Summary: Law isn’t good with words. But after finding himself thinking about the quiet ways his father used to show love to his mother, Law decides to try something different.
You sat at the table with Penguin and Shachi while Bepo lay sprawled comfortably across your lap, quietly enjoying the way your fingers scratched through his soft fur. Your fingers moved lazily through the white fluff, and the large polar bear instinctively shuffled closer, fully embracing his role as an oversized stuffed animal.
From across the room, Law watched you.
There was something soft in his gaze, something thoughtful. The corners of his lips threatened to curl into a smile.
The truth was, he had always had a weakness for cute things. And for quite some time now, he had considered you to be the cutest of them all.
You in your warm, soft pajamas. You peeking into his office late at night carrying a fresh cup of coffee and something to eat. Sometimes it was hot chocolate instead, accompanied by yet another attempt to convince your doctor, your captain, and your boyfriend to try the sugary disaster despite his constant insistence that he “wasn’t really into sweets.”
You, always willing to listen whenever he rambled about a new medical discovery, your eyes bright with interest and your smile completely genuine. Even when he talked about things the crew would relentlessly tease him for, like his comic books or his coin collection, you never looked bored. Not once.
He found your clumsiness endlessly endearing too. Somehow existing within the same person capable of deadly combat and flawless strategy. It reminded him painfully of someone from his past—someone just as warm and sincere.
Though you were considerably less accident-prone, he had to admit.
He still hadn’t found the strength to tell you about that person.
Truthfully, there were many things about his past he hadn’t managed to share yet. You had probably pieced fragments together already through conversations, things overheard from the crew, and your own intuition. Your relationship was still young enough that there were chapters of each other’s lives left unread, but old enough that neither of you needed every detail to understand the other.
He loved finding you curled up in the library with a book, or half-asleep in bed—sometimes your own, sometimes his—waiting for him to finally stop working and come lie down too.
He loved the spark that lit your eyes whenever the two of you visited museums in whatever city the crew temporarily docked at. The conversations about paintings, writers, history, myths. The way your excitement spilled into every topic you touched.
And he loved your affection for sweet things.
Especially, as you constantly reminded him, for him.
“The sweetest thing of all.”
Every single time, it earned an exasperated eye roll, ears tinged pink beneath the brim of his hat, and a desperate attempt to change the subject or stare intensely at the nearest wall.
Sweet. Sweet. Sweet.
Law wasn’t always fond of revisiting the past. It followed him regardless of where he went, a shadow he had never quite managed to outrun.
But that evening, his thoughts drifted to his family.
To his father.
He remembered the way his father would surprise his mother with bouquets of the freshest flowers he could find. There was always a small note tucked among the stems, usually containing only a few words, yet somehow capable of bringing an even brighter smile and a blush to her cheeks.
Sometimes his father would return home early from work, a near impossibility for a doctor as respected as he had been, simply because he wanted more time with his wife and children.
Law remembered him helping around the house without being asked. Cooking lunch. Washing windows. Dusting shelves. Even the smallest, most ordinary little acts had been woven together with care and affection.
The captain found himself yearning for that too.
Love didn’t always have to be spoken.
Perhaps that was why the memories lingered.
Because words had never been his strongest point.
He loved you.
God, he loved you.
There was never any doubt about that.
Yet sometimes it felt as though an unbearable invisible weight sat heavily across his shoulders, preventing him from taking that final step and showing you every ounce of tenderness he carried for you.
And there was so much tenderness. More than he knew how to express.
He only hoped you knew that already.
So he started small.
Just as you were about to leave your room and march down the corridor to his office and force your chronically sleep-deprived boyfriend into getting at least a tolerable amount of rest, the door slid open.
Law stood there holding two mugs of hot chocolate piled high with whipped cream and two books tucked beneath one arm.
“I figured you could use about three hundred milliliters of concentrated sugar shock right now.”
His voice was as flat as ever, but the warmth in his eyes betrayed him. One corner of his mouth twitched upward as he stepped inside.
You blinked.
Before you could say anything, he crossed the room, placed one of your favorite books in your lap, and set the mugs on the nightstands on either side of the bed.
A moment later he slipped beneath the blankets beside you. Without a word, he nudged you gently against his shoulder and opened his own book.
You stared at him. Then at the hot chocolate. Then at him again.
“…Are you feeling alright?”
Law snorted.
“Unfortunately.”
You laughed, and the sound alone made the strange fluttering sensation in his chest feel worthwhile.
A few mornings later, you woke to something even stranger.
Instead of waking up alone in bed while Law disappeared into another round of research before sunrise, you woke up wrapped tightly in your lover’s arms, his hands resting securely around your waist.
For a long moment, you simply stared.
It wasn’t unusual to fall asleep together.
It was unusual to wake up together.
Usually, by the time dawn painted pale streaks across the submarine’s metal walls, he had already disappeared into his office to bury himself beneath stacks of notes and medical journals.
As though he sensed you stirring awake, he pulled you even closer, a sleepy sound escaping him.
Then he buried his face deeper into your hair.
“Keep sleeping.”
His voice was muffled against your head.
“We’re comfortable like this.”
You smiled despite yourself.
“Captain, are you cuddling me?”
“No.”
“You literally have me trapped.”
“It’s a strategic embrace.”
A laugh escaped you.
The vibration of it made him pull you even closer. He inhaled slowly, catching the familiar scent of coconut and mango from your shampoo.
Warm. Comforting. Home.
For once, neither of you moved.
On another morning, you walked into the kitchen expecting to begin preparing breakfast for the crew since it happened to be your turn.
Instead, you found Law already there.
The counters were occupied by ingredients, dirty bowls, and evidence of what could only be described as organized chaos. He was in the middle of arranging food onto plates.
When he noticed you standing in the doorway, he immediately became very interested in the knife he was holding.
“I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d make things easier for you.”
His eyes flicked toward yours, nervous despite himself as he waited for your reaction.
Your entire face lit up and you immediately walked up to shower him with kisses..
Before he could retreat, you crossed the kitchen and threw your arms around his neck.
“Law!”
You kissed one cheek.
Then the other.
Then his jaw.
Then his forehead.
The poor man nearly short-circuited.
He blushing so hard it was almost concerning, grumbling under his breath and pretending to complain the entire time.
Heat rushed straight to his ears.
“H-Hey.”
Another kiss.
“Cut it out.”
Another kiss.
“I’m serious.”
Another.
You finally pulled away enough to see his face.
Bright red.
Absolutely mortified.
And cute. Very cute.
Law muttered something incoherent under his breath and turned back toward the food as if the frying pan had suddenly become the most fascinating object in the world.
You only laughed harder.
The gifts continued.
Whenever the Polar Tang docked somewhere for supplies and circumstances forced you to stay behind to guard the submarine, your Surgeon of Death always returned with something for you.
A rare edition of a book.
A dress he’d spotted in a shop window.
A local dessert from a bakery tucked away in some side street.
A trinket tied to the history of the island.
Something thoughtful, chosen specifically for you.
He never made a big deal out of it. Usually he’d leave the gift beside you with a muttered explanation before pretending it wasn’t important.
Once, he returned with a shirt he clearly intended for you to sleep in—a design modeled after the tattoos stretched across his chest.
He didn’t even stay long enough to watch you open it.
The second he dropped the bag onto the couch beside you—where you sat listening to yet another one of Penguin’s ridiculously long jokes—he turned on his heel and marched straight back to his office.
He did not wait to watch you open it.
His stomach was performing acrobatics the entire way there. His pulse wouldn’t settle and something beneath his ribs felt unbearably strange.
Fifteen minutes later, a knock sounded at his door.
Then it opened.
You stepped inside wearing only your robe and the shirt.
Law glanced up and promptly forgot how breathing worked.
The oversized black fabric disappeared beneath your bathrobe, but the familiar tattoo design stretched across your chest exactly as he’d imagined.
Heat rushed violently up Law’s neck, spreading over his ears and across his cheeks in seconds.
“H-Hey… what are you doing?” he asked, heart pounding so hard he was convinced it might burst straight through his ribs and sink the entire submarine.
You smiled at him from beneath your lashes.
“I wanted to show you how much I like my gift.”
You walked over slowly, placing both hands on his shoulders before covering his face in kisses—his jaw, cheek, forehead, eyes, eyebrows, nose, and finally his lips.
By that time whatever remained of his composure had surrendered completely.
He deepened the kiss immediately.
Strong arms wrapped around your waist before sliding lower, lifting you effortlessly into his lap and pulling you flush against him.
When the kiss finally broke, his forehead rested against yours.
“I like it too,” he whispered against your mouth, the corners of his lips curved slightly.
“Especially on you.”
The following week, the Polar Tang surfaced near a small coastal town.
For once, there were no emergencies and the crew scattered to enjoy the rare sunlight however they pleased. Some swam. Others wandered into town. Some napped on deck, read books, or simply enjoyed the fresh air before the submarine inevitably returned to the dark depths below. Some headed into town.
You and Bepo claimed a comfortable spot on deck and spent the morning enjoying the warmth.
Law had gone into town on urgent business—restocking ingredients for his medicines—but insisted he wouldn’t be long and that there was no need for you to come with him.
Bepo had strangely supported this argument with suspicious enthusiasm.
Still, you didn’t think much of it. Days like this were rare.
At some point, Bepo wandered off to grab cold lemonade while you stayed stretched out in your chair, eyes closed, listening to the waves and feeling the ocean breeze brush softly against your legs.
Everything felt peaceful.
Then suddenly, a tall shadow blocked the warmth of the sun.
You peeked over your sunglasses and found your beautiful, impossibly tall boyfriend standing over you, holding an enormous bouquet of peonies in soft pastel shades—soft pink, white, creamy, pale lilac. Petals layered like clouds.
Your breath caught.
“They’re beautiful,” you whispered, eyes shining as you buried your nose into the sweet floral scent. “How did you know these were my favorite?”
Law watched you quietly.
His expression softened.
He’d known because months ago you’d stopped in front of a flower stall and spent nearly ten minutes admiring peonies.
You hadn’t realized he’d noticed, but he did of course.
Law noticed everything about you.
“Lucky guess,” he replied quietly, watching you instead of the flowers.
You narrowed your eyes.
“Liar.”
He shrugged.
Your fingers brushed against a folded note tucked between the stems.
The moment you noticed it, Law swallowed hard.
Suddenly he felt far more nervous than he had facing emperors, marines, or sea monsters.
Slowly, you unfolded it and three words stared back at you.
I love you.
You looked up at him immediately, startled and flushed pink.
Then Law exhaled.
“I mean it,” he said before you could speak.
“Even if saying it out loud is hard for me sometimes. I love you. Breathing feels easier when you’re around. I sleep better beside you. You make every day better.”
He continued before courage could abandon him.
“Everything is better.”
The vulnerability in his expression nearly broke your heart. And he swallowed thickly.
“Sorry if I’m not always good at showing it.”
Tears gathered in your eyes before you could stop them and you laughed softly and shook your head.
“I love you too, idiot,” you whispered, hugging the bouquet tighter. “Very, very much.” A tear escaped despite your smile.
“And trust me—you show it plenty. I never want you to stop.”
Something warm settled inside his chest. The anxious knot he’d been carrying all morning finally unraveled.
“I don’t plan to.”
He carefully took the bouquet from your arms and placed it on the lounge chair beside you, You could put them in a vase later.
Description: How They Realize They Have a Crush on you
Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Law & Kid
Warnings: fluff, a little comedy, oblivious idiots in love
❤️ Monkey D. Luffy
• At first, Luffy doesn’t even realize there is a word for what he feels. He just knows he wants you around—like, constantly. You sit, he sits. You eat, he’s asking for a bite. You stretch, he mimics you until it becomes a weird competition. To him it’s just fun until it starts nagging at him in a way he doesn’t know how to name.
• The rest of the crew picks up on it before he does. Nami notices when you laugh at something dumb Luffy says and he gets all puffed up like he just won a treasure. Usopp points out how Luffy always saves you a seat next to him without thinking. Zoro? Zoro just groans, because it’s so obvious to everyone but the captain.
• The first time Luffy gets an actual hint is when you get hurt on an island fight. Just a scratch, really, nothing serious but suddenly he’s deadly quiet. No goofy grin, no rubbery antics. He’s standing in front of you, fists clenched, eyes dark. And when the enemy runs, he doesn’t chase them. He turns back to you, demanding, “You okay?” in a way that makes Sanji raise an eyebrow.
• Luffy hates the feeling. It’s not like hunger (hunger has a clear solution: meat). It’s not like excitement before an adventure either. It’s like a weight in his chest that won’t go away unless you smile at him. That freaks him out. So he keeps testing it, by poking your cheek, stealing your drink, tossing his hat onto your head just to see if that ache disappears.
• His hat becomes a big tell. Usually, he doesn’t let anyone touch it. But with you? He’ll drop it in your lap and grin. If you put it on, his heart does a weird little flip. He thinks it’s funny at first, until one night he catches himself staring while you’re dozing off under that straw brim, and he panics like: why is my face hot?
• Luffy also starts doing small protective things unconsciously. Pulling you away from crowds so you don’t get squished, standing between you and random Marines, grabbing your wrist so you don’t get lost. He doesn’t think much of it, but the crew does. Robin hides a smile every time. Sanji fumes.
• The big realization? It comes with jealousy. He doesn’t even know the word, but he feels it when Sanji is too nice to you, or when some random villager tries to flirt. Suddenly Luffy is clinging to your arm, announcing loudly, “She’s MY crew mate, back off!” Usopp tries to explain what jealousy means, and Luffy is like: “That’s dumb. I just don’t like when they take her away.” Cue collective facepalm from the crew.
• He confesses in the most Luffy way possible: not a speech, not flowers, not a plan. Just blurts it out mid-battle like it’s an obvious fact. You’re dodging bullets together and he shouts, “HEY, I LIKE YOU!” like it’s a battle strategy. You almost trip, because who admits that while punching Marines? But that’s Luffy—chaos first, clarity later.
• After that, he treats it as normal. He likes meat, he likes adventure, and he likes you. Done. No overthinking. If you bring it up shyly later, he just beams and says, “Yeah! You make me happy. Stay with me forever, okay?” as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
• The thing about Luffy’s crush is—it never stays a “crush.” Once he realizes it, it’s permanent. The way he sees it, treasure is treasure. He found his, and now he’s holding on tight.
💚 Roronoa Zoro
• Zoro is slow with emotions. Like… painfully slow. He notices things about you before he understands why he’s noticing. The way your laugh lingers in his head while he’s training. The way he always sits up straighter when you walk into a room. At first, he brushes it off as “nothing” because emotions aren’t his thing.
• His first sign is distraction. Zoro prides himself on focus, on tuning the world out when he’s lifting weights or meditating. But then you’re nearby, and suddenly his concentration is gone. He’ll try to hold a sword stance, only to realize he’s sneaking glances at you every few seconds. It pisses him off. He trains harder, thinking he can sweat it out but nope. You’re still in his head.
• The crew teases him mercilessly. Sanji catches on almost immediately and makes it his life’s mission to poke at Zoro. “Oi, Marimo, maybe you’d swing straighter if you stopped staring at her backside.” Cue Zoro throwing a dumbbell at him. Usopp whispers to you once, “He likes you, but he’s too dumb to admit it.” Zoro nearly strangles him.
• He’s protective without realizing it. Walking through towns, he’ll automatically place himself at your side, hand near his swords. If anyone shady even looks at you wrong, Zoro’s glare is enough to send them running. At first he tells himself it’s just habit, just crew safety, but deep down he knows it’s more.
• The real turning point comes during a fight. You’re holding your own, but someone gets the jump on you. Zoro doesn’t even think he’s across the battlefield in a heartbeat, sword drawn, rage in his veins. After it’s over, he snaps, “Don’t be reckless,” but the edge in his voice isn’t anger, it’s fear. That’s when it clicks for him. That gnawing in his chest? That heat under his skin? It’s not annoyance. It’s not distraction. It’s… you.
• Zoro being Zoro, he hates the realization. Feelings mean vulnerability, and he doesn’t like that. He avoids you for a while, spends hours sleeping on the Sunny’s deck just to dodge conversation. The others notice, of course. Nami rolls her eyes, Robin smirks knowingly, and Luffy just goes, “Why’s Zoro being weird?”
• But avoidance only makes it worse. Every time you bring him water during training, every time you patch up one of his cuts, every time you just exist—his chest feels tight. One night he’s staring at the stars with you, half-drunk on sake, and it hits him so hard he almost drops the bottle: I’m in love with her.
• He doesn’t confess easily. Words aren’t his strength. Instead, his affection shows in actions. He offers to train you, serious, focused, patient in a way he isn’t with anyone else. He lets you nap against his shoulder during long voyages. He sharpens his swords with you nearby, listening to you ramble like it’s the most natural soundtrack.
• The moment he finally says something is awkward as hell. It’s probably after a close call, when adrenaline strips away his walls. He mutters, almost angrily, “You’re important to me, alright? More than I thought. So don’t go getting yourself killed.” It’s clumsy, but honest.
• If you smile or tease him about it, he groans and looks away, cheeks faintly red. But he doesn’t take it back. Once Zoro admits something, he stands by it. That’s the thing, his love is steady, unshakable, not loud but grounding.
• From then on, it becomes obvious. He’ll carry your stuff without being asked. Sit beside you even when there’s space elsewhere. Watch your back in every battle like his life depends on it. Zoro isn’t about dramatic declarations, he shows his crush in quiet, consistent loyalty.
• And maybe, once in a while, when he thinks you’re asleep, he’ll brush his fingers over your hand. Soft, fleeting, but enough to remind himself that this is real. That you’re his anchor in a world that’s always moving.
💛 Vinsmoke Sanji
• Let’s be real: Sanji thinks he has a crush on every pretty woman he meets. But this? With you? It’s different, and it scares him a little. Usually, he’s all flowery words and over-the-top declarations, but with you, half the time he trips over them. You’ll smile at him while he’s plating dinner, and suddenly he’s burning the meat because his brain short-circuits.
• The first sign is in the kitchen. Cooking is Sanji’s sanctuary; he never messes up. But then you wander in, curious, asking if you can help. He hands you a knife, watches you chop clumsily, and feels his chest tighten in a way that has nothing to do with stress. From then on, he insists you come in more often, even if it slows him down. Secretly, he just wants you near.
• Unlike Luffy or Zoro, Sanji knows it’s a crush right away. He’s not oblivious; he’s been around. But knowing doesn’t make it easier. In fact, it makes him worse. He goes out of his way to impress you—cooking your favorite dishes, pulling out chairs for you, rushing to light your cigarette or pour your drink. The crew groans every time, but Sanji doesn’t care.
• Still, there’s a difference in how he treats you. With random women, he flirts for sport. With you, it’s reverent. His compliments land softer, more sincere. “You look stunning today,” he’ll murmur while sliding a plate to you, eyes lingering just a beat too long. No dramatic heart-eyes, no nosebleeds—just quiet honesty that makes your stomach flip.
• Jealousy hits him hard. He hides it behind a smile, but the moment Zoro talks to you for longer than three seconds, Sanji’s hovering. “Oi, mosshead, don’t bore her with your dumb training stories.” He’ll wedge himself between you and anyone else, grinning like it’s casual, but his jaw is clenched.
• His realization solidifies in the middle of a storm. You’re both on deck, trying to help secure supplies, wind howling, rain soaking through. You slip on the slick wood, and without thinking, Sanji’s there, arm catching you, holding you steady against his chest. The way his heart lurches at the thought of losing you? That’s when he knows: this isn’t some passing fancy. You’re it.
• After that night, he starts doing subtle things for you. He’ll remember the exact way you take your tea. He’ll sneak snacks into your bag before island trips. He’ll drape his jacket over your shoulders when you’re cold, pretending it’s nothing. It’s not about grand gestures anymore, it’s about care.
• The crew definitely notices. Nami teases him mercilessly, calling you his “favorite” Usopp points out how Sanji never lets your plate go empty at dinner. Even Luffy eventually blurts, “Sanji, why do you give her extra meat and not me?!” Sanji, flustered, almost drops the pot.
• He tries to confess multiple times, but each time he chokes. He’ll set up a candlelit dinner on deck, only for Luffy to crash it. He’ll pull you aside on an island, heart racing, only to get interrupted by Marines. Eventually, it slips out in the least planned way possible.
• Maybe you’re patching him up after a fight, scolding him for being reckless. He laughs, wincing, and says softly, “Can’t help it, love. I’d risk anything for you.” It’s quiet, sincereand your stunned look makes him realize he actually said it aloud.
• Once it’s out, though, Sanji doesn’t hide. He doubles down. “Yes, I like you. More than anyone. I don’t expect you to feel the same, but… there it is.” For once, his voice doesn’t carry that dramatic lilt—it’s steady, vulnerable.
• If you return his feelings, Sanji is over the moon. He treats you like royalty, no hesitation. Every morning it’s, “Good morning, my love, did you sleep well?” Every night it’s a warm drink at your bedside. He’ll train harder just to be someone worthy of you.
• And while he still flirts with random women in passing (because it’s ingrained in him), there’s a noticeable difference: it’s hollow compared to how he is with you. With you, it’s not performance. It’s home.
• The thing about Sanji’s crush? It’s not fleeting. It’s devotion. When he realizes it, he doesn’t back away, he leans in, fully, with everything he has. Loving you becomes as natural as breathing.
💙 Trafalgar Law
• Law isn’t the type to “catch feelings.” At least, that’s what he tells himself. His entire life has been survival, strategy, revenge. Romance? That’s a distraction. But then you join his orbit, and slowly—too slowly—he notices the cracks forming in his armor.
• The first sign is attention. Law prides himself on control, he notices details because it keeps him alive. But when it comes to you, it goes beyond necessity. He finds himself cataloguing things that have no tactical use: the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love, the rhythm of your laugh, the habits you don’t even realize you have. It frustrates him. He should be analyzing enemy weaknesses, not memorizing your smile.
• He brushes it off at first. Tells himself you’re just “valuable to the crew.” That’s why he checks in on you more often, why he assigns you easier shifts when you’re tired, why he keeps you out of the most dangerous missions. He even convinces himself for a while. But then Bepo calls him out. “Captain, you’re softer with her.” Law snaps back, denying it, but the words linger.
• Jealousy creeps up next. Subtle, but sharp. Someone on an island flirts with you, and Law feels his jaw tighten. He doesn’t make a scene—he’s too composed for that—but the next thing you know, the guy who flirted with you is conveniently caught in a perfectly-timed “Room” accident. Coincidence? The crew doesn’t think so.
• Law’s realization doesn’t hit all at once—it’s gradual, like a tide he can’t stop. It solidifies after a close call. Maybe you take a hit during a mission, nothing fatal but enough to scare him. He kneels by your side, hands shaking despite his medical training, muttering your name like a prayer. That’s when it crashes down on him: he can’t lose you. Not like he lost everyone else.
• The problem is Law is terrified of it. Love means vulnerability, and vulnerability is dangerous. He keeps his distance, pulling back just when you think you’re getting closer. It’s a push-and-pull dance: one day he’s offering you his jacket when you’re cold, the next he’s locking himself in the infirmary to avoid conversation.
• The crew notices. Penguin and Shachi exchange knowing grins every time Law “casually” stands closer to you. Bepo offers to “talk to him about his feelings,” which makes Law snap, “Don’t you dare.” He’s a captain, not a lovesick teenager. At least… that’s what he tries to believe.
• He starts showing it in subtle ways. He patches up your wounds first, even if others are waiting. He saves you the last cup of coffee in the galley. He lets you linger in his study while he works, saying nothing, but secretly comforted by your presence. These aren’t things he does for anyone else.
• The confession—if you can even call it that, doesn’t come in a grand gesture. It slips out when his walls are lowered. Maybe it’s late at night, after a mission, when exhaustion strips him raw. You thank him for always looking out for you, and he mutters under his breath, “Of course I do. You’re… important to me.” His voice is low, almost like he hopes you won’t hear.
• If you push, if you ask him what he means, his eyes will flicker—nervous, uncharacteristically unsure. Finally, with a sigh, he admits it. “I like you. More than I should. More than is… safe.” It’s not dramatic, it’s a confession laced with hesitation, like a man who knows how dangerous it is to love but can’t stop himself anyway.
• Once it’s out, Law doesn’t turn into a Sanji-style romantic. He doesn’t shower you with words. Instead, his love shows in the way he trusts you—really trusts you. He’ll share pieces of his past, let you see him when he’s vulnerable, let you sit in silence with him without the weight of his walls.
• Law’s crush isn’t fireworks, it’s gravity. Heavy, inescapable, pulling you into his orbit until he can’t imagine navigating the seas without you at his side.
♥️ Eustass Kid
• Kid doesn’t do soft feelings. At least, that’s what he tells himself. He thrives on rage, ambition, the rush of tearing through Marines and making the world quake. A crush? That’s weakness. But then you show up, whether as part of his crew or someone who lingers too close to his orbit and suddenly the ironclad walls he built around himself start to bend.
• The first sign is attention, though he’ll never admit it. He notices you more than he should. The way you hold yourself in a fight, the way you talk back without fear, the way you don’t flinch when he’s pissed and shouting. He hates how it draws him in. It makes him restless, snapping at his crew more than usual, because he doesn’t like not being in control of his own head.
• Unlike Law, Kid isn’t subtle. The moment jealousy kicks in, everyone knows. Some random on an island flirts with you? Kid’s looming over them in seconds, metal bristling around his arm, snarling, “The fuck do you think you’re doing?” It’s not even about romance at first it’s instinct, possessiveness burning hot in his chest.
• Killer notices immediately. He doesn’t say much, but he smirks behind his mask every time Kid gets too close to you. Eventually, he mutters something like, “You like her,” and Kid snaps back, “Shut the hell up.” But the denial is weak, and Killer knows it.
• The realization comes in battle. You’re fighting side by side, the chaos of cannon fire and screaming Marines all around. You take a blow something heavy, enough to knock you down. For a second, Kid’s rage falters, replaced by pure, gut-wrenching fear. He sees you bleeding, and it’s like the world narrows down to just that. He tears through the enemy with brutal efficiency, but his eyes keep flicking back to you, desperate to make sure you’re still breathing.
• After the fight, he storms up to you, shoving a rag into your hands, barking, “Patch yourself up, idiot. Don’t scare me like that again.” It sounds harsh, but the way his hands linger, trembling slightly, tells another story. That’s when it hits him like a freight train: he cares too much. Way too much.
• Kid handles this realization terribly. He gets meaner at first snapping at you, calling you reckless, acting pissed when you laugh at his temper. It’s his way of pushing back against feelings he doesn’t want to deal with. But it only makes him more obvious, because everyone else sees through it.
• Eventually, his frustration boils over. Maybe you tease him one day, lighthearted, and he explodes, not at you, but at himself. “Why the hell do you do this to me?!” He’s pacing, fists clenched, metal clattering around him like the storm inside his chest. When you press him, confused, he blurts it out: “I like you, alright? You happy now?!”
• It’s raw, unpolished, shouted like a battle cry instead of whispered like a secret. But that’s Kid he doesn’t sugarcoat, he doesn’t romanticize. His confession is all fire and bite, like he’s angry at himself for feeling it.
• Once it’s out, though, there’s no going back. Kid isn’t half-hearted about anything. He doesn’t “kinda like” you. He wants you with the same intensity he wants to be Pirate King. And he shows it in loud, obvious ways. Standing too close. Wrapping an arm around your waist in public. Daring anyone to even look at you wrong.
• But beneath the bluster, there’s something softer. When the crew is asleep, when it’s just the two of you under the hum of the ship, he lets it drop. He’ll admit, quietly, “You fuck me up, you know that? But I don’t care. I need you here.” It’s vulnerable, a glimpse of the man under the spikes.
• Kid’s crush isn’t gentle. It’s messy, consuming, electric. But once he realizes it, he doesn’t run. He’s not afraid of fire he lives in it. And loving you becomes another rebellion, another middle finger to a world that tried to break him.
