OP Dividers || Dividers Pt. 2 || OP Dividers Pt. 3
I am primarily a Law/Shanks writer. I do dabble with other characters as the mood strikes me.
Spoiler mention: I am caught up on all anime/manga. My writings will reflect that.
July Writing — 5 requests remaining
Shanks
The Years Between Us: An unexpected reunion forces Nessa and Shanks to confront the memories of the life they once shared and the choices that kept pulling them apart.
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Salted Ink: Brie is a historian traveling with the Red-Haired pirates. Her and Shanks fall in love quietly, in shared space and unspoken understanding. The world soon proves to Shanks that distance is not safety, that loving her means choosing her, openly and without retreat.
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I Found: Aurelia “Auri” is the navigator of the Red Force. Shanks is her captain. He is also hopelessly in love with her. Shanks cannot tell her. He cannot have her. He absolutely can’t keep looking at her like that. Unfortunately for everyone, he is very bad at the last part.[smut]
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Kept: Yandere/Dark Shanks. Shanks makes it clear that wandering outside his reach is not an option.
Animals: Yandere/Dark Shanks. How did he find you this time? You had been careful…Four times you had escaped him. And every single time…Shanks had found you. [smut]
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Anchor: Aftermath of Shanks using haki.
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Wake: You wake up and everything has changed.
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A Captains’s Chair: Shanks comes back wounded. A fight over secrets reveals a harsh truth.
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Definitely Not Jealous: The room was full of far more interesting things than the sight of Linaria on Shanks’s lap. Maybe. Probably.
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I miss you, I’m sorry: Some things have a way of becoming real long before anyone says them aloud.
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Cold tea, warm embrace: You are not feeling well. Shanks takes care of you. Fluff and comfort.
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Second chances: A mysterious boy falls from the sky onto the Red Force.
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I put a spell on you: The mission was simple. Shanks staying focused was not. [smut]
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The Emperor’s Interest: A quiet Strawhat catches the attention of the red-haired emperor. [smut]
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A promise worth crossing the sea for: Newly named Emperor Shanks visits the Moby Dick to honor a childhood promise.
Trafalgar Law
Plot: Trafalgar Law is very good at control. Unfortunately, he is less good at falling in love. It’s inefficient. It’s disruptive. And attempting to correct it only makes the problem worse.
Series: Law in Love [mix of GN/Female reader]
Plot: Brook asks what color panties you’re wearing. Law hates it.
Story: Panties
Plot: Kid flirts with you. Law hates it.
Story: Crossfire
Plot: You are terrible at seduction.
Story: The Art of Seduction
Plot: Law helps you stretch.
Story: Warmups
Plot: Law uses shambles when he gets jealous.
Story: No room for jealousy?
Plot: A strange island traps Law and you in each other’s bodies.
Story: The island
Shamrock
Plot: Shamrock falls in love with a woman that is “gifted” to him.
Story: Bird in the East Wing
Sequel: The Perch
Sequel: The Gilded Cage [smut]
What If: You tried to escape during The Gilded Cage
Alternative Sequel: Shrike
Plot: A tavern waitress with roots in nobility is taken into the polished brutality of Mary Geoise. Saint Shamrock Figarland is tasked with retrieving you. How unfortunate for him.
Story: Blood of the holy land — CURRENT
Various
Plot: Four men who live by control—of themselves, of the world around them—and who do not give themselves lightly. Once they choose you, they’re all in. [Mihawk/Zoro/Shanks/Law]
Story: Kinks
Plot: One bed trope with various characters.
Story: The Inn
Plot: Talia invites Benn Beckman over for whiskey.
Story: Whiskey with Structural Concerns
Plot: You meet the Vinsmoke brothers, and Sanji quickly realizes their interest in you is not harmless.
Story: Germa comes aboard
Plot: You want reassurance from Mihawk, but asking for it feels too much like losing.
Story: The fear in the silence
Plot: A lounge singer spying for the Marines discovers Admiral Kizaru is far less careless with her than he pretends.
Story: The speed of light
The mountain house: A mountain getaway meant to save your marriage becomes the place everything finally breaks. [shanks/OC/Reader/Mihawk] [smut]
Misc.
Tumblr writings:
Red Hair pirate text chat
Red Hair pirate movie night
Procedures for when Shanks is in love
Sticky Notes [Law/Shanks/Mihawk]
Panties [Shanks/Ace/Eustass Kid/Mihawk]
Pick up lines [Shanks / Shamrock]
Wano alliance text chat [ Part 2 ]
Drunken Scenarios [Shanks] [Mihawk] [Law] [Kid]
Cross guild budget review text chat [ Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 ]
Ficlet: Shamrock
Ficlet: as you wish, commander [Shamrock]
Ficlet: intimacy [Shanks/Law]
Shanks & buggy text chat
I like you, idiot [Zoro/Law/Shanks/Ace/Luffy]
The betting pool [shanks/red hair pirates]
Shanks and the cursed coin [Shanks]
Ficlet: the return [Shamrock]
Ficlet: sea of love [Shanks]
**Credit for dividers/masterlist header: @saradika-graphics @firefly-graphics
Plot: A tavern waitress with roots in nobility is taken into the polished brutality of Mary Geoise. Saint Shamrock Figarland is tasked with retrieving you. How unfortunate for him.
Read on AO3
Chapter 21: Tea & Other Weapons
Your father signed the terms two days later.
He did not enjoy it.
That was the first pleasant thing to happen all morning.
You were not present for the signing, of course. That would have been too satisfying, and Mary Geoise disliked giving satisfaction to people who might use it irresponsibly.
Instead, you were summoned afterward.
Saint Harlan stood behind his desk with the signed papers arranged before him. Lady Marise sat near the window, her posture perfect and her expression very carefully empty.
That meant she was furious.
“You may consider the engagement formal,” your father said. “The public announcement will be made within the week.”
“Efficient.”
“Lila will be vetted by House Figarland,” he continued. “Her position will be transferred once the household arrangements begin.”
You nodded once. “Good.”
“You are dismissed,” he said.
Adrien was in the corridor when you stepped out. He looked from your face to the closed study door. “So it’s done.”
“Apparently.”
“Congratulations.”
“That sounded almost sincere.”
“It was half sincere.”
“How generous.”
Lucien appeared behind him. “Is it true you’re marrying Commander Figarland?”
“So I’m told.”
Lucien stared at you. “That makes you more important than me.”
Adrien folded a note in his hand. “I did warn you.”
“I thought you were exaggerating.”
“You often do.”
You looked between them. For one strange second, neither of them looked like enemies. Then Lucien frowned. “Do I have to be polite to her now?”
Adrien’s mouth barely moved. “You should have started earlier.”
Lila was waiting in your room when you returned. You closed the door behind you.
She looked up at once.
“Well?”
You took off your gloves one finger at a time. “The terms are signed.”
Her hands stilled.
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“And…”
“You are coming with me.”
For a moment, she did not move.
“They agreed?”
“Conditionally.”
“Of course.”
“You will be instructed and generally inspected for signs of Veroux contamination.”
“That sounds thorough.”
“It sounded worse in person.”
Lila came to stand behind you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then she said, quietly, “Thank you.”
You looked at her in the mirror. The words sat between you, small and dangerous.
You had learned in Mary Geoise that gratitude was often another kind of debt. But this was not that. This was not the heavy, polished thing people placed in your hands and expected you to carry.
This was just Lila.
You nodded once.
“Do not make me emotional before tea,” you said.
Her brows drew together. “Tea?”
You grimaced.
“Lady Nerissa sent another invitation.”
Lila stared at you. “You are going?”
“I considered hiding.”
“That seems reasonable.”
“Then I remembered they would still talk. I would just be absent and therefore less able to enjoy how wrong they are.”
“That also seems reasonable.”
“I’m glad one of us thinks so.”
Lila moved to the wardrobe. “They will have heard.”
“Obviously.”
“People will be unkind. Lady Belladonna especially.”
You sighed. “She does seem like a woman who sharpens herself on other people’s problems.”
Lila paused.
“That was very good.”
“I am saving my strength.”
“For tea?”
“For not committing crimes at tea.”
“Wise.”
The tea was held in Lady Nerissa’s glass-walled salon again. The moment you entered, conversation thinned.
Lady Nerissa rose with a smile. “Lady Veroux.”
“Lady Nerissa.”
“How kind of you to join us.”
“How optimistic of you to keep inviting me.”
Her smile deepened. “Hope is a terrible habit.”
“I’ve heard worse defended here.”
That earned you a very small laugh from Coraline.
Seraphina Brume sat beside her, hands folded tightly in her lap. Her expression was composed, but softer than the others. Belladonna Mirelle wore pale blue and a smile with teeth behind it.
Melusine Arco sat near the window. She looked at you once. Then at the empty chair beside her.
Interesting.
You took it.
For several minutes, the conversation behaved. Coraline asked about the gallery. Nerissa asked whether the Kensington collection had improved since last season.
You answered politely.
Appropriately.
Then Belladonna set down her cup.
“So,” she said, “it seems congratulations are in order.”
There it was.
The knife under lace.
Nerissa did not stop her.
You lifted your cup. “Does it?”
Belladonna smiled. “Everyone has heard.”
“How efficient of everyone.”
“Commander Figarland is to marry you.”
Several women shifted.
Seraphina looked down.
Coraline looked delighted and horrified to be alive for this.
Melusine remained still.
You took a sip of tea.
Still too floral.
Consistent, at least.
“The announcement has not been made,” you said.
“No,” Belladonna replied. “But things are often known before they are announced.”
“In Mary Geoise, things are often invented before they are known.”
Melusine’s mouth moved faintly.
Belladonna’s smile sharpened. “Is this invented?”
You set your cup down carefully.
“I suppose you will all know when there is something to know.”
Belladonna leaned back. “How modest.”
“Thank you.”
“It was not praise.”
“I am accepting it anyway.”
Coraline pressed her napkin to her mouth.
Nerissa’s eyes brightened.
Belladonna’s gaze cooled. “You must understand the surprise. Commander Figarland has refused women from extraordinary houses.”
“So I’m told.”
“Women raised properly for this world.”
You looked at her.
Not hidden well enough.
A mistake.
Useful.
“How fortunate for them,” you said.
Belladonna blinked. “Fortunate?”
“To have been spared the disappointment.”
A small silence followed.
Then Coraline made a sound into her napkin that might have been a cough if one were charitable.
You were not.
Belladonna’s cheeks colored faintly. “I only mean that many women have admired him for years.”
“That sounds tiring.”
“I imagine he grew accustomed to it. Commander Figarland has never lacked attention from suitable women,” Belladonna said.
There it was.
Suitable.
Seraphina’s head lifted.
Her expression tightened, but not with anger.
Pain, maybe.
You softened your tone by one degree. Not for Belladonna.
For her.
“Admiration becomes ugly when women start acting as though a man belongs to them because they wanted him first,” you said.
Seraphina looked at you then.
Belladonna noticed and disliked it.
Naturally.
“No one said he belonged to anyone,” Belladonna said.
“No,” Melusine said, speaking for the first time. “You resent that Commander Figarland chose a woman you consider beneath you, and that his choice now requires you to treat her as if she is not.”
Every head turned toward her.
Melusine lifted her cup.
Belladonna’s eyes narrowed. “That is not what I said.”
“No,” Melusine replied. “It was cleaner.”
You looked down at your tea.
Very carefully.
Because if you smiled, Belladonna might actually ignite.
Nerissa leaned back, visibly delighted and trying not to show too much of it.
“Lady Melusine,” she said, “how unusually direct.”
Melusine’s gaze moved to Nerissa. “I thought directness might save time. We were all circling the same insult.”
Coraline whispered, “Oh.”
Seraphina’s hand came up to her mouth.
Belladonna’s smile thinned.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I assumed Commander Figarland would have explained the practical arrangements before allowing you to sit here defending him.”
Your fingers stilled around your cup.
Belladonna’s eyes widened by a careful fraction. “Oh,” she said softly. “He has not.”
Seraphina went still.
Nerissa’s amusement vanished.
Melusine set her cup down without a sound.
Belladonna looked almost pleased with herself now.
“Then perhaps it is not my place to say whether Commander Figarland intends to dismiss his mistress once he takes a wife.”
The room went very still.
You set your cup down.
Too carefully, perhaps.
Belladonna saw it.
Her smile softened into something worse.
“You truly did not know.”
You looked at her.
“Be specific.”
Her smile thinned. “That Commander Figarland is a man, Lady Veroux. Not a saint from some provincial prayer book. Surely you did not believe you were the first woman to interest him.”
“No,” you said.
The word came out evenly.
A victory, if one had low standards.
Belladonna tilted her head. “Then perhaps you only believed you were the only one who mattered.”
You smiled.
It felt like biting down.
“I was raised in a house with a leaking roof,” you said. “I have been kidnapped, locked on a ship, and survived worse rooms than this.”
Belladonna’s smile thinned.
You continued, pleasantly, “So if you are waiting for uncertainty to make me faint, I’m afraid you may need to provide stronger tea.”
Nerissa laughed. The sound gave the room permission to breathe.
Belladonna did not laugh.
You did not look away from her.
Melusine’s gaze stayed on you a moment longer. Then she looked at Belladonna. “There. You have your answer.”
Belladonna’s mouth tightened. “That was not an answer.”
“No,” Melusine said. “It was more honest than one.”
You stared into your tea to avoid looking at her.
The rest of the tea remained messy, but survivable. When the tea ended, the women rose in waves of silk and gloves.
Melusine lingered near the window.
You joined her because apparently you had become someone who made choices now.
Alarming.
“You did not have to do that,” you said.
“I dislike inefficient cruelty.”
You looked at her.
“Belladonna is usually more skilled,” Melusine said.
“She had an off day?”
“She was emotional.”
You nearly smiled.
Melusine glanced toward the salon doors, where the others were gathering. “You should be careful.”
“I keep hearing that.”
“Most people mean behave.”
“And you?”
“I mean count who smiles before they strike.”
That was almost advice. Real advice.
“Should I count you?” you asked.
Melusine’s mouth moved faintly. Perhaps everyone in Mary Geoise had one of those.
“You already did,” she said.
Then she walked away.
You had not given Belladonna the satisfaction of seeing you bleed in public.
That did not mean she had missed.
And somewhere between floral tea and sharpened smiles, Melusine Arco had stepped beside you.
For now, enough seemed to be the only kind of victory Mary Geoise allowed.
A/N: This takes place before Chapter 21 in Blood of the Holy Land.
Saint Harlan did not dismiss Shamrock immediately after the matter of terms had been discussed.
That alone made the room colder.
Lady Marise had already gone. The steward had withdrawn. The papers remained arranged on the desk between them.
Shamrock stood near the chair he had not taken.
Saint Harlan looked down at the signed notes, then touched one corner of the top page with two fingers.
“My daughter takes after her mother.”
Shamrock said nothing.
Harlan’s mouth tightened faintly. Not grief. Not quite irritation.
Something older.
“Not in face,” he said. “Not entirely. But in temperament.”
Shamrock waited.
“She never understood the mercy of accepting one’s place,” Harlan continued. “Some women mistake obedience for defeat. Eriana did. She treated every expectation as a hand at her throat.”
The name sat strangely in the room.
Eriana.
Harlan looked toward the window, where Mary Geoise shone white and distant beneath the afternoon light.
“It is compelling, at first,” he said. “That kind of defiance. One begins to believe it is strength. Then one begins to believe it can be directed. Managed. Claimed without being extinguished.”
His eyes returned to Shamrock.
“It cannot.”
Shamrock’s expression did not change.
Harlan seemed neither surprised nor offended by the silence.
“You are not a sentimental man, Commander. That is why I will speak plainly. My daughter is not difficult because she lacks instruction. She has had instruction. She refuses the comfort of it.”
“Comfort,” Shamrock repeated.
“Yes,” Harlan said. “Rules are comfortable to those intelligent enough to use them.”
He let the words settle.
“Eriana was never comfortable here. Not as a wife, not as a mother. She smiled when required and hated everyone who mistook it for surrender.”
Something in Shamrock’s gaze sharpened. Harlan saw it.
“That is the danger,” he said.
The room was quiet.
Then Harlan looked back at the papers.
“She took my daughter because she believed this world would make her into something she despised. Something obedient. Something polished. Something useful.”
Shamrock’s eyes remained on him.
For a moment, something passed across Harlan’s face too quickly to name.
Then it was gone.
“She spared her the first lessons,” he said. “That is all.”
He said it like correction.
It carried an old resentment.
Harlan folded his hands behind his back. “I am not attempting to dissuade you. House Figarland is an advantageous match. My daughter will benefit from the protection of your name, and this house will benefit from the connection.”
“Naturally.”
Harlan’s eyes cooled at the tone.
“But be mindful,” he said. “Wanting a woman like that is not the same as keeping her. And keeping her is not the same as making her stay.”
Shamrock did not look away.
“No,” he said. “It is not.”
Harlan studied him for a long moment. Then his expression settled back into its usual controlled shape.
“Good,” he said. “Then perhaps you will make fewer mistakes than I did.”
Plot: A mountain getaway meant to save your marriage becomes the place everything finally breaks.
Read on AO3
Day One
The house looked smaller in the listing.
Not small.
Nothing with eight bedrooms, multiple fireplaces, a game room, a wet bar, and several separate living areas could reasonably be called small.
But smaller.
You stood beside the car and stared up at the dark timber and stone built into the snowy mountainside.
The house did not rise neatly in three floors. It spread across the slope in connected levels, with sections stepping down toward the trees. Tall windows caught the last light of the afternoon. Snow covered the roofs and gathered along the stone paths leading around the property.
Shanks came around the back of the vehicle with two suitcases in one hand.
“You booked a lodge.”
“I booked a house.”
“That is a commercial property.”
Your sister Amy slammed the door of the SUV parked beside yours. “It was discounted.”
Marco appeared behind her with three-year-old Robin asleep against his shoulder and a backpack hanging from one hand.
“It was still not cheap,” he said.
Amy turned on him. “We agreed never to discuss that.”
Six-year-old Ace had already escaped the vehicle and was attempting to climb the snowbank beside the driveway.
Marco caught the back of his coat without looking.
“No.”
“I wasn’t doing anything.”
“You were halfway up it.”
“I was looking.”
“You can look from the ground.”
Ace frowned.
Shanks watched them with a smile.
It was a familiar expression. The one that had made strangers trust him and bartenders pour heavier drinks for as long as you had known him.
He glanced at you.
“Still time to make a run for it.”
You looked at the road winding down the mountain. Snow had already begun filling the tire tracks behind you.
“I’ll take the car.”
His smile faltered for only a moment.
Then he lifted your suitcase slightly. “You’d have to wrestle me for the keys.”
There had been a time you would have stepped close, slipped a hand into his coat, and stolen them from his pocket while he laughed.
You walked toward the house instead.
Shanks said nothing.
Amy watched him.
She had been doing that often since you told her.
Not openly. Amy possessed many qualities, but subtlety had never survived long in her presence. Still, she tried.
She had cried when you told her.
Then she had called him several names you had not known she knew.
Then she had asked whether you wanted her to kill him.
You had said no.
She had asked whether you wanted Marco to kill him. Marco, sitting across the kitchen table at the time, had lowered his coffee and said, “I don’t think I was included in this discussion voluntarily.”
Nobody else knew.
Everyone knew something was wrong.
That was harder to hide than the reason.
The front door opened before you reached it.
Kayla stepped out wearing a cream sweater and fitted black trousers.
“You’re late.”
“You came yesterday,” you said.
“Yes. That is how seriously I take vacation.”
She hurried down the steps and hugged you.
Kayla leaned away and studied your face.
Then she smiled at Shanks over your shoulder. “You survived the drive.”
“Barely. She refused to let me control the music.”
“You played the same song.”
“It got better.”
“It did not.”
Kayla laughed.
You did too, because the exchange had been easy.
Because for one brief moment, it sounded like the two of you before.
Shanks looked at you.
The smile remained on his face, but something softened beneath it.
Hope.
You looked away first.
Another figure appeared in the doorway behind Kayla.
Mihawk wore a black sweater with the sleeves pushed to his forearms. He looked from Kayla to you, then to Shanks.
The two men clasped hands briefly, Shanks pulling Mihawk into a hug that Mihawk endured without returning.
It was the same greeting they had exchanged for years.
Mihawk had known Shanks before you had. Back when Shanks was never in one place for longer than a few weeks and Mihawk appeared whenever he pleased, offered no explanation, and left before anyone thought to ask for one.
You had been friends with Mihawk first.
Or perhaps acquaintances who gradually stopped pretending not to enjoy each other’s company.
Shanks had come later.
Louder. Persistent.
Impossible to overlook.
Mihawk looked at you over Shanks’s shoulder.
His eyes settled briefly on your face.
Shanks had told him before you could decide whether anyone should be told.
You had been furious about that too. Not because Mihawk knew, exactly.
Because Shanks had needed someone after confessing, and apparently even then he had not understood that you were the person left alone.
Mihawk stepped away from him.
“You look tired,” he said to you.
“I spent four hours listening to the same song.”
“Five,” Shanks corrected.
You ignored him.
Mihawk took your smaller bag before you could reach for it. “Your room is on the upper level.”
“Rooms,” Kayla said brightly.
There was a small pause.
Amy, approaching with two bags and Ace attached to her coat, stopped smiling.
Shanks glanced toward the house.
You looked at Kayla.
She did not know the reason you and Shanks had separate rooms.
Only that you had requested them.
The rental was spread out enough that no one needed to question it. You had said Shanks snored. He had laughed and agreed.
Mihawk turned and carried your bag inside. Amy waited until the others were out of earshot.
“He volunteered to sleep across the hall?”
“He wanted the same room.”
“Of course he did.”
The door opened again, and Lucy came out to help him. She had been Ace and Robin’s nanny since Ace was barely a year old. Lucy took the backpack from Marco.
“Robin fell asleep already?”
“She made it twenty minutes past the gas station,” Marco said.
“That’s better than last time.”
Robin stirred against his shoulder. Lucy lowered her voice. “Hey, sleepy girl.”
Robin reached for her without fully waking. Lucy took her easily, settling the girl against her shoulder while Marco stretched his neck.
Within a minute, Lucy had both children inside.
Amy looked at you again.
You pointed toward the remaining luggage. “Make yourself useful.”
“That sounds like something you should say to your husband.”
You gave her a look.
Her face fell.
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, that was—”
“It’s fine.”
You picked up a bag before she could continue.
The trouble with telling someone your marriage was falling apart was that afterward every joke became dangerous.
Amy took the heavier suitcase from you without argument.
Together, you went inside.
————————
The entrance opened into the main living space.
A stone fireplace took up most of one wall, with sofas and chairs around it. Floor to ceiling windows overlooked the wooded slope behind the house, where snow weighed down the tree branches.
The kitchen and dining area sat a few steps above the living room. Beyond that, short hallways and staircases led into different sections of the house.
It was easy enough to understand while the lights were on. You suspected it would be less forgiving after dark.
Groceries already covered most of the kitchen counters. Kayla had arrived prepared.
She came down the staircase from the upper landing as you entered, followed by Shanks.
He had removed his coat. His shirt clung slightly to his shoulders from the long drive.
You noticed.
You hated that you noticed.
For over ten years, you had known the exact shape of him. You knew which shoulder tightened after long days. Where an old scar pulled when the weather turned cold.
Knowing him had once felt safe. Now every familiar detail carried something beneath it.
Had she noticed too?
Had he let her?
Shanks’s gaze found you immediately.
“You should see the room.”
“I will.”
“There’s a balcony. It’s heated.”
Amy passed behind him carrying the suitcase.
“What a comfort.”
He looked at her.
She smiled.
Shanks had known Amy long enough to recognize danger when she used that tone.
“Good drive?” he asked.
“Wonderful. My husband remained faithful through the entire thing.”
Silence dropped across the room.
Marco entered at exactly the wrong moment.
He stopped.
Kayla looked between them. “What?”
Amy opened her mouth.
You stepped on her foot. Hard.
Her face remained perfectly composed.
“It means he didn’t change the route after I told him not to,” she said.
You looked away.
Mihawk stood near the fireplace, watching Shanks.
Shanks’s smile had not disappeared.
It had changed. Barely.
Most people would never have seen the tension at the edges of it or the way his hand briefly closed at his side.
Kayla clapped her hands once. “Rooms first, then drinks.”
She took Mihawk by the wrist.
He looked down at her hand.
She released him, but not with embarrassment. More like someone adjusting an approach that had failed before.
“I picked the room near yours,” she told him.
“No.”
Her smile held. “No?”
“You’re staying in the south section.”
“I moved.”
Mihawk took a drink from his mug. “Move back.”
Shanks coughed into his fist.
Kayla turned toward him. “Something amusing?”
“Not a thing.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I’m naturally cheerful.”
Mihawk walked toward the kitchen. Kayla followed him. “There are eight bedrooms.”
“Then you should have no difficulty finding one that is not near mine.”
“We’ve shared rooms before.”
Amy’s eyebrows rose.
Marco began unpacking a bag of the children’s snow gear with sudden concentration.
“That arrangement ended,” Mihawk said.
Kayla folded her arms.
“It could start again.”
“No.”
The word was calm.
Not teasing.
Kayla’s smile remained, but it took effort now.
“You make everything sound so final.”
“When I intend it to be.”
Mihawk opened a cabinet, found it empty, and closed it again.
Kayla and Mihawk had been involved off and on for several months. Never officially. He would leave for work, return weeks later, and somehow they would fall back into the same bed.
Then Kayla began treating his returns like reunions. She arranged dinners around his schedule and expected him to remain after breakfast instead of disappearing.
Mihawk noticed. Two months ago, he ended it. Kayla insisted she could keep things casual. He did not believe her.
This was the first time they had spent more than an evening together since.
You had tried once to tell Kayla not to use the vacation as an opportunity to change his mind.
She had said she was not planning anything. You had known her too long to believe that.
“Come on,” Shanks said softly beside you.
You had not heard him approach. His fingers touched the inside of your wrist.
Your entire body became aware of the contact.
He noticed.
His thumb moved once across your skin, the gesture automatic and familiar.
“Let me show you the room.”
You looked down at his hand.
He let go.
“Fine.”
He smiled again.
This time it looked relieved.
He picked up both your remaining bags and headed up the stairs.
Amy watched you follow.
————————
The house became more complicated away from the main living area.
A short staircase led to an upper landing, then split in two directions. One hall crossed above the living room. Another disappeared behind a stone wall toward the bedrooms overlooking the trees.
Your room sat at the quieter end of the upper level.
Shanks opened the door and stood aside.
The room was beautiful.
A wide bed faced tall windows overlooking the snow-covered woods. There was a sitting area near a smaller fireplace, and glass doors opening onto the promised heated balcony.
Shanks carried the bags inside. He set the luggage down and turned.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The easy humor from downstairs did not follow you into the room.
Shanks slipped his hands into his pockets. His wedding ring caught the light before disappearing.
“Mine’s across the landing.”
“I heard.”
“The bed is probably terrible.”
“You’ll survive.”
“Could be dangerous.”
“You’ve slept on a ship deck in a storm.”
“Exactly. My back deserves luxury now.”
You unzipped your suitcase.
Shanks remained near the door.
You folded back the top layer of clothing and began removing sweaters that did not need to be removed yet.
He watched for another few seconds.
“I thought maybe we could have a drink out there later.”
You looked toward the balcony.
“Everyone is having drinks downstairs.”
“I meant the two of us.”
Your hands stopped.
There it was.
A drink on a heated balcony with a mountain view, as though atmosphere could carry you back into the marriage you had before.
Shanks saw your expression. His shoulders lowered slightly.
“Doesn’t have to mean anything.”
“That’s the problem.”
You looked down at the sweater in your hands.
“You keep trying to make everything normal.”
“I’m trying to spend time with my wife.”
“The way you used to?”
His jaw tightened.
You folded the sweater again, though it was already folded.
“You stopped doing that a long time ago.”
“I know.”
Shanks pulled one hand from his pocket and rubbed the back of his neck.
“I was gone too much.”
“That’s not all. You came home and acted like being home was enough.”
“I know.”
“You stopped asking me to come with you. The last time I packed a bag, you changed the trip by three days and told me after you reached the airport.”
His gaze dropped briefly.
“I know.”
“You keep saying that now.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know.”
That was the truth.
You had spent weeks trying to determine what words might help.
None had.
He had confessed the morning after it happened.
He had come home early, pale beneath his usual color, and told you before removing his coat.
There had been no discovered message.
No lingering affair.
No emotional attachment.
He had not loved her.
He had been drunk, lonely, and furious after an argument with you over a trip he had extended for the third time.
The woman had been there.
He had been weak.
Those had been his words.
Not excuses.
He had refused to call them excuses.
He had looked you in the eye and told you everything you asked.
That honesty had not made it hurt less.
Shanks stepped farther into the room.
“I can’t change what happened. But I’m here.”
You laughed once. There was no humor in it.
His expression tightened.
“You were here before.”
The words landed between you.
Shanks looked toward the dark windows. Snow tapped softly against the glass.
You wished he would become angry.
It would have been easier if he defended himself badly. If he raised his voice, accused you of refusing to move forward, or asked how long he had to keep paying for one mistake.
He never did.
He absorbed everything with an expression that made you feel cruel even when you knew you were not.
“I thought being away from work might give us room.”
“You thought a vacation might put us back together.”
“I thought it could be a start.”
You looked at him.
There was the optimism that had carried Shanks through storms, failed plans, and every terrible decision he had somehow survived smiling.
He believed a start meant momentum. He believed love could be repaired by showing up and refusing to leave.
Once, you had loved that most about him. Now it frightened you.
“Normal isn’t waiting for us,” you said.
His brow furrowed.
“Back home. After the trip. It isn’t sitting there until we’re ready to return.”
“I know things are different.”
“You don’t act like it.”
“You don’t know what you need, and I don’t know what you need, but every time I try something you act like I’m pretending.”
“Because you are.”
His mouth closed.
You put the sweater into the drawer harder than necessary.
“You touch me like you always did. You joke with me. You ask me to have drinks on balconies. You look at me like eventually I’ll laugh at the right joke and everything will unlock.”
“That isn’t what I think.”
You looked at him.
Shanks took a breath. His voice was quieter when he continued.
“I know I hurt you,” he said.“I know saying it once doesn’t cover it. I know being sorry doesn’t fix anything.”
“But?”
“But I don’t know how to be around you without being myself.”
Something inside you pulled painfully.
Shanks looked tired.
“I don’t know how to stop reaching for you,” he said.
“You managed with her.”
He flinched.
You hated yourself for the satisfaction that came with it. Then you hated him for making you someone who wanted to hurt him.
A knock sounded against the open door.
Mihawk stood in the hallway. His gaze moved from Shanks to you.
“Dinner is ready.”
Nobody downstairs had started cooking.
The lie sat plainly between the three of you.
You closed the drawer.
“I’m coming.”
You walked past Shanks.
Mihawk stepped aside to let you into the hall.
He waited until you were several paces away before following.
Shanks remained in your room.
————————
Dinner was not ready.
Amy was slicing vegetables while Marco worked at the stove. Lucy sat at the far end of the island helping Ace color a picture of what appeared to be a blue bear attacking a red house.
Kayla had opened the wine.
“You said dinner was ready,” you murmured to Mihawk.
“I was mistaken.”
“You don’t make mistakes.”
“I occasionally create them for practical reasons.”
You glanced at him.
He took the knife from Amy before she could cut an onion into six entirely different sizes.
She surrendered it without protest.
“Where is Shanks?” she asked.
“Upstairs.”
Her eyes sharpened.
Mihawk began correcting the onion.
You reached for a bottle of wine.
Amy put a glass in front of you before you could ask.
Marco looked over from the stove. He knew enough to recognize a marital argument without knowing its cause.
“Can you taste this?” he asked you.
You moved beside him.
The sauce simmering in the pan smelled of garlic and tomatoes.
You tried it.
“Needs salt.”
A few minutes later, Shanks came downstairs.
He entered the kitchen smiling.
Amy turned toward the cutting board before he could see her expression.
Marco handed him a beer.
“Need help?”
“No,” Marco said. “Which is why I’m giving you that.”
“Finally, someone appreciates my skills.”
He took the stool beside you.
That was how most of the evening went.
Shanks beside you but not touching.
Mihawk and Kayla across the table, her knee occasionally brushing his beneath it.
Amy talking too much whenever silence threatened.
Marco asking the children questions that had no coherent answers and treating each response seriously.
Lucy took the kids upstairs after Robin fell asleep against her shoulder.
Wine became whiskey after dinner.
The adults shifted toward the living room.
Kayla had attempted to save the place beside her for Mihawk by filling every other chair with cushions.
“You’ll change your mind,” she said.
“No.”
“You have before.”
Mihawk’s eyes rested on her.
The room became quiet enough for everyone to notice.
Kayla’s smile tightened.
Amy looked down into her wine.
Marco had taken the seat beside her. His arm settled across the back of the sofa.
Kayla leaned against the cushions.
“We’re on vacation. People relax on vacation.”
“I am relaxed.”
“You have a strange way of showing it.”
Mihawk lifted his glass.
“You are free to sit elsewhere.”
She rolled her eyes as though the exchange had not landed. But she stopped trying to make him move.
Marco suggested cards. For nearly an hour, everything almost felt normal.
You laughed twice.
The first time, Shanks glanced back at you. The second time, his shoulder relaxed.
That was the problem. He read every scrap of happiness as evidence.
You could see him collecting them.
A laugh.
Your knee brushing his arm when you shifted.
The fact that you refilled his glass when you poured your own.
To Shanks, these were small paths home.
To you, they were habits that had survived the destruction.
By midnight, Marco and Amy went upstairs.
Kayla stood and stretched. Mihawk’s eyes followed her before returning to his cards.
She noticed.
“Are you going up?” she asked him.
“Eventually.”
“My room is in the south section.”
“I remember.”
“You could help me find it.”
“You selected it.”
She smiled down at him. “Good night, Mihawk.”
“Good night.”
She bent and kissed his cheek. Mihawk did not turn toward her.
Kayla went upstairs.
Shanks gathered the cards.
“You know she expects you to follow.”
“I am aware.”
“And you want to.”
Mihawk stacked the deck. “That is not the problem.”
Shanks looked toward the stairs. “She says she can keep it casual.”
“She cannot.”
“You’re deciding that for her?”
“I watched her begin arranging her life around mine.”
Shanks leaned back slightly.
“So you ended it before it got worse.”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t make it easier.”
“No.”
Mihawk’s gaze shifted to him.
“But difficulty does not make a bad decision less damaging.”
Shanks’s smile faded.
You stood.
“I’m going to bed.”
Shanks turned immediately. “I’ll walk up with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
You looked at Mihawk. His expression remained unreadable. He had not mentioned the affair. He did not need to.
Shanks rose and followed you toward the stairs. Neither of you spoke as you crossed the upper landing.
At your door, you stopped.
“Good night.”
He remained where he was. You could feel him wanting to say something.
Ask you again about the balcony.
Tell you he loved you.
Promise tomorrow would be better.
He said none of it.
You stepped into your room.
“Shanks.”
Hope appeared so quickly that it hurt to see.
You nearly lost the nerve.
“Don’t read too much into tonight.”
His expression stilled.
“The laughing,” you said. “Dinner. Any of it.”
Shanks looked across the landing. Then back at you.
“All right.”
You closed the door.
For several seconds, you stood with your hand resting on the lock.
You did not turn it.
Across the landing, another door opened and closed. You listened to Shanks’s footsteps disappear into his room.
A/N: I hope this story makes you feel as many emotions as it did me.
Plot: A mountain getaway meant to save your marriage becomes the place everything finally breaks.
Read on AO3
Themes: Romance, modern AU, multiple pairings, heartbreak, angst. ANGST.
Warnings: Infidelity, violence, smut, marital conflict, adult language and topics.
Day One
Day Two
Day Three
Day Four: Part One
Day Four: Part Two
Day Five
Day Six
Characters
Shanks — Your husband of ten years. Captain of an international maritime crew.
Mihawk — A longtime friend of both you and Shanks. Works as a Special Marshal with the Special Operations Group (SOG).
Kayla — Your close friend from college, with a complicated history with Mihawk. She is the Director of Clinical Operations at Newgate University Hospital.
Amy — Your protective sister and a nurse practitioner at Newgate University Hospital. Mother of Ace, six, and Robin, three.
Marco — Amy’s husband and a renowned surgeon at Newgate University Hospital. Father of Ace and Robin.
Lucy — Ace and Robin’s nanny. She has worked for Marco and Amy for five years.
Plot: A tavern waitress with roots in nobility is taken into the polished brutality of Mary Geoise. Saint Shamrock Figarland is tasked with retrieving you. How unfortunate for him.
Read on AO3
Chapter 20: Accept the Terms
“Commander Figarland called this morning,” Saint Harlan said.
The words did not surprise you.
“I see,” you said.
Your father turned from the window. His expression was controlled, but not empty. There was something behind it.
Satisfaction.
A man watching a door open and already imagining what he might carry through it.
“He requested permission to marry you.”
“You accepted,” you said.
“Naturally.”
“I appreciate the suspense.”
Your father’s eyes cooled.
Good.
At least one of you was reacting properly.
“This is not a moment for flippancy.”
“No,” you said. “It seems to be a moment for decisions made without me present.”
Your father crossed back to his desk and set the letter down. “This is an extraordinary honor.”
“For whom?”
His eyes lifted.
You smiled faintly.
Wrong choice.
Probably.
But the question had escaped before wisdom caught it.
“For this house,” he said.
There it was. Honesty, almost.
“You will not behave as though this engagement is another burden placed before you for amusement.” He continued. “The formal announcement will follow once terms are finalized.”
“Of course. I would hate to rush the romantic paperwork.”
“Enough.”
The word was quiet.
You stopped. Not because you had nothing else to say.
Because there were times when wasting a good remark on your father felt like throwing bread into the sea.
He sat behind his desk. “You will begin spending time at the Figarland estate this week,” he said.
Your fingers tightened once.
There it was. The next door.
“What kind of time?”
“Instruction.”
“I’ve had instruction.”
“Not in their house.”
That landed with more weight than you wanted it to.
“You will be expected there three afternoons each week,” he said. “Perhaps more, once the household determines what is required.”
“The household determines.”
“Yes.”
“Does the household have a face, or is it more of a collective threat?”
His expression did not shift.
That was answer enough.
Garling, then.
And whoever served beneath him.
Wonderful.
Your father leaned back. “You are entering one of the oldest and most powerful houses in the Holy Land. Their expectations will be severe.”
“I had gathered.”
“Your first visit to the Figarland estate will be tomorrow,” he said. “You will conduct yourself appropriately.”
“Do they know I’m difficult to transport?”
“Commander Figarland seems aware.”
“Unfortunately.”
For the first time that morning, something almost like irritation cracked through your father’s composure. He dismissed you with a nod. You left before he could find another way to turn the room cold.
Lila was waiting in the corridor. You closed the study door behind you. She searched your face. “Well?” she asked softly.
You exhaled. “Apparently I’m engaged.”
Lila went still. “Apparently?”
“I was not present for the exciting part.”
For once, she seemed to need a moment. That made two of you.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
You began walking because standing still made the answer feel closer. Lila fell into step beside you.
“My father says I’ll begin spending three afternoons a week at the Figarland estate.”
Her brows drew together. “For instruction?”
“For whatever terrifying people call instruction when they have better carpets.”
“Lady Veroux.”
“I know.”
You did.
That was the worst part.
You knew what this meant.
More than visits.
More than lessons.
It meant the slow transfer had begun.
Veroux to Figarland.
Father to fiancé.
One house’s ambition to another house’s expectations.
And somewhere in the middle of it, Shamrock Figarland, who had warned you first, kissed you twice, and somehow made the thought of becoming his feel less like surrender than it should.
Lila’s voice softened. “Do you want to marry him?”
You looked ahead.
“I want coffee.”
“That was not an answer.”
“No.”
She waited.
You sighed.
“Strong coffee.”
“Also not an answer.”
“You’re becoming difficult.”
“I learned from you.”
Then you looked toward the far end of the corridor, where sunlight fell across the marble floor.
“Lila,” you said.
“Yes?”
“When I go to the Figarland estate…”
You kept your voice even. “You’re coming with me.”
She did not answer immediately. When she did, it was quiet. “If they allow it.”
You looked at her.
“No,” you said. “If I do.”
For a moment, she only stared at you. Then something softened in her face.
—————————
The next afternoon, you returned to the Figarland estate alone.
Inside, the entrance hall was as cold and polished as you remembered. Black stone floor. White veining. High ceilings. No unnecessary softness.
At least the house remained committed to its personality.
“I wondered how long it would take,” a voice said.
Your shoulders tightened.
Saint Shepherd Sommers stepped out from a side corridor, expression arranged into something too lazy to be called a smile and too sharp to be harmless.
Fantastic.
You had been inside the Figarland estate for less than a minute and had already found something worse than the furniture.
Sommers looked amused. “Commander Figarland let the others circle longer than I expected. Usually, when he wants something, he removes the obstacles sooner.”
The words were light.
The meaning was not.
You hated that they landed somewhere already sore.
“How comforting,” you said. “I was afraid this house might be subtle.”
His smile deepened by a fraction.
That was not an improvement.
“No need for subtlety now,” Sommers said. “You’re in the house. Getting out is the harder part.”
Your spine tightened.
Sommers noticed.
A voice spoke from the end of the corridor.
“Stop being a nuisance.”
Sommers’ eyes shifted.
Gunko stood there, blue hair beneath her black cap. Her eyes moved from Sommers to you.
Sommers smiled. “I was just being friendly.”
“Your idea of friendly is usually reported after the fact,” Gunko said.
You almost liked her.
That seemed unsafe.
Gunko turned to you. “This way.”
You followed because the tone did not suggest discussion, and because standing alone with Sommers seemed like the kind of mistake tavern girls either avoided or learned from once.
As you passed, Sommers said, “Mind your step, Lady Veroux. This house is rough on women who don’t know when to lower their eyes.”
The words slid neatly between your ribs.
Gunko did not slow. “Do not encourage him.”
“I was discouraging him.”
“No,” Gunko said. “You were engaging.”
You considered that.
Unfortunate.
The east sitting room waited at the end of the hall. Gunko stopped beside the door and opened it without ceremony.
Inside, Shamrock stood near the window. His gaze moved from Gunko to you.
Gunko said, “Sommers delayed her.”
Shamrock looked back at Gunko.
“Briefly,” she added. Then she stepped aside.
You entered before anyone could make the delay sound like your fault.
The door closed behind you.
For one second, the room was quiet. Shamrock’s gaze moved over you once.
“Did he touch you?”
The question was quiet.
Immediate.
Something in your chest tightened.
“No.”
“Good.”
Not comforting in any ordinary way.
Still, some part of you that had been braced since the hallway loosened by a fraction.
You hated that too.
“Lovely friend you have.”
“Sommers is not my friend.”
“Comforting distinction.”
“He is useful.”
“That is worse.”
“Yes.”
Then you said, “I want Lila with me.”
You stepped closer. “She is the only person in that house who has ever looked at me like I was a person first and a problem second.”
The words came out sharper than you meant.
Too honest.
Shamrock’s expression changed.
“I want her with me,” you said.
“That will be discussed today.”
“With Garling.”
“Yes.”
“And you.”
“Yes.”
You narrowed your eyes. “That sounds like a no wearing decent clothes.”
“It is not.”
“Then what is it?”
“It means there will be conditions.”
“Of course there will be. This house has conditions on the shrubbery.”
His gaze stayed steady.
“If I seduce you, will that help my case?”
Shamrock went still.
Excellent.
Finally.
You lifted your brows, because if you stopped moving now, you might remember your own nerves.
“I’m only trying to understand Figarland procedure.”
His gaze sharpened.
“Are you?”
“Yes. Is seduction filed before or after formal petitions?”
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he stepped closer.
This time, he did not pretend otherwise.
The space between you narrowed until the air felt occupied.
“Before,” he said.
Your heart did something foolish.
“Good to know.”
“It would not help your case.”
“No?”
“No.”
His eyes moved over your face, slow enough to be deliberate.
“It would make me less patient with the delay.”
Your mouth went dry.
The sensible thing would have been to step back. You were becoming less sensible around him.
“You seem like a man who values patience.”
“I do.”
“And yet?”
His hand lifted, not touching yet, only close enough that your skin remembered exactly what his fingers felt like.
“And yet,” he said, “you keep testing it.”
His fingers slid beneath your jaw, tipping your face up to his, and his mouth touched yours.
Then he eased back before you were ready.
You caught his coat and pulled.
That was all it took.
His hand closed at your waist, the kiss deepening just as a knock came at the door.
You broke away.
Shamrock did not move immediately.
Then the knock came again.
Shamrock looked toward the door. “Enter.”
The steward appeared. His face revealed nothing.
Impressive.
“Saint Figarland is ready.”
“Good,” Shamrock said.
Shamrock looked at you.
“Lila stays,” he said quietly.
Your eyes lifted to his.
Garling sat behind no desk. He stood near a long table where several papers had been placed in neat stacks.
He looked at you when you entered. Then at Shamrock.
“Lady Veroux.”
“Saint Figarland.”
You sat only when instructed.
Shamrock remained standing beside your chair.
Garling placed one hand on the papers. “Before formal announcement, certain terms must be understood.”
You folded your hands in your lap. “I’m listening.”
Garling’s gaze stayed on yours for one second longer.
Then he began.
“You are entering House Figarland. You will be expected to understand that your loyalty changes with marriage.”
Your stomach tightened. Not because the idea surprised you.
Because Harlan would hate it.
Interesting.
“My father will not like that,” you said.
“No.”
That answer came from Shamrock.
You looked up at him. His expression was unreadable.
Garling continued. “Saint Harlan does not gain access to this house through you.”
There it was. A door closing.
Not on you. On him.
That should not have pleased you.
It did.
You looked back at Garling. “Does he know that?”
“He will,” Garling said.
You almost smiled.
You did not.
Progress.
Garling moved to the next paper. “You will learn the protocols of this household. Visitors. Correspondence. Servants. Private rooms. Public silence. The difference between a request made to you and a request made through you.”
“That is quite a list.”
“It is incomplete.”
“Naturally.”
Shamrock’s gaze shifted toward you.
You ignored him.
Garling did too.
“You will attend instruction here three afternoons each week,” Garling said. “More if required.”
He continued. “You will not publicly undercut Shamrock’s authority.”
Your spine stiffened.
Shamrock did not move.
Garling noticed both.
“In private,” Garling said, “your arguments are your concern.”
You blinked.
That was not what you expected.
“In public, you stand with him.”
The words settled over the room.
Not soft.
Not romantic.
Not entirely unreasonable.
Annoying.
You looked toward Shamrock.
His eyes were already on you.
You looked back at Garling. “And if he is wrong in public?”
“Then you tell him privately.”
“That sounds convenient for him.”
“It is necessary for the house.”
“And for me?”
Garling’s gaze did not soften. “If you weaken him publicly, you weaken yourself beside him.”
You hated that it made sense.
Shamrock said nothing.
Garling moved on. “You will not allow your attachment to appear as weakness.”
Your face warmed.
Horrifying.
Shamrock’s expression remained controlled.
Suspiciously controlled.
Garling saw that too.
“Mary Geoise will tolerate many things,” he said. “A Figarland ruled by affection is not one of them.”
You looked down at your hands.
Then back up.
“That sounds like advice for him.”
“It is for both of you.”
Garling moved to another paper. “There will be expectations regarding heirs.”
The words were not loud.
They did not need to be.
Your body went cold.
Of course that would be here, written cleanly somewhere in the neat stack of papers as if it had anything to do with ink.
Shamrock spoke before you could.
“That discussion does not happen today.”
Garling looked at him then.
So did you.
Shamrock’s face was controlled.
His voice was not soft.
“It is not necessary today,” he said.
Garling held his gaze.
For a moment, the room sharpened around them. Then Garling looked back at the papers.
“Later, then.”
Your breathing returned. You wished that was the only thing his interruption had done to you.
Garling continued as if nothing had happened. “Access to household information will be earned.”
You stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
Garling’s eyes returned to yours. “You will ask questions in private. You will not repeat answers in public. You will not carry half-understood information back to your father.”
“I have no interest in helping my father.”
“Interest is not the only way people are used.”
Garling let the silence sit long enough to become uncomfortable. Then he moved to the final paper.
“Your attendant.”
You kept your attention on Garling.
“Lila stays,” you said.
Garling’s brow lifted slightly.
Not surprise. Not quite.
“You are making a demand.”
“Yes.”
“Bold.”
“I thought we had established that obedience was unlikely.”
Shamrock did not move. Garling looked at you for a long moment.
“She came from your father’s house.”
“She came with me.”
“She will be vetted.”
“Yes.”
“She will answer to Figarland household authority.”
“No.”
The word left before fear could interfere.
Garling’s gaze sharpened.
Shamrock looked at you.
“She answers to me,” you said.
The room went very quiet.
“She can be vetted. She can learn the house rules. She can be watched until every suspicious person here feels properly entertained. But she answers to me.”
Garling said nothing. You continued before wisdom could return.
“You said loyalty changes with marriage. Then let it change. She is not Harlan’s. She is not Lady Marise’s. She is mine.”
Shamrock’s eyes moved over your face.
Garling saw that too.
Finally, Garling said, “You choose interesting moments to understand possession.”
Your face heated.
“That is not what I meant.”
“No,” Garling said. “It is what you said.”
Terrible man.
The family resemblance was becoming offensive.
You lifted your chin. “Then I will say it better. She is under my protection.”
Garling studied you.
Then looked at Shamrock.
Shamrock’s voice was even. “Lila remains with her.”
Several seconds passed.
Then he said, “Conditionally.”
Your shoulders nearly dropped with relief.
“What conditions?”
“She is vetted. She receives instruction. If she carries information to Harlan, she is removed.”
“She won’t.”
Garling’s gaze stayed on you.
Then, very faintly, his mouth moved.
Alarming.
“Then you will be responsible for her.”
“Yes.”
The answer came easily.
Garling folded the paper. “Very well.” He looked at Shamrock. “The formal announcement may proceed once Harlan has signed the terms.”
Your head turned. “He has to sign?”
“Yes.”
You looked back at Garling. “All of them?”
“Yes.”
Including the part where Harlan did not gain access through you.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
You pressed your lips together to keep from smiling.
Garling noticed anyway.
Naturally.
The meeting ended shortly after.
You rose when Garling did. Your legs felt steadier than expected.
Garling’s gaze moved over you one final time. “You did not waste anger today.”
The words were not praise.
Not exactly.
But they were not insult either.
With Garling, perhaps that was all anyone got.
You inclined your head. “I was saving it.”
“For?”
You looked at Shamrock. His eyes were already on you.
“For later.”
Garling’s gaze shifted between you. For one terrible moment, you thought he might comment.
He did not.
Shamrock walked you back toward the entrance hall. “You did well,” he said.
You looked up at him. “I sat in a room and argued over ownership of my attendant.”
“Yes.”
“That is not usually considered doing well.”
“It is here.”
“How encouraging.”
The front doors opened.
You smiled politely because there were servants present and because you had apparently survived enough of the Figarland estate to understand timing.
“Goodbye, Commander.”
“Lady Veroux.”
You stepped outside before he could say anything worse.
Behind you, the Figarland doors closed with a sound too much like certainty.
When you met Shanks you couldn’t have guessed how he was going to change your life.
Seven days wasn’t long, but it was long enough.
18+; lots of words; before Shanks was an Emperor
When you found yourself in the arms of a stranger you also found yourself flustered, so much so that the heat that rose to your cheeks was burning. You were sure they were an impossible shade of crimson for someone’s face, and you were sure you looked like a floundering fish with the way you were trying to say something. Words weren’t coming easily, not when you were being stared at so intensely by the mystery man who had saved you before you fell. He had a good grip, one hand holding yours while an arm was tight around your waist, catching you in a dip that left you hanging in midair.
“I-I’m so sorry,” you stuttered, frozen.
The smirk that settled on the handsome, scruffy face was deadly, a quirk to the corner of his lips that grew the more you stumbled your way through conversation. Well, if you could call it that, because all it was, was him listening to you ramble with an entertained expression. It was as his amusement grew that you shut yourself up, bit down on your lip to stop the nonsensical words from spilling out, and suddenly you were even more sheepish than before.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, pulling you up easily and setting you on your feet properly, letting you go when he saw that you were planted firmly on the ground. “Wouldn’t want such a pretty girl to hurt herself.”
Oh.
The redness in your cheeks exploded further, everything embarrassingly hot. Suddenly you couldn’t look at him, suddenly you wanted to run far away which wasn’t like you, yet you remained right where you were. You were frozen, but your composure was slowly coming back and you cleared your throat.
“Thank you actually,” you said, though in your bashfulness it still sounded a little weak, but you found the power to look up. “I didn’t mean to fall on you.”
“Well, like I said, don’t worry about it,” the man reassured you again. “You’re okay, though?”
You nodded wordlessly, and then you glanced to your left at Makino, the poor woman behind the bar bombarded by customers.
When you came in on Wednesday afternoon you had figured, except for the regulars, that you were going to have a pretty quiet day. How many people would come midweek? Not a lot, you had decided, but you were proven incredibly wrong. It was the ship you had saw on the way first, the flag with a Jolly Roger printed on it flapping in the wind, and then you had slowed down to absorb the magnificence of it. It was huge, like really big, and the details of it were intricate and beautiful, but it was still a pirate ship and that made you nervous. Where were they? What were they doing? You only hoped it was nothing because Windmill Village wasn’t meant for pirates and bandits. You had enough problems with the criminals in the mountains, you didn’t need criminals from the sea on Dawn Island, too.
When you had stepped through the door of Party’s Bar you had found yourself stopping right then and there, and you had stared for quite some time to try and figure out what had been happening before you got there. Loud laughter, a rambunctious crowd that seemed incredibly entertained, and you had to briefly wonder where they came from until two and two were put together. You had been staring at the crew of the ship you had just passed, and suddenly your heart had started racing with a growing anxiety. That was when you had booked it, when you had tried to go as fast as possible to make sure Makino was okay, and that was when you had tripped.
Then you had been caught, but now you were safe and standing in front of your knight, the red-haired man who had saved you.
“I’m Shanks,” he introduced, and you realized you had been simply standing there in silence, but then you felt a little relief.
Makino had told you about the Red-Hair Pirates before, about the amusing crew and the even more amusing captain by the name you were just given. They were nice but rowdy, a crew that was usually out for a good time, and they often found themselves visiting Dawn Island where they always ended up at the bar. Makino considered them friends, and you figured that if the sweet woman was fine with them then you could be, too. Your guard was still up but it was slipping a bit, and soon you were smiling.
“I’m Y/N, and it’s nice to finally meet you,” you replied, laughing a little when a look of confusion crossed Shanks’ face, so you offered him an explanation. “Makino talked about you guys before. It’s nice to put a face to the goofy man.”
Shanks looked a little offended, but you could see that he really wasn’t. Still, even though it was small, he turned his head and leaned back to look around a large man swinging a stick of meat around animatedly.
“Makino! What have you been saying about me?!” he shouted, and through the noise you saw her hear it and look over with a smile.
“Nothing!” she nearly sang, and you laughed again when Shanks grumbled.
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad,” you told him, and he looked at you once more.
“Promise? I can’t have my reputation ruined in front of -”
“Are you bothering this lady?” came a voice from the side, and you watched as a man approached and swung an arm around Shanks’ shoulders. You recognized him as the guy earlier, the one with the meat that was now dangling in his hand, and he turned to look at you next with a wide grin.
“It’s rude to interrupt, Roux,” Shanks muttered, scowling a bit, but he heard you laugh and the frown disappeared from Shanks’ face immediately. It was replaced by a smile, a bit of a silly one when he realized he liked the sound.
That was the day you met Shanks.
Day One.
Day Two:
“I have a visitor.”
From his spot leaning against the wall outside the doors of Party’s Bar, a particular crimson-haired pirate looked up when he heard you approaching. There was some confusion on your face but it was your smile that was made more obvious, a genuinely contagious one that made Shanks smile as well.
“You have a visitor,” Shanks repeated, looking down at you when you stopped in front of him. “Company, too. I was told you were working.”
“I am, but I’m curious.”
“About?”
“Why?” you inquired, and you watched as the grin on Shanks’ face stretched.
“I can’t have the pretty girl be lonely either,” he said, and he had the pleasure of watching you blush once more. It was cute, your cheeks rosy and your gaze flicking down before you peered up at him again, but instead of embarrassment like it was last night it was a blush from flattery. Shanks stared for a moment, finding himself a little captivated for a few seconds, and then he shrugged. “You’re stuck with me now.”
You couldn’t help but think that wasn’t a bad thing.
“I appreciate that but you don’t have to, I’m sure there are a million more interesting things to do instead of staying with me,” you told Shanks, but after a number of seconds he shook his head.
“Not to me there isn’t,” he responded, and then he turned to hold open one of the swinging doors for you. You thanked him and he watched you as you walked past, following you shortly after and continuing to do so until the two of you reached the bar. You went behind it and he sat on a stool, leaning on folded arms as you bustled around.
Shanks hadn’t said anything yet, instead he sat in silence and you had to wonder about his intentions that day. Well, actually, you had to wonder about the whole thing. Why you? What made you interesting? Hours, that was what was spent the night before with Shanks asking so many questions that it made your head spin. Not in a bad way, rather it was in a way that made you bashful. You were an honest person, a kind person, so the questions were answered as truthfully as they could be, and as you headed home that night (with Shanks accompanying you because he “couldn’t have you walk alone around here” which was funny considering you had been doing it for months) you realized how much information you had divulged.
You didn’t mind, it was nothing invasive, but it did make you realize that Shanks was an easy person to get along with. You realized quickly what Makino meant when she said he was charismatic, but you hadn’t expected for him to be so incredibly charming on top of that. It was a dangerous combo, one that lured you in, and you didn’t even notice until you had a moment of rest. Suddenly you were shy, you found yourself nervous, but Shanks’ brilliant smile eased your anxiety.
One night - that was all it took.
Now you were here, Shanks in your presence but this time enjoying the silence with you. This is what you had meant when you said there were other things to do, mostly because you were rather flustered and unable to break through the slight awkwardness surrounding you. You weren’t sure if Shanks felt the same, but what you did know was that he was staring holes into your back, and soon you turned to see that you had been right. Shanks didn’t seem to mind the fact that he had been caught, simply glancing up at you and then smirking, and you cleared your throat a bit.
“So how did you end up at Dawn Island? I didn’t even think we had a name on the map,” you asked, the work you had been doing resulting in a cup of ale that was set down in front of Shanks.
“You don’t,” he laughed, thanking you and pulling the mug closer to him. “We were passing through the other islands and saw this place. We needed supplies so we stopped by, and the people around here were nice so we stayed for a few days, then we were still nearby when we finished our trip and stopped in again. It’s nothing exciting, sorry.”
“Just the fact that you’re here is exciting, you don’t need to apologize,” you pointed out, looking over your shoulder after you had turned again to grab a broom. You started behind the counter, swishing over the floor and making your way towards the center of the room. You were stopped, however, by a hand also grabbing the stick of the broom and giving it a little tug.
“Stop cleaning, would you?” Shanks chuckled, knowing full well it was your nerves making you do so. It could go very right or very wrong, but Shanks didn’t back down from a challenge and he stood. He took the broom from you and let it rest against the counter, and then he reached out and took one of your hands. “If you want to move around so much we’ll do it like this.”
This was a little familiar, the hand on your waist and the other still gripping yours. The circumstance was much better however, a light sway instead of you clumsily tripping as you had yesterday, and you much safer though still in his arms this time. It had happened in slow motion, the way you had fallen into him, and time moved even slower when you looked up at him with wide, sparkling eyes that bored into his own. There was a moment in between then and your fluster, and it was filled with such an overwhelming feeling that it almost knocked Shanks on his ass. Head over heels? It existed. Now, having experienced it firsthand, Shanks had a need to know more so that he could soak it all up and bask in you.
You didn’t know why but you instantly followed Shanks’ lead, and it was long before you realized what was happening. Your mind caught up, though, eventually clueing into the fact that you were going around in slow circles, and your soft blush turned fiercely hot. Shanks was close, so close, and only getting closer as he continued to guide you into whatever made up rhythm there was.
Dancing? Really? The thudding in your chest was violent.
“Did you grow up here?” Shanks asked, knocking you out of your daze, and you mustered the courage to look up at him before you nodded.
“I grew up closer to the mountain, though, so I wasn’t here too often, but when I got old enough I decided I wanted to come down. There’s just more people and more things to do here. I didn’t live too close to anyone so it got pretty boring, pretty fast,” you explained, and you paused for a moment to tighten your grasp on Shanks’ hand. It was as your feet started catching on that you gained a little confidence, and you lifted your free hand to place it on Shanks’ shoulder while matching his pace. It wasn’t very fast, just barely there sways in circles that were slow unlike your racing heart.
“What about you? Where did you grow up?”
“On a ship,” Shanks answered nonchalantly. “Roger’s ship actually, I was a part of his crew.”
What?
“You say that like it’s not a big deal,” you pointed out, awe written on your face.
Now you didn’t know much about the pirate world, but you lived near a little guy who dreamed of becoming the Pirate King. How could you not know at least a little bit about the fame and fortune of Gol D. Roger? You were very aware of the fact that he was a great pirate among pirates, and here you were feeling almost as if you were close to him.
“It’s not,” Shanks said.
“Okay, you don’t count.”
“I don’t count in my own life?” he laughed, and he laughed even more when you shook your head.
“Nope!” you chirped. “You were used to it, you know? You said you grew up on his ship, so obviously it’s the norm for you. Imagine being me, a village girl with barely a clue about anything to do with piracy, just casually hearing that she knows someone from the crew of the only pirate she knows.”
“First of all I’m a pirate, too, and secondly I’m a little offended that I don’t come to mind first now that you know me,” Shanks told you, feigning hurt which made you giggle.
“I just met you yesterday, remember? I haven’t even had a chance to find out who you really are.”
“But you want to?”
You had to stop yourself from answering because it came so easily, the fact that you very much wanted to. Shanks made you curious in a way that you had never been before, made you want to know him even though it had been mere hours since you had met him. It was crazy, the fact that you had been hit so intensely by a wave of breathtaking charm, yet it felt right. That was insane, wasn’t it?
“Yes,” you admitted quietly, and once more you had to avoid Shanks’ gaze that you felt studying you.
“Hm,” Shanks hummed shortly, and again his gaze flicked over your face as he studied you up close. He carefully moved his hand, slowly as if to not startle you, and it swept around until it was resting on your back and pulling you a bit closer. You continued to sway, continued to dance in circles to imaginary music, and then Shanks smiled. “You better start asking before you get busy, then.”
Day Three:
The air was fresh when Shanks reached the deck of the Red Force, crisp and breathing new life into the lungs that had only known a stuffy cabin for hours as he slept. It was almost as nice as the way the sun felt, which was warm and pleasant, but it was damn bright. The pirate captain had to pause for a second, hand on the railing while the other came up to rub his temples as a striking pain settled in.
“Glad to see you alive and well.”
The comment was as loud as it was taunting, and Shanks took a minute before he lifted his head and looked across the deck at where his first mate was settled at a table with a cup of coffee next to him. He looked amused, leg crossed over the other with newspaper in hand, and Shanks could feel him watching as he passed by and sagged into a seat.
“Funny,” was all Shanks responded with, and he reached up to take the straw hat off his head and set it down on the table before running his hands up his face and through his hair before slumping against the chair. “Everyone else still asleep?”
“Yeah, and I figured you would be, too,” Beck said, drawing his mug close to his mouth.
“Your faith in me is astounding.”
Beck couldn’t help but chuckle, and he was taking a drink as he watched Shanks compose himself a little more and sit straighter in his seat. He remained quiet then, just observed what was before him, but soon it became clear that he was going to have to be the one to move things forward. It was why once he set his cup down he leaned back and folded his arms. It was a pose that screamed expectancy, and it seemed as though his captain caught on.
“What?” Shanks asked, watching Beck
carefully.
“Nothing,” Beck replied. “I thought maybe you were up because you promised to go on a picnic with Y/N today.”
Huh?
“I really should cut you off.”
The pout that worked its way onto Shanks’ face was deep and crooked, one completely unsatisfied with the turn of events, and it settled within seconds. He stared at you for a moment, turned his gaze back to his drink, and then his eyes drifted to you once again to lock on.
“Well that’s no fun,” Shanks said, leaning heavily on folded arms on the counter of the bar. “I keep you company all day and this is the treatment I get?”
You laughed, and when you did it broke the facade Shanks was putting on and made him smile. It was a dopey smile, one he was sure made him look stupid, but he couldn’t help it. There was just something about you that made him melt, and as long as he kept your attention he didn’t care how foolish he looked. Drinks, no drinks, he just needed an excuse to stick around.
“You’re drunk,” you pointed out, reaching for the mug in front of Shanks but finding it scooting out of the way when he got there first.
“And you’re pretty,” Shanks replied, loving the way your eyes widened a bit before they had to glance off to the side when meeting his became too much. He put himself into your line of sight however, and he finally caught your gaze. “Cut me off, but don’t make me leave.”
You seemed flattered but there was some disappointment in the look on your face, and had he been a little more sober Shanks would’ve simply asked what was wrong, but his liquor-driven confidence had his hand coming up to touch your cheek softly. His fingertips grazed the smooth, warm skin, lingered, but they crept over until a piece of your hair was in between his fingers. He caressed it gently, watched as the silky strands slipped from his hold, and only then did he ask you softly.
“I have to go home, too,” you answered, though it was laced with regret.
Shanks clued in then, to the fact that despite the lack of business you were still technically working. You started a shift and you had to end one as well, and when he took a peek out the window and realized it was dark he came to the conclusion that now would be that closing time. The intelligent part of him accepted that, but the drunken part of him heaved a great sigh and grumbled as he sat up straight in the stool after dropping his hand.
“I’m sorry,” you offered genuinely, finally able to reach that mug.
“Tomorrow, then,” Shanks fired back. “We should do something tomorrow.”
“Are you asking me on a date?” you inquired, looking over your shoulder as you poured the leftover ale down the sink.
“No, I’m trying to get you to ask me on a date.”
You laughed and made quick work of cleaning the glass you had taken, washing it thoroughly before setting it aside to dry and then you turned around again.
“Will you go on a picnic with me tomorrow?” you asked playfully, and the grin on Shanks’ face grew.
“Are you asking me on a date?” Shanks teased, using your words against you and making you blush a bit. It was cute, the color of your face, and Shanks had to resist the urge to brush your cheek again when a bashful smile crossed your face.
“I guess so,” you responded, and you actually found yourself anxiously awaiting the answer. The worst part was you knew it’d be fine, you knew in the end you were going to end up with your picnic, but as Shanks hummed and hawed you became nervous.
“I think I have the time to squeeze you in,” he finally said, though it was a joke that made you giggle.
“Alright then, I’ll meet you at noon.”
“The picnic,” Shanks muttered before he looked up with wide eyes. “The picnic!”
“You’re lucky she’s patient,” Beck pointed out, and he tilted his head before throwing his thumb over his shoulder.
When Shanks followed the point it led to the dock, and when he zoned in you were there. You were sitting on the edge, shoes beside you and feet dangling in the water. Half of a sandwich was in your hand, a piece bitten off, and he was sure that if he could hear you you’d be humming some sort of tune. Beck was right, you were patient, and here Shanks was a little hungover.
“I’ll be back later,” Shanks finally said, scrambling to stand up and grabbing his hat before taking off. He was fast, barely catching Beck’s “sure” as he flew to the ramp and practically ran down it.
“Y/N!” he called, and you looked up with this adorable, doe-eyed expression that made Shanks melt on the spot. It also made him feel guilty, the fact that you were surprised to see him a couple hours after he was supposed to meet you, and he wore it on his face.
“Hey!” you beamed, setting the piece of sandwich down on a napkin and pulling your feet from the water, and you pushed yourself up to stand. “I was starting to think maybe you didn’t want to go.”
“I’m sorry,” Shanks apologized sincerely, that guilt growing incredibly large at the thought of you thinking he didn’t want time spent with you. It was the opposite actually, he found himself wanting to steal away all your time, yet here he was making you wait which you had done so. You didn’t seem angry, you weren’t upset, you simply thought that maybe he was blowing you off.
Honestly, Shanks didn’t know which one was worse.
“Of course I want to go,” Shanks said, and his reassurance made your expression brighten up with a big smile.
“Come on! I know the perfect spot!”
There weren’t a lot of places in Windmill Village that were secret. The place was small and explored so you ran the risk of running into people, yet you had never in your time spent at the little cove. You considered it private, a spot to wander to when you needed a little walk - your spot. Now, however, with Shanks by your side, it was no longer just yours.
“Is this the part where I find out you’re a pirate hunter?” Shanks questioned, though it was said playfully and he watched as you looked over at him and laughed.
“I’d be a pretty good one, wouldn’t I? The bounty on your head is impressive, Red-Hair Shanks, I’d make a pretty berry,” you teased back, swinging your hip out to knock it against Shanks’ who wasn’t phased in the slightest.
“Have you been looking me up? If I didn’t know any better I’d say you liked me or something.”
Your cheeks instantly heated up and your gaze turned to the sand you were walking on, a bashfulness surging through you that made you nervous. You couldn’t help it, it was just how Shanks made you feel. It wasn’t a bad nervous, just the kind that settled when you wanted things to go right, and you certainly wanted that as you approached the curve that hid the spot on the beach.
“I guess I do,” you admitted, peeking to the side to find Shanks looking at you. The look on his face was soft, tender even, and you found yourself blushing even harder at your confession.
“Well I like you, too,” he replied easily, no ounce of embarrassment. Why would he try to lie? There was no point, it was made pretty clear that he was interested, so it was easier to just go along with it and be honest. The fact that you were as well made his heart race, particularly when you looked over at him with that sweet, shy look on your face.
“I’m glad,” you finally said, looking away again and finding yourself standing in the middle of a tucked away cove. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a small, sandy area that the water couldn’t reach this time of day, and you were walking over with Shanks in tow.
“Here?” he asked, looking at you, and when you nodded he slipped the folded blanket off of his shoulder and whipped it open with a snap. He laid it down after that, and once spread out he followed its tracks and flopped down himself. For a second he laid on his stomach, face in his crossed arms, but soon he rolled over and looked up at you who seemed entertained.
“You’re not so hot this morning, are you?” you commented, setting the basket down before sitting beside it. “I told you I should’ve cut you off.”
“Nah, I’ll be fine,” Shanks said, taking a deep breath then blowing it out as he closed his eyes, folding his arms under his head after taking the straw hat off and crossing his ankles.
“I’ll get some food in you and then it’ll be better,” you said, lifting open the lid of the basket and then starting to pull out the items you had chosen. First you had immediately handed over a wrapped sandwich, waiting for Shanks to take it before continuing on, and then your own was beside you though half was missing.
“Sorry that I started eating without you,” you said, pulling out a dish of assorted fruit next, “I got hungry.”
“You don’t need to apologize, I was the one who made you wait.”
“That’s okay, I figured maybe you needed to sleep it off. I didn’t mind, though! I’d rather you be feeling alright instead of forcing yourself to sit through this.”
“You know I’m not forcing myself to be here,” Shanks said, one of his eyes popping open so that he could peek over. He stared for a second, and then he smiled at you. “If anything, this is exactly where I want to be.”
“Really?” you asked softly.
“Really.”
The smile that lit up your face then was unmatched, bright and so sunny that it nearly blinded Shanks with its brilliance. He loved that look, the one that was so genuinely you, and he soaked it up with his own smile growing into a grin. He rolled onto his side then, his head propped up by his hand, and the sandwich went forgotten as he simply watched you. You watched him back, your own food useless, but your fingers played with the wrapper in what Shanks assumed was a bit of nervousness.
You were a bashful person, someone who turned shy easily, and when you did Shanks had to admit it was one of the most adorable things he had ever seen. Pink cheeks, crooked smile, but now it seemed as though you had gotten mostly over that and let him stare.
“What?” you still asked.
“Nothing,” Shanks murmured, and his eyes fell down to your busy hands before he reached over and took one, “I just think you’re beautiful.”
“Oh, stop,” you mumbled, that shyness returning despite you having gotten over it only moments ago.
“Never,” Shanks replied, and he drew your hand up to press a kiss to the back of it. He did so and watched you fluster immediately, happy to see your blush make its return. He wondered how far he could push you before you succumbed to it, so he gave your hand a small tug to pull you in, and you let him. You were drawn in closer and closer, your face nearing his, and soon your nose brushed Shanks’ and his eyes slipped close.
“Hey, are you going to eat that?”
The space between you and Shanks became great when you both jumped and pulled away, eyes wide as your gazes whipped to the bottom of the blanket where a young boy stood, finger in his nose and a curious look on his face. Monkey D. Luffy stared back, blinking at the two of you, and then he looked at the basket of food.
“Can I have some?”
You and Shanks spared a glance at one another, and then you laughed as Shanks sighed and pushed himself up to sit. You reached over, lifted the lid completely off to reveal what was in there for snacks. Luffy leaned forward, hand dropping, and he stared before he grinned and knelt in front of it.
“We can share, right, Shanks?” you said as a suggestion, and you could see him frown deeply.
“I guess …” he muttered, certainly not pleased but accepting his fate.
You shot Shanks a look that silently apologized, gave his hand a squeeze and then let it go before leaning forward to pull out a bit more food. You spread it out on the blanket, showed off what it was you brought in front of the drooling kid, and you offered whatever he’d like. That was a mistake because he immediately shot his hands out and gathered up more than you thought he could, and he instantly dumped food into his mouth.
“So what are you doing over here, Luffy?” you inquired, and he paused to look up at you with wide eyes before he swallowed with a bit of a struggle.
“I was coming to see Shanks and saw you guys come this way. Why’d you hide?” he explained, and you heard Shanks mumble a “to be alone” which made you chuckle.
“We were going to play hide and seek. This is a pretty good spot, don’t you think?”
“Not really,” Luffy answered, stuffing a roll into his mouth. “I found you pretty easy.”
“Well that’s because you’re too good at the game,” you said, waiting until Luffy swallowed before reaching over and snatching him. Luffy laughed when he was hauled forward, and he only laughed harder when your fingers skittered up his sides in a ticklish manner. “But I’m good at this game!”
“Y/N! Stop!” Luffy squealed, but instead of you doing so another set of hands joined.
“That’s what you get for stealing our food!” Shanks shouted, and Luffy cackled harder as he squirmed.
“Not fair! You’re bigger than me!” he cried, trying to push your hands away but failing miserably.
“Suck it up!” Shanks yelled, and hidden in the little cove did he and you enjoy an unconventional date.
“You can go to sleep, Luffy.”
“Don’t … wanna …”
It was with those words that Luffy flopped, falling into your side and clocking out instantly with a loud snore. It was obvious he was worn out, a mixture of the copious amounts of food he ate and the hours spent running around with you and Shanks catching up with him. You weren’t surprised, it wasn’t exactly unusual, but it was still cute and you were smiling down at the kid who had fallen asleep against you.
“I think we ran out of time to have a date today,” you commented, looking away from Luffy and at Shanks who had lifted his own gaze as well.
“No thanks to this one,” Shanks replied, pointing at the passed out Luffy with a bit of a pout.
“It was still fun, though.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” he said, and when he looked at Luffy again his pout turned into a smile. “I can’t stay mad at him.”
“No?” you asked, and Shanks shook his head. “He adores you, you know. He hasn’t stopped talking about you at all, about how he wants to be a pirate like you when he grows up.”
“Once he gets out there he’s going to change the world.”
Shanks was looking down at Luffy again but you were watching Shanks, watched as a fond look crossed his face. It melted your heart right then and there, the way Shanks so obviously cared about the young boy snuggling into your side. He could’ve so easily brushed him off, he could’ve told him to bug off and left it at that, but instead he welcomed him warmly and seemed to do so whenever Luffy was around. Shanks could feign annoyance, he could tease him endlessly, but there was always a kindness behind it all that was admirable.
“You’re really sweet, you know that?” you finally said, and Shanks looked up at you with a cute look of curiosity which only made you smile softly at him. “Luffy’s a lot, it’s nice of you to let him hang around.”
“Nah, he’s not so bad,” Shanks responded. “A lot, like you said, but he’s a good kid.”
“You can thank Dadan for that one, she really raised him well. Maybe lacking in manners, but what can you expect?”
“Yeah, seriously,” Shanks laughed, and then he turned his head and stared at the setting sun. Everything was orange, and within the hour it was going to be a dull gray. It’d get chilly near the water, the breeze coming off of it cool without the sun warming it, and then he looked at you again. “We should probably get going, it’s going to get cold soon.”
You bit your lip, flicked your gaze down to Luffy before glancing at Shanks again. For a moment you didn’t move, didn’t say anything, but after a number of seconds you were reaching for the sleeping Luffy and pulling him into your lap. Once again he wiggled close, and you waited until he settled before you shifted yourself. You scooted over closer to Shanks, felt your side press up against his, and then you leaned into him.
“Maybe we can wait a little longer?” you suggested, and you tipped your head back to see Shanks looking down at you. He blinked a couple times, but then a warm expression crossed his face and he lifted his arm to wrap it around you.
“Sure.”
Day Four:
“You know, this kind of makes me want to set out to sea.”
You could practically feel an excitement vibrate from Shanks who stood next to you, near the bow of the ship that was parting the waves for the sake of sailing. From what? You weren’t sure. Maybe he was just happy to be out on the water again after being land bound for a few days, or maybe it was your comment.
“You can come out with us.”
Definitely the comment.
You couldn’t help but laugh, and you looked away from the water at Shanks who was watching you. For a moment you grinned, still giggling a little, but Shanks was staring at you with a confused face as you did so. Suddenly you saw it, suddenly you realized you had gotten his hopes up, and suddenly you felt a little guilty.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, wincing a little as Shanks’ face fell, and you placed a hand on his arm to try and comfort the disappointment that was etched onto his face. “I - … I mean it’d be nice, but piracy isn’t for me.”
“Fine,” Shanks grumbled, and you gave him another smile before looking out over the water again.
You stood on the Red Force that had its sails down, catching the wind and piercing through the water it was on. It wasn’t too far from Dawn Island, maybe about an hour or two, and you were aboard for the ride. Well, technically the ride was for you, and you realized that when Shanks met you in the morning and immediately pulled you to the port.
“Have you ever been on a ship?” he had asked, and when you shook your head he only moved faster. “Let’s go, I’m going to show you.”
You felt a bit bad because it wasn’t like Shanks could run the ship by himself, and so along with yourself he had also dragged his crew into it just so that the two of you could set sail. The week the Red-Hair Pirates were to spend in Windmill Village was supposed to be a break, yet here they were working. You weren’t sure if they minded or not, you didn’t want to ask in case they did, but you sensed an easygoing atmosphere that put your mind at ease.
“Don’t get our captain’s hopes up, Y/N!”
When you glanced up Yasopp was hanging over the crow’s nest, grinning down at you.
“Then we’ll have to listen to him whine!”
“Hey!” Shanks called out, a frown on his face and brows dipped.
“Sorry, boss. He’s right,” Roux commented as he walked past, and Shanks looked on in disbelief.
“Do you see what I have to put up with?” Shanks said after a moment, wearing an unimpressed look.
“Do you see what we have to put up with?” Limejuice fired back, walking behind Lucky Roux with a crate in his hands.
“Traitors, all of them,” Shanks grumbled, and it made you laugh. He turned at the sound, watched with his own light smile as you giggled behind your hand, and then he leaned back against the railing of the ship and stared at you.
He wanted it, wanted you out there so that he could selfishly keep you at his side, but you didn’t belong. You were shaped by Windmill Village, by peace and everyday life, so to take you away from that and put you into something as chaotic as the pirate world would be cruel. Shanks was many things but not that, particularly when it came to you who had done nothing but turn his world upside down in the best way possible. How could he do that to you? You deserved happiness, deserved whatever it was that you wanted, and if you found that in your home then so be it.
When you turned Shanks lifted his head a bit and looked at you, smiling when you moved a little closer to him. You were standing at his side now though turned to face the water again, and you leaned against the railing as well. You didn’t say anything, just stared out at the sea with a serene expression on your face, and Shanks couldn’t help but bask in your calm presence as he continued to watch. You didn’t notice right away, you were either oblivious or too focused on the scenery, but soon you glanced over, away, and then you quickly looked a second time. Shanks had the pleasure of watching you blush again, as your cheeks went pink and that bashfulness he loved so much returned.
“What?” you asked softly.
“Nothing, I just like looking at you,” he responded, shaking his head.
“Oh, stop,” you said, and Shanks chuckled.
“What? I can’t help it, you look stunning out here,” he continued, turning himself and mirroring your pose but still not looking away from you. He watched as you blushed even harder, as you avoided his gaze and stared down at the planks that made up the deck.
“I’m only being honest,” Shanks murmured, raising his hand so that he could tip your chin up and see you. “I think you’re beautiful.”
A flustered noise left you, a squeak that came from the back of your throat, and then you looked impossibly cute. Shanks was almost a little flustered himself then, taken back by how adorable you looked trying to fight off your sheepishness, and all he could do was laugh and drop his hand so that it was on your back instead. He pulled you in, wrapped his arms around you, and he squeezed you tightly. You immediately buried your face into his shoulder and grasped his shirt, hiding from the embarrassment you were feeling because of the attention.
“Sorry,” Shanks apologized, and your muffled “it’s okay” made him grin. He rested his chin on top of your head and ran a hand up until it was cradling the back of it and holding it against him. For a moment the two of you stayed like that, you in Shanks’ warm embrace, but before long you were pulling back a bit and finally looking up at the red-haired pirate. His smile turned soft, his hand ran through your hair again, and when you leaned into him a little more the arm around your waist tightened.
“Can I ki -” Shanks started, but he was rudely interrupted by the Red-Hair Pirates’ sniper again.
“Get a room!” he shouted, and then he laughed loudly when Shanks shot him an annoyed look.
“Come on,” he said, now looking at you and stepping away after letting you go, but he reached out to take your hand, “I’ll show you the rest of the ship.”
“Tired?”
The tears that blurred your vision were blinked away after a yawn forced itself out of you, you bleary for a moment before you turned your head in Shanks’ direction. You nodded then, and the hand that had come up to politely cover your mouth returned to where it had been resting on Shanks’ arm. Your head tipped then, far enough that it landed on Shanks’ shoulder, and you fought back another yawn.
You and the pirates spent the day on the water, and by the time you returned to Windmill Village the moon was bright and night had come. The trip had only meant to be quick, but before long the sun was setting and it was time to turn around and head back before it got too late. It was then you realized how exhausted you were, how even though you hadn’t done much on the ship you were still tired simply from sailing.
You were right, you were truly meant to stay on land and away from piracy.
“Did you have fun, though?” Shanks asked next, glancing at you again before focusing on the road ahead.
It was leading to your house, the one towards the end of the main road that was close enough to the edge of the mountains that it made Shanks nervous. That was why he had insisted on walking you back, why even though he was tired himself he needed to see to your safety before he could relax. So he found himself in the village once more, you hanging onto his arm and leaning into him while you strolled along beside him. Thankfully the trek was banditless, but it seemed too short when the two of you reached your home and Shanks realized he didn’t want to let you go just yet.
“I did, thank you,” you answered, seeing your house and then straightening up again. You wondered briefly if Shanks would notice if you slowed down, if you gave yourself just a little more time with him before you had to part ways for the night.
“Good,” Shanks said, stopping in front of your door and watching as you stepped away from him, “we’ll have to do it again before I leave.”
You paused for just a second, the hand that was fishing around in your bag for your keys stilling but then quickly going back to work. You hadn’t really thought about that over the last few days, but you were quickly reminded of the little time you had. Shanks hadn’t mentioned when he was leaving, and it had never been brought up until this point, but you didn’t want to know right now. No, all you could think about was using the time you had wisely, and so when you pushed your key into the lock you didn’t turn it right away and looked up at Shanks instead.
“Will you stay the night?”
For some reason Shanks wasn’t shocked, for some reason it was so easy to nod, but when you smiled at him suddenly everything went into overdrive. His thoughts, his heart, the twists and turns in his stomach; something so simple tha - … well … actually … was it simple? As Shanks watched you unlock your door he couldn’t help but think that, wonder what it was he had gotten himself into. It seemed relatively harmless at first, the past few days rather light, but this was different. This was crossing an imaginary line, one that separated the fun, playful flirting from something that seemed a little more serious. Was that the smart thing to do? Was it right? It felt right, and that was where the problem laid.
Shanks didn’t have too long to think about it because your door opened and then you were looking at him expectantly, and without so much as a second worry he was following you in. It was dark though the windows let in enough light that he could see the outlines of things - your couch, a table, a couple of different entrances that led to other places, and a lamp that you walked towards and turned on after slipping off your shoes. The pirate captain followed suit, kicked off his sandals and ventured in further as you putted around and put away the things you had been carrying. He watched as you did so, stood by the couch silently, and then suddenly he was imagining seeing this every day.
It wouldn’t be so bad, coming home to you, but there were bigger things he had to tend to that stopped him from dropping everything and doing just that. It was ridiculous, the fact that it had been mere days and here he was picturing a life with you in the little home in Windmill Village. Shanks hadn’t meant for it to go so far, for him to fall in so deep, yet he had done just that and he felt completely done for. You held some kind of power that had a total grip on him, that rang him dry, and he realized that fighting it off was useless because it just came back stronger than ever. What was he to do? He was simply a man falling for a woman, and you weren’t making it easy for him to stop. In fact he couldn’t stop at all, and he couldn’t stop himself from following behind you as you made your way into your kitchen.
“Did you want anything?” you asked, setting your bag down on the counter and turning towards one of your cupboards, reaching up to swing open a door. What you went for was a cup, pulled one out and set it on the counter for yourself, then you grabbed another and held it as you turned. “I’m just getting some water, but … if …”
Your words escaped you when you found yourself face to face with the pirate, Shanks having silently crept up behind you just to be standing close when you spun around. Inches, that’s all that was between you with no hope for space considering you were trapped between him and the counter, and you found yourself nervous once again. It was the anticipation that made you gulp a bit, that made your fingers tighten around the glass, and you still couldn’t find anything to say when you stared up and tried to read the expression on Shanks’ face. It was an intense look, one of total focus, yet there was something so tender in his stare that made you melt on the spot.
“Just so you know, this will be the third time,” Shanks stated, reaching to take the cup from you so that he could set it down.
“What is?” you asked, though it was barely above a whisper.
“That I’ve tried to kiss you,” he continued, raising his hand again to hold the side of your face. His thumb gently swept over your cheekbone, felt the heat rush to the surface when you blushed, and it made him smirk.
“Oh,” you replied rather bluntly, but it didn’t seem to phase Shanks who merely chuckled and slid his touch around to the back of your neck.
“So?”
“So what?”
“Can I?”
Something swept through you so violently that it left you speechless, and for quite a number of seconds you weren’t sure what you were feeling. The nervousness was still there, the anticipation, too, but it only grew more as Shanks stared at you patiently. “Of course” you wanted to say, but the only thing that came out was a soft gasp when Shanks stepped even closer to you. His other arm came up and slowly wrapped around your waist so that he could hold you to him, and despite your scattered brain your own hands were coming up to rest on Shanks’ chest. He was even closer then, ducked down just a bit, but he stopped just as your noses brushed.
“Please?” he tried again, and this time everything grounded you.
“Third time’s the charm,” you said lamely, but your nervous attempt at humor was swept under the rug by Shanks’ soft touch that ran up your back a bit. It made you shiver but soon it was warm, and you were letting it soothe you into a comfort that you quickly realized only Shanks could provide. It spread further when he moved again, when he held you tighter, and when his lips pressed to yours you were totally consumed by it. It eased your worried mind though it did nothing for your racing heart, in fact all it did was jumpstart it again, but even though it was beating loudly in your ears all you could focus on was Shanks.
Your hands slid up until they were on the pirate’s shoulders, but they didn’t stay long because soon your arms were wrapping around Shanks’ neck and daring to pull him even closer. The tug earned you a quiet grunt but he listened, taking that final step that pushed you into the counter behind you, and the hand at your neck slid into your hair. It was your turn to follow then, to let Shanks guide you until your head was tipped and his mouth was slotted against yours perfectly, and the kiss lasted a few moments longer before the two of you were pulling back.
“Wait,” Shanks muttered just as your eyes were fluttering open, but they slid shut again when he leaned in once more and kissed you a second time. Then there was a third, a fourth, and then by the time he set you free you were leaning into him heavily and staring up at him with a half-lidded stare that eventually traveled from his mouth up to meet his gaze. Shanks’ hand slid from your hair and came back around to cup your face again, making sure his touch was gentle, and you immediately leaned into it while bringing your own hand down to cover his. He smiled at you then, ran his thumb across your bottom lip, and then he kissed you one more time which had been so soft that you sighed.
“Again,” you whispered when Shanks broke away, and when he obliged you wished you could stay like that forever.
Time was running out.
Day Five
“Luffy! That’s not yours!”
The muffled response that followed was unintelligible, the boy’s mouthful of meat from the drumstick he had snagged muffling his words as he ran with Shanks following closely behind. He tried to catch him but Luffy was quick, spry, and Shanks was twenty-something trying to capture the kid. He was running along the beach fast, sand kicking up and doing a wonderful job at slowing Shanks down, and soon Luffy was cackling as he put distance between them.
You simply watched on fondly, on a blanket near the bonfire that had been built by Yasopp who was chatting with Rockstar on a large log across from you. Soon the pair became dots in the distance, the night shrouding them in darkness as they disappeared, and it was then that you turned away and glanced around instead at the Red-Hair Pirates who were relaxed and enjoying some time on the beach. Drinks, food, a light, warm breeze dragging the salty air along the coast, and you were there with them.
Shanks had been busy that day and you had a midday shift that interrupted any possible plans, so the only option was later. It was the kind of later that ended up being late in the day, the sun having dipped below the horizon long before Shanks was knocking on your door. There wasn’t much time left and he apologized for that, but the least he could do was invite you for a quick meal the pirates were going to have near their ship. You didn’t mind the hour, you didn’t work until the next evening so where was the harm?
When you reached the strip of sand everything was already in full swing, a rambunctious gathering that didn’t seem affected by the fact that the crew had been out all day. It wasn’t just them however, Makino was there with the mayor, and Luffy was running around with far too much energy for as late as it was. You shouldn’t have been surprised, he had always been a handful after all.
And speaking of handful …
“Shanks! Let me down!”
“No.”
You glanced to your right again and watched as the two made a reappearance, Luffy slung over Shanks’ shoulder like a potato sack and the aforementioned pirate grinning as he strolled along, the stick of meat in his free hand. It seemed as though he had won whatever battle had ensued, and he was taking a huge bite after letting Luffy down which made the child shout and try and jump up.
“Here, kid,” Shanks finally said, and when he passed the meat down it was merely a bone. Luffy cried out, annoyed, and when Shanks laughed you did, too. When he heard it he looked over, and he was dropping his hand from Luffy’s head where he had been holding him back to avoid his swinging fists and let him fall into the sand.
“What’s so funny to you, huh?” Shanks asked, squatting down in front of you with a cute, crooked grin. It made you smile as well, and you pulled your knees close to your chest while smiling sheepishly.
“Nothing.”
“That right? Sounds like you're laughing at us,” he retorted, and you hid your smile behind your knees.
“Nope.”
“Uh-huh,” Shanks said, and when he watched your arms tighten around yourself he reached over beside you and picked his cape up. He was careful when he wrapped it around your shoulders, making sure it closed around you before his hands came up to grasp the collar. “Lying to a pirate could be pretty dangerous, you know.”
“What’s my punishment?” you asked a little playfully, holding onto the cape and absorbing the warmth it provided.
“I haven’t decided yet, I’ll let you know.”
“Woah, scary,” you whispered, and Shanks gave a bit of a tug on the collar to draw you in a little. “I guess I shouldn’t get on your bad side.”
“Impossible,” Shanks chuckled, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead.
“Ew!” Luffy interrupted for a second time in the past few days, and Shanks rolled his eyes.
“Isn’t it your bedtime or something?” Shanks responded, standing up and looking down at Luffy who merely pulled his eye down and stuck out his tongue which seemed to strike a nerve, and Shanks felt his own eye twitch. “Just for that you’re not joining my crew.”
Luffy’s jaw dropped, but then he quickly pointed at Shanks.
“Fine! I’ll make my own crew and it’ll be even better than yours!” Luffy retaliated, frowning deeply before he turned and walked off. To where? Who knew?
“Now where were we?” Shanks said as he plopped down next to you, settling on the blanket and turning in your direction.
“I think we were talking punishment,” you answered, smiling a little cheekily.
“Right, right,” Shanks replied, nodding his head. “I can think of a few things.”
“That so?”
“Mmhm.”
“Enlighten me.”
Shanks didn’t need to say anything, in fact he didn’t and instead glanced at your lips briefly before looking back up at you. You caught on, and even though your bashfulness reared its head you didn’t turn away. A confidence had settled in after the night prior, and also that morning where you were smothered in kisses that made you feel silly before Shanks left. Questions, though some still a mystery, were answered, and your bout of bravery settled in.
“I can’t share all of my secrets. It’s too bad you’ve been a good girl, though, isn’t it?”
Oh.
Your blush returned, though this time it was crimson and violently hot, and you had to turn away immediately. It was almost accompanied by a stutter of nonsensical words but you managed to swallow them down, but it still didn’t stop you from having to bury your face in your hands. You heard Shanks laugh then but it only made you even more flustered, and you pulled the cape around your head.
Well there went that confidence.
“Come here,” Shanks chuckled, and his arms wrapped around you before he pulled you in close. You let go of the cape then and buried your face into Shanks’ chest instead, absorbing his warmth but still hiding the best you could. It was useless, however, because your chin was lifted up by Shanks’ finger and he grinned down at you.
“Don’t go hiding that pretty face,” he told you, whispering softly.
“Well don’t go saying stuff like that, then,” you murmured.
“What? That my good girl has a pretty face? I’m just being honest.”
“No, not - …” you trailed off and suddenly Shanks looked concerned, and you had to flick your eyes away at that. “Am I? Your girl, I mean.”
The pause that came then was long, and you couldn’t will yourself to glance back at Shanks until you took in and held a deep breath, waiting for a response. The first answer came with a tender gaze, one that studied you closely, and it traveled all over your face as if looking for something. The grin that was once bright and blinding turned sweet, gentle, and it was clearly meant for just you. The look said everything it needed to, but Shanks replied anyway.
“Of course you are.”
Oh. This was complicated.
Day Six:
Shanks didn’t like this, not one bit.
“Just for a little while?”
You were nice - too nice. It was one of the things Shanks liked about you; you were genuine, kind, the friendliest person, but you didn’t know how to say no. It came with your fear of disappointment, you not wanting to let people down, but sometimes those people came with the wrong kind of intentions.
“I-I’m not sure,” you responded, grimacing a bit as you looked down at the empty mug the patron had set down. “I have a lot to do at the end of my shift.”
Just say no.
“I can wait.”
Say no.
“Um …”
“See? You have no excuse.”
It was just a joke but it wasn’t very funny, not when you looked deeply uncomfortable and nervous. Shanks could see it, the way your fingers curled into the edge of the counter before your hand headed towards the mug and grasped the handle of it in an attempt to distract yourself. It wasn’t just yours, however, for whoever the guy was reached out and covered your hand with his own, and a surge of something unpleasant shot through the pirate captain.
Two last, full days, that was what Shanks had with you. You couldn’t exactly miss your shift, but with the kindness of Makino you only had a few hours that you needed to waste in Party’s Bar. Naturally Shanks couldn’t help himself, naturally he became your company, but soon the rest of his crew filed in and distracted you from him. Like he had said, you were genuine, and you were genuine in your job so serving you did. Regulars came, then some faces that must’ve been unfamiliar because you welcomed them in as if it was their first time. That included a small group, three men that came in late in the afternoon, and among them was a customer who sat himself right in front of you.
“Can I get your name?” he had asked.
You gave it to him.
“Can I take you out?” he had so boldly followed up, and you had been caught by surprise. Your stuttering must’ve given the wrong impression because he had smiled and leaned forward on the bar.
Thus your crisis, and Shanks’, too. He didn’t want to be rude, he didn’t want to be as annoyed as he was, but seeing the way the guy’s fingers crept up until they were curling around your wrist immediately threw up a red flag. Were they tight? Could you pull away? He couldn’t tell, but soon your arm was tugging a bit yet you weren’t let go.
“Green’s not a good color on you,” came a voice from beside Shanks, and had he not been so good at observing his surroundings he might’ve jumped. His first mate was there, Beck clearly amused by the turn of events, and that was proven when Shanks turned to look at him and was greeted with a bit of a smirk. For a second he stared, collected his thoughts, and then he scowled discreetly.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said from behind his mug, quickly taking a drink so that no more displeasure could come from
his mouth.
“I can feel you seething from all the way over there,” Beck continued as he nodded towards the table full of the Red-Hair Pirates, leaning against the bar and then taking a peek past Shanks’ shoulder.
Okay, maybe Shanks wasn’t that discreet.
“Come on, be my girl for a night.”
Shanks moved before he even realized, and the mug that was in front of him tipped over which sloshed ale all across the bar. Both you and the patron looked over in surprise, him staring at the mess and you at Shanks who must’ve been wearing an irritated expression because he could practically see the deep frown on his own face. Everything seemed to go still in that moment, quiet, and Shanks knew he was being watched closely.
“She’s busy,” was all Shanks said, and there was something in his voice that made the grip on your wrist loosen. He watched it closely, but when the fingers didn’t completely unwrap he was flicking his gaze up to the man.
“With what?” he fired back, and it was rather daring considering who it was he was trying to size up.
“No, Shanks wai -”
“Me.”
“And you are?” the guy tried again, clearly looking for an argument that he wasn’t going to win.
“How about you let her go?” Shanks deflected.
“How about she tell me herself?”
“How about you don’t pick a fight?” Beck called out.
“Yeah, if you want someone to scrap with then how about one of us?” Lucky Roux said next, setting his drink down.
“Need your friends to fight a battle for you?” the stranger sneered, and Shanks’ curling fist didn’t go unnoticed for Beck squeezed himself in between the two.
“Better one of us than him,” he said, throwing his thumb over his shoulder at Shanks. “Not sure if you’d make it out of that one.”
Finally the hand that had been holding onto you dropped, but it was so that the man could stand up instead and hold his head high. Your hand came back to yourself and you rubbed your wrist, though you did so without thinking about it for you were running through every thought in your head in hopes of finding a way to diffuse the situation. You didn’t think fast enough, however, for the first move made was by the persistent patron who stepped forward with a heavy foot. Stools skidded, Shanks’ falling over when he went to push past his first mate and the one in front of Beck being pushed to the side. The two of them were fast but Building Snake was faster, and a large arm shot out before a hand grasped the front of the guy’s shirt.
“I’d get out of here if I were you,” he stated, fingers curling even tighter. “You and your buddies.”
“And -”
There was no room for banter, no room for anymore words, not when Building Snake hauled hard and started dragging the now stumbling customer across the bar and towards the swinging doors. It was still silent other than the skids of feet, and there were chair legs that scraped on the wooden planks that belonged to the friends that had been barely acknowledged. They followed silently, concerned and looking between one another, and it was as the creep was practically thrown onto the dirt road that they almost politely stepped past.
“Show your face again and we’ll come around,” Building Snake threatened, and he watched with a hard gaze as the previous patron stumbled until he caught himself. One look back, that was all it took before he spat and glared, but not a peep came from him as he straightened out his shirt.
“Come on,” he grumbled, nodding ahead of him as he walked, and the two other guys who seemed anxious started to follow, “let's get out of here.”
They were watched, right up until they were dots in the distance, and it was only then that the pirate turned around and made his way in. Building Snake looked at you who had ended up rooted to the spot, eyes wide and unsure as to what to do with the moment.
“You okay, Y/N?” he asked, stopping but continuing to take his seat when you
nodded.
The pleasant atmosphere was affected, but it started lifting again when laughter rang out. Building Snake was patted on the back, a chorus of “look at you!”s and a “did you see his face?” filling the bar, and it slowly but surely put you at ease. It was when you took a deep breath to calm your racing heart that you turned and grabbed a rag, noticing Beck setting the stools up again which reminded you, you had a mess to clean. You set the cloth down in the puddle just to be stopped, a hand taking your own and pulling it across the counter a bit.
“Are you really okay?” Shanks asked, running his thumb along the red ring around your wrist. He followed that trail before looking up at you, and you did the same.
“I am, I promise,” you reassured him, and it did the trick because you watched as Shanks’ tense shoulders dropped a bit. “Are you?”
“Hm?” he hummed, tearing his gaze away from where it went to your wrist again and sending it your way. “What do you mean?”
“I … don’t want you to be mad,” you answered, brow furrowing a bit, but it relaxed when Shanks’ hand turned and took yours. The once aggravated expression melted away, leaving only a fondness for you that you felt right to your very core.
“I’m not mad, just worried,” Shanks explained.
“About him coming back around?”
He nodded.
“I don’t think you need to worry about that, I’m pretty sure he’s scared enough that he won’t come back,” you laughed, but Shanks didn’t crack a smile.
“And when we’re gone?” he pushed, and your own smile faded but it didn’t disappear completely.
“I’m busy tonight, am I?” you directed, and you did so because the last thing you wanted was to talk about the fact that Shanks was leaving the next day.
He had told you that morning, did so with a bit of remorse and an apology, but it was something you expected and accepted. Shanks couldn’t stay in Windmill Village forever, you knew that, and as much as your heart ached you had to let it go. You were going to do whatever you could with the time you had, and what you didn’t have the time for was to wallow in negativity. Shanks must’ve gotten the message because he sighed and then finally smiled.
“Yes, you are,” he replied.
“I didn’t know this,” you teased, and Shanks rolled his eyes though it was playfully.
“Don’t be smart,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before letting it go and taking the rag that had started soaking up the ale. It was his fault, the least he could do was clean it up despite your protests. “We’re just going to stock the ship up then I’ll come back, alright? Find us if those guys show up again.”
You nodded, and you were pulling the rag into a bin once the drink was cleared. Shanks nodded back, then he turned away and strolled over to where his crew was, and with a few exchanged words mugs were emptied and brought to the counter for you. The bar was near empty by the time the Red-Hair Pirates finished filing out, and with a final look back Shanks winked at you and then followed his crewmates.
Busy, huh? You could hardly wait.
There you were, just existing, and Shanks was captivated by you. It started with that smile of yours, the one that greeted him when he returned that night and walked through the swinging doors. You were like an angel, the lights dim except a couple behind you that made you glow underneath them. It had been quick, that gorgeous smile before you turned away and returned to your task. It wasn’t anything special, you were just muttering numbers to yourself as you counted bills, but there was still something so adorable about it that Shanks couldn’t help but watch.
He was wearing his own smile and he knew it was dumb-looking, probably crooked enough that it seemed drunk, but the liquor he barely had earlier was long gone and replaced with affection for you. He couldn’t stop himself from soaking you up and the time you had together, and there was something that drew him in. He could deny it, reject the idea because people didn’t just fall for someone in mere days, yet here he was completely taken by you.
“Sorry! Just a second!” you apologized, speeding up and reaching for a bag that was resting on the counter. “Some of the regulars stayed behind a bit. Birthday, you know? I didn’t have the heart to kick them ou -”
The bag in your hand was taken, set aside and out of your reach, and you realized you were staring up at Shanks who had silently made his way over. The situation seemed familiar, you pressed up against the counter, and Shanks’ hands kept you trapped when they landed on the surface on either side of you. He was closer than ever, much closer than he had been the night before, and your head tipped back so that you could meet his gaze.
“Shanks?” you asked quietly, curious about the way he was looking at you. It was fond, almost adoring, and you became a puddle underneath it. For a second he didn’t move, simply stared at you, but soon a hand lifted to your waist and the other came up to cup your face.
“My girl, right?” he whispered, and he gently swept his thumb over your bottom lip.
He shouldn’t do this.
“Yeah,” you responded.
You shouldn’t do this either.
“Good.”
Shit.
The kiss Shanks gave you made you shiver on the spot, and your hands came up fast to clutch his half-open shirt when you were struck by a sharp electricity that shook your spine. It took everything for you to stand on your weak knees, but it became easier when you leaned into Shanks and his arm wrapped around your waist. It was only for a moment however, because with impressive strength he lifted you onto the counter and moved in even closer. You were left too breathless, so much so that the kiss went fast because you broke away and gasped, but that was all you had time for before Shanks dove in again.
It was a bad idea to be so hungry, but Shanks felt starved and you were the only thing that could satisfy his craving. You were the fire in his veins, the thoughts that he could muster only about you, and the taste of you was addicting. He wanted more, seeked it out, and you let him find more of it when your lips parted at his request. Shanks felt your hands travel right up to his shoulders, but they continued shortly after until your arms were circling his neck and he was pulled in closer.
“What if someone comes in?” you asked in between kisses, Shanks soon leaving one at the corner of your mouth.
“Then they can watch,” he replied quickly, and he was hauling you to the edge of the counter and stepping in between your legs. Your breath hitched when he closed in and pressed against you, fitting perfectly against your curves and he smirked when he felt you squeeze his sides with your thighs.
“Shanks …”
“Then again,” he murmured, interrupting himself to press a kiss to your neck that was just above your racing pulse, “I wouldn’t want anyone to see what I’m going to do to you.”
Your hands came back though this time they ran through crimson locks, and you gripped them softly to pull Shanks’ head back up who immediately obliged. You took the initiative then, kissed him hard, and then you broke away again which you noticed left Shanks a little stunned by your sudden move. You felt brave, your usual fluster disappearing with the want Shanks was exhibiting, and you smiled.
“We should probably get out of here, then,” you suggested, running your hand through his hair.
“Yeah, we probably should.”
The way you stumbled into your home was clumsy, your feet tangled up and throwing off your balance, but you were lucky because the arm that was tight around your waist swung you around and you were pressed to the door. The kiss that had rushed you in didn’t waver, didn’t have a chance to break, and you were devoured when you were pushed harder into the door. The hands on your hips were warm, big, and though they had once been still they were suddenly on the move.
Shanks felt greedy but he couldn’t stop himself, not when your skin was just so soft under his rough palms. He felt goosebumps raise in the wake of his touch, spread across your body, and he chased them until his hands were up your shirt and on your waist. It would’ve been polite had they not stopped for such a dirty reason, his tongue searching for yours and finding it when you quickly did the same. Shanks felt you shudder in his arms, heard you groan a little, and all it did was drive him to kiss you even harder.
You were dizzy, and you weren’t sure if it was your lack of air or Shanks himself but you had a feeling it was the latter. He was an overwhelming power, a strong presence that made you feel safe, and so you had faith that he would catch you when you fell, and fall you did. It happened hard and fast, a sudden burst of some sort of feeling that threw you off, and now that you were feasting on it you were disappointed that you starved yourself for so long.
You should’ve stopped, but you couldn’t.
The kiss stopped, though, and you were left panting when Shanks pulled away. You tried to follow him but he was too tall, and when he chuckled you pouted. You threw it in his direction, made sure that he knew you weren’t happy, but all he did was keep smiling at you, the tilt almost making it a smirk.
“Someone’s impatient,” Shanks pointed out, but even though he was poking fun at you he was impatient himself. Regardless of the fact that he was teasing you his hands slid higher, catching your shirt and he lifted it until your arms were up and it was pulled over your head. It dropped uselessly to the floor beside the two of you, leaving you vulnerable and Shanks pleased at the sight. He watched as your bashfulness returned, as your cheeks went pink but you didn’t shy away, and you bit your lip as your own hands started to move.
Though still clothed the material of Shanks’ shirt was thin, and your fingers found every curve and contour of the muscles hidden away. He was strong, you knew that, but you hadn’t really taken the time to think about it because everything was such a chaotic whirlwind. You were guilty of wandering eyes, sure, but up until this very moment you hadn’t been so hungry for more. Now you wanted to see, wanted to touch, and you focused on pushing Shanks’ shirt off of his shoulders before he took over. It was quick and his top was dropped on yours, joining it on the floor and made useless, but what wasn’t useless was the way that it revealed so much skin to you. Unfortunately you didn’t get much of a chance because you were distracted by another kiss, one that ate you right up but was cut short by Shanks breaking it off and immediately placing one against your jaw. Your mouth opened to say something, but could you remember what it was? Not at all! Not with the way Shanks was fitting against you, pushing his leg in between yours and pressing tightly which made your words disappear instantly. The only thing you could do was whisper his name, and you did as your eyes slipped closed.
Now Shanks liked it when you said his name, when you called for his attention, but to hear it so eager and so close to his ear made an arousal shoot through him that felt urgent. He stepped impossibly closer, his hands dragging down your sides until he was gripping your hips, and he held on tight as he pushed down. He earned hearing his name again and he nearly groaned, but instead he focused on the soft skin of your neck. Your breath hitched when a light kiss was placed just below your ear and Shanks grinned, and he pressed another one there before nipping at the sensitive skin.
You were overwhelmed, flushed and hot, but most of all you were feeling good. You felt both heavy and light, your head in the clouds but your body sagging into Shanks’ when his knee pressed harder and made you whimper. You couldn’t help the roll of your hips, an unconscious attempt at friction that you were dying for that you received and made you gasp next. Shanks let you go then, but his hands lifted from where they had settled and slid up the length of your spine until he caught the band of your bra.
A light snap made you giggle, and Shanks chuckled as well before leaving behind one last kiss to your neck. He brought his head up at the same time he twisted his fingers, and your bra unclasped which made slipping the straps down your arms easier. The undergarment was discarded just as the clothing had been, dropped to the floor, and Shanks peered at your face a moment longer before he couldn’t help his wandering eyes. They slowly trailed down and followed an imaginary path, stopped at your chest and took a moment to admire the view before his gaze flicked up again. You weren’t looking at him and were bashfully avoiding his stare instead, your eyes to the side, but they returned when he tipped your head up.
“You don’t need to hide from me, you know,” Shanks told you, though despite your cheeks turning even rosier you didn’t turn away again.
“Come on,” you murmured, offering a sweet smile and reaching to take the hand under your chin, and you gave it a tug as you stepped out and around Shanks. He listened to your words and followed you immediately, trailing behind you as you weaved around the furniture to head towards your bedroom.
It was mostly dark when you entered but the window in your room let in enough light that you could make out the arrangement, the moon high in the sky. Your hand slipped from Shanks’ and you made your way over to the bed, glancing down at it before looking over your shoulder. Once again you smiled but it was more confident than shy, inviting even, and Shanks must’ve taken the hint because he gave you a bit of a smirk and started walking over himself. It wasn’t long before once again he was in front of you, and that same arm that had been around your waist returned but helped lower you down onto the bed this time.
You landed softly on the mattress and sunk in a bit before you pulled yourself up higher, laying back on your pillows before you were caged in. You didn’t feel trapped, not with Shanks, and your nerves were quickly being replaced by even more excitement when he leaned in and kissed you again. It was instantly hungry but still gentle, Shanks taking his time in deepening it, but soon the need to taste was too much and he devoured you within seconds. It made you moan, the way his tongue tangled with yours, and you responded with your own eagerness that had you pulling Shanks in by his hair. Your breath was taken immediately, your lungs crying out for air by the time you parted, but it was stolen again when Shanks ducked down and headed for your
bare chest.
Your skin was like silk under Shanks’ hand, his fingers caressing it on the way down and making you shiver, and your breast was even more supple when he grasped it and gave it a squeeze. Another kiss was placed upon you though it was in the valley of your chest, but his mouth quickly moved on and captured the untended nipple that hardened under his swirling tongue. The other perked up with a swipe of his thumb, and he circled it a few times before it was pinched, and you let out a sweet noise that Shanks wanted to hear again. That was why he didn’t stay too long, why he drew away from your breasts and instead pressed kisses all the way down until the last one landed just above the button of your shorts. He caught a glimpse of you when he took a peek, catching you watching him intently after you pushed yourself up onto your elbows, and you released a shaky breath when a stillness settled.
“Can I?” Shanks asked after a few passing seconds, voice raspy from the lust that was coursing through his veins, and it seemed to grow even more when you nodded. He didn’t waste any time then, pushed himself onto his knees and went straight for the waist of your bottoms, undoing the button and getting the zipper down in record time. The tips of his fingers hooked into those as well as the band of your underwear, and with an easy pull they were sliding off of you and down your legs. Shanks was
careful, not wanting to risk hurting you in any way, but it was a different story when it came to useless clothes in his hand which were simply tossed behind him. Again did he take the time to look you over, to study every curve of your body and memorize until it was burnt into his brain. He wasn’t sure how long he stared for but it was enough to make you antsy; you weren’t nervous, just waiting with anticipation.
More waves of goosebumps raised when Shanks’ touch returned and landed on your legs. It slowly traveled up, skimmed along until he was gripping your thighs, and then he coaxed them open with a gentle push. You were obedient, spread your legs for him, and Shanks felt his arousal swell when he caught sight of your excited pussy. He couldn’t help but stare, couldn’t help but have a desire to drown in the taste of you, and that desire left him nearly drooling when he lowered himself.
“Oh my god …” you whispered.
When Shanks looked up you were red all the way down to your neck, your hands covering your face for just a few seconds before your fingers cracked open and you peeked through them. He could see the embarrassment, but instead of finding amusement in it he wished to wipe away your concern. His head turned just enough that he could press a kiss to the inside of your thigh, and another one followed shortly but higher up. He paused then, waited until your hands left your face, and then he gave an encouraging smile when you peered down at him.
“Everything okay?” Shanks inquired, lips still brushing your skin when he spoke. “We can stop.”
“No!” you answered fast, startling Shanks a bit and yourself as well at the urgency. “I - … I mean it’s okay, don’t mind me.”
The smile that Shanks gave you was soft, the hands on you slow as they wandered over your body. It was a reassuring touch, one that calmed you down the longer it stayed, and you were releasing a sigh when you gave into it even more. There was some lingering fluster, how could there not be when Shanks was looking up at you the way he was? To be so dirtily placed while giving you just a sweet expression - it was deadly.
“I do mind you, that’s why I’m asking,” he told you, his large hands slipping up along your sides before coming back down to your hips. “I want you to be comfortable with me.”
“I am, you’re just …”
“Hm?”
You mumbled something, your blush still uncontrollable as you flicked your gaze away.
“What was that?”
“You’re really hot, okay?!” you finally cracked, and it took a long time for you to glance down again but when you did Shanks was looking at you with that same adoring smile. There was no hesitation, there wasn’t a single split second in which it wavered, and despite being in such an obscene position you only felt the warmth come from him.
“Let me take care of you, Y/N,” Shanks said, and he was relieved to see your spiral start to come to an end when you swallowed down your nerves and nodded.
“Okay,” you agreed.
Okay.
One more kiss was pressed to your thigh, but it was quick in favor of Shanks indulging himself. How could he help himself? You were his for the taking, laid out so perfectly and waiting for him, and you looked absolutely divine. Suddenly Shanks was starving more than ever, and he spared you one more glance before his gaze drifted down to where you were wet and glistening. You were clearly excited despite the fact that you had been so hesitant, but Shanks had a feeling you weren’t nearly as excited as he was.
It had been hard to stay away, particularly when he got his first taste of you the last time he was in your home. It hadn’t been much but the sinful thoughts that consumed him after were intense, and he wasn’t safe from them running wild. Now it was happening, now he had you in the way he had been wanting you and he could barely contain himself. In fact, to be perfectly honest, he didn’t, and it was shortly after his fingers dug into your thighs that his head lowered and his tongue cleaned up the dripping mess you had made.
The sharp surge of pleasure that shocked you made you jerk, and your fingers curled into the blanket the second you felt the tease. It wasn’t on purpose, you were sure you weren’t made to suffer, but you got a little and then wanted a lot. How could you get it? How could you ask? You didn’t have to, Shanks read your mind, and he pushed his tongue harder against you to let it slip in between your folds which made you moan softly. It must’ve been encouraging because he pushed harder, slid his hands along your thighs until his arms were wrapped around them, and he held you still as he buried deeper.
The way you clamped down on his tongue tightly sent Shanks’ brain into overdrive. For a split second he wondered how good you were going to feel around his cock, let his thoughts run selfishly, but he was quick to be reminded of the fact that he was here for you. Him? He could come after, but right now he wanted to hear you, he wanted to see you and taste you again and again, so perhaps in giving you pleasure he was rewarding himself. Shanks felt like he could drown in you, wanted to do just that, but the second you moaned his name so sweetly it was all about hearing it again.
“More,” you said without even realizing it, your eyes slipping shut and teeth sinking into your lip when you received just that.
It didn’t happen right away, Shanks was very happy to take his time, but your request was granted shortly and that busy tongue ran up until it caught your swollen clit. The first flick made you gasp, the second made you squirm, but when Shanks sucked softly you were groaning again. You felt your hips lift slightly, chasing Shanks’ mouth when he pulled away for just a moment, but even though he released one of your legs the other still kept you held down. The hand that was free came up and spread your pussy open, and Shanks took another second to lick up the juices that had spilled out before he was paying attention to the little, sensitive nub again, and his tongue swirled around it before he trapped it in between his lips once more. The fingers that had revealed you slid a little further down, swept over the entrance of your clenching cunt, and Shanks carefully pushed one into you to start thrusting shallowly. You immediately reacted, the overwhelming touch making your legs almost clamp shut but they had nowhere to go with Shanks in between them, and he made sure of that. The arm still around your thigh tightened, he sucked harder, and he waited a few seconds before slipping in a second finger.
The moan you let out then was sinful, coming from deep within and stirring the lust that was bubbling inside of Shanks. It urged him on and he found himself groaning as well, pleased that the pleasure you were feeling was coming from him. His tongue lapped faster, his fingers curled, and suddenly you were whimpering and writhing on the mattress. It was music to his ears, the way his name bubbled from your mouth, and he watched as you arched off the bed when he touched you just right.
“Say my name again,” Shanks said after lifting his head, taking a second to catch the breath he had lost while busying his mouth, and his tongue swept over his shiny lips as he watched you closely.
“Shanks!”
“Good girl,” he immediately praised, thrusting his fingers deeper and making you moan again. He spared you one more look at you, a slow rake of his eyes over your twisting body that was doing everything it could to find more pleasure, and he would’ve grinned had he not dropped his head down and took your clit in between his lips again and sucked hard.
A tremble ran through you so violently that you cried out, and the hands that had been grasping the blanket shot down and flew into Shanks’ hair instead. Your fingers curled into the fiery locks and gripped the strands, and you couldn’t stop yourself from pulling which earned you a deep groan that vibrated against your pussy. Your hips lifted trying to get closer but they were simply pushed down again, Shanks’ arm strong and heavy when it was slung across you in a quick attempt to keep you down. It worked, you were weak as pleasure kept coursing through you with every pass of Shanks’ tongue and every stroke of his fingers inside of you.
“Don’t stop,” you finally managed, gasping when not only did Shanks not stop, but also when his fingers plunged deeper than they had been going before. You were pulsing, dizzy, and you were left in some seriously skilled hands that were bringing you closer and closer to your end. Just a little more, that was all you needed, and as if reading your mind for a second time Shanks sped his fingers up and flicked his tongue fast over your sensitive clit, and you wailed when you finally caught a breath.
“Ye - Yes!” you urged, throwing your head back and letting it sag heavily into your pillow. Your eyes were squeezed shut, teeth sunk into your lip, and the desperation that was surely written on your face was the same one that you were feeling. It wanted more, begged for it as it crawled up from deep within, and it was just as it was burning in your chest that you were rewarded with bliss.
The taste that flooded Shanks’ mouth when you came was mouthwatering, and he was quick to draw his fingers back and replace them with his tongue that buried deep inside of you as much as it could. You were throbbing around it, clamping down tight and whimpering because he just couldn’t stop. It was addicting, you were addicting, and Shanks was pinning your hips down with his hands as he lapped at your dripping cunt. It was only when you were nearly begging him to stop that he did, when your voice was shaky and weak and so polite despite having just come all over his mouth, and Shanks heard you breathe a sigh of relief when he pulled away. He watched you from where he was lying in between your legs as you seemed to melt into your pillows even more, the flush on your face having worked its way down to your heaving chest, and the hands that had once been in his hair now were slack and falling to the bed.
Shanks was smug, proud of the way you had fallen apart for him and the mere touch of his tongue. You looked stunning, an image that he wanted burned into his brain forever, but there were more pressing things at hand. There was you and the fact that he wanted to make you feel that way over and over again, but then there was also him. Shanks was happy to serve, more than happy actually because there was something about the way you broke down that just made him want to keep doing it, but he couldn’t completely ignore his own fuelled arousal. You did things to him that no one else could, simple things that drove him crazy, and hearing the absolutely sinful music that you made had him starving.
“God, look at you,” Shanks muttered to himself more than anything, turning his head so that he could kiss the inside of your thigh before lifting off the leg he had thrown over his shoulder. His lips swept up, climbed higher and higher and left behind a trail of soft kisses that eventually reached your neck. They were slowly pressed, they lingered, and they followed the curve of your jaw before one was placed at the corner of your mouth.
Your head turned, you expected a kiss, but all you got was a chill when Shanks pushed himself up and pulled away from you. The heat that you had started to absorb disappeared and you found yourself frowning, and you were about to make your displeasure known but it caught in your throat when a spectacular view came to be. You would’ve been more flustered had you not been wholly captivated, had the sight of Shanks not made you all hot and bothered, but the fact of the matter was that Shanks was perhaps the most gorgeous man you had ever seen and here he was in your bed. He was kneeling before you, still in between your legs, and he was all hard ridges and sculpted perfection. You couldn’t stop your hands from moving and reaching down, and they were placed on his chest before slowly running down his torso. You made sure to feel every curve of muscle, every contour and stark line, and your eyes followed the path you were making while Shanks’ bore into you. You didn’t have to look to know it, you could feel the holes that were burning into you but you figured it was sheer anticipation.
You weren’t oblivious to the fact that Shanks himself had his own problem, in fact you could very clearly see the way his pants were straining. Still, your fingers took their time, but it wasn’t long before they were swiping the waist of Shanks’ bottoms and hooking into them. It was then that you flicked your gaze up to find Shanks still watching you and you paused, not going any further. Silence lingered for a moment, a few words unspoken, and then you offered another smile but it was almost a little naughty.
“We’re not going to get anywhere with these still on,” you pointed out, letting go and hearing the pants snap against Shanks’ hips. You also heard him chuckle, and soon his hands were once where yours were but unfastening the button instead.
“I guess you’re right,” he responded, and he made quick work of pulling the zipper down before pushing the bottoms off his hips. He almost breathed a sigh of relief when he was freed, fully hard and leaking with desperation, but the expression on your face amused him instead. “My eyes are up here.”
So they were.
Even so, you didn’t look right away, you couldn’t now that the skin that had been hidden was revealed to you. You studied each detail, committed them to memory, but there was still something lingering in the back of your mind. The thought shot forward when Shanks’ cock sprung out, looking thick and heavy as it bobbed, and you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering just how much pleasure he was going to bring to you. He had done a good job so far, fantastic even, so you knew you were in for a treat when Shanks kicked off his pants and then dropped down to hover over you again.
“Looks like you like what you see,” Shanks commented, and though you had been so bold not even moments earlier you were blushing hard. It was cute, how despite your growing confidence you still couldn’t escape your bashfulness, and Shanks smirked down at you. “I’m going to make you feel so good.”
It was a promise, a reassurance, something to hopefully stop your nerves from taking over. You felt that, and the warmth that Shanks was offering was one that comforted you, made you brave. Your hands ran over his chest again, did the same as they had done earlier and trailed down. Again you felt every ridge of his muscles, felt the way it was his turn to have a wave of goosebumps, and eventually you felt his cock twitch in your hand when it wrapped around it.
“You already have, it’s my turn now,” you replied, stroking Shanks’ dick and hearing his breath hitch when your fingers swept over the swollen, slick tip. You glanced down quickly, watched as Shanks’ hips jerked a bit so that he could thrust into your hand. Your grip was firm around his shaft when you stroked him a couple more times, but then you were guiding him towards your drooling cunt. You were excited, more wet than you had ever been, and it all came down to the man that was slowly easing into you. You were thankful for that, because among your thoughts of pleasure you also had to wonder if he was even going to fit.
“Are you okay?” Shanks asked when you winced a bit, pausing, but you nodded and told him to keep going. So he did, adjusted himself so that he was resting on his forearms so that he was even closer to you. “Tell me if you need me to stop, alright?”
Sure Shanks was possibly the most gorgeous man you had ever seen, genuine and kind,
and he was just so funny that you couldn’t help but laugh when he was around. Those were all great, amazing traits, but the way he cared was what attracted you the most. He cared a lot about his crew, his friends, and he cared a lot about you, too. You didn’t know exactly how to categorize yourself, but it was clear you got a special kind of care that had him whispering sweet things to you. Reassurances, promises of everything being okay, and you believed him because you were sure he was right. So you smiled, and this time you shook your head.
“You won’t have to, I want you,” you told him, running your hands up his arms and higher until you were holding his face. “Please keep going.”
Shanks didn’t need to be told twice, and with your consent he sunk his cock even more into you, inch after inch until your hips were flush together. His face fell into your neck when he felt you squeeze around him, clamping down, and a short, quiet moan was muffled by your skin when he let himself enjoy the way you felt. He couldn’t make sense of anything other than you at the moment - hearing you, feeling you, seeing the look of bliss on your face when he lifted his head and watched you. You couldn’t see him to do so because your eyes had slipped shut, and the soft lips of yours had parted to take in a deep, even breath, but when it was ready to come out on a sigh it was swallowed up by Shanks’ mouth. He kissed you hard, deep, devoured you because that’s all he wanted to do. He coaxed your mouth open and his tongue invaded it, twisted around yours and fought until you surrendered and let him take over, and then he drew back his hips.
You couldn’t help but break the hungry kiss early when you felt Shanks move, when you felt his cock slip out of you just to surge forward and fill you again. It made you groan, the stretch you felt as he fit his length inside of you, and when he did it over and over again you couldn’t help but ask him to move a little faster already. Like you had said, you wanted him, and you wanted him bad.
“Fuck you’re tight,” Shanks swore, listening to you and thrusting a bit quicker which only shocked him with pleasure more. The feeling of you, how you wrapped around him so nicely, it was driving him insane and the two of you had barely started. You were perfect, you felt perfect, and Shanks couldn’t help but lose himself in you as he sunk into you over and over again.
There was a friction you were experiencing with every thrust that made your head spin, made you see fireworks that exploded behind your eyes that had fluttered close again. Your hands had fallen to Shanks’ shoulders earlier but now they were climbing up his back, your fingers digging in when Shanks’ thrusts started hitting deeper.
“Right there,” you gasped when something inside of you was pressed just right. Shanks heard you and listened, kept striking the spot over and over, and you were crying out when he didn’t stop. You didn’t want him to, he simply couldn’t for the sake of your sanity, but you were so incredibly overwhelmed that all you could do was hang on and take it.
“Like that?” he asked, and when you responded with a broken moan he took that as his answer.
You looked good underneath him, too good with the way your pleasure was written on your face. Flushed cheeks, lips that were swollen with affection, and when you finally had the chance to look at him your eyes were heavy and clouded with lust. The look drove him crazy, made his own arousal spike high, and Shanks groaned himself when his hips stuttered and caught him off guard.
The rhythm that broke was cause for a new, better pace - swift and hard, with Shanks slamming into you after he lifted himself onto his hands again. He felt as though he went even deeper then, the new angle spectacular and making you cry out from below. Your fingers dug into the muscle on Shanks’ back, biting at the skin but it was the only thing you could think of to hang onto in the moment. You wanted him close, wanted to keep him right where he was, and you did so because just then he was fucking you right. One of his hands traveled down and took you by the underside of your knee, lifting your leg until it hitched onto his hip and you raised the other on your own.
“Shanks, I’m -”
You were cut off by yourself, your head flinging back as you whined loudly, unrestrained. The sensitivity from earlier returned fast, clawing at your insides and climbing up higher and higher. It was almost there, and your own hips were frantically raising to try and meet Shanks’ messy thrusts. You were desperate for it, breathless and panting, and you couldn’t stop your moans from pouring out of you.
“Go on, come for me,” Shanks said, leaning down and kissing your temple. A hand tugged on your arm, took one of yours, and he pulled it up until it was pinned to the pillow next to your head. His fingers slipped through yours and you instantly squeezed tightly, just about as tightly as your pussy did when it clamped down on Shanks’ cock.
“I’m -” you tried again, but you failed miserably when the wall keeping your ecstasy from you crumbled. It escaped you with a wail of Shanks’ name, your back arching high off the bed as you received a perfectly aimed thrust that slammed your orgasm into you.
“Good girl,” Shanks whispered as you writhed below him, dropping his head down further to kiss your neck before his face buried into it.
You were clenching around Shanks’ dick, your body pulsing along with it as euphoria flowed through you, and even though you were still being railed into you were lost in the good feeling that was coursing through you. It felt like fire in your veins, like sparks on your skin, and you were letting it settle in to enjoy as you kept being hammered into.
Shanks had done his job, you were panting underneath him and satisfied, and he was relieved because he wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to last. It wasn’t very long, he knew that, because he hadn’t realized just how turned on he had become after eating you out. It was only as you stared at him with so much heat that he throbbed and he was reminded that he was, in fact, incredibly hard and wanting you. Now he was buried deep inside of you, everything so tight, and the slide of his cock as it thrust into you over and over again was driving him crazy.
“Y/N, fuck,” he cursed again, muffled from where he had rested against your neck. He was panting himself, his breath billowing over your skin, yet even though he was mostly breathless he was still moaning as his thrusts turned erratic. Just like you he only needed a little more, and when you lazily rolled your hips against his in your bleariness he received just that. He groaned when you caught on and snapped your hips hard, only did it a couple more times before Shanks moaned again and sloppily slammed against you. He did so just before he exploded, and he kept himself still against you as his come poured into you with another long groan.
“God, Shanks …” you murmured, your free hand raising and running through the pirate’s hair before gripping it. You used that to give the strands a bit of a tug, and even though he was lost in his pleasure Shanks was following and allowed himself to be guided into the kiss you wanted. You felt him melt against you, and you two enjoyed the moment before Shanks leaned heavily on you, then he simply dropped. The kiss was forced to break when a noise came from deep within when you were squished, the air blowing out of your lungs, but you laughed eventually and wrapped your arms around Shanks the best you could.
“All good?” you asked, still giggling, and you continued to do so when all you received was a grunt in response. Shanks had buried his face into your neck again, then he wrapped you up in his arms and rolled over onto his back, taking you with him. You squealed when he did but let yourself be pulled, and when you found yourself on top of him you were shimmying until you got comfortable. Your arms folded on his chest and your chin sat on top of them, your eyes studying the still flushed face of Shanks’ who finally settled and then looked down at you. He grinned then, big and bright and so wide that it blinded you, but it was contagious and made you smile as well.
“Very good,” he replied, his fingers skimming up your spine before his hand ran down and rested on your lower back. “You?”
“Also very good.”
“Mm, perfect,” Shanks said, his smile shrinking into a fond one as his free hand came up to run through your hair. He didn’t say anything more, simply stared at you, and he did so until you clearly became curious.
“What?” you asked, tilting your head a bit.
For a moment Shanks still didn’t say anything, instead he chose to continue looking at you with a rather adoring expression. Again did his hand stroke your hair, but it came around again and lifted your head a bit. You followed the pull, let him bring you in, and you breathed a happy sigh when he kissed you once more. It was just brief, short and sweet, but it was enough that your heart started racing, and you had to wonder if Shanks felt it banging around in your chest.
“It’s nothing,” he started, but it really wasn’t that. “I just can’t believe how much you make me want to stay here.”
“You can,” you immediately responded, hopeful.
“I can’t,” was Shanks’ answer, and you sighed again but this time in disappointment. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” you said, shaking your head, “you’re right.”
“I wish I wasn’t.”
“Me, too.”
Shanks stared a moment longer then sighed himself, bringing his arms up and wrapping them around you. He held you close, kissed your forehead and then slowly rubbed your back. His lips lingered for a moment, but they were on the move again to kiss your temple, and then your cheek.
“I’m only leaving in a day, we don't have to think about it yet.”
That was true, but you couldn’t help it.
“Let me help you forget it,” Shanks followed up, and one of the hands on your back slid down until it could squeeze your ass, and it made you squeak.
“How?” you asked quietly, though you already knew the answer and it was confirmed when Shanks gave you a playful smirk.
“I can think of a few ways.”
Day Seven:
When life breathed into Shanks he was as confused as ever. What time was it? Where was he? Mornings weren’t typically kind to the pirate; he wasn’t a huge fan of them, and they weren’t a huge fan of his laziness in the early hours. If it were up to him he’d simply roll over in the sunlight that was pouring through the window and fall back asleep, and he almost did just that except there was one problem.
Shanks’ arm flung out with expectancy, his thoughts finally starting to come together and figuring that if there was one thing he was going to have an answer to it was you. You were warm, soft, and … not there? Shanks tried again, his hand patting around the mattress in hopes of finding some sort of contact, but when all it found was cold emptiness his scarred eye popped open.
Huh, you really were gone.
Still trying to calibrate his brain, Shanks blinked himself more awake but not enough, and he was wincing when the light became too much for his eyes that they shut again. He wasn’t going to solve the mystery that way, though, and so with a grunt he pushed himself to sit up and ran his hands up his face as the blankets fell around his waist. His fingers went through his bedhead next, straightened out the messy locks before he took in a deep breath and opened his eyes once more. It took a second to get his feet on the ground, and when Shanks was finally aware of what was going on he was listening.
At first there was nothing, not a peep, and for a split second Shanks was suddenly nervous. Did something happen? He knew where he was now, but where were you? Before his spiral became too dizzying he received an answer, and Shanks’ attention was drawn towards your bedroom door where a clatter was heard outside of it. There was a gasp then, some mumbling, and though he couldn’t make it out Shanks was still chuckling.
Ah, there you were.
The redhead took a moment longer still, flopped back onto the bed and yawned wide as he stretched out. He laid there for a few seconds, stared at the ceiling, and then with a groan he rolled over and sat himself up at the edge of the bed. Shanks took another glance around, found that the room was still tidy despite the mess the two of you had been upon entering it, but it must’ve been your doing because out of the corner of his eye he saw his pants folded up neatly at the end of the bed. He found himself smiling at that, staring, but another bang broke his spell and he looked towards the door again.
What the hell were you doing?
Reaching over Shanks grabbed his pants and stood, slipped them on and shimmied into them before doing them up as he made his way towards the noise. It was just as he was fastening the button that he stepped out into the open space, and when he looked up towards the kitchen your back was turned to him and your hands were on your hips. He smiled when he caught sight of you, but it quickly curled into a smirk when he realized you were standing there in his abandoned top, many sizes too big but still looking perfect on you. Though hidden from view there was enough of Shanks’ memory left that he could see each and every one of your curves, his brain conjuring up images of the slender dips of your body that his hands had explored only hours before. They paused at where the hem of the shirt was brushing the back of your thighs and there they waited, and they did so until Shanks felt himself being stared at. His intuition was correct for when his gaze flicked up he caught you looking at him over your shoulder, and soon an apologetic smile appeared on your face.
“I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” you asked, turning to face Shanks who shook his head, and he pushed himself off of the doorframe so that he could stroll in your direction.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said as he approached, finding himself in front of you and staring down when one of his hands raised. His fingers found the collar of his shirt on you, and one of them hooked into it to give it a bit of a tug. “You look good.”
“Oh, I do?” you replied, grinning a little playfully as you posed. “Do I look as handsome as I feel?”
“So handsome,” Shanks answered with a laugh, leaning down to kiss your forehead as the hand toying with the shirt dropped to your waist. He heard you giggle and it made him smile even wider, the soft kiss lingering when Shanks glanced behind you to take a peek at what it was you were doing. “Are you cooking?”
“Uh …”
Your reply was extremely sheepish, and even though he couldn’t see you Shanks felt the embarrassment radiate from you. It almost made him laugh again but he didn’t dare, not when you were so clearly perplexed, and instead he swung his other arm around you and held you close. You burrowed into his chest and hid your face, and the heat from that alone told Shanks that your face was probably as red as his hair was.
“I’m only used to cooking for one person, okay? And I usually make toast,” you tried in defense.
“I’d be happy with toast,” Shanks commented, and he could practically feel you pout. He entertained it for a moment, swayed the two of you back and forth, and he did so for a minute or two before speaking up again. “I’d be happy staying in bed with you, too.”
“That would be nice,” you agreed after, lifting your own arms so that they could slip around Shanks’ middle.
“I mean it’s just right there.”
“So it is.”
“All you have to do is walk.”
“But breakfast …” you mumbled, drawing away enough that you could turn and look at your oven.
The bang? A pan. The second bang? Another pan, but this one had only fallen to the counter while the other clattered to the floor. That one had been set into the sink, but the other was still on the stove and heating up with a few eggs resting nearby. You went to return to your duty but Shanks was faster, and he reached out to take the pan off the burner and then flick it off.
“I can think of something to eat this morning,” Shanks said rather bluntly, so much so that it seemed as though you didn’t even catch on until you looked behind you at him with wide eyes. All he did was grin in response, and he was moving in even closer to you until he was pressed into your back.
You could only stand still.
“Come on, I know you enjoyed yourself,” Shanks murmured, his head having lowered until his mouth was next to your ear. He felt you tremble when his hands skimmed up your hips and slipped under his shirt, and they settled onto your waist. “I just want to hear you say my name again.”
“Shanks …” you almost warned, standing trapped and nervous.
“Not quite, but something like that,” Shanks responded, a hand daring to creep even higher until his fingers were teasingly tracing the roundness of one of your breasts. The other was a little more adventurous, and it swept down to shortly caress one of your thighs, stroking the soft skin gently.
You were already dizzy, Shanks’ presence alone overwhelming you, but then when he touched you it sent everything into overdrive. Your brain, your heart, your whole body, it kicked into a gear you were unprepared for yet it made you yearn. Shanks wasn’t wrong, you really did enjoy yourself, and to have all of those memories funnel in at once and remind you made your anticipation stir. Were you a little embarrassed? Maybe, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t also excite you.
“Now open your legs for me,” Shanks whispered.
You did as you were told, obedient and taking a bit of a step which allowed Shanks’ hand to slip in between your thighs. Though deliberate his touch was gentle, and his fingers stroked the crotch of your thin underwear until you were letting out an impatient sound. That betrayed you but not as much as your hips did when they pushed down to seek more, doing so almost involuntarily, but you were rewarded for it. At first it didn’t seem that way and you were frowning deeply when Shanks’ hand retreated, but all it did was take a short detour that eventually led to him pushing past the band of your underwear.
“Good girl, stay like that,” he praised, and he relished in the sweet noise you released when his fingers swept over the slit of your pussy. A shiver ran through you at the light touch and Shanks couldn’t help but smirk as his head dropped down, and he pressed a few kisses to your neck before his lips brushed up to near your ear once more. “Do you want me to make you come again?”
How could you say no?
“Please,” you answered rather politely for the fact that Shanks’ hand was already busy between your legs, and it became even busier when he pressed a bit and the tips of his fingers nudged your clit. Your hips jerked at that, your body more excited than you had realized, but could you be blamed? Shanks was … god, he was something.
The thing was that he knew you, and he learned it all in a matter of days. Whether it was a wicked sixth sense or luck you didn’t know, but there wasn’t a single lacking moment when it came to Shanks and your pleasure. It was like he could read your mind, like he knew what you needed long before you did, and then he gave it to you just right. Even now when he was just warming you up he was still making your head spin, and it only spun faster when Shanks’ fingers circled the swelling nub. Your breath caught in your throat when he flicked, then it came out trembling when he chuckled so deeply you felt it against your back. He didn’t say anything, though, found amusement and left it at that, but he did explore further and left your clit alone in favor of teasing your entrance. The slight touch had you clenching around nothing almost immediately, desperate for something, anything, but you were merely wet and waiting while Shanks toyed with you further.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Shanks mumbled after a moment, nuzzling into your neck while the hand up the shirt you were wearing grasped one of your breasts and squeezed. You pushed into it but that sensation was long forgotten when one of Shanks’ fingers started sliding into you.
Did you? Shanks asked not expecting an answer, but he did have to wonder if you knew. He had to wonder if you realized that a single bat of your eyelashes could make him do anything, or if you were aware of the fact that just your voice made him weak in the knees. Could you feel how hard he was against you already? Shanks felt deprived of your affection despite having received so much of it, and just a little taste was breaking him down so fast. You made him want you in ways he didn’t think he could manage, and all you had to do was exist in his arms.
“You make me crazy,” Shanks said, pulling you a bit closer as his finger curled inside of you. Immediately you gasped, but it was short-lived as the sharp breath came out on a moan. It was quiet, soft, but Shanks wanted more and a second finger slid inside of you to join the other. He started to thrust slowly, dragging along the walls of your pussy and making you clench around him. Shanks almost groaned himself at the mere thought of feeling you around his aching dick, squeezing him in the way you were his fingers, and he couldn’t help but press his hips forward to be flush against you.
“Do you want to come on my fingers or my cock?” he asked against your ear.. “Whatever you want.”
“I want you,” you answered instantly, and your head dropped back against his shoulder so that you could peer up at him.
“You have me,” Shanks responded, looking down at you, and the hand that was under his shirt left so that it could come up and tilt your chin even more. He spared you one more glance, a quick one, and then stretched down until his lips met yours.
The kiss was distracting, Shanks overriding all of your senses. You pushed up the best you could but the grasp he had on you prevented you from getting too far, and you were left whining a little when all you received was the deepest of kisses. Shanks’ tongue was lazy when it dipped into your mouth but he still devoured you, tasted every corner until he was satisfied, and there was a slow drag of his tongue against yours as he drew away. You were breathless, a little flushed and certainly dazed, but you were quickly reminded of Shanks’ fingers in your cunt. Unfortunately it was because he removed them and left you empty and aching, and your legs nearly clamped shut in an unconscious effort to keep Shanks there but failed.
“Wai -”
You didn’t have time to protest because you were spun around, and you stumbled into your spot against the counter with barely any focus and a dizzying arousal. When you looked up Shanks was already staring at you with his own gaze dark with lust, and the hands on your hips came up just enough that he could hook his fingers into the band of your underwear and give them a pull. They slid off easily, slipped down your legs and fell to the floor, and you were just stepping out of them when you were lifted up onto the counter. You were dragged to the edge of it, Shanks settled in between your legs, and he reached up to push the large shirt over your shoulders.
You were on display again, the material falling and gathering in the crook of your arms which left you exposed and for the taking. You were gorgeous, so much so that you stunned Shanks again just by existing, and he took his time in looking you over. Again did he commit everything to memory, the sunlight pouring in offering more to his eyes than the prior night did, and he drank up every single curve of your body that was now revealed to him. It was slow, the roaming of Shanks’ eyes as he took you in, and he did so for what felt like a long time. It was long enough that he grew restless, that the sight of you became too much and he had to tear himself away, and he was lifting his heated gaze to meet yours.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Shanks whispered, drawing his fingers along your skin until they were brushing over your cheek. He gently tipped your head back, kissed your forehead and then leaned in and kissed you right, but it was short and sweet and you were following him when he pulled back but he got too far too fast.
Your own hands were on the move, on Shanks’ shoulders and then on his chest, but when he grabbed you by the hips again they dove down towards his pants. Your fingers were delicate but swift, accurate, and they were pulling the button and zipper free within seconds. Shanks took over then, knocked your hands out of the way almost as if you weren’t moving fast enough, and you leaned back to watch with eagerness as he shoved his pants off his hips just enough to let his thick cock spring free. Shanks wrapped his fingers around his shaft and gave his dick a few strokes before he grasped himself, and he ran the swollen head through the folds of your pussy before he was guiding himself to slide in inch by inch.
“Shanks …” you sighed, your head falling back as your eyes fluttered shut, and a moan slipped past your lips when he sunk in fully. Another one was pulled from you when Shanks’ hips ground into yours tightly, the friction short-circuiting your brain, but it quickly sparked back to life when you were thrust into. One of your hands flew up to Shanks’ shoulders while the other reached down to curl around the edge of the counter, your fingers gripping tight when he did it again and again.
Perfectly aimed, that’s what Shanks was when his hips surged forward over and over, and your head was spinning with a shocking pleasure that crashed through you with every hit. He held you still to make sure he never missed, the hands on your hips tight, but soon they were on the move until they hooked under your knees and pulled your legs open even wider. Shanks’ cock slid in even deeper then, and you cried out when his hips snapped and made you arch against nothing. You already wanted more, needed it, and you were doing your very best to try and meet every thrust but failing in your desperation. Shanks either sensed it or saw it, maybe even both, and you felt yourself being drawn in even closer just before you were slammed into.
“God, you feel so good,” Shanks groaned, voice low and husky, and he was carefully guiding your legs around his waist. Once they were locked around his middle he leaned in a bit, and he planted his hands on either side of you on the counter and caged you in. He ducked down fast and crashed his lips into yours, urged your mouth open with his tongue that immediately went after yours hungrily, and he chased the taste of you. Shanks drowned in it, in you - was it possible to save a man who didn’t want to be?
You were being pulled in all sorts of directions, the fiery kiss taking you over by storm but the continuous pounding you were getting driving you crazy. You were distracted by Shanks himself, by the way he felt so good pressed up against you, but then seconds later your head would be swimming from the raspiness in his voice when he said your name. In that very second it was impossible to focus on just one thing, but in the next one when Shanks took it upon himself to go faster all you could think about was getting more.
The messy kiss broke when you gasped, lips slick and glossy and meeting again but only for a moment before a cry forced its way out. The hand that was holding onto the edge left, both of your arms swinging around Shanks’ neck to pull him in and you held him close. He was striking you even deeper then, his cock stretching you wide with every thrust, and they only became erratic when you begged for more. Speed, strength, power, you received all of that and an extra touch that was making you whimper, one of Shanks’ hands slipping in between the two of you so that his fingers could brush your clit again.
Instantly you clenched around Shanks, your pussy tightening so much that it interrupted the pace he had set by making his body stutter and both of you moaned at that. He flicked over the swollen nub again and this time your hips twitched, too, but then he found himself staring as they lifted again and again to meet his. He watched as you swallowed him, as he fucked in and out of you and made you a soaked mess, and you seemed to only get more drenched when he rubbed your clit. His other hand had a mission now and ran up your body until it had one of your breasts in it, and he gave it a squeeze before a finger flicked your nipple. It instantly hardened and you released a moan when it was pinched, the sound going straight to Shanks’ throbbing dick that was plowing deeply into your cunt.
“Shanks, I’m coming,” you whined breathlessly, your eyes screwing shut tightly when a strike of electric ecstasy shot down your spine and headed for the pool of pleasure swirling inside of you. It was going to overflow soon, your trembling body unable to contain it for much longer, and it grew more reckless and restless when Shanks slammed into you harder.
You had been right because “soon” came around and you crumbled, Shanks’ name bouncing off of the walls when you threw your head back and yelled it. It was desperate but filled with satisfaction, the kind that flushed through you so intensely that you were left writhing on the counter. Your pussy was pulsing in the wake of your orgasm, squeezing Shanks’ relentless cock as it fucked you straight through the fireworks that exploded behind your eyes and then consumed you. It was too much, though, your euphoria and then the onslaught of oversensitivity that hit you when Shanks didn’t let up, and you were whimpering.
“You’re doing so good,” Shanks murmured against your ear, kissing the burning shell of it as his hands stopped their teasing and traveled to hold your jerking hips still again. “Just a little more, can you do that for me?”
Could you? You didn’t know, but you nodded anyway.
“That’s my girl,” Shanks praised, resting his forehead against yours before releasing a ragged breath.
All at once Shanks’ own pleasure had caught up to him, clawed at his insides and threatened to burst free at any moment. It had once lurked under the surface but now came raging forward, and you were his downfall that appeared in a matter of seconds. The sweet noises you were making as you tried to fight off the overwhelming sensations, the way you looked lost to your bliss, there was just so much that was driving Shanks towards his high that he could barely focus on getting there. You just felt so good, felt as though you were made for him, and Shanks selfishly took and took until it was too much.
The choked version of your name that left Shanks when he came was sinful, his hips stuttering clumsily before they snapped hard and stilled against you. His cock buried deep inside of your soaked pussy before it exploded, filling you with thick ropes of come and making you moan again as Shanks held himself tight to you. The grip he had on you was strong and kept you in place as he emptied his load, but it wasn’t long before the grasp fell just as slack as Shanks himself did. He did so with a hard sigh, his fast pants matching yours as both of you attempted to catch your breaths that were mingling in the close proximity, and he lowered himself until he was resting against you.
Your arms slid further around Shanks’ neck until he was gathered up in them, and one of your hands ran through his hair while the other skimmed up and down his back despite your weakened state. You absorbed his warmth, soaked up the feeling of him against you as he relaxed, and you turned your head a minute later to kiss the side of Shanks’. It lifted after, though, just enough that his gaze could catch yours, and he held it for a moment before his look turned tender and he smiled softly. One of his hands raised and cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing the soft, flushed skin gently as his other hand came up to hold the other side of your face. He leaned in after that and kissed you, pressed his lips to yours so sweetly that you instantly melted and leaned heavily into his chest, and you drew him in even closer by locking your legs around his waist.
“Do you still want to make breakfast?” Shanks asked quietly after pulling away from you, but he didn’t get very far before you were leaning in again.
“No,” you replied in between kisses, tightening your legs which made Shanks chuckle against your mouth.
“Do you want me to ma -”
“Let’s just go back to bed for the rest of the day,” you interrupted, and this time Shanks laughed out loud.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The rest of the day, huh?
… could he let you go after that?
Day Eight:
One week.
Seven days.
168 hours.
10,080 minutes.
Not even breaking it down to the 604, 800th second made it seem long enough because simply put it wasn’t.
Your problem wasn’t that one week wasn’t long enough to know someone …
“Hey.”
… it was that one week wasn’t long enough to have with someone you felt like you knew forever.
“Hi.”
Seven days had passed, come and gone like a tornado that ripped through everything and left behind chaos. The storm was in your head, swirling your thoughts around and clouding the reality that came barrelling forward that morning when you woke up. You had tried to stay in your la la land, laid in Shanks’ arms and didn’t move a muscle simply because you were afraid of losing the time you had, but that reality was settling in fast.
“Please don’t cry.”
“Huh?”
It was only when Shanks had moved that you did, too, pulled away from him and sat up to stretch as he woke up himself, and you had spent a moment with your arms reaching above your head. A yawn had burst free from you, your arms dropped, and then you had taken a second to collect your bleary self. Then? Well, then it hit you.
Seven days had passed, and now it was time for Shanks to leave.
Shanks’ hand lifted towards your face, touched your cheek gently, and when it pulled away you noticed that it was glistening. Your own hand came up and when your fingers swept the spot it was wet, another drop rolling down in its place.
“Oh,” you said dumbly, and your other hand came up to wipe at your face but it was useless. It was your arm next, swiping your eyes, but still the tears came and you sighed in what was frustration. “I’m sorry.”
You didn’t need to be sorry, if anything he did. He needed to be sorry because he came to Windmill Village and got caught up in that tornado, too, and he needed to be sorry that he kept you at his side during it all. It wasn’t supposed to go as far as it did, it was meant to be harmless and fun, and now the two of you were stuck and doomsday was here.
“Don’t be sorry,” Shanks said, placing a hand on your back before rubbing it, “you have nothing to be sorry for.”
“But I do,” you countered, your voice thick with emotion as you wiped your eyes again. “I shouldn’t have let this happen, we shou -”
“Don’t apologize for that.”
Shanks had cut you off so abruptly and so sternly that it caught you by surprise, and you were left gaping a little as he stared up at you intensely. He searched your face to look for something, did so for a few seconds, and then he met your gaze. He held it and you wouldn’t have been able to look away even if you wanted to, staring back in mild confusion, and then that hand on your back left and took one of yours.
“Don’t apologize for what happened because I’m not sorry,” Shanks said, looking down at your hands where he slipped his fingers through yours before peering up at you again. “Why should you be sorry about something that you made amazing?”
You weren’t sure what to say, so Shanks continued.
“I’ve never met anyone like you before, and you’re not the kind of person I’m sorry about meeting. You’ve made me feel things that I didn’t think I would and they’re wonderful things, not things that we should be sad about.”
“But you’re leaving.”
“But I’m not letting you go.”
Your tears had stopped, but your heart still hurt.
“How could I?” Shanks asked softly, bringing his other hand up back towards your face and cradling it gently, watching as you leaned into it. “You’ve changed my life, and I don’t regret any of it.”
That ache in your heart was yearning, a want for more - more of Shanks, more memories to make, more time that you didn’t have. You wanted forever, wanted all of the time in the world to just exist with the man that had done the same thing to you. He had changed your life as well, made it better simply by entering it and showing you all of these fantastic things that you didn’t know a person could make you feel. What did you do with the fact that every time you saw him, every time you heard his voice your heart went crazy? How did you explain the way that he provided you with so much comfort that you wanted to be wrapped up in his arms forever? Shanks had done things to you that someone shouldn’t have been able to do in a week, yet here you were lost in him and about to lose him.
“This isn’t the end.”
Maybe.
“What do you mean?” you inquired.
Shanks didn’t reply right away, instead his hand slipped around to the back of your neck and he pulled you in, gently guiding you down until he was close enough that his lips could press to yours. The kiss was soft, tender, full of unspoken words that you allowed in, and they eased your worried mind. They sparked a hopefulness, the kind that ignited in the back of your brain and consumed it in seconds, and you swelled with optimism. It lingered when Shanks pulled back, and it grew when he smiled at you, and when he touched his forehead to yours you started drowning in it. Shanks let go of your hand and brought his up to hold the side of your face, stroked your cheek softly as he searched your eyes, and then he kissed you again.
You surrendered to it, let yourself be wrapped up in what Shanks was which was everything to you. It was crazy, like you had said seven days wasn’t very long, but even so there was no denying what happened in that one week where Shanks stayed in Windmill Village. It was out of a storybook, a fairytale, the kind where the princess found her Prince Charming and he swept her off her feet, and then their kiss said happily ever after.
There, in a pirate captain’s cabin with only hours to go, Shanks’ kiss said something different:
“I’ll come back to you,” it told you, “I promise.”
Plot: A tavern waitress with roots in nobility is taken into the polished brutality of Mary Geoise. Saint Shamrock Figarland is tasked with retrieving you. How unfortunate for him.
Read on AO3
Chapter 19: The Knife Version of the Story
For a week after the Figarland dinner, you did not see Shamrock.
That should have helped. It did not.
It only gave your mind time to become inconvenient.
You did not think about the kiss.
You did not think about your back against the wall of the Figarland estate, his mouth on yours, the sound he had made when you dragged him closer.
Nope.
Definitely not.
Lila had stopped pretending she did not notice when you became angry at nothing.
One morning Lady Marise looked at you over breakfast and said, “You seem distracted.”
You looked at your eggs.
“I’m reflecting on my many opportunities.”
Your father’s eyes lifted from his correspondence.
Lila, standing near the wall, developed a sudden interest in the teapot.
Then the flowers arrived.
Not a bouquet.
That would have been too ordinary.
A long, low arrangement in a dark ceramic vase was carried into the sitting room by two servants. The flowers were deep red and white, structured more than soft, arranged with dark leaves and branches.
Lady Marise saw them first. “How thoughtful,” she said.
You stood near the window with a book you had not been reading and looked at the arrangement. “They look expensive.”
“They are from the Figarland estate.”
“That explains it.”
Lila lowered her eyes.
Lady Marise did not appreciate that. She stepped closer and found the card tucked neatly between two white blooms.
Her gaze moved over the writing. “Commander Figarland requests your company this evening.”
Requests.
That was new.
Suspicious.
You held out your hand.
Lady Marise hesitated.
You lifted your brows.
After a moment, she gave you the card.
Lady Veroux,
If you are willing, accompany me this evening to the Kensington Gallery.
Shamrock Figarland
You stared at the words.
If you are willing.
Infuriating.
Absolutely infuriating.
Because he had listened.
Badly, perhaps.
Late, definitely.
But he had listened.
Lady Marise watched your face. “You will accept.”
You looked up.
“There it is.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Commander Figarland’s attention is not something you can afford to mishandle.”
“You and my father should consider having that printed on napkins. It would save time.”
Lady Marise’s expression chilled.You smiled pleasantly. “I will accept,” you said.
Her suspicion sharpened.
Fair.
You would have been suspicious too.
The Kensington Gallery stood in one of Mary Geoise’s older districts. It housed private collections opened only for select evenings, which meant everything inside was valuable enough to be admired by people who had never earned anything.
Shamrock arrived at seven.
You wore dark green silk because Lady Marise had decided deep colors suited you and because you had decided not to let her be wrong merely to spite her. Your hair was pinned halfway back, with the rest falling over your shoulders.
Shamrock’s eyes moved over you when he arrived.
“You look well,” he said.
“You sent flowers.”
“I did.”
“They have a personality.”
Amusement touched his eyes. “Do they?”
“They look like they would correct my posture.”
“Then they were well chosen.”
You narrowed your eyes.
Shamrock offered his arm.
You took it with less hesitation this time.
That was concerning.
The gallery was already full when you arrived. Music played somewhere in the central hall, soft and unobtrusive. Guests moved through rooms of paintings, sculptures, old weapons, jeweled maps, and relics displayed beneath glass.
You disliked the relics immediately.
Too many of them looked like they had belonged somewhere before Mary Geoise decided ownership was theirs.
“You disapprove,” Shamrock said.
“I’m looking.”
“You disapprove while looking.”
The first hour passed publicly. That was probably intentional.
Shamrock greeted several men, ignored several women with professional indifference, and kept you beside him in a way that was formal enough not to be scandalous and deliberate enough that everyone understood.
You were watched.
Again.
By women. By fathers. By men trying to determine whether approaching you now required calculation beyond their comfort.
It did.
That part was useful.
Annoying, but useful.
Eventually, Shamrock guided you out of the central hall and into a quieter side gallery lined with old portraits and glass cases full of ceremonial blades.
The room was not empty, but it was close enough.
Two older men stood near the far end discussing a painting in bored voices. A woman passed through without stopping. For the first time that evening, no one was close enough to hear. You looked at the blades arranged beneath the glass.
“This feels pointed.”
Shamrock followed your gaze.
“The room is private.”
“And full of knives.”
“Behind glass.”
You looked at him. “I made an effort.”
“I noticed.”
You stared at him.
“That is not how jokes work.”
“I am aware.”
“Are you?”
His eyes returned to yours. This time, the amusement was there without the courtesy of becoming a smile.
“There is something I need to tell you.”
Your stomach tightened.
There it was.
The reason for the flowers.
The reason for the request.
“Should I sit down?”
“No.”
“Unfortunate. That means I’m expected to stand through it.”
“I intend to speak to your father formally.”
The words landed exactly where you thought they would.
“About marriage.”
“Yes.”
His gaze did not move from your face. “I am telling you before I speak to him.”
“I noticed.”
“That was your objection last time.”
“One of them.”
His expression did not change.
“You did improve,” you said. “That is irritating.”
“I thought it might be useful.”
“You must be very proud.”
“Moderately.”
A laugh almost escaped you. You looked back at the knives before your face could betray you. The room felt too quiet despite the music from the hall.
“You had over four months,” you said.
Shamrock was silent.
You crossed your arms. “You watched my father parade suitors through his house for four months.”
He looked at you directly.
“I wanted you to know what the alternative was.”
Your eyes narrowed. “That is a horrible answer.”
“Yes.”
“And very convenient for you.”
“Yes.”
You forced yourself to look back at him. “And marriage?”
“Because your father will not stop.”
“No,” you said, voice lowering. “That explains the move. It does not explain me.”
You had not meant the question to sound small.
It did anyway.
“You could marry anyone here. Women raised for this. Women who want this. Women who would not make your life difficult before breakfast.” You looked back at him. “Women who do not have half of Mary Geoise waiting for them to misstep.”
“I have met those women.”
He stepped closer, slow enough that you could have moved away. He continued, “Because you keep learning without becoming obedient.”
Your mouth closed.
“That is a terrible foundation for marriage,” you said.
“Most foundations here are worse.”
“Wonderful.” You lifted a hand before you could think better of it. “That will be a lovely story for the children. I had poor manners and once tried to stab their father with a kitchen knife.”
Shamrock went very still.
You realized what you had said at the exact moment he did.
Their father.
Oh no.
No.
Absolutely not.
“Hypothetical children,” you said immediately.
His eyes did not leave yours. “Of course.”
“Hypothetical father as well.”
“You were specific.”
Your face warmed.
Horrifying.
“Accidentally.”
“Of course.”
“Do not be pleased.”
“Too late.”
You turned back to the display case. “I regret several words in that sentence.”
He had the restraint not to smile. Barely. The amusement thinned into something far more difficult to ignore.
“I have been offered obedience,” he said. “Beauty. Ambition. Perfect manners. Useful bloodlines.”
His gaze moved over your face.
“None of them held my attention.”
You looked down.
Not pretty. Not polished. Not a compliment someone had taught him to give.
Just him.
“You have terrible taste,” you said.
“Yes.”
“And worse judgment.”
“Possibly.”
You looked back at him. “You are supposed to deny at least one of those.”
“No.”
“Why?”
His eyes held yours. “Because I want to kiss you, and arguing would delay it.”
Your thoughts stopped.
Cleanly.
The music from the hall seemed very far away.
Shamrock’s hand rose to your jaw. This time, the touch was careful from the start. His thumb brushed the edge of your cheek.
Then he kissed you.
Slower than before.
His mouth moved over yours once, then again, controlled enough to make you chase the pressure instead of fight it.
He made a low sound against your mouth and stepped closer, one hand settling at your waist. The glass case was at your back. Shamrock was in front of you. Music drifted from the hall, distant and useless.
You kissed him harder.
Because slower had become unbearable.
For a moment, the gallery disappeared. Then voices approached from the hall.
You broke away first.
Barely.
Your breathing was not where you had left it.
Shamrock’s was controlled.
Mostly.
His eyes stayed on your mouth for one second longer than they should have.
There it was.
You felt better.
A little.
“You chose a public gallery for this conversation,” you said.
“I chose a side room.”
“With doors.”
“Most rooms have those.”
“Do not become funny now.”
The voices passed without entering.
You released his coat and smoothed the fabric immediately, because apparently you had manners now even while losing your mind.
He watched your hands.
“You may speak to my father,” you said.
His gaze lifted.
Your heart beat once, hard.
“I may?”
There was the faintest edge of amusement in it.
Your eyes narrowed. “You may ask.”
“Yes.”
“And I may still refuse.”
The amusement faded into something steadier.
“Yes.”
“And if you become unbearable, I will.”
“Understood.”
You stepped away from the glass case and lifted your chin.
“Good.”
People laughed somewhere nearby. Mary Geoise continued on, polished and hungry and unaware that one of its most infamous bachelors had just made a marriage intention.
He offered his arm.
You stared at him.
Then took it.
Because apparently you were still learning without becoming obedient.
Berry D. Cherry met Shanks after Benn Beckman married a nun to sleep with her ("I'm not an indecent man," in his words) and needed to file a divorce. Originally training to be a lawyer, she was thrust into piracy after the Navy accused her of aiding and abetting pirates.
Her unofficial role on the ship is taking care of the rookies. Her official role is intelligence officer. She has an office next to the med-bay, stock full of Den Den Mushi that she uses to tap into secure lines. Every report sent to Shanks is run through her first.
Shanks thinks it's hilarious that her name rhymes and has created half-a-dozen songs about it. Whenever he's properly drunk, he'll sing them.
The rookies on the ship call her 'nee-chan' behind her back. Cherry pretends not to hear it, but they slip up all the time. Once, she even got called 'mom' and still hasn't recovered from that.
Since Shanks is bad at keeping in touch, (I'll see them again, so there's no point), Cherry is the one writing letters and taking calls from their fleet and family members/friends. Gaban's her most frequent caller and her gossip buddy.
Plot: After two weeks of quietly sharing Law’s bed, the tension finally breaks.
Trafalgar D. Law — Part 3
Read: Part 2
You had been sleeping in Law’s bed off and on for two weeks.
Not every night. Never often enough for either of you to call it routine out loud. But often enough that the empty side of his bed had started to mean something. Often enough that, on the nights you came to his room, the blanket was already turned down.
Neither of you talked about that.
The crew noticed anyway.
Law looked less dead in the mornings. Shachi started grinning too widely whenever you walked into the galley after him. Penguin made one comment about “improved captain maintenance” and immediately regretted it when Law looked at him.
The mornings changed depending on the night. Sometimes you woke with Law’s arm over your waist and his face near your shoulder. Sometimes he was on his back beside you, his hand loose around yours beneath the blanket.
No matter how much space you left between each other before falling asleep, you always woke touching.
That was the part you did not know what to do with.
Not the bed. Not the almost-kisses. Not even the way he said your name now when the door was closed.
It was waking up to proof that, somewhere in the dark, Law had reached for you.
And awake, he was worse.
Careful.
Quiet.
Always stopping just before either of you could do something that would make pretending impossible.
A hand at your back when he moved past you in the infirmary.
His shoulder pressed to yours over a chart.
His fingers brushing yours when he handed you a scalpel, a file, a cup, anything.
The tension had gone from strange to familiar to unbearable.
By the end of the second week, you had started to feel it in your teeth.
That night, Law was still in the infirmary when you let yourself into his room.
You closed the door behind you and crossed to the shelf. The book you chose was not one you intended to understand. It had diagrams. Too many footnotes.
Perfect.
You settled on his bed with your back against the wall and opened it across your lap.
The room was quiet.
A little while later Law stepped inside and stopped.
He looked at you.
“You’re late,” you said.
His hand stayed on the door.
“I wasn’t aware I had an appointment.”
“You do. Very important.”
“With my own bed?”
“With sleep.”
“That explains why I wasn’t interested.”
Usually, you would have gotten something for that. A flat look. A dry correction. Maybe the smallest pull at the corner of his mouth.
Tonight, nothing.
Law shut the door and crossed to the desk. He set a folder down. Then his hat. Then his sword within reach. His movements were controlled, but too controlled.
You lowered the book.
“Bad night?”
“No.”
You waited.
He did not elaborate.
That meant yes.
“Did someone misfile something? Because if this is about the labels on the upper cabinet, I maintain that your system was awful.”
Law did not look at you. “It’s not about the labels.”
“Good. Because I was prepared to defend myself.”
He moved the folder from one side of the desk to the other.
Then back again.
“Law.”
“I’m fine.”
He still did not turn around.
You could have pushed. There were nights when pushing worked with him. Nights when the right amount of annoyance loosened whatever knot he had tied himself into.
This was not one of them.
So you slid the book onto the small table beside the bed and pulled the blanket down.
“I’m tired,” you said.
Law finally looked back at you.
You climbed beneath the blanket before he could tell you to go.
For a moment, he only watched you. Then he turned away and dragged a hand through his hair.
You moved onto your side, facing away from him, and settled near the wall.
Law moved around the room without speaking. After a few minutes the mattress dipped behind you.
He got in carefully, leaving space.
Too much.
You stared at the wall.
Law lay on his back beside you. You could hear the controlled pattern of his breathing, too even to be natural.
You reached behind you without looking.
Your hand found his.
For half a second, he did not move.
Then his fingers opened.
You took them and pulled.
Slowly.
No words.
No jokes.
The mattress shifted as he turned onto his side. His chest came against your back, cautious at first, barely there.
You pulled his hand farther around you.
That was all it took.
His arm slid over your waist.
His body settled behind yours. His face lowered near the nape of your neck, close enough that you felt the first unsteady breath he let out.
You kept hold of his hand at your stomach.
Law’s fingers curled between yours.
Neither of you spoke.
After a while, the stiffness went out of him slowly. His shoulders loosened. His arm grew heavier over your waist.
You felt the exact moment he gave up staying awake.
His forehead touched the back of your shoulder.
His fingers twitched once in yours.
Then nothing.
You closed your eyes.
For once, you did not wake tangled by accident.
You fell asleep already held.
Law was still behind you when you woke up.
His chest was against your back. The two of you had barely moved. His face was close to your shoulder, but his hand had left your waist.
He was tracing your arm.
Not asleep.
Awake.
His fingertips moved from your shoulder down to your wrist, light enough to raise goosebumps. Then back up again. Slow. Even. Like he had been doing it for a while and had no intention of stopping until you made him.
You kept your eyes closed.
His fingers reached your wrist again.
Then your elbow.
Then the bare skin where your sleeve had slipped down your shoulder sometime in the night.
You swallowed.
“That feels nice,” you whispered.
His hand stopped.
For a second, neither of you moved. Then his fingers curled lightly around your arm.
You opened your eyes.
Law shifted behind you. His hand moved to your waist, and with the smallest pressure, he guided you to turn.
You did.
Slowly.
The blanket shifted between you as you rolled onto your back.
Law stayed close.
Too close for either of you to pretend this was still about sleep.
His hair was loose over his forehead. His eyes moved over your face, heavy and quiet, then dropped to your mouth.
You took his hand.
His fingers were warm in yours. Tattooed. Familiar now in ways that still made your chest ache if you thought about them too long.
You lifted his hand and kissed the back of it.
Law went very still.
Your mouth stayed there for one second.
Then another.
When you lowered his hand, his eyes were on you.
You barely had time to breathe before he leaned down and kissed you.
His mouth opened against yours. His hand slid to your jaw. You made a small sound, and he pulled you closer before the sound was gone.
Then the kiss turned deeper.
His body shifted over yours, not fully on top of you, but close enough that the blanket trapped heat between you.
You kissed him harder.
Law’s hand left your jaw and went to your waist.
Then under your shirt.
His palm moved up your back, skin to skin, dragging you closer as you turned toward him. Your knees bumped beneath the blanket. One of his legs slid between yours, and your hand tightened in his hair hard enough to make him break the kiss for half a breath.
His mouth came back to yours immediately.
Your hand moved to the side of his neck, fingers pressing against the warm skin there, feeling the spike in his pulse. His mouth missed yours once before finding it again.
His hand moved along your back and then around your side.
He stopped there.
You arched closer.
Law’s hand moved to your breast.
The sound you made was quiet.
Not quiet enough.
His mouth stopped against yours. Then his fingers flexed once, and your back lifted off the mattress before you could stop it.
“Law,” you breathed.
His mouth moved to the corner of yours.
Then your jaw.
Then lower.
Your head tipped back before you could think better of it.
He kissed your throat once, open and warm.
Your hands moved without permission. Down his back. Over the bare strip of skin where his shirt had ridden up. Then lower, to his waist.
Law’s whole body went tight.
Your fingers found the edge of his waistband.
He stopped.
Not slowly.
All at once.
His forehead dropped to your shoulder.
For a second, he did not move.
His hand was still under your shirt. His body was still pressed close to yours. His breathing was uneven against your neck.
Then, with visible effort, he pulled his hand back.
“Not yet,” he said.
The words were rough enough to scrape.
You froze.
Then your hands loosened at his waist.
“Okay.”
Law’s jaw flexed against your shoulder.
He stayed close, but his hand pressed into the mattress beside you instead of going back under your shirt.
You slid your hand up his back again, slower this time, gentler.
His shoulders lowered.
Law lifted his head.
His eyes were dark. His mouth was still close enough that you could feel the next breath he took.
“It’s not because I don’t want—”
“I know.”
He stopped.
You brushed his hair back from his forehead. Your fingers lingered there because he let them.
That was new too.
Law closed his eyes for half a second.
When he opened them again, some of the strain had eased, but not all of it.
You smiled faintly. “So this is you being responsible?”
His expression flattened.
Barely.
“You make it difficult.”
“That’s generous. I thought I made it impossible.”
“You’re close.”
You laughed softly.
The sound made something in his face shift.
He leaned down and kissed you again. When he pulled back, he did not go far.
His fingers brushed your cheek once.
Then he sat up.
The morning came back into focus.
The hum of the ship. The faint voices outside. Your shirt twisted. Law’s hair completely ruined.
You sat up after him and fixed your shirt while he looked very deliberately at the wall.
“Subtle,” you said.
“I’m being polite.”
“You were very polite five minutes ago.”
His ears went red.
You smiled and reached for your boots.
Law got out of bed and found his hat. Once it was in place, the captain came back over him piece by piece.
Plot: A tavern waitress with roots in nobility is taken into the polished brutality of Mary Geoise. Saint Shamrock Figarland is tasked with retrieving you. How unfortunate for him.
Read on AO3
Chapter 18: The Figarland Estate
You realized halfway through the drive that Shamrock had not said where you were going.
That should have concerned you sooner.
In your defense, he had asked you to dinner in front of half a room of women who would absolutely remember it, then trapped you in a vehicle and said I came for you, as if that was a reasonable thing to say to a woman with several objections still pending.
So yes.
You had been distracted.
Still, when the vehicle turned away from the central restaurants and toward a quieter stretch of the Holy Land, you looked out the window.
The streets widened.
The houses grew larger.
The gates became less decorative and more threatening.
You turned your head slowly.
“Where are we going?”
Shamrock sat across from you, one arm resting along the side of the seat. He had looked irritatingly comfortable for the entire ride.
“My family estate.”
Your fingers tightened in your lap.
“Your family estate.”
“Yes.”
“I thought we were going to dinner.”
“We are.”
You looked back out the window as the vehicle passed through a set of black iron gates.
“Of course,” you said. “Why would dinner happen somewhere normal?”
The Figarland estate rose ahead. It did not look like a home. It looked like a place people were summoned to.
The vehicle stopped near the front steps. A servant opened the door before you could decide whether remaining inside counted as resistance or simply delay.
Shamrock stepped out first and offered his hand.
“Before I take that,” you said, “tell me exactly who is waiting inside.”
“My father.”
Everything in you went still.
Then hot.
Then very, very controlled.
“Saint Garling Figarland.”
“Yes.”
Your smile came slowly.
It felt sharp enough to draw blood.
“You are fortunate,” you said.
His eyes narrowed slightly. “How?”
“That there are witnesses.”
The moment your feet touched the ground, you leaned closer as if Shamrock had said something charming.
“If I stab you with a dinner fork,” you said softly, “I want you to know it was premeditated.”
“I will keep that in mind.”
“Do.”
He drew your hand through his arm and led you toward the steps.
The entrance hall was colder than your father’s house. Not in temperature. In feeling.
The ceilings rose high above you. The floor was polished black stone veined with white. There were no unnecessary flowers. No soft colors. No attempt to make the room kind.
At least the house was honest.
A servant bowed. “Commander. My lady.”
Shamrock released your hand only once you were inside.
The steward opened a set of double doors and you saw the dining room.
Long table.
Low light.
And a man already standing beside the hearth.
Tall. Broad. White hair pulled back. Face carved hard with age and authority. You knew who he was before anyone said it.
Saint Figarland Garling turned.
Shamrock had stopped beside you.
“Father,” he said.
Your body went very still.
Damn it.
Garling’s eyes moved to you.
Not rudely.
But thoroughly.
A battlefield assessment in a dining room.
You felt it in your teeth.
“Saint Harlan’s daughter,” Garling said.
Not a greeting.
A placement.
You looked at Shamrock.
He did not look away from his father.
You looked back at Garling and folded your hands because if you did not put them somewhere, they might find Shamrock’s throat.
“Saint Figarland,” you said.
Garling studied you.
Then looked at Shamrock.
“She is smaller than the noise around her suggested.”
Your face stayed neutral.
Barely.
Shamrock’s voice was even. “Noise often exaggerates.”
Garling’s eyes returned to you. “Does it?”
You could feel Shamrock beside you.
Silent.
Waiting.
Not rescuing you.
Fine.
You could stand without him.
Usually.
“It depends who is making it,” you said.
A faint stillness entered the room.
Garling did not smile.
Neither did Shamrock.
But something passed between them.
Not approval.
Not exactly.
Interest.
You were beginning to hate that word.
Dinner began.
No one called it a test.
That would have been too honest.
The food was excellent. Everything in Mary Geoise was either excellent or cruel, and the wealthy had learned to arrange both on plates.
Garling asked about your time in your father’s house.
You said it had been instructive.
He asked about your upbringing below.
You said it had been useful.
He asked whether you missed it.
You put down your glass.
“Yes.”
Garling’s eyes held yours across the table. “Even now?”
“Especially now.”
The servant refilling the wine did not pause.
Very disciplined.
Garling leaned back slightly. “Most people would avoid admitting that here.”
“Most people here seem occupied with avoiding many things.”
Shamrock’s gaze shifted to you.
You did not look at him.
Garling did.
“Your father has had difficulty placing you.”
“That is one way to describe it.”
“What way would you choose?”
You took a bite of chicken because making Garling wait felt like the only available luxury.
“I would say he keeps choosing poorly and acting surprised by the results.”
Shamrock’s mouth did not move.
You checked from the corner of your eye.
Disappointing.
Garling looked at you for a long moment. Then he said, “And my son?”
There it was.
Your appetite vanished.
You set down your fork.
“What about him?”
“Is he also choosing poorly?”
Shamrock was suddenly very still beside you.
You looked at Garling. Then, against your better judgment, at Shamrock.
His face was controlled.
His eyes were not.
Wonderful.
Now both Figarlands were doing that.
You looked back at Garling. “I would not presume to explain your son’s judgment to you.”
Garling’s gaze held yours. “That is not an answer.”
“No,” you said. “It is manners.”
Something in the room shifted.
Shamrock looked at you then.
Garling studied you for a long moment. “And without manners?”
You folded your hands in your lap. “Without manners, I would say he seems very committed to making his own life more difficult.”
For several seconds, the room was silent.
Then Garling looked at Shamrock.
“You were right.”
That was not comforting.
You turned your head. “About what?”
Garling did not answer you.
Shamrock did.
“That you would not make this easy.”
You stared at him.
“I was invited here to be easy?”
“No.”
“Good. I didn’t bring anything for that.”
For the first time, Garling’s mouth moved.
Barely.
Not a smile.
More alarming.
Dinner continued.
It did not become comfortable. Nothing in the Figarland estate seemed designed for comfort.
But it became survivable.
Garling asked questions.
You answered the ones worth answering.
Sometimes badly.
Sometimes carefully.
Once, Garling asked whether you understood what attention from House Figarland could do for your father’s position.
“Yes,” you said. “It gives him something valuable enough to panic over.”
By the time dessert arrived, your shoulders ached from keeping them relaxed.
The final course was something delicate with sugared fruit and cream. You ate half of it out of spite because it was very good and you refused to let this house take dessert from you too.
When dinner ended, Garling stood first.
So did Shamrock.
So, after half a second, did you.
Garling came around the table and stopped in front of you. “You are not what Saint Harlan knows how to use.”
The words settled heavily.
You could not tell whether they were insult or compliment. With this family, the odds were poor either way.
“No,” you said. “He keeps trying anyway.”
Garling’s gaze held yours.
Then he looked at Shamrock.
“See her home.”
“I will.”
That was it.
No farewell.
No blessing.
No threat dressed as courtesy.
Just dismissal.
Shamrock walked you out through the dark hall.
You waited until the dining room doors closed behind you.
Then you stopped.
Shamrock stopped too.
You turned on him. “You brought me here to meet your father.”
“Yes.”
“You did not think that was worth mentioning?”
“I chose not to mention it.”
Your eyes narrowed.
“If I had told you, you would have prepared for him.”
“I was supposed to be unprepared?”
“You were supposed to be yourself.”
That caught harder than it should have.
You stared at him.
The hall was quiet around you, lamps burning low against the walls.
“That is very convenient language for an ambush.”
“Yes.”
You stared at him.
He did not look away. “It is also true.”
You hated that he did not even bother making himself sound better.
“You could have told me,” you said.
“I could have.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because I chose you before the dresses. Before the lessons. Before your father understood what he could gain from you.”
Your breath caught.
Shamrock’s voice lowered. “I wanted him to see that woman.”
For one moment, the anger had nowhere to go.
It stayed anyway.
It had to.
“And what was he supposed to do once he saw her?” you asked.
“Decide whether to oppose me.”
You blinked.
“Oppose you.”
“Yes.”
“Not approve me?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly to be softened. Shamrock’s expression did not change.
“My father was never deciding whether you were worth my attention.”
That answer should have made things simpler.
It did not.
It made you angrier, because for half a second you wanted to believe him.
“So he was deciding whether I was worth the trouble,” you said.
Shamrock’s eyes stayed on yours.
“No. He was deciding whether I was serious enough to make trouble over you.”
That stopped you.
Completely.
You wanted to hit him.
You wanted to kiss him.
The second thought arrived so violently that you hated yourself for having it.
“You are still angry,” he said.
“Furious.”
His gaze dropped to your hand clenched in his jacket.
“That is not where angry women usually put their hands.”
“Shut up.”
You pulled him down, or he bent toward you.
Later, you would not be sure.
It did not matter.
His mouth hit yours hard enough to drive you back into the wall. One hand braced beside your head; the other slid beneath your arm and across your back, hauling you against him until the front of his uniform pressed into the silk of your dress.
You made a sharp sound into his mouth.
He swallowed it.
That made you angrier.
You shoved him. Hard.
Shamrock broke from your mouth, one step forced back before he caught himself.
For one second, neither of you moved.
His eyes stayed on yours, dark and fixed and far too steady for a man you had just pushed away.
“Do not look at me like that,” you said.
His hand closed around your wrist. Then he pulled you back to him.
Hard enough that your body met his again, shoulder to thigh, and the sound you made disappeared against his mouth.
Infuriating man.
You twisted your wrist free only to shove his jacket open, fingers pushing beneath the dark fabric, palms flattening against the hard line of his chest through his shirt.
You felt the moment he stopped being careful.
Your teeth caught his lip. Your nails dragged once against his shirt.
His hand closed at the back of your thigh through your skirt, lifting your leg half an inch before he seemed to remember where you were.
He broke the kiss only to take your mouth again at a better angle.
Your head hit the wall softly.
His hand was there first.
You pulled him closer.
His hand slid into your hair, fingers catching the pins.
One fell.
It struck the floor with a tiny metallic sound.
Neither of you stopped.
Shamrock’s mouth moved from yours to the edge of your jaw.
Your breath caught sharply.
His hand flexed once at your waist, then stilled.
For one moment, the only sounds were your breathing and the clock somewhere down the hall.
Then voices moved in the distance.
Servants, probably.
You turned your face away.
Shamrock stopped at once.
He stayed close, breathing controlled but not as controlled as usual. His hand remained at your waist for one more second before he let go.
You hated the absence immediately.
Your back stayed against the wall.
His gaze moved over your face.
Mouth. Hair. Eyes.
You lifted your chin because anything else would have felt like defeat.
“This does not mean I forgive you.”
“No.”
“Or that you are less annoying.”
Amusement touched his face and vanished before it could become useful.
You wanted to slap it off him anyway.
He bent and picked up the fallen hairpin from the floor.
For a moment, you thought he would hand it back. Instead, he stepped close again and slid it carefully into your hair.
His fingers brushed your temple.
Your breath went stupid.
“There,” he said.
You glared at him.
“Do not tidy me after ruining me.”
He smiled.
“You are not ruined.”
He looked at you for one more second. Then stepped back.
The space returned.
Cold and necessary.
The front doors waited at the end of the hall.
Dinner was over.
The kiss had happened.
And somehow, the evening had become worse.
Because now you knew exactly what Shamrock Figarland’s mouth felt like.
Plot: A tavern waitress with roots in nobility is taken into the polished brutality of Mary Geoise. Saint Shamrock Figarland is tasked with retrieving you. How unfortunate for him.
Read on AO3
Arc 3: A Dangerous Interest
Chapter 17: The Visible Choice
A few days after the Holy Knight honors dinner, Saint Pelham’s departure had become three different stories.
In the first, he had been called away by urgent family business.
In the second, he had taken ill.
In the third, he had developed a sudden and permanent understanding of Commander Figarland’s interest.
By midafternoon, your father summoned you.
He studied you for a long moment. “You understand what Commander Figarland’s attention means.”
You folded your hands in your lap. “I understand that everyone else thinks they do.”
His eyes cooled. “I am not interested in your cleverness today.”
“That’s unfortunate. It’s one of my few reliable qualities.”
“One of very few.”
You looked at him.
“You have been waiting to say that.”
“Not long.”
“How disciplined.”
“When necessary.”
“In taverns, people usually insult you with more enthusiasm.”
“In Mary Geoise, we prefer efficiency.”
You hated that your mouth almost moved.
Your father noticed.
“Enough,” he said. The word was quiet.
You closed your mouth.
Your father leaned back in his chair. “Figarland is not a suitor to be insulted or driven away because you dislike feeling managed.”
“And if I dislike being managed in general?” you asked.
“Then you will learn to dislike it privately.”
There it was.
Mary Geoise parenting.
Efficient. Cold.
“You will not ruin this,” he said.
“This,” you repeated.
“Do not be tiresome.”
“I was trying to clarify whether this meant my life, my marriage, or whatever political piece you see when you look at me.”
His expression did not shift.
That was answer enough.
“You have been given a rare advantage,” he said. “A man others have failed to interest has chosen to look in your direction.”
Your stomach tightened.
“You will conduct yourself with restraint,” he continued. “You will be respectful. You will be gracious. You will not mistake his attention for permission to behave as you please.”
You stared at him.
That nearly made you laugh.
“Understood,” you said.
Your father’s eyes narrowed.
“Saint Pelham’s family has withdrawn their inquiry.”
“How tragic.”
“This is not a jest.”
“No,” you said. “I imagine Saint Pelham found very little of it funny.”
Your father watched you for a long moment. “You will not mention him today.”
You blinked. “Today?”
“Lady Nerissa has invited you to tea again.”
“Is this another opportunity?”
“Yes.”
“I’m beginning to miss punishments. They were more honest.”
“Punishments rarely made you more agreeable.”
“Did you try many?”
“No,” he said. “I recognized the futility early.”
“You will attend,” he continued. “You will be pleasant. And if Commander Figarland’s name is raised, you will remember that your words reflect on this house.”
You stood before he could decide to continue. “May I go?”
He gave the smallest inclination of his head.
Dismissed.
You left before he changed his mind.
Lila was waiting two corridors away, pretending to adjust a vase that needed no adjustment.
“You were hovering,” you said.
“I was nearby.”
“You were within vase distance.”
“It was a very interesting vase.”
“It’s white.”
“Many things are white here. One learns to find nuance.”
Despite yourself, you smiled.
By the time you arrived at Lady Nerissa’s tea, you could feel the difference before anyone spoke.
Belladonna Mirelle smiled when you entered, and the smile had sharpened since the last time. Coraline Pavo waved with genuine delight, then seemed to remember she was supposed to be subtle and lowered her hand. Seraphina Brume looked at you with wounded fascination.
Melusine Arco sat near the end of the table again, dark eyes calm.
Nerissa rose to greet you. “Lady Veroux,” she said. “How kind of you to come.”
“How brave of you to invite me.”
Her smile warmed.
That was suspicious.
“Bravery is often exaggerated.”
“And yet here we are.”
You took the seat she offered.
Tea was poured.
“So,” Coraline said, unable to hold herself back for longer than three sips of tea, “is it true?”
Nerissa’s eyes moved to her.
Coraline flushed.
“What?” you asked.
Belladonna folded her hands around her cup. “Saint Pelham leaving the honors dinner.”
Ah.
That.
You looked into your tea.
Still too floral.
A hostile arrangement.
“He did leave,” you said.
Coraline leaned forward. “In the middle of dinner.”
“Technically after the fish.”
Melusine looked down.
Belladonna’s smile thinned. “People are saying he withdrew his inquiry afterward.”
“People here are very fast. It’s almost impressive.”
“Was it because of Commander Figarland?” Coraline asked.
The table shifted.
You set your cup down. “You would have to ask Saint Pelham.”
“No one has seen him,” Coraline said.
“Then he is either very busy or very committed to the story.”
Nerissa’s gaze stayed on you. “Commander Figarland talking to your father changed things.”
“Yes,” you said. “I have noticed.”
Belladonna leaned forward. “And did he ask formally?”
“No.”
The table shifted again.
Not disappointment. Recalculation.
Seraphina exhaled softly, almost in relief.
Nerissa’s eyes stayed on you. “But he clarified his interest.”
You looked at her.
She smiled as if the word tasted interesting.
“People are saying many things,” she said.
“People usually do.”
“Some are saying Commander Figarland has finally chosen.”
Seraphina’s face pinched.
Belladonna’s smile thinned.
Coraline looked between everyone, delighted and nervous at once.
You folded your hands in your lap. “People are very generous with explanations no one asked for.”
Belladonna’s eyes flashed. “Commander Figarland is not a man one treats lightly.”
“I didn’t realize we were discussing furniture.”
Coraline choked.
Melusine coughed once into her napkin.
Nerissa did not look away from you.
Seraphina did.
She stared at her folded hands, cheeks pale with the effort of politeness. For the first time, you felt something close to guilt. Not because you had done anything wrong.
Because liking someone privately had somehow become a public injury to women who had built dreams out of his indifference.
You hated Mary Geoise for that too.
Coraline leaned closer, voice softer now. “What is he like?”
You looked at her.
You thought of Shamrock on the ship. In the storm. In your father’s hall. At the ballroom, hand steady at your back.
You thought of him outside the pavilion, telling you he could stop waiting whenever he chose.
“Difficult,” you said.
Melusine’s eyes lifted.
“Cold?” Belladonna asked.
“Frequently.”
“Cruel?” Nerissa asked.
You paused.
“Not carelessly.”
That changed the room slightly.
Seraphina looked at you then. For a moment, her softness did not seem empty. It seemed young.
“Oh,” she said quietly.
You did not know what to do with that.
So you drank tea.
It was still terrible.
The conversation moved after that, not away from Shamrock exactly, but around him. Belladonna returned to gossip. Coraline asked about your dress and meant it kindly. Nerissa watched everyone.
Near the end of tea, as servants cleared the plates, Nerissa leaned back in her chair.
“Whatever happens,” she said, “you should know that attention from Commander Figarland changes the way people will approach you.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It is advice.”
“Those also keep dressing alike.”
Melusine looked amused.
Nerissa’s smile softened by a degree. “People will envy you. Some will flatter you. Some will wait for you to make a mistake large enough to enjoy.”
“I have a talent for providing variety.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Belladonna smiled too quickly.
Seraphina did not.
You glanced at her again. She caught you looking and gave the smallest, strangest smile.
Not kind. Not hostile.
Resigned, perhaps.
When the tea ended, the women gathered in the front hall. The air became a soft storm of gloves, ribbons, perfume, and voices pitched carefully low.
Then the front doors opened.
You felt it before you saw him.
The way conversations paused, then resumed incorrectly. The way Belladonna’s hand went still on her glove. The way Coraline straightened.
Please. Not today.
Shamrock Figarland stepped into Lady Nerissa’s front hall.
Every woman in the room noticed him.
The footman at the door bowed so quickly he nearly folded in half.
Nerissa looked from Shamrock to you.
Of course she did.
Shamrock’s eyes found yours first. Because apparently ruining one dinner had not satisfied him.
He crossed the hall toward you.
“Lady Veroux,” he said.
“Commander.”
Your voice behaved.
Excellent.
Your pulse did not.
Less excellent.
“I would like to take you to dinner.”
Behind him, Coraline made a sound so small it could have been a breath.
Belladonna went very still.
Seraphina looked away.
Melusine looked at you as if she had just watched someone place a candle too near silk.
You smiled.
It felt like biting down on silver.
“How kind of you,” you said. “You do enjoy making arrangements.”
His eyes sharpened.
He heard the anger under the polish.
Good.
“Do you accept?”
You were aware of everyone.
You could not tell him to shove it.
Tragic.
“I would be delighted,” you said.
Belladonna’s mouth tightened. Coraline looked as if she might actually stop breathing.
Shamrock offered his arm.
For one second, you considered refusing it on principle. Then you took it because Mary Geoise loved principles best when they could be used against you.
His hand settled over yours.
Lightly. Decently.
Infuriatingly correctly.
“Lady Nerissa,” Shamrock said, inclining his head.
“Commander Figarland,” Nerissa replied, smiling as if she had just been handed a private performance.
He guided you toward the door.
You kept your smile in place.
Barely.
Only when you were outside, past the servants and the lowered voices and the bright eyes watching from the hall, did you speak again.
“Do you make a habit of arriving where you are least wanted?”
Shamrock did not look down at you. “No.”
“How selective of you.”
The vehicle waited at the curb. Shamrock helped you inside.
The moment the door closed, the smile left your face.
He sat across from you.
Wise.
Infuriatingly wise.
The vehicle moved smoothly away from Lady Nerissa’s house.
For three seconds, you said nothing. Then, “Was that necessary?”
Shamrock sat across from you, posture composed, one arm resting along the side of the seat.
“I chose my timing.”
“How noble.”
“I did not claim nobility.”
“You are very careful about what you claim.”
His gaze held yours.
“Not always.”
“You made a spectacle,” you said.
“I made a point.”
“To whom?”
“To everyone watching.”
“You arrived at a tea full of unmarried women who already looked like they wanted to poison my cup and asked me to dinner in front of them.”
“They will not poison you.”
“That is not comforting.”
“They lack opportunity.”
“Worse.”
He almost smiled.
Your anger sharpened. “You enjoy making my life more difficult.”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“At Lady Rosward’s,” he said, “you were angry when you told me about the women at tea.”
Heat rose under your skin.
“I was annoyed.”
“You were jealous.”
“Say that again and I may open the door.”
“The vehicle is moving.”
“I’ll wait for a turn.”
This time, he did smile.
He had found the nerve and pressed.
Your chest tightened.
Very inconvenient.
“I was not jealous,” you said.
“You are still a poor liar.”
His expression shifted by almost nothing.
Satisfaction, maybe.
Restraint, certainly.
“I did not come for them,” he said.
The vehicle seemed smaller around the words.
“I came for you.”
Your heart made a foolish, humiliating thing of itself.
You hated that.
You hated him for noticing.
And he did.
You looked toward the window before your face could betray you. “You understand they will be worse now.”
“Yes.”
“And my father will be worse.”
“Yes.”
“And Lady Marise will start choosing even more respectable dresses.”
“That is unfortunate.”
You looked back at him. “I was speaking seriously.”
“So was I.”
The laugh nearly escaped you. You stopped it just in time.
Shamrock saw anyway.
He sat across from you, not touching, not reaching, giving you nothing improper to object to and too much to feel.
“I am still angry with you,” you said.
“I know.”
“You should look more concerned.”
“I am not concerned.”
“Clearly.”
“You are angry,” he said. “Not unwilling.”
The words settled between you.
Quiet. Unadorned.
Worse for it.
You looked back at him slowly. “Do not make the mistake of thinking that means yes.”
“I have not.”
“No,” you said. “You are only making the mistake of enjoying it.”
