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itsthemoofacewriting · 3 years

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Take them, they’re yours

For Ray, the person who is very quickly becoming my partner in crime for all things SaNami related. We did a trade; I wrote this for them, and in return she drew this masterpiece from a scene in ‘amongst the trees’.

I also have to thank them their endless patience as I wrote this and teased them as the word count steadily went up and up. I’m so sorry this took so long.

Let’s play a game (points for those that thought of Saw), there’s a line in here that inspired my very rude SaNami piece I posted recently, can you find the line?

So, it’s been shown time and time again that Sanji has good kenbunshoku haki but not the full extent of it, so please excuse some of the artistic liberties I took.

Summary: If it was between his hands or Nami, it would be Nami, every time, without question. Every. Damn. Time. Rating: T

You can also find this on AO3 and FFN.

Enjoy!

It’d all gone so wrong so quickly.

“There he is! Vinsmoke!”

Instantly Sanji felt his mood flip like a switch, from content to enraged at the use of that name.

It’d been a wonderful day. Nami had agreed to come shopping with him and Chopper. Although he had a feeling Chopper had something to do with that more than him, but that was fine- he’d soak up any attention she gave him. They’d been shopping to do all the chores, such as food shopping and medical supplies, as well as some personal shopping for her. When they’d dropped everything back at the ship, Sanji had taken the bold step to suggest extending their trip out and invited them both to a café and, much to his relief, Nami had accepted.

But all of that came crashing to a halt as one man turned into two and then three, more and more men appearing from behind trees and shrubbery, creating a circle around them.

His eyes zeroed in on the guns some of them were equipped with.

“What the hell did you call me, shithead?” His voice threatening and all attention turned to him as he took a small step forward in front of Nami, Chopper the other side of her doing the same.

As he looked over the large group, he wondered how long they’d been following them and how they’d managed to go undetected.

It was their first day here and Luffy hadn’t even made a ruckus yet, so it was strange how they knew where they were but as he eyed his surroundings, from the large group to their location it started to make sense.

There was only three of them, him, Nami and Chopper, in a tight secluded spot, far away from their ship or the rest of the crew.

This wasn’t by chance.

This was planned.

It was an ambush.

And Sanji had let it happen. Something that could’ve been prevented, quite easily, if he’d been paying attention to his surroundings, instead of the gorgeous woman behind him.

His question was ignored as, what he presumed was the leader, took a step forward and called out, “Take him alive, we can get more money for him that way.”

They weren’t marines or CP9, they didn’t care if he was dead or alive. It looked like they bounty hunters and he knew what they were thinking; he was a prince; he came from wealth and power. Something these people would be able to attain through him.

But they clearly didn’t know anything. Didn’t know that his family would happily see him die before handing over money or technology for his life and it was why he hated that poster so much. There were assumptions that came with his birthname and no matter how notorious he became in his own right he’d never be able to escape them.

“Take the woman too,” one of them added.

And that very title had dragged Nami into his mess.

Again.

“Chopper, take Nami back to the ship.” He wasn’t sure if Chopper was depressed at being overlooked, he was too busy staring the leader down.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you,” Nami said firmly, tone suggesting there was no room for discussion.

He wondered if she was thinking about Capone’s back on Zou. She hadn’t wanted to leave him then either, but she hadn’t had a choice back then. Now she had a choice, and from her rigid posture and frown, it was clear she wouldn’t be moving. The irony was that they only needed Brook and it’d be a reunion.

“Call the others, we found them!”

At least they weren’t being taken lightly, but that still wasn’t good. It was hard to believe there were even more of them considering the size of the group already.

“Chopper, go to the ship, get whoever’s on board.” The words felt bitter coming from his mouth, but it was no secret they were vastly outnumbered and if they managed to get their grubby hands on Nami, he’d have no choice but to surrender instantly.

Chopper looked like he wanted to argue, stand his ground just like Nami had, but he must’ve done the math; knew they’d come out of this better if there were more of them.

“I’ll be back!” He called, changing into his walking point and sprung between the men with ease, dodging their attempts to stop him.

They didn’t follow after him though, so at least that was one less person to worry about.

“Nami-san, do you have your climatact?” They were back-to-back now, and he chanced a glance over his shoulder to look at her, she looked fierce and determined.

“Of course.” Her hand disappeared down the front of her dress and he quickly averted his gaze because he really didn’t need that sort of distraction right now. He had to be on his game, because as much as he trusted Nami’s strength, he was still responsible for her.

A tension settled over the tiny clearing with both parties hesitant to make the first move, sizing up the other with a critical gaze. It finally shattered when a branch in the woods snapped, and it had the effect of a gunshot through the quiet clearing.

They’d been outnumbered plenty of times before, so they sprung into action just like they had in the past.

A glance over at Nami as he spun to kick someone in the face, and she was more than holding her own. It was a hard trying not to become distracted by her as they fought. She moved with such grace, body in total coordination whilst she twirled the baton between her hands, timing meticulous as the climatact extended and retracted to do the most damage.

But ultimately that was the issue.

Whilst they may have done this in the past, they did it under very different circumstances. They weren’t contained in such a tight space, with only the two of them and the opposition desperate to get one of them to the floor as they were now.

They could only keep them at bay, push them away before someone else was on them trying to pin them down.

There was too many of them to be able to fully take them down without the risk of being overwhelmed.

A quick scan told him they needed to do crowd control and do it now. He couldn’t take off into the air like he normally would, it’d leave Nami on the ground by herself and a flurry of kicks would be reckless in a tight space. If he hit her, even by accident, he’d never be able to forgive himself.

There was no thought process as he flipped into a handstand, moving away from Nami, and spinning on his hands. He ignored the grit and sharp pieces from the floor digging into his hands and instead focused on the people before him. They’d be up after a while, the move not doing enough damage to keep them down, but it’d be enough to buy him and Nami time and stop them being swamped.

Ultimately, his only goal was keeping her safe and their grubby hands off of her.

And it seemed her goal was similar to his. He knew it wasn’t for the same reason as his, but it made him feel warm at least that she cared for him that much.

With their similar goals, they were doing well at containment, even as Sanji moved slightly further away hoping to do a bit more damage without the risk of hitting her.

But all of that came abruptly crashing down.

In the heat of battle, his haki was better, he could sense the people around him and just about anticipate their moves, which was handy, and it guided him on where he needed to be. Right now though, it was heavily focused on Nami so he could get a feel for how she was doing without having to take his eyes off his opponents. She was focused and slightly anxious, but that was to be expected and he couldn’t sense any panic, so he trusted she was alright.

However, the feeling that came next had ice settling over his heart. Someone close reeked of ill intentions, repugnant thoughts almost brimming over, and that was saying something considering the group were all bounty hunters. But this was different from the rest of them, this individual was backhanded, immoral, a mixture of utter glee and vile motive.

It was that combination he didn’t like.

For the first time since developing his haki, he could make out a shadowy outline and it was over as quickly as it came on but there was no forgetting it, it was like he’d had a front row seat to a horror show. It’d been a shadow of a woman being shot from behind, her figure falling in slow motion to a heaped pile on the floor.

Despite it just being a shadow, there was no mistaking it, the woman from his vision was Nami. He’d know her presence anywhere.

It made him feel sick, but he didn’t linger on the image, instead he sent a forceful kick to the man in front of him and did a U-turn, charging towards her before he could think about what he was doing.

The voice in the back of his mind was chanting that he would be too late, be too slow and would be picking her body up from the floor before he could do anything. The people around him were forgotten in his single-minded devotion to get to her, shoving them out the way as he pushed any doubt out of his mind.

By hook or by crook, he would get there in time.

It wasn’t the heroic, princely move that he wanted or ever envisioned doing, but desperate times called for desperate measures as he hurled himself at her, outstretched arms curling around her and knocking her off her feet. The distinct sound of a gun firing went off as they started to fall to the floor, but it was okay, because he’d made it in time.

He spun them just in time that he ended up taking the brunt and they skidded on the ground, Nami clutched to him. His arm hurt and his back burned, his jacket no doubt shredded but the woman scrambling to get off of him was all worth it.

She was out of his arms and at his side, looking down at him with a frown. “Sanji, what are you- are you bleeding?!”

Her frown was gone, in place panic and when he looked down, he was greeted with a bloody arm. It twinged when he moved it but from what he could see, it was a graze.

It at least explained why his arm hurt.

Luckily the chaos bought them some time as the bounty hunters argued amongst themselves about the use of the gun that almost damaged their pay-check.

Just a shame it wasn’t all of them that were distracted.

He pushed up on that arm, ignoring the pain that flared from the wound in distress, and kicked one of the men that got too close to Nami. He shucked off his ruined jacket and threw it at another group starting to get too close and it gave him and Nami the time to get back on their feet.

But it wasn’t working like it was before, no matter how much they both pushed back, it felt like all of a sudden, the tables had turned. Where they’d been holding them back before they were now overwhelmed, barely keeping up with the punches. The distance they’d been able to establish was gone as the men crowded in and it was relentless.

He was being reckless, he knew he was, as he threw himself around with very little regard for himself, but he’d be damned if what he saw came to life. He didn’t care what happened to himself and at the end of the day, what was a scratch or bruised rib if it meant a healthy Nami.

His recklessness soon cost him when he fell to the floor a second time, but not of his own free will this time. Someone had taken him by surprise with the end of their gun and as his brain rattled, he knew that hit held the intention of trying to knock him out.

His head throbbed at him, almost begging him to stay down, but if he went down, it would only be Nami left, and he couldn’t leave her. With that thought in mind, he swept out his leg, knocking the other man to the floor before he could get in a hit that actually did finish him. He fought through the way his vision blurred and how the world wouldn’t stop moving as he stood to his feet.

“Sanji-kun! Are you okay?” She grunted; voice strained as she pushed someone back with her climatact and swung it around to hit someone else, unable to spare a moment to really look at him.

Nami was doing the best she could to cover him whilst he recovered but the group were getting frustrated by him and Nami’s resilience, it was clear as day in the way their moves were turning desperate and more vicious by the second. The earlier words of taking him alive seemed to be slipping from their minds, which worried him because so far, their gun use has been severely limited but if that changed…

“As long as you are, I am,” he replied, getting to his feet and at this point it was pure adrenaline keeping him up.

“Then think about what you’re doing!” She barked, smacking someone around the head.

From there on, the fighting had shifted. It’d turned into a free for all and Sanji silently willed Chopper to reappear because he was aware of the ticking clock working against them now. If the rest of the bounty hunters group showed up, they’d be done for.

Now, Sanji knew the score amongst the seas, he knew pirates, marines, bounty hunters had no honour, it wasn’t something to be expected from others, regardless how he felt about it.

But when he caught a flash of silver glinting at him from the corner of his eye, he felt his blood heat. If he thought he was angry before this, it was nothing compared to the man raising his knife on an unsuspecting Nami and he was flipping onto his hands to get in between them.

It was his sloppiness that put himself in this position. A position where he hadn’t been quick enough to position himself and in a last-ditch attempt, he found himself catching the man’s arms before he could bring the knife down on Nami’s back.

For the first time since Enies Lobby, he’d been forced to fight with his hands.

He’d dealt with enough squirming ingredients in his lifetime to have a firm grip, but the last thing he’d expected was for the man’s arms to slip straight through his hands like butter, along with the knife.

He hissed and recoiled in pain as he felt it slowly slice through the skin, his hand throbbing at him. It felt like it’d happened in slow motion, and he didn’t need to look down to know it was bleeding- he could feel it.

He hadn’t for one second expected a devil fruit and that was on him.

The man smirked nastily, proud of getting the better of him and what he wouldn’t do to plant his foot in the man’s face, but Nami’s voice behind interrupted, “Sanji, duck.”

He did so without hesitation, dropping to the ground and watched as Nami’s climatact stabbed the man in the face before twirling it between her hands to knock down anyone close enough.

He felt proud watching the damage she did until she turned her gaze on him and that vanished because of the look on her face. For the first time, he couldn’t read it. She looked pale and for a split second he was worried she was hurt until he watched her eyes flick from his face to focus on his hands.

He’d only caught a quick look at his hands but that was bad enough.

He flipped onto his hands, burying his bloodied palm into the dirt, to kick the man trying to sneak up behind Nami. If he thought his arm hurt, it was nothing compared to the heat flaring angrily from his palm. Grit burying itself in all the cuts on his palms, large or small, but he ignored that in favour of flipping and throwing himself back into the fray.

He couldn’t let up for even a second.

Although he didn’t want to entertain the thought, he was tired, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to last. Everything was working against him, his head still throbbed, his arm and hands both competing for which would burn stronger, and he couldn’t remember how it happened, but his ribs had begun to protest.

But he wouldn’t give until Nami was safe, that was why he wouldn’t entertain any thoughts of stopping. He couldn’t and wouldn’t until he could ensure her safety and that’s what kept him going.

It could have been a minute or an hour but the distant sound of ‘oni giri’ had relief flooding through him, for once happy to hear Marimo’s voice and his body gave up, right then and there. He slumped to the floor against his will; he was tired, his head was killing him, and his hands burned. From the cut to the dirt in the cut and everything in-between that’d made itself at home in the skin of his palms.

“Sanji-kun!” Nami’s distressed voice called out to him.

The last thing he saw was the stunning, unharmed, face of Nami, crouched over him, calling his name.

That was a good way to go down, in his opinion.

“Sanji!”

His head throbbed as he came to, and he groaned when he touched his forehead. Everything hurt. His head, hand, and arm. His hands. He tried to sit up, but his ribs protested, and he mentally added his body to the list.

An ambush. Just him and Nami. Someone trying to shoot her.

It all came flooding back and headache be damned, he opened his eyes to scan his surroundings. He instantly recognised Chopper’s medical room, so he could relax a bit but then his eyes caught the flash of orange beside him.

Nami.

She was facing away from him but from what he could glean she looked okay, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

The movement caught her attention and she turned to face him. She still looked fine, but he had to ask, “Are you hurt?”

“You’re seriously asking me that right now?” Her voice filled with disbelief.

He didn’t respond, continuing to stare up at her, waiting for her answer.

She shook her head. “I’m fine. How are you feeling?”

“As long as you’re fine, then I’m fine,” he parroted his earlier words, and it was true. The ache in his head worth it all to see her well. She didn’t look like she believed him and snorted, turning back around to grab more things.

As happy as he was that she was there, he’d been expecting Chopper flitting around him instead. “Where’s Chopper?”

“He’s dealing with the other idiots,” she said, sitting on the chair next to the bed.

“Chopper checked you over before going. You’ve got a minor concussion, we haven’t scrambled your brain yet.” Her lips curved up and she added, “Well, no more than normal.”

“Being around you scrambles my brain.”

“Which is normal,” she teased, grinning at him.

He laughed lightly but his ribs still protested angrily. He didn’t manage to smother the grimace in time and the smile slipped off her face as she turned to the side, gathering the supplies she’d need.

“We can deal with that later,” he said frowning, slowly sitting up and building momentum to get off the bed. “They put themselves out, the least I can do is make sure they’re fed.”

“You’re not leaving this bed!” Nami snapped, hand on his shoulder pushing him down.

He’d wanted to hear that from her mouth for as long as he’d known her, and he’d store that sentence away for later, but it was hard to be happy about it when her words were paired with the firm set of her mouth and furrowed eyebrows.

She was upset.

He’d upset her.

He laid back without any further resistance and the stiffness from her shoulders relaxed. He didn’t say anything else as she sat down on the chair next to the bed, her hands reaching for his.

“I haven’t seen you spin on your hands in ages,” Nami said, her thumb brushing over the pulse at his wrist to avoid any of the small injuries to his hand. “I can see why now.”

There were two bowels on the bed, and it wasn’t rocket science to realise what they were for. One was filled with water and the other empty bar a pair of tweezers.

She moved one of the bowels closer to them and cupped his hands. “Deep breath,” she told him and then dunked his hands into the bowel filled with water.

It stung, the water working its way into all of the cuts, but he didn’t complain. He wouldn’t, because she was safe, and this was the most she’d ever touched him, and it was so gentle. She held his hands in the water a second longer before lifting them out and onto a towel.

The, now murky, water filled bowel was moved onto the bedside table and the other bowel moved closer. She picked up the pair of tweezers with one hand and cupped one of his hands with the other. Her touch was delicate, and his hand went limp under her touch, letting her move it into the position she wanted.

With his palm facing the ceiling, she worked on getting all the various pieces lodged into his skin out. She was clinical in her movements, methodical as she moved over the skin, but she was gentle about it. She tried her best to do so without having to dig, but some of it was unavoidable.

For all her professionalism, once she’d pried a piece out the thumb from her free hand would rub a little circle into the side of his hand. He wasn’t sure if she was soothing herself or him, but it made him smile and goosebumps erupted over his arms.

With Nami focused on his hands, he had the luxury of looking over her face. Her face the picture of concentration, from the pinched lips to her furrowed eyebrows. Beneath the focus, she looked tired, but there wasn’t a single scratch on her face, and he was proud of that. Come tomorrow, she’d be back to her smiling self.

She moved onto the second hand, placing the first down onto the towel, and although she’d been doing it a while now, she was still just as doting and attentive to the other hand.

Brown eyes met his, finally acknowledging his staring and her hands stilled their work. “What?”

“My own personal nurse,” he joked, hoping to make her smile.

“Don’t imagine me as a nurse! We don’t need to add blood loss to the list of problems!” She scolded, lips pulling slightly at his antics but not what he’d been aiming for as they lapsed back into silence, and she continued with his other hand.

He hadn’t let himself look down at his hands before now, mainly because he didn’t need the distraction at the time but because it wouldn’t really make a difference how they looked. They looked like they’d been through the ringer though. Far worse than when he’d first learned to cook, where his fingers had been constantly burned or cuts had littered his fingers and palms from inexperience. Stains of dirt still remained in patches where it had resisted the first wash, and it clung to all the little openings from where anything sharp had been buried. All those openings were angry and red, some bleeding a little from where they’d been pulled about to get the bits of debris out.

Then there was the large cut spanning his left palm.

If the small cuts were angry, then that was furious, from the raw skin to the dried blood on his skin that would need a few more persuasive washes before coming out clean. It was long and deep, but he didn’t dare flex his hand to see just how deep it went into his palm. Thankfully it’d stopped bleeding but, in its place, it oozed instead.

That wouldn’t heal quickly.

But as he looked at his hands, he didn’t feel any strong emotion. He felt neutral. He wasn’t happy of course, but there wasn’t an ounce of regret. He’d do it again a million times over just to see Nami unharmed.

And he realised right then, if it was between his hands or Nami, it would be her every time. No questions asked, no hesitation.

It felt like it should be a huge earth-shattering moment, where the axis suddenly shifted, and all the pieces aligned into a moment of pure epiphany, because he’d said all his life how important and sacred his hands were. Yet it felt very matter of fact, like it just made sense and had never been any different. Sanji supposed, it never had been any different. Not for a long time at least.

“Look at your hands,” Nami mourned, face drawn and thumb focusing on cautiously tracing alongside the wound.

She’d said it so quietly he wondered if it was meant to be said to herself only. She was beautiful no matter what, but he hated that look on her face and he hated that he was the cause of it.

His uncut hand lightly gripped her hand. “I’d do it again.” He would, in a heartbeat. His gut flaring the exact same way it had just this morning.

“Don’t.” She looked at him sharply. “I don’t want you to.”

He knew what she wanted him to say, what she expected him to say because she’d known him for so long. But on this occasion-

“No.”

He’d never refused her before in all the time of knowing her. He’d always catered to her whims or discussed anything they’d disagreed on, coming to a mutual agreement before moving on. He’d never refused her so outright, so firmly and he would not budge on it. He refused to.

But as adamant as he felt about it, she looked just as equally defiant based on the tight expression she was giving him.

“Look at your hands,” she said sternly and held his hands up as if he’d see them clearer that way, “These are your dreams, your life, your everything. Don’t expect me to sit here and agree as you recklessly throw it away.”

Although he wasn’t shocked about his new revelation regarding his hands, it was still a revelation all the same and he found himself disagreeing with what she’d said. She was worth it all, it wasn’t reckless when it concerned her.

The next thought was at the tip of his tongue, threatening to bubble over past his lips but he hesitated. He knew what he was about to say would spook her, make her skittish and knew that his feelings for her weren’t returned- and that was okay, he just wanted to be around her, in whatever way he could.

Ultimately, he threw caution to the wind because when did he ever not give his all to everything he did?

“A life without you in it isn’t worth living.” And he meant it, with every fibre of his being. It’d be hollow without her smile, her laugh, her everything, brightening up his day. His dream of all blue was grey without the smart, caring and sassy navigator at his side, regardless of whether she returned his feelings.

“You’re being dramatic.” She didn’t sound sure; she didn’t look sure. He’d surprised her, he realised after a second, with such a sweeping statement. And it was warring with her anger over his refusal just seconds before.

“I’m not,” he said firmly, trying to get the message across.

“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t do it for anyone else in this crew.” She was deflecting.

She had him there though. The same gut instinct flared up. “You’re right.”

But the feeling was different. They were his family; he’d do anything for them but her. Her. Nami. The sun rose and set with her. She was the first thing he thought about and the last at the end of the day. Her happiness was his happiness.

“But it’s different with you,” he continued, adamant.

This was the last thing he’d expected when he’d woken up and perhaps now wasn’t the best time to be doing this. He still had a concussion, and they were currently mid disagreement (he wouldn’t call it an argument) but he didn’t want the moment to pass. He didn’t want to try again later, to try and regain the moment they were currently in.

“Don’t change the subject.” She wouldn’t make eye contact, but she was still holding his hands.

“I’m not, it’s all relevant,” he insisted, and it was. He needed her to see that. This wasn’t something he just did on a whim.

It was silent as they stared each other down, willing the other to give. Well, Nami was actually glaring at him, which he could understand but he wasn’t giving in on this. He just couldn’t, it went against everything he felt so strongly about, but it still made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

The door to the med bay creaked open, breaking the stalemate as Chopper poked his head through. He hesitated at the door when he picked up on the odd tension. Sanji was just about to ask for ten more minutes because they were nowhere near done but Nami stood, his hands falling from her grasp onto the bed.

“Nami-san,” Sanji called after her, a battered hand feebly stretched out.

“He’s all yours,” she said to Chopper as she passed him.

She didn’t look back as she left, the door closing behind her.

Nami wasn’t speaking to him.

She was also actively avoiding him since the med bay and that had been yesterday. He wasn’t sure if it was because of their disagreement (not argument) or because in a roundabout way he’d confessed and made her uncomfortable.

He may regret the timing of the confession, no matter how right it had felt, but he didn’t regret their disagreement, not then and not now, even as Nami quickly left the kitchen without looking at him.

It stung a bit though.

Her reaction confused him though, he was expected to be yelled at or hit instead of silence, but he’d give her the space she clearly wanted for the rest of the day and then smooth it over tomorrow. Who knows, maybe he’d get that reaction tomorrow. He just hated the tension between them and the confused looks he kept receiving from the rest of the crew.

For now, he was looking down at a bowel of hot water and a pile of dishes that needed washing up. Chopper hadn’t mentioned about getting his stiches wet, but he figured he could always get the dressing covering his stiches wrapped again afterwards. Someone else in the crew would do the dishes, he knew that, but they’d already bailed him out once and the stiches would be in for at least a week, he should be able to do this himself. Dinner hadn’t been too bad, the hand with stitches twinged slightly and his arm where a bullet had skimmed had protested when he lifted it above his head, but he was no whiner.

So he cracked on, picking up the first plate and sponge to wash it with.

“Put down the plate,” a steely voice said from behind him.

Nami stood in the doorway, a vision of loveliness as she glowered at him with her hands on her hips.

She strode in, pushing the door closed behind her. “I saw everyone come out of the kitchen and I knew what you were doing, you big idiot.”

She snatched the towel of his shoulder and threw it onto the counter next to them when she reached him, eyes fiery and although he was taller than her, he’d never felt smaller in front of her.

Shit, he wasn’t ready for this, he thought as his palms started to sweat. Sure, he’d planned on talking to her tomorrow, but that was tomorrow, he would have had time to think it through before then.

“Did you mean it?” She asked, her tone neutral now and that only made him feel more on edge, that any wrong answer would have him toppling off the deep end.

He didn’t know what part of their conversation yesterday she was referring to, but there was no part he’d take back, even if it did make her angrier.

“Every word,” he said with surety, jaw set and staring into her eyes, trying to match his words so she understood.

She sighed deeply and he was bracing himself because that couldn’t be good.

“I’m still upset about this.” Her fingers tentatively grazed his bandaged hand and if they didn’t break plates as quickly as he knew they did, he would have dropped it then and there just to take her hand.

Instead, he put the plate down on the side, resting the sponge on top and he was going to gather her in his arms to hug her because he hated that he’d upset her, but she took his hands, stopping him in his tracks.

It was quiet as she looked down at his hands, palms facing upward so his cuts and bandage was on full display. It was a much better sight than yesterday; the rawness had faded, and the gruesome display of his wound hidden behind white cloth.

He was jarred from his observations when she let go of one of his hands and instead used it to trace along the bandage, fingers light as it travelled along his hand, retracing the length of the cut and although it may be hidden by a bandage, it might as well have not been by how accurately her fingers moved along it.

“I’m angry that you’d throw this all away,” she said lightly, voice even and it didn’t match her words. Her fingers stopped their journey to cup his hand as if to make her point and he didn’t need her to explain what she meant.

He didn’t want to argue but the way he felt still hadn’t changed. “Nami-”

“I’m not finished talking!” She snapped and his mouth shut without another word.

“I’m angry that you don’t trust me.”

Oh God, no. That was never what this was about, and he hadn’t even contemplated how she might think that. He didn’t care whether she was done talking or not, he was ready to shut that down but then her next words stole the breath from his lungs.

“But mostly, I’m angry that after all this time you don’t value yourself. Everything we’ve been through, and you still throw yourself in as if it means nothing.” Her eyes seared into his and like a coward he turned to the floor, unable to bear the brunt of that look.

His previous life might be well behind him now, but he couldn’t just switch off all the things that’d been said to him in his youth. It made it hard to believe that someone could care about him, care about his life to that extent. But it wasn’t an excuse; he knew that, and he knew the people on this ship felt very differently about him but that didn’t stop the thoughts in his head sometimes.

Another reason came to mind, but it made his chest constrict painfully, like he couldn’t breathe, and he always desperately tried not to think about it for too long for that very reason. It was the death of his mother. It hurt, it ached, and it haunted him in the quiet moments when it was just him and his memories. How he’d been helpless, unable to do anything as he lost her, and he wouldn’t see it happen again. Didn’t want to see it happen again, not if he could help it. The thought of losing someone precious whilst he lived on would be unbearable to live through again.

Both tied so deeply into one another, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to pry them apart and let them go.

She gripped his hand, trying to get his attention from his thoughts and staring match with the floor but the best he could do was look at their joined hands.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she said it softly, but it was so loud in the quiet kitchen.

“And I don’t want to lose you,” he said earnestly, his free hand coming to rest on top of hers, to feel the warmth on her skin because his chest tightened at the thought of her not being around.

She considered him for a second and he wondered if this was the start of another disagreement before she delivered, “The way you feel about me getting hurt, why do you think it’s any different when it’s you?”

The way he felt about her…

Oh.

And just like that, the tables had turned. He looked at her face, scanning, searching for the answer to a question he hadn’t yet verbalised whereas she wouldn’t look at him, resolutely looking down at their joined hands.

Her bashfulness gave him the courage to ask.

“You mean…?”

He was met with silence but that didn’t dishearten him, his heart felt as if it was going to burst through his chest at any moment, as hope foolishly blossomed in his lungs because surely, she didn’t feel the exact same way as he did. Surely not. Not for him.

“You’re an idiot,” she said, frowning and his heart sunk.

“But I’m the idiot that wants you.”

He’d imagined this moment so many times, played this over and over in his daydreams but it didn’t hold a candle to the actual moment. He was speechless and his heart was doing summersaults from the roll coaster ride it had been on in the last minute. He still wondered if he was asleep, if he would wake up any second to the cruel reality it was in his imagination again.

“I expected more enthusiasm,” Nami said dryly, smirking and she was back to looking him in the eye.

“I just…” ‘didn’t expect it. Ever.’ Is what he wanted to say but she had, and he didn’t want to tar the moment with his insecurities. Although someone would need to pinch him later.

“I know you’re not going to give on your recklessness, it’s partially why I was so angry, but just so you know Black Leg Sanji this is a two-way street-” she leaned in, eyes alight with confidence- “and I’ll be fighting just as hard for you.

She wouldn’t need to, he’d make sure he was more than enough for the both of them, but her words made him smile, made him feel delirious and the nasty thoughts at the back of his mind were quiet for once.

But there was something he had to clear up first.

“Nami-san, I’ve never thought you were weak. Never thought you weren’t capable. You’ve proven time and time again you can protect yourself, but if I can prevent you getting hurt, I’m going to.”

She breathed heavily through her nose but smiled softly. “All I ask, is that you at least consider your hands when doing stupid things.”

“I’ll do my best.”

She laughed, short and sharp. “That’s the most I’m going to get from you, so stop messing around and kiss me already.”

He gaped at her like a fool, he’d expected so much more than this, more arguing, more talking, more back and forth. That internal dialogue came to a screeching halt when Nami, bored of his staring, grabbed the lapels of his jacket and brought him into a searing kiss.

Fireworks, sirens, alarms were all going off in his head as he scrambled to catch up, but she was persistent, lips coaxing and hands tightening on the lapels, urging him along. All of those noises faded away into bliss when he reciprocated in kind, seizing the moment he’d waited so long for.

For the first time since it’d been wrapped on his hand, he cursed the bandage that was denying him feeling the soft skin of her arm. That was pushed to the back of his mind when she pulled on his jacket, pressing them closer together and his hands moved to her back to diminish any space left between them. At least his fingers could enjoy the delicate skin of her back exposed from the halter top she wore.

They pulled apart, breathing heavily and he was trying his best to take in her face.

“What a poorly timed confession,” she teased, lips brushing against his as she spoke.

“I know.” He cringed, she deserved so much more than this.

“I expect you to make it up to me.” Her lips curved upward.

“For as long as you’ll let me.”

Her eyes crinkled and the teasing expression was gone, replaced with softness. “Good answer.”

The next kiss was slow, and he was ready for it this time as he put his all into it. Lips caressing, heads tilting to find the right angle and they soon found their rhythm. Daringly he brushed his tongue along the seam of her lips and their tongues brushed when she parted her lips. As much as he liked their first kiss, the second was his favourite as he got to take his time as he tasted her and listened to the little breathy noises she made.

He looked forward to having more favourites with her.

“Seeing as I can’t get my stitches wet, maybe you’ll help me in the shower,” he muttered when they pulled apart briefly.

She leaned up on her toes and he had expected her to kiss him again, she was so close he could almost taste her on his lips when she whispered, “Ask Zoro to wash your back.”

That threw cold water on the mood and the image that popped into his head was enough to make a nasty shiver slither down his spine. “That’s not funny, Nami-san.”

Nami laughed, eyes crinkling and face lighting up at the displeased look on his face and as horrified as he was with her suggestion, it was the look on her face he adored seeing.

“I’m sure something can be arranged,” she said once her giggling had resided.

He leaned down to kiss her again, but she took a step away, swiftly dodging arms that tried to drag her back in. When he went to follow her, his world went black as she threw the tea towel on his head.

“Come on, I’ll wash, you dry.”

Yeah, he regretted nothing. He’d do it a hundred times over again now and in the future, just so he could have this with her.

-----------------------------------

Listen, I just love the way Sanji feels about Nami, and I channelled all of that into this. He adores her, she’s the one for him, he’s her number one cheerleader. I HAVE SO MANY FEELS.

I have a head canon that Sanji stopped doing those kicking handstands because he’d get scratches and splinters in his hands afterwards and that defeated the purpose of fighting with his legs (even if I think they do look super cool!). I’m sure the manga will prove me wrong, but I can’t recall him doing it since pre time skip.

Just in case you didn’t read my other (filth) fic, Ray started a SaNami discord group, it’s a chill place to chat and share your love for this pairing. If you’d like to join, message me on here or Twitter and I’ll send you the link (Please make sure I can message you back!). Feel free to join, the more the merrier!

As always, please excuse any errors.

Thank you to Ray for this lovely trade and to everyone for reading.

#SaNami #SanNami #SaNa #namixsanji #opfanfic #opwriting #One Piece #Nami #Sanji

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noussommeslessquelettes · 5 years

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I'm a sucker for number 12 if you fancy giving it a go?

bro honestly me too? It’s kinda funny bc the next chapter of Left as in Gone has this trope too! So part of me was like “do I even gotta write another thing?” but then of COURSE the answer was “absolutely u do” so yes here have a this thing.

Thanks for your patience; I hope you enjoy!

Preview: “So you’re not going to tell him?”

“I…” Lance’s voice lowered to a murmur. “You’re sure he’s asleep?”

Pidge hummed assent. “He could sleep through the apocalypse, honest.”

“So?” Hunk prompted.

Send me a ship with one of these and I’ll write a mini fic

Full disclosure, Keith had actually woken up about fifteen minutes ago. B-list action movies were the worst genre of film, as far as falling asleep in the middle of them went, and all it had taken was one (of several, he’d gleaned over the last quarter hour) car explosion too many to jolt him begrudgingly out of his slumber.

Still, he’d learned many years ago that if you fell asleep at the end of a movie, people usually didn’t expect you to help clean up after. And though the trick no longer worked with movie nights at home—not since Adam had moved in—it had worked like a charm with his new friends over the past few months. As the end credits rolled before his closed eyelids, the couch beneath him creaked under someone standing up with a yawn.

“Let’s draw a dick on his face,” Pidge muttered.

Never mind, Keith groaned internally, lamenting the loss of his sloth for the sake of his pride. He drew in a breath—

“Don’t.”

And let it go. It was almost a task to keep his slack expression from adopting a furrowed brow, because that was definitely—

“Just let him be.” The scrape of a plastic bowl on a wooden coffee table played harmony to Lance’s continued argument, the creak of the floorboards his percussion. “He deals with enough torture from us already.”

Hunk scoffed from his place on the recliner, the silence of a nonverbal communication hanging in the air before Lance’s footfalls echoed back into the room.

Lance clicked his tongue. “The things I do for him—and he’s never going to know,” he muttered.

“Probably ‘cause of how you act when he’s awake,” Hunk pointed out, the sharp click of the recliner locking back upright following suit.

“Yeah, well—” another wordless gesture, probably “—okay? I’m dealing with it the best I can.”

Keith almost rolled his eyes, figuring the vaguery was about as much reasoning as Lance could have for the continued tension between the two of them, despite Lance denouncing their purported (A.K.A. fabricated) rivalry some few weeks ago.

Until Pidge’s response, that is.

“So you’re not going to tell him?”

“I…” Lance’s voice lowered to a murmur. “You’re sure he’s asleep?”

He felt a scrutinous gaze against his skin, and he did his best to sell the slump in his body (the tension it gave him likely not helping his case, but it must’ve been enough for Pidge.)

She hummed assent. “He could sleep through the apocalypse, honest.”

“So?” Hunk prompted.

Lance sighed. “‘Course not.”

Keith bit his tongue. Could these assholes start being more specific? Or at least have the decency to leave the room so he could pretend to wake up without embroiling himself in this secret that he can’t even understand anyway?

Hunk gave a low whistle. “Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“Does this mean loverboy Lance has hung up his bow and arrow?”

Keith’s heart kicked in his chest. Wait, loverboy? Did she mean…

“You said it yourself: it’d only freak him out if he knew—and I’m not going to do that to the group. ‘Sides, Keith needs us: his only other friends are his dog and brother-in-law, and Adam only counts on good days.” He laughed, but the others didn’t seem as eager to join in.

Hunk gave an uneasy sound. “I don’t know if Keith—”

“He would. Trust me—Pidge?”

“I…” She sighed. “I won’t say I’ve run the numbers, but it’s not exactly promising.”

“It’s not worth it,” Lance concluded. “Even if he’d stay, what’s the point? It’s not like I have a chance anyway.”

“Lance—”

“You’re going to tell me I’m a catch?” Lance interrupted, then laughed. “Please do; I need to hear it.”

Hunk joined in with a chuckle of his own. “If I didn’t have a girlfriend, I’d date you in a heartbeat.”

Lance’s hand thumped against his chest. “A man after my own heart. Pidge?”

She scoffed. “If I had to date anyone, I think you’d be one of the least offensive options out there.”

Empty beer bottles clinked against each other. “Oh, it’s an honour just to be nominated!”

“Y’need any help, bud?” Hunk called out after his retreating steps.

“Nah, you guys can head home; I got the rest of it.”

Hunk lowered his voice, clearly addressing Pidge. “Draw straws on who’s got to wake him up?”

“Just let him sleep,” Lance answered, his voice floating over the back of the couch now. “I’ll drive him home when he wakes up.”

“Ooh,” Pidge cooed, “want him all to yourself, do you?”

“Don’t want us to know how long you’re going to watch him sleep?”

“You—” Lance groaned. “I thought we were being nice to Lance tonight!”

“We were,” Pidge argued. “Hunk, we were nice, weren’t we?”

“Super nice,” Hunk agreed, “so now we get to be mean.”

“Ugh, you guys are the worst.” The couch complained as he pushed off, their voices echoing towards the front door. “Why do I tell you anything, again?”

“‘Cause we already know all of your other secrets,” Pidge replied. “You’re forced to trust us now.”

Lance sucked on his teeth. “Yeah, can’t have that shit leaked to the press.” The front door was wrenched open. “Love you, assholes.”

Hunk and Pidge’s goodbyes were a bit too quiet for Keith to discern, but soon after they were spoken, the front door slid shut, and Keith was insulated in the soft bubble of silence of Lance’s living room. He held his breath for Lance to step out of sightline long enough so he could feign rousing, practically celebrating when Lance’s footsteps led him back to the living room, hoping they’d keep on going to the kitchen.

The echo stilled, just as he reached the foot of the couch.

“Of course, you have to look adorable when you sleep, too,” he practically spat under his breath. Then he heaved a sigh, and continued to the kitchen.

The moment the sound transferred from hardwood to tile, Keith pushed himself up to sit. His stiff muscles complained, and he rolled out his shoulders as his eyes cracked open, taking in the gentle lamplight and distant kitchen light with squinted eyes. He yawned, elbows resting on his knees as he rubbed his fingers into his eyelids.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

Keith drew in his first full breath, turning to look over his shoulder as Lance walked back in from the kitchen. “Mm.” He cleared his throat, his voice still heavy with the sleep he hadn’t feigned earlier. He scanned the living room then as Lance passed the couch, picking up a couple empty soda cans from the coffee table. He remembered himself a little, and decided to ask, “Where’s Hunk and Pidge?”

He swore he saw Lance freeze for a split-second when he asked it, saw a tension in his shoulders dissipate when he looked Keith in the eye again. He gave an apologetic smile. “Yeah, Pidge didn’t want to wait ‘til you got up to drive you home.”

Keith almost felt uneasy under Lance’s gaze—his attention undivided in the low light, his expression soft and open, dare Keith even say fond. He had no business looking at him like that, not when Keith had just woken up, and probably had bedhead or—shit, did he? He ducked and smoothed his hair down with his hands, hoping it looked as casual as he’d envisioned it in his mind’s eye.

“Well, shit.”

“I know,” Lance laughed, leaning a hip against the far armrest, “typical Pidge, am I right? But I can drive you home, if you want.”

Keith chewed on his tongue. Should I tell him?

“Lance, listen.”

It would be easy. Keith wasn’t a good actor, anyway—and Shiro always said honesty was the best policy, especially with people you cared about.

“I heard what you guys were talking about before, and…”

And what? Keith didn’t have a good answer for him—he’d hardly believed Lance tolerated him as a friend, let alone adding the prospect of… other feelings.

“Keith?” He blinked, eyes refocusing and lifting back up to match Lance’s. Lance chuckled. “Thought you fell asleep on me again.”

“No, I…” He was far too tired to think this over properly, right now. And a ride home sounded much nicer than a half-hour walk in the cold. “Thanks.”

Lance gave him a smile that made his insides flip. “Cool. I’ll just—” He pushed off the couch. “—Let me chuck these in the kitchen, and we can go.”

“Sure.”

“Don’t fall asleep on me again, ‘kay?” He called back from the other room.

Keith rolled his eyes, pushing up to stand. “I can manage.”

Lance hummed uncertainly. “You sure? You were completely out of it during the movie—snoring and the whole bit.”

Keith froze mid-stretch, dropping his hands with an indignant pout. “I did not snore.”

“Did too.”

“I don’t snore!”

Lance rounded back into sight, waving his keys in front of him. “And somehow I heard it with my own ears. Funny how that works.”

He winked at Keith in passing, and Keith’s stomach flipped. He gave a quiet groan, hoping that reaction wouldn’t become the norm, in the wake of this unfortunate revelation—Lance was the one with the crush, after all.

Right?

He twisted his neck until it gave a satisfying pop, then smirked when Lance inevitably vocalised his disgust at it.

#voltron #klance #squelette writes #Keith eventually figures out his feelings #but not before Lance enters another relationship #angst ensues and then they get together bc they always gotta B)#the others will be following later today!#miles-from-home #demandez la squelette

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