#curte👍 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zorosunwashedleftcheek · 1 month ago

Note

hello!

i hope you have a great day and are feeling good

Sooooo that Law writing of yours was immaculate. I really enjoyed it, therefore I wanted to ask if you could write something more about him.

Maybe some pre-relationships or something into hurt/comfort direction.

Bet. Uhhh… I was watching Howls Moving Castle while I wrote this and it lowkey influenced the hell out of the ending. I didn’t proofread or anything so if it’s cheeks, please don’t jump me but yeah 👍

A Heart’s A Heavy Burden

Pairing: Law x Gn!Reader

Summary: Law is leaving for Punk Hazard and neither of you deal with it very well.

cw: Gn! Reader, SFW, lots of talk abt the heart, lowkey ooc, kissing,

a/n: If Law’s ooc no he’s not, shut up.

Law is leaving.

His bags are packed and his room had been boarded up. His responses as of late have been curt and detached as he details the plans for the crew while he’s gone.

The plan being tourism. He wants the crew to stay on Zou for an indefinite period of time and… do whatever as long as you don’t get yourselves into trouble.

Bepo has been a sniveling mess, teary as he mopes around the ship. He clings to Law, begging his captain to take him as well. To which Law will order the bear to go clean the toilets as punishment for defying orders.

Shachi and Penguin are loud, complaining about being left behind. But still, the pore over a map of Zou, circling places of interest to visit. They attempt to sway Law into joining them on the Island.

‘But Captain, look at this bathhouse. Look how nice it is… and the men and women bathe together! Don’t you at least want to check it out?”

You however, are pissed. You’ve been giving Law the silent treatment for the past week, barely sparing the man a glance during mealtimes. You are scarcely in the same room as him, unless it’s a required meeting.

Bepo’s noticed it. Shachi and Penguin have noticed it. The way that steam practically shoots out of your ears whenever your eyes land on the doctor.

But the person who’s noticed it the most is Law, the one and only.

You don’t notice the way his gaze lingers on you for the few moments you’re in the same room as him. The way he’ll extend his meetings just a few minutes longer to keep your attention on him.

Law isn’t any sort of poet or artist. He’s a man who prefers solitude. He’s introverted, awkward, and too intense. He hates parties and recklessness and loud people.

Yet every time he thinks of you, the way you seem to float through life, a smile sent to anyone, whether they may want it or not. It made his heart ache.

Law didn’t want to call the feeling love. Love was too painful, too much of a burden. And Law hated burdens.

But he couldn’t deny the painful tugging inside of him whenever he caught a whiff of your scent: soap and coffee beans.

It felt as though he was being slowly crushed, the wall of the submarines closing around him.

Maybe that’s why he called you to the medbay the night before he left.

There’s only a soft light from his desk as you kick the door open with the tip of your boot. Law is sitting in his chair, one leg crossed over the other as he motions for you to close the door.

He hadn’t quite thought this through, what he wanted to talk about… what he should say… Goodbye? I’ll miss you? Please don’t forget me? iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou.

So instead he sits there like a damn fool, staring up at you with a confused look on his face.

“Did you need something, Captain?”

Law can’t help but curl his lip at your honorific, you hadn’t used his name since he announced that he’d be leaving. He wanted to hear you say it one more time.

Law’s mouth open… and then closes before he finally grumbles out, “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“I’m well aware,”

Ouch.

Law drums his fingers on the arm of his chair before groaning and dropping his head into his hand, massaging his temples. Do you not care? Are you happy that he’s leaving?

“…I’ve set up a fund. The crew will have enough money to last you about a year, maybe more.”

“I’ll relay that to the crew.”

Law hesitates as he scrambles to find something else to say. He should tell you that this is hard for him too. That he considers his crew as not only his friends, but his family. He wants to know that you’ll miss him.

“…What do you think about it… about me being gone.” Law averts his gaze, the tips of his ears going red beneath his hat. He doesn’t like the look on your face. The usual grin on your face is gone, replaced by a thin line. Your brow pinched and your arms crossed over your chest.

“It doesn’t matter what I think, you’re leaving no matter what, right?”

Law scowls at your tone. He enjoys your sharp tongue… usually. He thought enjoyed watching you argue with men at the bar or snap at Shachi for snatching your food.

But you didn’t usually direct it towards him. You were… softer when you were around him. You didn’t fight quite as much, even with the others. You were only so confrontational when you thought he wasn’t watching. And even the times that you did banter with your captain, it was all in good faith.

But not right now.

“I’m your captain, you don’t talk to me like that.” He snaps, “I’m asking your thoughts as your superior, not your friend.”

Damn it. He didn’t mean to say that.

Your expression sours impossibly and you shift on your feet. Raking a hand through your hair, you scoff, “Well… I’m thinking that when and if you come back, I might not be a part of your crew anymore.”

What?

Law freezes, his eyes widening. What the hell are you talking about?

“I didn’t join this crew to sit around on some island waiting for you. I became a pirate to explore the world. I won’t put my dreams on hold while you go do whatever the hell it is you’re doing.”

The walls are crushing him. His heart is about to break out of his chest and fall to the floor at your feet. Maybe he should let it. Give you part of him and let you destroy it, crush it beneath your heel.

What should he say? You may be a newer addition to the crew compared to the others, but you were still a part of the crew, and Law couldn’t let you leave. He wouldn’t.

He should beg. He should get down on his knees and kiss your shoes, pleading for you to stay with him. He should carve out his heart and offer it to you.

“The crew will miss you.” Is what he says instead, his voice slightly strangled.

“I’ll miss them as well.”

Shit. What the hell should he say?

“…I’d miss you.” He finally whispers, so low that you barely catch it. His gaze is trained on the floor, as if trying to burn holes through the metal. He’s fidgeting as though he’d just professed his undying love for you, and in Law’s mind, he practically had.

You pause, your lips parted. Never once had you heard Law say something so unsure, so emotional… so vulnerable.

Law taps his fingers together. DE, DA, DT, DH, DT, DA, DE…

“Captain… Law.”

Law’s head shoots up at the sound of his name, his eyes searching yours for any hint of anger. He prepares himself to be slapped for saying something so stupid. God, he was nothing but a damn fool. How could he possibly say something like that to you? He might as well slit his throat now.

“Is your mission that important?”

He swallows thickly. Is it? Is revenge more important to him than his crew? After a moment, Law gives a small nod.

You sigh, looking up to the ceiling. “I’ll wait as long as I can. But if I ever feel as though I’m wasting my time, I’ll leave, whether you’re back or not.”

Law could cry from happiness but instead he gives a firm nod. He stands up and walks towards you. He’s not sure what he’s doing as he reaches out and rests his palm on your shoulder

What the fuck is he doing.

He’s taller than you. And you look up at him through your lashes. You’re so warm. Your eyes shine in the low light of the room… or are those tears?

Law nearly stumbles back at the sight. He’s not one to comfort people. Should he hug you? Yeah, right. You’d probably kick him in the balls.

So instead he claps your shoulder, a little harder than he probably should have and gives a firm nod. “I trust you to take care of our crew.”

And with that he walks out the door.

Law thinks he looked cool and stoic as he walked out the door to the med bay, well… he hopes he did.

But in reality, it was a horribly awkward exchange. His words choppy as if it pained him to say them. His shoulder hunched as he practically fled out the door, his head ducked to hide the horrified expression on his face.

You find it horribly endearing.

Law’s in a panic as he sprints down the hall of the inn his crew had been staying at. There’s a key in his hand, but he knows he won’t bother using it.

God, he prays you’re still here.

He had only arrived a mere hour ago and he hadn’t yet seen the rest of his crew to confirm that you were here.

In one hand he holds the keys to your room, in the other… his heart.

Literally.

He stops in front of your room and without hesitating, he kicks down your door. It swings open, crashing against the wall and leaving a sizable hole.

Lo and behold, there you are. Sitting at your desk and reading a book, just as you always have.

Your hair’s longer, and you’re wearing a shirt he’s never seen before.

You turn to look at him with a shocked expression, your eyes moving from him, to the broken door, and then to the beating heart in his hands.

“What the hell…” You murmur, shutting your book and standing up. Law notices with a hint of amusement that you’re reading one of those romance books you’ve always liked, the ones that Law found ridiculous.

Law stands awkwardly in the doorway, panting as he takes in the sight of you. You had really stayed. You really waited for him.

“You’re still here…” He manages out, dropping the key onto a nearby table.

“Uhh… yeah,” You scratch your head as you struggle to keep your focus on him. The heart in his hands catching your attention. “I read that your arm got ripped off-“

“I have something to say to you.” Law barks out, his voice a tad bit too loud, pointedly annoying your comment. His heart is beating wildly, and not just from running.

You snap your mouth and watch as he tugs his hat off. His hand trembles as he awkwardly clambers onto one knee. Law wills himself to meet your gaze.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Your eyes are wide, a flush on your face. You resist the urge to shove him flat on his ass, because why is he kneeling for you? Is he seriously about to…

“Take my heart.” Law says, his voice nearly a shout as he shoves the beating organ towards you.

What the fuck.

It’s pumping so fast that you’re nearly certain he must be having a medical emergency. Your hands stay awkwardly at your sides as you blink down at him.

“Ah… thank you? But I don’t want it.”

Law’s heart drops, figuratively, thankfully. And a frown covers his face as he shoves it toward you again. “It’s yours.” He argues, “I don’t want it. It only holds me back.”

“Get off your knee, Law. Someone’s going to walk by and get the wrong idea.”

After a moment of considering throwing himself out the window, Law slowly stands up. This is one of the most humiliating things he’s ever had to do.

But as his gaze meets yours, he finds that your face is soft, your brows pinched as you give a sweet, awkward smile.

This is worse. This is so much worse. You must be pitying him.

Without a word, Law turns towards the door. But he doesn’t make it a step before a hand circles his wrist. He tenses, and doesn’t turn around.

Not until your hand cups his face.

His face goes so impossibly red, his breath catching in his throat and his heart nearly goes tumbling from his hands.

“Put your heart back?” You ask softly, and who is Law to deny you when your voice is so sweet?

Once his heart is back where you think it belongs, (although Law would argue that it belongs in your hands.) you finally speak.

“I can’t have your heart, Law.”

Law blinks, his heart feels so heavy in his chest, it aches, and your words are both healing and killing him.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s yours.”

“No it’s not.” Law argues. “I don’t want it… It’s too heavy. It weighs me down.”

“A heart’s a heavy burden.”

Law swallows thickly, “Why did you stay? Why didn’t you leave?”

“I wanted to see you again.” You say, your face so sweet and bright that it makes Law want to double over. How could you say something like that so so easily?

He’s not sure what compels him to step forward and kiss you. His hand grabbing the back of your neck and tugging you close as his mouth collided with yours. It’s awkward, and stiff, just like Law is.

“Stay… please stay.” He murmurs.

You gasp softly against his mouth and Law greedily swallows the sound. Your lips are soft and you taste like sugar. You must have eaten some sort of dessert recently. Or maybe you were just naturally this sweet. It would make sense.

You’re a much better kisser than Law is, he realizes after a moment and he find it’s horribly embarrassing, his face burning. You’re confident in your movements as you deepen the kiss, your body relaxed as you curl an arm around his neck to pull him closer. Your tongue easily glides against his bottom lip, giggling at Law’s panicked expression. Law’s hand drops from your neck to hover over your hip, his fingers just barely brushing the fabric.

He’s doing it. He’s really doing it. He’s kissing you. The moment he’s been dreaming for since the night he met you has finally come and he feels strangely giddy.

“Thank you.” He breathes against your soft lips. He’s not sure what he’s thanking you for. For waiting for him? For being part of his crew? For existing?

He can’t tell you everything on his mind. How much you mean to him, how badly his heart aches for you. So he tries to pour it into his movements. His eyes squeeze shut, he’s afraid that he’ll lose his courage if he looks at you. And he pushes you up against the wall.

“Thank you.” Law pants against your mouth. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

One hand claws at your shirt to press his palm against your heart, the organ beating fast beneath his touch. His other hand grabs your wrist and presses your fingers to his own heart.

“It’s yours.” Is all he says before ducking down for a soft kiss. And then another. And another.

248 notes · View notes

nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 1 year ago

Note

Bro how would they react if they found out u got pregnant? Cuz yk their pirates and stuff so what would they do? U can do whoever but ik i want shanks, zoro, and mihawk you can do other people or not do the ones or dont do this at all👍 i want i jus want you to be comfortable writing this if you want to write it at all😭

I enjoyed writing this SO MUCH, thank you for the request!!

I just did Zoro, Shanks, and Mihawk for now. May end up doing one for Sanji and Buggy as well if anyone wants, but since I ended up writing these as little short stories instead of headcanons, I just decided to focus on those three this time.

Shanks is already such a dad honestly I lub him <3

So here we gooooo

Whoops

OPLA! Zoro, Shanks, Mihawk x AFAB!Reader

SFW, so fluffy I'm suffocating

Wordcount: 4.6k

No warnings, I think?

Zoro

It took you some time to dredge up the nerve to tell him. It was just a one night stand, after all. A lot of alcohol involved, nothing special. Sure, maybe you’d had a crush on him for a while, but that was in no way relevant. The incorrigible amount of liquor you had consumed had more than done the trick of acting as liquid courage, given you had awoken the next morning in his hammock, both of you stark naked, just a hungover tangle of limbs with no real memory of anything past making out on the quarterdeck while everyone else was staying the night in town.

That had been awkward enough—your eyes locking as you both stirred awake, your face turning beet reed as you scrambled off the green-haired swordsman and quickly threw on enough of your clothes to be able to safely escape, him speaking up behind you as you hurriedly dressed yourself.

“Did we—uh—”

“No idea,” had been your quick, curt response, making sure you didn’t turn around and meet his eye again. “Bye.”

“Wh—? Wait a minute—”

But you had already been out the door. You spent the following days, the following weeks avoiding being alone with the first mate of the Strawhats under any circumstance, avoiding any situation where you might have to actually talk about what had happened between the two of you.

But now you had to talk.

Middle of the night, with everyone else safely asleep so they couldn’t overhear, you stood over him as he lay asleep himself in that same hammock. You stood there for a long, tense moment, arms crossed tight over your stomach, tapping your foot lightly as you looked down at Zoro, deliberating over whether you really had the guts to go through with this.

You decide you have no choice, and you nudge his arm. “Wake up,” you say quietly.

He snores in response.

You sigh to yourself, and nudge his shoulder a little harder, say it again a little more forcefully. “Wake up, come on—”

He gives a small growl of protest at that, rolling his shoulders and stretching his toned arms out behind his head, before tucking one hand under his neck. He squints at you in the small, dark cabin, blinking slowly. The groggy, astonished sort of manner in which he mumbles your name makes your heart skip for a moment.

“Wha…?” He glances past you toward the cabin door, toward the darkness outside on the deck, and asks, “What time is it?”

“Two in the morning.” He quirks an eyebrow as you toe the wooden floor, staring off to the side, biting your lip. “We…need to talk.”

“At…two in the morning,” he repeats slowly. You hum in affirmation and give a small nod, already feeling your face starting to heat up—and you hear him sigh.

Then his hand is around your forearm, and you’re gasping out in alarm as he pulls you down across his chest until your eyes are level with his, your foreheads nearly touching.

His hand slips further up your arm, up your shoulder, back behind your neck, and your blush only grows hotter as he gives you a smirk. “Don’t think there’s really much to talk about.”

And he pulls you down, seizing your lips with his own.

Your brain all but short-circuits. You can barely remember how to breathe as your thoughts whirl. He kissed you. There isn’t a drop of alcohol involved this time, and he still kissed you.

Don’t think there’s really much to talk about.

Maybe that crush of yours was more mutual than you thought it was.

Your eyes flutter shut as you melt against him and return the kiss with a slow sigh, forgetting for a moment what you were doing here in the first place, your tongues meeting and swirling together, his hand drifting down your back, curling around the hem of your shirt and tugging at it and—

And this was exactly how you got into your present predicament in the first place. You tear your lips away from his and sit up at the edge of the hammock, flinching. “No, we…” You glance over your shoulder at him, briefly meeting his eyes as he stares up at you cautiously. “We do need to talk, I…” You swallow, and decide to just rip off the bandage, just say it. “I’m late.”

He’s silent for several seconds, and as you sit there, inwardly panicking, dreading his reaction, he finally speaks up.

“What the hell could you be late for at two in the morning?”

“What—no, I—” you sputter, jerking your head to look over your shoulder at him, sharing his stare of bafflement, as you realized he had no idea what you meant. “I…my period. I—is two weeks late.”

His brow furrows for a moment as that sinks in.

And his eyes slowly widen, and you look quickly away, flinching again, hanging your head.

“O…oh.” He sits up himself, swinging his legs over the side of the hammock to sit next to you, exhaling a slow sigh. “Shit.”

“Mmhmm,” you reply in a weak sort of hum, practically a whimper, watching him run a hand back through his hair from the corner of your eye, his eyes wide, unblinking, glued to the doorframe.

“I…guess it’s a good thing we’ve got a doctor now.” You glance over at him, swallowing nervously as he gives a small, breathless laugh, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for him to be upset about it, even angry. It was just a stupid, drunken one night stand, after all.

Wasn’t it?

Not really much to talk about. His words ring in your head as you watch him fall back across the width of the hammock with another laugh, resting a hand over his eyes. He said it right before he kissed you, sober this time, as if maybe…there was more to it than just an alcohol-fueled one off fling.

“Y…you’re not upset?” you ask carefully, looking down at him.

“Nah,” he says, laughing a little again. He lowers his hand down to rest over his abs, meeting your eyes with a little bit of a grin. “I mean, it is kinda my fault.”

“It takes two,” you point out, frowning.

“Yeah, but you were drunk.”

“We both were.”

“You were really drunk.” You purse your lips and shove at his ribs as he laughs again, sitting back up. He drapes his arm around your shoulders, sighing and shaking his head. “Shit.”

“Shit,” you agree, nodding. “I guess…we talk to Chopper in the morning and…figure things out from there?”

“Yeah. Guess so.” You’re both quiet for a long moment, staring out toward the darkened deck. “You know…” You glance over when he sighs slowly again. “This crew’s…pretty much the closest thing I’ve ever had to family. That most of us have had, probably. Whatever happens with…this—we’ll all have each other’s backs.”

He isn’t at all wrong, and the thought is enough of a comfort to bring a slow sigh of relief from you as well, a small smile to your lips. You shift a little closer and rest your temple at his shoulder, your hand over his, your eyes slipping shut.

“Anyway.,,” Your eyes open when he speaks, and without warning he pushes you back down into the hammock, pressing his lips to yours—and your eyes flutter shut again as his tongue brushes your bottom lip amid the slow, playful kiss.

“Wait—” You draw back from it just as abruptly as you were drawn into it, lifting an eyebrow, fighting a smirk. “Isn’t this sort of what got us into this situation to begin with?”

“Yeah,” he says, lowering himself down to his elbow. He smirks as well, his hand resting at the crown of your hair. “But it’s not like you can get any more pregnant.”

You can’t help but giggle at that, hooking your arm around his neck and shaking your head, smiling. “Fair enough,” you agree, and lift your head to press your lips to his again.

Shanks

It all started three weeks ago, when you first missed your cycle. Your paranoia and anxiety that it could mean that, meant you had stopped drinking entirely. Shanks had been too busy to pick up on it, or simply as carefree and oblivious as ever.

But this morning you had awoken early, perhaps earlier than anyone else on the ship. You checked the position of the log posse and adjusted the course accordingly until it was pointing straight ahead again—and that was when you realized, by the sound of a match striking behind you, that you weren’t the first person awake—and someone had noticed the cessation of your drinking with the rest of the crew.

And almost the moment Benn Beckman confronted you about it, you blabbed your worries to the first mate, and you were fairly sure he nearly swallowed his cigarette.

“You’re what?”

You had joined the Red Hair pirates as a navigator around eight months ago, and had quickly fallen for the charming captain. There was no real agreement that there was anything more between the two of you than casual sex and flirting, nothing exclusive; but it hadn’t escaped anyone’s notice that the two of you were spending more and more time together, and that from an outsider’s point of view it looked a lot more like romance than anything casual.

But you were dead terrified that this news would ruin everything.

Beck just shook his head, grabbed you by the shoulder like a misbehaving child as you ranted, and walked you toward the door to the captain’s cabin. He opened it, and gestured at you to get in.

“You don’t come back out until you tell him,” he said, and you flinched at his stern tone. “Got it?”

“Got it…” you sighed wearily, hanging your head as you entered and shut the door lightly behind you. You had the idle hope that Shanks might be asleep as you entered but now, standing in the doorway, you can see clearly that he isn’t. He’s sitting up against the headboard of his bed—the same bed that you’ve been sharing every night for at least six months—and squinting at a map in the dim light of the lantern hanging from one of the bedposts, wearing an unbuttoned white shirt and black boxers. He looks up from it mid-yawn, and waves at you, nodding at the empty side of the bed to his right.

“You’re up awfully early,” he comments as you kick off your boots and climb into bed next to him.

“Just checking the course,” you say as he hands the map off to you—an old treasure map that you found helping clean out his rather cluttered desk a few weeks ago. “Any breakthroughs?”

“That.” He indicates a crude sketch of what appeared to be a statue. “It’s in Arabasta.”

“You’re sure?” you ask, looking over at him, and he nods slowly. “Oh, great. That’s…”

“Crocodile’s territory,” he says, as you let out a sigh that mirrors his own mildly dejected tone. “If we dock there we’ll be up to our tits in his Baroque Works wackjobs. Not that they’d pose us much of a threat, but…balance of power and all that.” He sighs himself, grabbing the map away from you again and tossing it off the side of the bed, where it flutters slowly to the floor a few feet away. “Not to mention it looks like it’s out in the middle of the desert somewhere. Not worth the time.”

“I guess not,” you say, frowning as you watch him sink back into the bed, his eyes slipping shut, unbothered by what might have been a disappointment to almost anyone else. He hadn’t mentioned the map to anyone else except for you and Beck, had kept it otherwise entirely to himself in case it did turn out to be a bust. Nothing ever really seemed to get under his skin.

You close your eyes for a long moment, bracing yourself. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t get under his skin either. Just as you open your mouth to speak, however, he speaks up himself.

“Now, something that’s much more worth my time…”

“Oh—!” You let out a small cry of alarm as he tugs you down suddenly to lie with him, and he shifts so he’s facing you, his forehead resting lightly against yours, his hand creeping slowly up your stomach to where the lapels of your shirt are tied shut, grinning wickedly.

“…is the beautiful woman in my bed who is, frankly, wearing far too many clothes.”

You can’t help but giggle a little as he sets straight to attacking your neck, his lips trailing down the column of your throat as he deftly works the knot loose, lightly nipping at your collarbone as he shifts you onto your back and brushes the lapels of your shirt open. Maybe you could drop it for now, just for now, you think disjointedly, your eyes slipping shut as his fingertips brush over one of the cups of your bra. Just until…

No. No, if you put it off again, you’re just going to keep putting it off.

“No—wait—” You grab his hand, pulling it away, and he lifts his head, raising his eyebrows in puzzlement. You swallow, glancing away for a moment before returning your gaze to meet his. “We…need to talk about something,” you say quietly.

The confusion in his eyes quickly shifts to concern at your hesitant tone, and he slowly lifts himself away from you, sitting up on his knees. “Alright,” he says, just as slowly, just as cautiously, looking at you as if you’re a ticking time bomb about to go off at any second. “What exactly is it that we—”

“I’m pregnant.”

You just blurt it out, before you can stop yourself, so suddenly that Shanks stops mid-sentence with his mouth hanging open. His eyes widen to saucers as he gawks at you, and he blinks rapidly a few times. “B—be—beg pardon?” he stammers.

You just swallow nervously and nod—you know he heard you. He draws in a deep breath, shoulders going limp, and lets it out after a moment as a tremendous sigh, running his hand back through his hair.

It was rare, if ever, that you had seen your carefree captain in an outright panic, but seconds later he was on his feet, pacing back and forth across the cabin, his hand curled over his mouth. You sit up as well, alternating between glancing at him and staring down at your knees, your stomach tied in knots. You’re sure that this is it, this is the end, this is your final stint sailing with the Red Hair pirates. A ship is no place for a child, after all, for a baby, for a woman with child—

He stops pacing suddenly, his hand slipping down to his chin. “Midwife. We’re going to need—that’s what they’re called, isn’t it?” You lift your head, staring at him in mild alarm as he resumes pacing, now rambling aloud. “We’ll need a midwife, I hardly think Hongo’s qualified—might know someone who is, but…” He shakes his head. “Still probably a good idea for you to talk to—have you?” he asks, stopping to look over at you, and you shake your head rapidly. The only inkling you have that you are pregnant is that you’ve gone well over a month without a period; you had been far too scared to talk with the ship’s doctor about the concern, afraid that he would go straight to Shanks and you would be shoved straight off the ship at the next populated port.

“We’ll need to set that up immediately,” he half-mumbles, and resumes pacing again. “How far along do you think you are?”

“I—er—” Your head is absolutely spinning. “M…maybe eight weeks?”

“Eight? That’s two months, tha—that means there’s only seven more, we’ll need—everything, crib, clothes, probably a rocking chair…”

You listen in growing astonishment as he rapidly lists off everything, already planning far more than you had even thought to, not even the slightest bit upset. He seems almost…excited. You swallow, exhaling a slow, shaking breath, your eyes burning a little as relief floods through you.

“…diapers—” He stops in his tracks again, lowering his hand from his chin and looking at it, frowning. “How am I supposed to change a diaper with one ha—”

He looks over sharply when a small sob escapes you before you can lift your hand to muffle it. You lower your head, closing your eyes tightly, gripping at the edge of the bed as that overwhelming flood of emotion becomes too much to contain.

“Oh—sweetheart…no, no no…” You hear him sigh, his footsteps quickly crossing the room. The bed sinks beside you as he sits down and wraps his arm around you, pulling you tight against his chest and resting his hand near the nape of your neck. “It’s alright, love,” he murmurs gently, combing his fingers through your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. “It’s alright, we can handle this, okay?”

“I—I thought—” Your breath hitches as you turn your head so your cheek is pressed against his shoulder. “I thought you’d be mad,” you force out. “Th—that I’d—I’d have to leave and—and—”

He tightens his hold around your back, letting out a few soft chuckles and shaking his head. “That’s an absolutely ridiculous thing to think,” he tells you.

“It…didn’t seem ridiculous to me,” you say quietly, your voice choked.

“Well, it is,” he assures you again. “I don’t—look, love.” He shifts his hand from the nape of your neck to your cheek, lifting your head and pressing his forehead against yours. His thumb wipes away the tears streaming down your face, and he smiles warmly. “I don’t want you anywhere but right here. With me. Okay?” Your breaths leaves you in a trembling sigh at the sincerity in his soft tone, the softness in his brown eyes as he gazes into yours. You swallow, and nod quickly, closing your eyes for a long moment.

You draw in a sharp breath in surprise when you feel his lips press lightly against yours in a slow, tender kiss that eases almost all of your tension away in an instant. one of your hands slipping from your lap to rest against his knee as your lips just barely part.

“I love you,” he murmurs, and the knots in your stomach are gone as he lowers his hand to rest it there, smiling. “And we can handle this.”

“I…I love you too,” you whisper, and his smile only broadens at that.

He kisses you again, more firmly this time, before standing suddenly from the bed.

Before you can fully register what’s happening, he’s already heading out the door of the cabin and out onto the quarterdeck, calling out loudly, “Lads, I have an anno—where is everyone?”

You hear Beck scoff from somewhere nearby. “It’s four in the damn morning,” he says. “Probably sleeping.”

“Ah. Right.” A brief pause, and then Shanks goes on, so happily you can practically hear him grinning, “I’m going to be a dad.”

“Yeah,” says Beck. “Congratulations. Now maybe go put on some damned pants.”

“…Right.”

Mihawk

You already know he isn’t going to be happy. After your first missed period, you mentioned children. Merely in passing.

And he had immediately expressed his gratitude that there would never be any of the vile creatures roaming the halls of his castle.

Another three weeks, and you don’t have a choice but to bring it up. You’re losing sleep over it and he’s noticed, because of course he’s noticed. Mihawk doesn’t seem to miss anything, where you’re concerned—except perhaps this, which he seems to have not one single suspicion of.

You lay back on a plush sofa in one of the dens, your head resting in his lap as he sips a cup of coffee and flips through the newspaper, your eyes barely open. All you want to do is sleep. You’ve barely slept in a damned week, his words haunting you every time you do, his potential reaction to this upheaval of the peaceful existence you have both lived at his castle for the past several months.

“It’s likely because you’ve stopped having a glass of wine before bed,” he says, and you sigh to yourself. You had outright lied on that account, told him that for no reason you could discern you were suddenly getting horrible headaches any time you consumed even a drop of alcohol. “It’s been almost two months, you could try again.”

“N…no,” you say. “I can’t.”

He lifts the newspaper and glances down at you, lifting his eyebrows—waiting for you to elaborate. It’s now or never. You pull yourself up, drawing up every ounce of resolve in your body to meet his eyes as he looks at you in growing perplexity, his sharp eyes darting briefly down from your gaze as you bite your bottom lip lightly.

“I…can’t because…” You’re already feeling lightheaded, already reeling from the threat of what may come to pass. “Because I’m pregnant.”

His eyes remain locked onto yours for several tense seconds. He slowly folds down his newspaper and sets it aside on the end table. Slowly, gently as if you’re made of porcelain, he moves a hand down to your shoulder and lightly pushes you up into a sitting position. He opens his mouth, lifting his hand as if about to speak…and closes it again.

He tries once more, and words seem to fail him yet again.

And then he stands from the couch abruptly, without a word, and strides out of the room.

You’re fairly sure you know where he’s headed. You pull in a slow, deep breath, steeling your nerves to the best of your ability, before your rise to follow him. Surely enough, as you expected, you find him in the kitchen, pulling the cork out of a half-full bottle of wine. He glances briefly over his shoulder as you enter.

“How did this happen?” His tone is level, but you notice how he fills his wine glass nearly to the rim.

“Well, you see, when a man and a woman—” The glare he levels upon you shares none of your attempted humor, so you just sigh, leaning back against the kitchen island and crossing your arms. “Probably after that warlord meeting a couple months ago?”

“…Ah.”

That’s all he says on that matter—there isn’t much else to say. Whatever had happened at the meeting was a mystery to you, but it evidently had gone very poorly and been an absolute waste of his time, as he had returned to Kuraigana Island that evening in a bit of a foul mood and set immediately to downing two and a half bottles of wine. You had joined him in the endeavor, and the rest of the night was more than a bit of a blur. You only really knew that you both woke up on a couch rather than your bed the following morning, that you yourself could barely walk from the stiffness in your thighs, and that you had both bickered lightly through your shared hangover about who was going to get up to make coffee, before both giving up and going back to sleep for more than half the day.

“Well. This is…”

He doesn’t seem to be quite sure what it is, so he takes a sip from his overfull wine glass instead, leaning back against the counter opposite you, staring at the wall but clearly not actually seeing it. His eyes are far away, unfocused.

“…unexpected,” he finishes finally.

And takes another sip of wine.

“Mmhmm,” you hum in agreement, both your hands gripping at the counter behind you. You pull yourself up to sit there, your gaze glued to him, carefully studying his face for any sign of emotion, any reaction, but there’s nothing—just that blank, miles away stare. “S…so…what do you…what should we…” His eyes shift over to you, but only briefly, before shifting down to his wine glass.

“I…” He cringes slightly before going on, as if the admission physically pains him, “…don’t know.”

You know there are two things that Mihawk hates above all else in life—unexpected news, and a lack of control. Right now, experiencing both at once in tremendous measure, you can almost see the thin thread of his patience beginning to fray, and you aren’t sure what might happen when it breaks.

You swallow nervously, lowering your eyes when his gaze shifts over to you again.

You hear him sigh in resignation.

“We’ll need to find a doctor immediately to be sure,” he says curtly, and you give a stiff nod in agreement, glancing up at him. He’s staring down at his wine glass again, and continues to do so in silence for several long, tense seconds.

“You’re angry,” you say quietly. He sighs again, shaking his head, and sets the glass on the counter behind him. Your eyes fall to your knees once more as he crosses the kitchen toward you, and shift over to your hand when he rests his over it.

“Not with you,” he says lightly. There’s something different about his tone, but it isn’t anger. It almost frightens you more when you recognize it as uncertainty. You’ve never seen him uncertain about anything.

He pulls your hand lightly, and you slip off of the counter and onto your feet, sighing slowly yourself as he tugs you back against him, his arm curling around your waist. He brushes your hair behind your ear, behind your shoulder, and your eyes slip shut as his lips graze your neck. “I’m not sure if I possess the skillset necessary to be a very…adept parent,” he murmurs.

You can’t help but chuckle a little at that, relaxing back against him as his lips brush your neck again, a silent reassurance that he genuinely isn’t upset with you. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.” You rest one of your hands over his at your waist; and you bring your other up, curling your fingers in his hair near his temple. “I can hear it now,” you say airily, smirking a little, and you go on in a mimicry of his dry, deadpan tone, “’Now, now, we’ve already established Daddy’s cross necklace is not a toy.” You giggle at his irritated sigh, as he pulls his arm tighter around your waist.

“Then again,” he says, “I do have to deal with you being a brat every day and I’ve yet to murder you.”

“See?” You pat his cheek lightly, and he grabs your hand to stop you. “Good practice.” You lean to the side a bit and turn your head, smirking at the wry look he gives you, and pressing your lips to his lightly for a moment. He exhales a slow sigh as your lips part, tilting his head forward until your foreheads touch. “We’ll figure it out,” you murmur softly.

“Yes…” His fingers lace through yours. “I suppose we will.”

2K notes · View notes