm, composed mask he wore so well, but you could see the hint of a blush creeping up his neck. He scoffed. “What did you expect? For me to keep five feet away from someone I care about?”

“We’re just surprised,” the nurse you spoke with first today, smiled softly at the two of you. “But it’s nice to see you so… relaxed. We don’t usually get to see this side of you.” Her tone wasn’t mocking; instead, it held a kind, almost approving quality.

It was clear that they all weren’t just teasing for the sake of teasing—they were happy to see him like this. This side of Law, the one who didn’t always hide behind his usual walls, was a rare sight for most people.

“I guess there’s a first time for everything,” Law muttered, trying to keep the situation under control while simultaneously not looking entirely displeased.

As if they couldn’t resist, one of the younger doctors, a woman with long hair and a sly smile, smirked at you and asked, “So, come on, how did you two get together? Law didn’t want to say a word about it.” His grin widened as he leaned in, waiting for some kind of juicy story.

You chuckled, glancing at Law, who raised an eyebrow at you as if daring you to come up with an appropriate response.

“Of course he didn’t.” You nudged him playfully. “He’s never been the type to spill the details, has he?”

Shachi smirked knowingly. “Come on, Law,” he prodded. “We’re dying to know the real story.”

“Well,” you interjected, grinning as you looked at the group. “If you're looking for something juicy, I’m afraid I have to disappoint. We were just good friends for quite a while before it just clicked that there’s more and there’s no running from it. So, with a kiss, we sealed the deal, and are together just like that.” It seemed like a story that could be real, that would suit you both, and what kind of people you are together.

“That’s actually a pretty decent story, considering how tight-lipped you’ve been, Law,” he remarked.

Law shot him a sidelong glance. “I’m not in the habit of sharing my private life with everyone.”

The woman with long hair, delighted by the revelation, nudged Shachi playfully. “Well, it’s good to know Law isn’t entirely immune to matters of the heart. Who knew?” she said with a wink, enjoying the rare opportunity to see her usually composed colleague looking so flustered.

“I never said I was,” Law replied, though there was a faint hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth now.

You smiled at him, savoring the fact that, despite his usual reticence, he hadn’t shut down the conversation.

“Well, now that we’ve got that out of the way,” you turned to the group, “any more questions?

“Not if you want to keep your secrets,” Shachi teased. “I think we’ve learned enough for tonight.”

“Although…” Penguin started to say with a mischievous grin

“Alright, alright,” Law interjected, probably scared that more question may blow your cover. “You’ve had your fun.”

The playful banter continued for a few more moments, with the group lightheartedly poking fun at Law, but without pushing too far. It was clear they were genuinely enjoying seeing him in a different light. Even you couldn't help but smile at how the evening had turned out.

“Alright,” you said, nudging Law lightly with your elbow, “I think we’ve officially survived the interrogation. How about we grab some drinks and escape before they start asking for our love story in full detail?” you whispered.

“Fine by me,” he stated, standing up and offering you a hand. “Excuse us for a moment.”

You took his hand, your fingers curling around his with ease. He led you both to the bar and ordered your drinks. When you took them, you found seats nearby.

“They have a point, you know,” you commented, leaning back in your seat, sipping your drink as you shot him a teasing glance. “You’re surprisingly sweet with me.”

Law shot you a look, but his lips twitched upward in the barest hint of a smile. “Don’t start,” he warned, though there was no bite to his words.

“I’m just saying, the way you act tonight—” you paused, letting the words linger in the air, “it’s… kind of adorable.”

“You’re walking a fine line,” he murmured, his tone just low enough that only you could hear, and there was that familiar spark of challenge in it.

You grinned. “I think the real question is, why do you make it so easy for me to tease you?” You leaned back again, propping your elbow on the armrest, your eyes glinting with playful mischief. “Maybe I’m onto something.”

“You’re lucky I don’t have a stronger reaction to you, or I’d make sure you regret that.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by the hint of seriousness in his voice. “Oh? Is that a threat, Law?” you asked, half-challenging, half-curious.

He leaned in just slightly, his gaze softening but still intense. “Only if you push your luck too far,” he replied. It was supposed to be a warning, and yet it sounded way…warmer. You felt the air shift between you, the playful tone fading into something more subtle.

Before you could respond, the sound of laughter from across the room caught your attention, and you noticed some of Law’s colleagues still milling about, their eyes frequently darting toward the two of you. They probably thought their glances were subtle, but they really weren’t.

“Wanna bet they’re talking about us?”

Law smirked, his gaze flicking toward the group before returning to you. “I’m not betting against something that is 100% true.”

You chuckled, lifting your drink to your lips as you watched them huddle together in hushed conversation, clearly intrigued by the dynamic between the two of you. The whole thing was both amusing and oddly satisfying, considering how little effort you'd actually put into keeping this charade together.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence with a light tone, “what now? Do we stick around and continue surviving this ‘unnecessary’ holiday, or do we make our grand exit?”

“I think we’ve done enough, surviving for one night,” he declared, standing and offering his hand to you with a knowing glint in his eyes. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

You took his hand, your fingers wrapping around his with the familiar ease. “I like the sound of that.” 

As you made your way toward the exit, you said your goodbyes to everyone, your eyes catching a few lingering, amused glances from Law's colleagues.

“Well, I think we’ve both survived tonight, haven’t we?” you asked, glancing up at him with a teasing look, trying to gauge his mood as you stepped outside.

His gaze softened, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I suppose we have,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Though, I’m not sure what’s worse—the questions or your teasing.”

You laughed lightly, squeezing his hand gently. “I think you can handle both.”

“Apparently,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand in a gesture that was almost imperceptible but undeniably intimate.

Instead of calling for a taxi, Law started leading you toward the nearby park. You certainly didn’t mind the extra time with him—after the whirlwind of the evening, the peaceful solitude of the park felt like a perfect escape.

When you reached a bench by a small pond, Law sat down, and you followed suit, the two of you settling next to each other. For a few moments, neither of you said anything. It felt like the perfect continuation of the night—no more questions, no more performances, just the two of you.

“Thank you.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the unexpected gratitude in his tone. “You're welcome,” you replied easily, your lips curving into a small smile. “I had fun.”

“You did?”

“Yeah,” you answered, your smile widening a little. “Did you?”

“I did actually.”

“Good” you said simply. “You know now that they’ll just bother and tease you about me, right?” you added teasingly after a moment.

He gave you a side-glance, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, but his gaze softened as it lingered on you. “I can survive that.”

You sat in silence, the quiet comfortable, with your hand still intertwined with his, even though there was no one around that you had to pretend for.

After a while, Law spoke quietly, “That story…

“Huh?” You blinked, trying to recall what he might be referring to.

“About how we apparently came to be… you made it quite believable.” You suddenly remembered your words from earlier: We were just good friends for quite a while before it just clicked that there’s more and there’s no running from it. So, with a kiss, we sealed the deal, and are together just like that.

“Well…um, it sounded plausible, did it not?” you said, as you tried to brush off the nerves creeping up.

“It did.” Silence fell again, but this time, it felt different. You wrecked your head as to what to say. You looked at him, hoping for something to break the tension, and found his gaze already focused on you. The intensity of it made it harder to find the right words.

But you didn’t have to say anything—his lips found yours in a tender kiss, slow and gentle, as if testing the waters for something deeper. The world around you seemed to fade away as you leaned into the kiss, your fingers threading through his hair. The moment felt suspended in time, perfect in its simplicity.

When he finally pulled back, his hand still resting against your cheek, you noticed a subtle smile playing at the corners of his lips. It was the kind of smile that made your chest tighten, the kind that carried a quiet promise, and the warmth that spread through you was more than just the remnants of the kiss.

“Well, that solidifies that it was all true.”

You heard the familiar voice of Usopp. The sudden intrusion snapped you out of the trance the moment had put you in.

You rolled your eyes, not even glancing in his direction, your focus remaining entirely on Law. “Get lost, Nose-ya. Now,” Law muttered, his voice stern, his gaze unwavering from yours.

“Alright, alright, I’m going!” Usopp chuckled, but you weren’t about to let him ruin your moment, not when it felt so real, so raw. You kept your focus on Law, and for a few seconds, there was just the two of you again, the world falling away once more.

“So, is my story true then?” you asked, a playful glint in your eyes.

“Yeah, it is,” he replied, his voice steady but carrying that quiet confidence you’d grown accustomed to.

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. “Can’t believe it happened on Valentine’s Day, after pretending to date for an event.”

“Maybe Valentine's Day isn't so bad after all,” he said, the words almost an afterthought. And you couldn’t help but agree as you tugged him closer, your lips finding his in a kiss that was even more intense than the first.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, you looked into his eyes, and something settled in your chest—this was just the beginning of something, something you both weren’t willing to let go of. It was there in the way he looked at you, the way he held you close. You could feel it in your bones that whatever this was, it was real. And it was only just starting.

“Maybe you’re right,” you whispered, your thumb gently brushing over his hand. “Valentine’s Day might not be so bad… when it ends like this.”

He smirked at you. “We’ll see if you still feel that way next year,” he said, the challenge in his voice playful, but there was no mistaking the certainty in his words.

“You wanna fake-date me for Valentine’s Day next year too?”

His expression softened, the usual sharpness in his gaze replaced by something more tender as his hand brushed gently across your cheek. “No,” he responded quietly, his voice warm and sincere. “I want to be with you—for real.”

[nagislemontea]

I'm going to call it now, if and when the wider world learns of Shamrock and who he is, Buggy is going to flip his lid in a fit of jealousy.

Buggy is going to go from I Want Nothing to Do With Shanks, Can You Believe That Jerk!? to I Am The Only One Who Is Shanks' Brother!!!

Once all the attention and praise he received for being the brother of Shanks is off of him and shines on Shamrock, he's going to lose it. Suddenly, Buggy is actually really close with Shanks. Suddenly, Buggy has all the fondest memories of Shanks. Suddenly, Buggy can tell you the greatest stories of Shanks. Because Buggy was the one who grew up with Shanks, dammit! They were raised by the Pirate King himself. They went on sooo many adventures! Buggy was always by Shanks' side! They were the Pride of the Oro Jackson! They were practically attached at the hip! Buggy knows Shanks better than anyone! They are practically twins!

Because Buggy is "THE ONLY TRUE BROTHER OF SHANKS! I AM THE FLASHIEST AND MOST GENIUS BROTHER OF ALL!"

"Just ask anyone! Right, Croc!? Right, Hawkeyes!?"

Meanwhile, Crocodile tells him to shut up already and Mihawk just rolls his eyes and continues to sip his wine.

[nagislemontea]

the brothers ever

origianal template (from pinterest idk the original source)

[nagislemontea]

Happily ever after

Trafalgar D. Water Law. Law hates his job as a guard, he just wants to live in peace and alone, away from the world, but that changes when he has to protect the third princess for a year. Note: fem!reader. sfw. mention of murder attempts and food problems. just thinking about this fan art, which is amazing. wc: 5,6k

Joining the Royal Guard, a knight, was never something Trafalgar Law aspired to be, in fact, quite the opposite. He aspired, ever since he could remember, to live in solitude, so far from people. To build a small house, have a cow, chickens and a small goat, with a garden that provides him with everything needs to live in peace. That is what he pursues so much: peace. Solitude. He wants to live a quiet life. But of course, not everything is so simple, especially when you are an orphan.

Law lived his first eight years in a happy and comfortable house, full of love and support, but he quickly discovered the cruelty of human beings. Greed and thirst for power, playing God, can cost many lives. Law was left alone after the King gave up protecting his people, a strategically desired border town. He gave up in exchange for money and jewels, more money and jewels that he does not need. Greed is disgusting. Law was left alone after that, until Rosinante arrived. In retrospect, it was Law who actually saved him.

Law had never met such a clumsy man, much less considering the bright uniform he wore: royal guard. The two roses full of thorns symbolized the kingdom and the royal family. Law didn't trust it, but seeing the poor man get caught in a railing after rolling down a crumbling staircase, couldn't help but help him. Maybe because it was funny to see him fall. Law hadn't laughed in a long time. And maybe that's why Law now had a new father, a clumsy but strong General; a man who filled him with the affection that was cleared away. Law never forgot his family, but he found a new home in Rosinante.

And so we come to where he is now: wearing a shining suit of armor, the logo of the family he hates so much on his chest and in front of two enormous doors, about to meet the royal family.

Law doesn't want to be a knight, he hates it, but doesn't have many options. He wants to make his adoptive father proud to see him protect his country, but also because there is a more selfish reason. His dream of a life of solitude and tranquility is not as accessible as he would like. There are no houses in the middle of the forest, he would have to build one himself that can withstand all kinds of weather. He would have to prepare the land to plant and buy some animals. And all that required money. Money that the royal guard provided him. And if what is about to happen went perfectly, Law could say goodbye to this job he hates and go into exile far away from everyone. One year, he just had to endure one more year, one year together with a princess. He could do it, he repeated to himself over and over again, thinking that he was doing this for his peace and thanking his father for the opportunity. It was he who suggested his name for this request. He only had to keep one of the princesses alive until the King crowned his successor. He could do it, repeated to hisself once more as the royal doors of the King's Hall opened.

The great doors opened and as his name and title was announced, Soldier Trafalgar walked through the great hall, down the blood red carpet that ended at the King's feet. During the walk Law allowed himself to observe the nine children of the king, being careful not to be discovered. He only knew the first three: the firstborn, the first princess and the second prince, who were the ones who publicly competed for the crown. He didn't like it. He wondered as he looked at the other princesses if they were as insolent as the first one, he hoped not, because... God forbid Law commit a murder. He is not a man with much patience. And from first impressions, Law doesn't think that idea sounds too far-fetched. The other three princesses look the same sitting so haughtily on their thrones at the ends of the hall. Kneeling in the middle of the royal family he feels as if they are about to attack him.

Rosiante looks nervous as he watches Law reach the ruler's feet, not wanting to see him too much for fear of breaking down in tears. He knows this isn't what his son dreams of, but can't help but feel immense pride in seeing him grow into such an honorable man. Also, knowing how rebellious his son can be, he is the one who speaks to the King. Law thinks about thanking him for it later, not trusting his voice to be submissive and docile enough and merely reacts when the King steps down from the throne with his sword in hand, forcing him to come closer and fall back onto his knees in front of him. He barely hears his words, not interested in them and only lets out an "I swear," when is appropriate. The next thing he knows, he must now be a princess's lapdog.

"The meeting is over," the King dismisses everyone, not hiding his annoyance at the matter. Apparently the soldier is not the only one annoyed by the whole royal procedure. He is the first to leave, followed by the queen and the other princes.

Law stands to one side, head lowered in false respect. Smiles as he recognizes the firm footsteps of the royal family and his guards passing in front of him, followed by a more irregular and dragging one that he recognizes as his father. Feels his hand discreetly caress his own hair as a sign that he has done a good job. Law thinks that perhaps he can just leave, but then the man's vision is obstructed by the tip of a pair of shoes that are too clean and well cared for, barely visible through the ruffled water-green fabric. Law's honey eyes go up, without really thinking about it, the skirt, finding two restless hands in front of the corset decorated with a pattern of bright white flowers. A marked collarbone, too much and a long, soft-skinned neck. The face he finds surprises him a little, it is almost identical to that of the first princess, except for the color of the eyes, the careless appearance and the lost look. For Law, physical beauty was not something relevant, but he still couldn't help but compare the beauty of a strong and bloody rose like the elder princesses with that of a withered flower like you. The third princess. Also, note, you are too weak for someone of royalty. Apparently he has been staring too much because the third princess's maid gives him a deadly look.

"Princess," he manages to say without much displeasure, in his usual low, husky voice. There is no one else left in the room.

"Thank you for your noble work," you introduce yourself with a small bow in return, proving that even with a weak body you are still capable of displaying class and elegance. With a smile that is not at all worthy of a princess, too disinterested and genuine. "I trust that we will work well together."

Law hoped so too.

He had heard before that being a knight for the royal family could be a bit too expressive, having to be on your toes and dealing with the volatile moods of the family. Law expected some of that, wanted some of that. Yes, he's a quiet man, but some action would be nice instead of having to stand in a corner doing absolutely nothing. Being the third princess's guard is just too boring.

He’s been on the job for a week, living almost twenty-four hours a day glued to your back and he can’t say anything more than that it’s a boring job. Too boring. You’re so boring. You spend your days in useless classes on etiquette, embroidery, painting, poetry and home and family care. And you’re so good at everything that it’s boring to accompany you to every class. Your free time is spent in the gardens, just walking for hours or hiding in your room, the only place Law is forbidden to accompany you, leaving you in the hands of a girl who serves as your lady. Law doesn’t doubt that you’ll be the best wife for some distant noble or prince, you’re good at housework, you don’t talk much, you don’t bother and you’re not ugly either. That’s your destiny, after all. He feels a little sorry for you, although he refuses to think about it too much. You live your life in silence, almost without existing, following orders and waiting for the day that a man comes and claims you.

It was a rainy day after school that Law realized something. Sitting with your face against the large window, watching the rain fall and ignoring the poetry homework. The large library was empty except for the three of you, barely lit it seemed like a somewhat hostile environment. The plate of sandwiches was still there, almost untouched except for the single cookie you had eaten and the empty cup of tea. The knight watches you carefully from his spot next to one of the shelves, a few feet away from you. It's no wonder you look like that with those eating habits. The king's knights are the only ones allowed to enter the Great Hall during meals, but Law doesn't doubt that you don't eat too much there either. He wouldn't be surprised if you fainted at any moment. And for a second he thinks that will happen when he sees you walk away from the window with a grimace of pain. The young maid, Kumi, rushes over, but doesn't touch her.

“My Lady, you shouldn’t-” she tries to speak, worried and upset at something Law doesn’t understand. But she’s cut off by you.

“Enough,” your voice is firm, it’s the loudest and firmest he’s heard you speak in the time you’ve known each other. He watches you sigh as you slump ungracefully onto the library couch. You close your eyes before sitting back up, straight and graceful. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

“It’s okay, my lady,” the lady’s teary eyes say otherwise, but the smile is genuine as she brings the tray closer to you. “Please,” asks and you relent, taking a new cookie and bringing it to your mouth.

Law watches the interaction carefully, grateful to be ignored most of the time. Kumi is barely a woman, fourteen years old is still too young for a position like this. She is inexperienced, clumsy and childish. A job too big for her, and yet there she is, every day ready for you. She is the only courtesan you have, unlike your sisters who have a whole group. The girl alone is the one who helps you get ready every day, bathe, comb your hair and dress. Maybe that is why you look so messy compared to the rest of the princesses. And yet you never complain or reproach anything. When the girl makes a mistake or makes a mistake, instead of punishing it, you teach her how to do it.

You turned to him, opening your lips to be interrupted by the door slamming open. The twins, the second prince and second princess, entered. There were no guards or maids with them. It was Kumi's expression that truly put the knight on alert. The two heirs walked up to you with that haughty air they always carried with them, ignoring the rest of those present. Law knew their names were Marriett and Marleenne, but he could never remember who was who.

"So this is where you're hiding, you filthy rat," the princess, Marriett, spoke sarcastically once only a few feet separated you.

"Apparently she's not stupid enough to show her ugly face in the castle," the prince adds, spitting on the ground at your feet.

Law stands still at your brothers' treatment of you, shocked. Even more so when the second princess's footwear hits your calf. Law can see how you contain a grimace of pain. Apparently this made him instinctively move towards you, making his armor clatter with the movement, as the look the royal twins gave him pierced him like daggers. "Know your place," he could read in their gazes. Your face, on the other hand, begged him not to intervene. "Don't make this bigger than it is," your eyes said, pleading. Kumi too, was quick to shake her head at him. Law then remained in his place. Feeling the helplessness grow more and more inside him with each unpleasant word that was thrown at you, with another blow every two words. Law hates how you received all that in silence.

 After what seemed like hours, but was only an agonizing twenty minutes, the evil twins leave the room. Law doesn't miss the warning look the prince gives him. "Keep your mouth shut."

“My Lady,” Kumi, who had been standing beside you silently with her head down, quickly kneels down towards you, lifting up your skirt to see the bruise beginning to appear on the bruised skin. Letting out a sharp cry, she stands up. Eyes watering. “I’ll go get the medkit,” she says before running to a corner of the room, as if she was used to this. Law didn’t doubt that she was.

Law looks at you in silence. You're in the same position as before, sitting like a statue in the big chair, your gaze lost in nothingness. He avoids looking at where the skin of your leg is exposed. You look completely abandoned. He doesn't realize he's come closer to you until your sad eyes rise to meet his. A gentle smile spreads across your lips.

“Don’t worry, sir kingman,” you say with that practiced sweetness. You’re too kind for your own good. Kumi emerges to tend to your wound quickly, cleaning the area before applying the ointment. The gentleman’s golden eyes follow the movement of your hand, stroking the girl’s curls to calm her agitated state.

“You shouldn’t allow that,” Law snaps, forgetting his place, ignoring all honorifics, unable to hide the annoyance in his voice. Both ladies’ eyes lock on him, and for a second a tense silence stretches before your laughter breaks it. Kumi joins you softly. Law can’t find the situation anything but confusing.

"Kumi, could you please bring tea for three?" and the girl can't refuse. She runs clumsily into the kitchen, returning timidly for the forgotten tray. "Don't run," you remind her before she leaves the library again.

Another silence stretches between the two of you. The only thing you can hear is the furious pounding of the rain.

"I recognize that my words will sound defeatist and, if I may say so, stupid," your solemn voice fills the silence, with a hint of resignation and sadness. "I don't know much more about you than what people whisper, perhaps this is somewhat childish and irritating, but I kindly ask you to understand that what you just witnessed will happen again. It's an inevitable fact. However, I ask that you remain calm and not interfere. If it is of your concern, due to your current duty, you should not worry, nothing serious will happen to me."

Law wants to go deeper, but the look in your eyes makes him shut up.

You weren't wrong, that bravado came back again and again, Law had a hard time not interfering. Despite himself, he had begun to feel comfortable around you and enjoy being your company, considering what he heard from the rest of the family guards he was lucky to protect you, you are the calmest. You attend your classes, the meetings that your father asks for your presence, but the rest of the time you enjoy reading, walking in the garden, visiting the town. Law surprises himself by starting to know your true personality with each passing month. It was only a few weeks to detect your problem with food, how you avoided it. According to Kumi, it had always been like that, you only consumed what was necessary to not faint, so your weak and wobbly appearance is not strange to him. He also noticed your nervous habits, biting the inside of your cheek and twisting your hands behind your back. The way you purse your lips as you read, the notes you take from each book, the way you smell the flowers and how you tenderly caress Kumi's head. He can tell when you smile out of politeness, when it's forced and when it's sincere. He's also started accepting your invitations for tea time. You weren't causing any trouble and that's why Law wanted to teach you how to defend yourself. There are only a few months left until the next supreme King or Queen is crowned and your brothers and sisters' attacks haven't stopped, in fact, they've only increased in intensity.

Even though you’re the third princess and fifth in line to the throne, you are still considered competition. At first he thought it was because you had some ability that threatened the King's election, but he soon realized it was just because of evil. Everyone in the royal family is a power-hungry man and woman, eager to get rid of any threat, no matter how insignificant.

The breaking point, the moment Law couldn't stand to see you humiliate yourself like that anymore was when you ended up with a concussion after an ambush in the woods, during a royal picnic. Law was furious, but he couldn't argue while you were asleep for two days. But the moment the healer gave you the all clear, Law drags you out into the woods, where you'll have privacy and places a Bo, a weapon that consists of a long wooden stick, in your dominant hand. He's fed up with taking care of a weakling. Or so he tells himself.

“Hit me,” he orders, ignoring the surprised look you give him and Kumi’s scream. “You’re my apprentice now, not my superior,” says, and he may be a little overbearing and totally respectful, but it doesn’t seem to bother you much. You actually smile at the sight of him being so serious.

“I’m still your princess,” you tell him, but you try to hit him anyway, barely managing to do so. Law stops the stick with just two fingers. You look at him with a mix of surprise and frustration.

“Again,” Law orders again, and without much thought, you do it. You try to hit him again and again, never succeeding. “Again,” continues, mercilessly.

The training only stops when your body falls covered in sweat onto the cool grass. Your entire body burns from the physical effort. But there’s something satisfying bubbling up inside you. Watching the cold, distant man ask (order) you so fervently to strive for your own survival sparks something in you that makes you want to achieve it. You don’t want to think too much about how are his irresistible eyes, or his fierce expression, or the way your heart thrills every time he agrees to have tea with you. You definitely don’t want to think about how he affects you the few times his firm, veiny hands have held you. You feel foolish, but you can’t help but feel that way for your personal guard. Especially since you know he sees you as nothing more than a weak, pathetic princess. You want to change that. You want to prove to him and to yourself that you are more than the sum of your weaknesses.

Law is surprised when you wait for him the next morning in a riding suit and your hair tied in a braid around your head, like a crown. There is a determination in your gaze that drives him to sneak away from everyone and make your body sweat and burn. It trains your body, teaches you to handle a sword and daggers. It pushes you to the limit, makes you stronger. But that doesn't work if you don't eat.

“What is this?” you ask, disgust clear on your face. Today’s lunch is full of fat, fiber, and protein. It’s not a princess’ lunch, it’s a soldier’s lunch. Your gaze runs from Kumi to Law. He has no shame in interfering in your diet.

“Your food,” he answers without shame. Formalities are forgotten when the three of you are there. “And I expect you all to eat it,” but that seems impossible to you, and from the look in Law’s eyes, you know he knows it too. Your stomach has shrunk in size after years of starving yourself. You hear him sigh as your fork plays with the red meat.

Against all protocol and decency, Law finds himself sitting next to you, slightly uncomfortable in his armor, pulling his shirt collar to the side in annoyance and snatching the fork from your hand. You look at him in surprise, the air escaping your lungs when you turn to him and find him just inches away from you. Your eyes scan his furrowed brow, his golden eyes, his strong nose, and his full lips. You have a different kind of hunger, a forbidden, impure hunger. You have to bite your cheek hard to keep from doing something stupid. You’ve been reading too much romance.

Law takes a small piece of the plate and holds it out in front of your lips. He hadn’t thought too much about his actions until your lips wrapped around the piece of meat so delicately. His brain went blank. His heart betrayed him. His golden orbs rose and met yours, shining just like your cheeks. Damn, he was wrong. You weren’t a faded beauty; you were a delicate beauty. But he didn’t want to think about it too much, not when he didn’t have all his self-control. Not when his priority at that moment was taking care of you.

“Good,” murmurs, his voice too husky to be casual as you swallow your first bite. “Open again,” and there’s something so primal when you obey him and open your pretty lips for him to feed you. You’re both aware that you can do it yourself, but there’s something so tempting and forbidden about the act of being fed. You don’t finish your plate—you can’t—but they both smile a little when they notice that you’ve eaten more than you normally do.

Being fed, along with being trained to exhaustion become part of your daily life. You are surprised when you notice the change in your body when you see yourself naked in the mirror. You don’t look like the same as always, you don’t feel like the same as always. You are no longer tired all day, you don’t have as many migraines, your weight is ideal and you feel stronger than ever, physically and mentally. Law says he only did that to make it easier to protect you, but you know better, you have learned to read his little gestures, to read between the lines of his actions. Law doesn’t just protect you, he takes care of you. And that does nothing to make you feel less in love.

Rosinante appears a week before the big royal announcement. He seems more agitated and paranoid than usual, but Law attributes it to the stress he must be going through as part of the King's guard. Law himself has been under a lot of stress these past few weeks. Despite the progress you've made in your defense classes, three attempts against you have happened, three attempts of great concern. They weren't just looking to humiliate and hurt you, as always, this time they were serious. Trying to kill a princess was a serious thing, even more so protecting her. Law barely slept, much less left your side, camping out at your bedroom door every night. He wouldn't allow anything or anyone to hurt you, not wanting to think that it was more of a personal need than a duty. Law wanted to protect you.

 The first attempt was clearly a case of poisoning, but whoever orchestrated it didn't take into account that it was Law himself who was now supervising the third princess's food. He recognized the smell of poisonous aconite hidden among the aromas of your salad. Now that you were eating like a normal person, he couldn't allow the food to kill you.

The second attempt against you happened when they were returning from visiting the village. The guard was surprised at how attentive you were to your subjects, how you did everything possible to help them from the misery your family caused. It had been a group of vandals, at the exit of the village, attacking the royal carriage without hesitation, but they didn't expect that only one man would be enough to finish them all off. Law hadn't reached his position at your side just because of connections, he was one of the best warriors in the kingdom. Your father and the Assembly attributed the attack to a criminal group, but your guard knew that was a shameless lie. The criminals would go after the money, not your head.

The third attempt was the one that led to Law standing guard at the foot of your bed. The security at your window had been breached, a hitman trying to stab you while you slept. If your beloved guard hadn’t trained you, you would have been dead already, but you had managed to dodge the blow and push the man away, buying Law the time he needed to get in and take care of the killer himself. He could no longer trust leaving you alone for even a second.

“Law,” his father’s voice is shaky, gasping for air as he leans on his knees. He’s not an old man, he’s still in his prime, but the stress he’s been living under hasn’t helped him. Law promises he’ll take his father away when his forest home is ready. “This is crazy. I’ve never seen anything like this,” shakes his head, upset. “These kids are crazy, they’re all crazy,” he mutters and leads the young man away where no one will hear them. From there Law can still keep an eye on you as you pick flowers for your room. Rocinante follows his son’s gaze to you, his face changing into a small smile. “Except for the third princess, of course. She’s fine,” and there’s a certain tone in his voice that bothers Law a little, but he ignores it. He’s not ready to get caught up in that.

“I know,” he nods with a sigh, understanding what she means. “That’s three serious attempts on her. I’m almost certain I know who orchestrated them, but I can’t do much to stop it other than stay alert,” Rosinante nods at her words, equally frustrated.

“The first prince is the King’s favorite,” he says solemnly. “And honestly, he’s the best choice. He was raised by his mother, the death, Queen, and he’s the only one truly qualified to rule, but…” his voice wavers. Law remembers that you’ve mentioned him a few times, the first prince. From what he understands from your words, his father’s opinion is correct. You’ve described him as the only brother you have a non-aggressive relationship with, the one who usually recommends history and politics books to you, the one who’s helped you with your riding lessons, and the only one you refer to as a brother. And with Law’s knowledge of the hidden actions of the other princes and princesses, Law also begins to believe that he’s the best choice. However, he thinks you’d make an amazing queen, but he doesn’t say so. “But I don’t think it’ll be that easy for him to get to that throne. Last night he had to duel with three men disguised as guards. The day of the coronation will be a difficult day,” the general says as if it were an option, the soldier knows it will be. Difficult was an understatement.

As he walks back to you, an idea begins to emerge in his restless mind. It's crazy, it could be considered betrayal, but so far it's his best option. He thinks of his house, far away from everyone, over the mountains, nestled in a lovely valley. He's been building it in silence, with the help of trusted acquaintances and the soil he earns every day at your side. The few times he earns a day off he sneaks out to make sure everything is ready for when the time comes. The house is ready, built of sturdy material, all that's missing are the animals, the garden and his presence. Law thinks you'll love it. He knows you love nature, you spend a lot of free time outdoors and visit the animals on the royal farm. You'd be so happy there. And you could live without worries, without murderous brothers, without poisons, etiquette classes, without living in fear. And when you smile like that, so bright and pure, oh lord, he just want to protect you. It's the only thing he can think of. And the idea of living with you for the rest of his days.

That same night, when you are already tucked into your big bed and the two have been paid for some time, Law approaches slowly, knowing that you have not yet fallen asleep. Alone in the privacy of your room, both of you sit on your bed, the cold and large hands of the imperial guard take the small and warm ones of the princess. The decision is made, he just needs to know if you agree. If you are willing to follow him far away as he is sure that he would follow you to the end of the world and beyond. In his eyes you were not just the princess of the kingdom, you are much more.

“Princess,” he begins, a little hesitant. He was never a man of doubts, but the fear he feels is new and annoying. He is afraid of your rejection. Your name, your real name, not your title slips from his lips for the first time. It feels so good, saying it and hearing it.

“Law,” and the way you say his name… he can’t ignore his racing pulse. “What’s wrong? You look so tense,” you reach up and caress his cheek, enjoying the slight stubble of his growing beard. He’s handsome, you think, so attractive. A real man.

“Come with me,” there’s an urgency in his voice that hits you full on. You slip out of your sheets and move closer to his body, kneeling in front of where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. “I have a house, it’s small, beyond the mountains. No one will find us there, we’ll be alone, in peace,” the desperation in his eyes, the fear. The fear that something will happen to you. “I have a garden, you can plant all the flowers you want. And we’ll buy a cow and chickens, we won’t lack anything. And my father, he’ll help us if we need him, but we can live there and -,” but his anxious speech is interrupted by something he’s been dreaming about for a long time.

Your lips are as soft and fluffy as he had dreamed so many times. You kiss him urgently, filled with too many emotions, but above all, very much in love. Completely in love. And Law is not far behind. As your hands pull him towards you from the collar of his armor, he holds you close with both hands on your face.

“Come with me,” murmurs again, almost pleading, his voice hoarse and low against your lips. You kiss him again.

“Let’s run away,” you don’t have to think about it, it’s what you’ve always wanted: to run away from the castle. And now, the possibility of going with the man to whom you have silently given your heart sounds like a dream come true. “Let’s run away together, my dear Law.”

And how could he refuse that proposal?

They tell stories about a missing princess. Some say she was killed by her cruel brothers and sisters, others say she was kidnapped and never paid for her ransom, others deny her existence, but among the border dwellers it is believed that the third princess ran away with a man, far from the comfort and privileges of the castle in exchange for love. Rosinante loved that story, and used to tell it with many saccharine and exciting details. He likes to add that the man had to fight many guards in a duel, that he faced the wrath of the evil brothers and sisters, and the will of the current King, the first prince, to ensure the safety and happiness of the princess, the woman he loves madly. The former general loves to talk about how the man and the princess live happily in a small cabin in the simplicity and peace of their small family. Law tells him to stop spreading those stories. You find it funny and lovely. And for the little boy running through the meadow full of wild flowers, playing with the sheep and goats, that story is his favorite for his grandfather to tell him before going to sleep.

In the end, worthy of a princess, you too had your happily ever after.

[nagislemontea]

One Piece Fic Recs

This is a list of incredible One Piece fanfics I have read either on Tumblr or Ao3 the majority of which are character x reader/oc.

📝 Ongoing/Unfinished

Long Works (>25,000 words)

It Comes in Waves by analogwriting Trafalgar Law x f!reader (71k)

The Bird & The Mermaid (Trafalgar Law x F!Reader) by BlackOrchid1004 (40k)

Small Changes by SweetScentences Platonic Law and Corazon fix it (37k)

The Daughter's Return by @cozage Portgas D. Ace x f!reader (126k)

Birds of a Feather by flyingfishgirl Marco the Phoenix x f!reader (74k)

Inked on Skin by Archaeological / @tackyink Trafalgar Law x OFC (385k)

📝 Home of the Sun by Nahella Portgas D. Ace x f!reader (167k)

📝 Free (Trafalgar Law/Reader) by ElenaMoon (153k)

📝 Throne by teroinreadsteroinwrites Shanks x OFC (41k)

📝 This is Us by Anonymous Portgas D. Ace x f!reader (90k)

📝 Card-Sharp by VintagexTypewriter Shanks x OFC (90k)

📝 Home Is Where the Hearts Are by brouhahas Trafalgar Law x f!reader (37k)

📝 Rare Whales, Shining Seas, and the One That Dreams of Them by NunTheWiser Platonic Whitebeard Pirates, Platonic Heart Pirates x OFC (339k)

📝 Bound by Silver by ToastedMilkBar Corazon x f!reader (46k)

📝 Immune To Your Charms by @grandline-fics Donquixote Doflamingo x f!reader (26k)

📝 Chaos in Their Bones by @eureka-its-zico OPLA Zoro x f!reader (148k)

Medium Works (10,000-24,999 words)

Epiphytism by Jarchetype Dracule Mihawk x f!reader (23k)

Little Blue Bird by MidNightWriter42 Marco the Phoenix x f!reader (12k)

📝 Affiliation by maybeitsdee Portgas D. Ace x f!reader (23k)

[nagislemontea]

vander x reader angst where the reader in some circumstance ended up in the alternate universe with ekko and heimerdinger, and they get to see vander again; reader in that alternate universe living a domestic life with him. vander also ends up seeing reader off before they go back to the original timeline and in their last moments, vander sees the reader cry on what could’ve been.

[nagislemontea]

The loud thumping wakes you up, and you blink tiredly as the sound persists. You look at your ceiling for a second before you realize someone is knocking at your door. You groan, bringing your duvet over your ear as you snuggle in again.

“Leave me alone,” you mumble against your pillow as the knocking becomes more forceful.

Suddenly there’s silence, and when you finally think that whoever is bothering you has left, the knocking starts again.

You groan, cursing under your breath as you stand up, grabbing your gun from your vanity. You walk to your front door, opening it angrily.

“What-” your outburst dies down at your lips when you lock eyes with the last person you’d expected to see standing outside your apartment, but one you’d longed for, for years.

Your first instinct is to panic, there’s no way you were conscious. The person standing at your door was supposed to be dead.

So you raise your gun up, hand trembling, “This isn’t real.” you choke out, and Vander raises his hands slowly, opening his mouth to speak but you cut him off, “You’re not real, you’re not here.” There are tears dripping down your cheeks, the gun threatening to fall from your hand with how much you were shaking “Y-you’re dead, this can’t-” you clutch at your chest, heaving, and Vander’s hands grab at your shoulders when your knees buckle,

“My love,” The gun slips from your shaky grip and falls to the floor the moment the words leave his mouth. His voice, god fuck, his voice. You’ve dreamed of it, you’re certain you’ve heard it, back when the grief first clawed at your heart, when the illusions spilled into reality to try to mend what was broken.

But this sounded too real, and you gasped when his hand cupped your cheek, thumb wiping the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “Darling, my darling girl. It’s me,” the sweet but rough sound of his voice sent shivers down your back, and you wanted to drown in it, you wanted to hear it again and again and again until you couldn’t anymore. You blinked rapidly, tears blurring your vision as your eyes danced across his features, the five bright white dots across his forehead would have confused you, if you weren’t on the verge of a panic attack.

You didn’t realize you’d raised your hand to cover his, until you felt the warmth of his hand under your skin. “S-stop, this isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real,” you squeezed your eyes shut, whispering frantically in order to wake up from this sickly realistic dream, to end this before you woke up and missed his touch again. And yet you craved more, desperately running your hands down his sides, back up to his chest, his shoulders, his back.

God, he felt real, and he was so warm, not like the previous dreams you’ve had when he was always cold, just a silhouette of the man you loved. He even smelled like your Vander. A sob broke through you, and you threw your hands around his neck, crying against his chest. Even if this wasn’t real, you’d still take advantage of this opportunity to feel close to him one last time.

You tried not to cry harder when his arms immediately circled around your torso, hugging you tight to him as you both slipped down to the floor, “Shh sh, love it’s me. Please, look at me,”

“If I do then I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone.” you muttered against his chest, nuzzling closer to him, “Let me have this, just for a moment.”

“You have me, forever.” His rough gravelly voice vibrated against your chest as he spoke, his breath hitting your ear as he nuzzled against your hair, his hands running up and down your back, spreading warmth everywhere.

Too real, too real, too real.

“I miss you so much. I-I can’t-” you take a shuddering breath in, “I can’t live without you. I need you back, please. Please, I’ll do anything.”

“My love, my heart. You beautiful, stunning creature. Look at me, I beg you.”

You could feel him leaning away just so he could cup your jaw, lifting your head up softly, so so softly.

Please.

“Look at me.” he mutters, the softness of his request filled with desperation. You slowly open your eyes, blinking away your tears, gaze immediately locking with his.

Your lips part as you take him in. The color of his eyes was much greyer than you remembered. You raised your hand to follow each feature, each wrinkle of his. After a moment, You brought your other hand up, as well, cupping both his cheeks in your hands, feeling his stubble prickle at your palms. “Vander… This- this can’t be real.” you move to pull away but he cups both your hands, keeping you in place, leaning his forehead against yours, “It can, it is. I’m here honey. I’m here.”

You can’t help but stare at his lips, watching them move as he speaks, your mind trying to make sense of what you’re seeing, hearing, feeling.

Please.

You can’t let yourself get too hopeful because this isn’t possible, and he seems to get it too, so he starts explaining.

He tells you everything. How he was on the verge of death, how a man, Singed, found him, turned him into something vile, but the mutation kept him alive, even if he wasn’t entirely himself. He tells you about how all he felt was pain, but you and the kids were the only thing in his mind the whole time, trying to block away everything else. Tells you about Powder, Vi, and Isha, how they found him, brought him somewhere, a colony of some sort. A man, the Herald, helped him, and “..honest to God he kind of scares me, but it-it didn’t matter then, and it doesn’t matter now because I’m here. I’m here with you.”

Please.

You don’t realize you’ve lost track of time until you’re looking at yourself. You blink quickly, eyebrows furrowing, but then you realize you’re looking at yourself in the mirror. Vander is still holding you tightly, and the side of your face is pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat as he whispers sweet nothings against the crown of your head. You stay there, listening to his voice and his heart for what feels like forever.

He grabs your shoulders, pulling you away from him just enough for him to look at you in the eyes, “Are you okay?” he asks, but his voiced is muffled, sounding too far away. You blink slowly up at him and he frowns sadly.

“I missed you so much. Even in death I missed you, but I wasn’t selfish enough to wish I could see you again because that would mean you’d-” he cuts himself off, the strands of his hair moving as he shakes his head, eyes clenched shut as if to rid himself of that painful thought. “I-I’m here. I’m real. Darling, I’m alive, and I need you to know this.”

His eyes are pained as he stares down at you, once again cupping your jaw, thumb caressing your cheekbone “Say something.”

“I love you.”

His face immediately crumbles, eyebrows squeezing together as his tears start falling, and he tucks his head against the place between your neck and shoulder, crying as he squeezes you impossible tighter, “I love you.” he chokes out, and you feel him pepper soft kisses over your skin, the brokenness of his voice bringing fresh tears to your eyes as well.

You don’t know how long you stay tangled together like this, just holding each other, but Vander leans back suddenly, looking at you with so much adoration that it makes you want to scream. “Hi,” he mumbles, petting your hair softly, his other hand drawing circles on your back.

You start pressing soft kisses all over his face, not being able to contain your affection, and he closes his eyes, laughing giddily, the deep sound traveling over your skin, spreading warmth everywhere. God, you’ve missed this, missed him. “Hi.” you mutter, pressing one last kiss at the corner of his mouth.

His puffy eyes glance down at your lips, “Can I-”

“Please.”

He kisses you.

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