“You should’ve known better than to dare the King.”
Who knew a round of “Dare or Drink” would end with you lying out like a feast and your captain breaking every rule he swore to uphold in public? Shanks never backs down from a challenge. Especially not this one.
One shot | fluff | Shanks has two hands.
⸻
The tavern was drunk on music, lanternlight, and the kind of madness that only hit when the Red-Hair Pirates were deep into their sixth round of “Dare or Drink.”
Benn was biting back a smirk.
You? Lounging back on Shanks’s thigh like the queen you were.
Until Lucky Roux—full of pastry and petty—raised his tankard with a sloshing grin.
“Alright, Captain… I dare you…”
“…to do a body shot off her.”
And suddenly, you were the center of gravity.
Everything stopped.
The laughter. The music. The casual flex of Benn’s hand around his glass. Even Monster the monkey blinked like damn, he actually said it.
You slowly turned your head toward Shanks, who was frozen in place like someone just handed him the one sin he’s not allowed to commit in public.
His jaw ticked. One beat. Two. His hand tightened on your thigh just barely.
You met his eyes and smirked.
“Go on, Captain. Don’t want your crew thinking you’re scared of a little salt and lime, do you?”
Gasoline. You poured gasoline.
Shanks growled—actually growled.
Low and warning, like the beast in him knew what this could spiral into.
“You sure about this?”
His voice was rough silk, already darker than it should’ve been.
You licked your lower lip, slow enough to tease.
“It’s just a game… right?”
He leaned in, breath hot at your ear.
“You say the word and I’ll do it. But when it’s done… we’re leaving.”
Deal.
-
They cleared the table as if it were a sacred altar.
Someone slid over a salt shaker.
Lucky poured the shot.
Benn? He leaned back in his chair with both brows raised and a knowing smirk that said someone’s not sleeping tonight.
You were helped up onto the table like a ritual was about to be performed.
Laid out.
Neck tilted.
Lime wedge held between your teeth.
The room?
Ferally silent.
Shanks stepped up to the edge of the table, rolling his sleeves like he was about to perform open-heart surgery.
And then
He trailed a finger along your stomach.
Soft. Slow. Making the goosebumps rise.
Salt sprinkled across your skin.
His hand splayed wide just below your ribs—firm, possessive.
His lips dipped—hot, slow, and indecent—tracing that line of salt until his mouth closed on your skin.
The crew gasped.
Someone definitely whispered, “holy hell.”
Benn looked away.
Shanks licked the salt clean, slow and deliberate.
His eyes never left yours.
And then
He took the shot.
Glass tilted back, liquid gone in one clean move.
And finally? He leaned down.
Lips hovering over yours.
Not taking the lime yet. Just… breathing you in.
You blinked. Breathe shallow.
Heart thundering.
And just as he bit into the lime, his teeth brushed yours.
A flash of tongue.
A taste of citrus.
And a whisper at your lips:
“You have no idea what you’ve done.”
He stepped back.
The tavern ERUPTED.
Yelling. Whistling. Screaming. Limejuice screeched and high-fived Lucky. Hongo was already writing bets down. Gab lifted Bonk Punch in the air like he had just seen history.
And Shanks?
He scooped you up like a man possessed, threw a few coins at the bartender, and over his shoulder growled:
🏔️ The Day the crew finds out your fear of heights
You, a very loud crew, their louder red-haired captain, and mountains.
-Kael is an apprentice.
One shot | fluff | Shanks has two hands.
⸻
You’d always been clever about it.
Whenever the crew planned to hike up some ridiculous mountain for “training” or “the view,” you always volunteered to “stay back and guard the ship.”
No one ever questioned it.
You were “y/n” — of course, you’d guard the ship.
Until today.
Shanks, grinning lazily with his crimson eyes glinting, sauntered up to you just as you were making your excuse.
“You’ve guarded the ship enough,” he murmured, resting a heavy hand on your shoulder.
“You’re coming with us, little girl.”
You opened your mouth to argue — but the crew was already cheering, Kael bouncing excitedly, Roux slapping you on the back.
There was no escape.
⸻
The first hundred meters were fine.
You strode ahead, as always, cats at your heels, even teasing Kael when he tripped over a rock.
The second hundred?
Fine.
The third?
…Okay.
But by the time the trail hit a thousand meters — and the narrow path opened up on one side into a sheer drop over the jungle — something shifted.
Your chest felt tight.
Your legs suddenly felt… wrong.
Like they belonged to someone else.
The world tilted.
Your hands went cold.
You stopped walking.
“Y/n?” Kael called back nervously.
You swallowed hard, gripping a boulder.
“…Fine. Just… catching my breath.”
But Shanks was already turning toward you, catching the faint pallor of your cheeks, the way your shoulders stiffened when you glanced down.
When you tried to keep going, your knees buckled halfway up the next stretch.
And that was it.
Shanks was behind you in an instant, crouching down in front of you, his back to you as he said, calm and smug:
“…Get on.”
You blinked.
“What?”
“Get. On,” he repeated, glancing back at you with that wolfish smirk.
Too stunned — and too dizzy — to argue, you climbed awkwardly onto his back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he hooked his hands under your thighs and stood up like you weighed nothing at all.
The crew?
Oh, the crew lost it.
✨ Roux nearly dropped his water bottle from laughing.
✨ Yasopp: “Ohhhhh, Cap’n’s got himself a baby sloth!”
✨ Beckman (dryly): “New training regimen. Yonko carries his Girl.”
✨ Kael’s eyes sparkled like stars: “She’s so tiny up there! Look at her!”
Shanks didn’t even flinch.
Just kept climbing — steady and sure, his broad shoulders flexing under your arms, his smirk growing wider with every step.
“You’re shaking, little girl,” he murmured at one point, low enough only you could hear.
“Not afraid of me, are you?”
You buried your face in his neck and muttered, “Shut up and don’t you dare look down.”
His laugh rumbled in his chest.
“You’re adorable when you’re terrified.”
⸻
By the time you reached the summit, you were clinging so tightly to him that he had to pry one of your hands loose just to set you down.
You immediately sat on the nearest rock and refused to move, cheeks flushed, eyes firmly fixed on the ground in front of you.
The crew?
Still laughing.
Still teasing.
✨ Kael: “She didn’t even look at the view!”
✨ Yasopp: “Did you see her face? Like a baby bird that fell out of the nest.”
✨ Roux: “We’re gonna need a special harness for her next time!”
Shanks only stood over you, grinning smugly, arms crossed.
When you finally dared glance up at him, he crouched down in front of you, crimson eyes dancing with amusement.
“You know,” he murmured softly, so only you could hear, “I’d carry you up a thousand mountains if it meant seeing you hold onto me like that again.”
You glared at him, but couldn’t stop the faint smile that betrayed you anyway.
⸻⸻
The next day, or The Descent of Madness
The morning at the summit started off peaceful enough.
The sun rose over the ocean, spilling gold and pink over the clouds. The crew stretched, packed up camp, and began teasing you again about yesterday.
You were sitting quietly by the fire, wrapped in your shawl, pretending to ignore them while Shanks lounged nearby, crimson eyes glinting with mischief.
Then Roux of all people muttered around a mouthful of bread:
“…Bet I could get down faster than any of you.”
Beckman scoffed.
Yasopp snorted.
Kael gasped.
Shanks froze mid-stretch, a dangerous little grin curling at the corner of his mouth.
“…Oh?”
He rose to his full, terrifying height, stretching his shoulders, and muttered low:
“You boys wanna race me?”
Before you could even open your mouth to protest, the crew was already cheering.
— “Let’s go!!”
— “First one down buys drinks!”
— “Loser cleans the deck for a week!”
You blinked at Shanks, deadpan.
“…You can’t possibly—”
You didn’t even get to finish.
Because he turned on his heel, crouched in front of you, and barked,
“Get over here, babe.”
You just stared.
“What?”
But he was already grabbing you — hooking an arm under your thighs, the other against your back, lifting you clean off the ground like a burlap sack.
Then — to your growing horror — he wrapped you in your own damn shawl, tying you snug against his chest, face-to-face, like some kind of battle-ready pirate baby.
“What—what are you doing?!” you gasped, gripping his coat.
“Winning,” he smirked, tightening the knot behind your back.
You barely had time to gasp before he turned toward the edge of the trail, his senior commanders already poised behind him like wolves ready to pounce.
Beckman sighed, cigarette already lit.
“Try not to kill each other.”
Then Shanks growled:
“…GO!”
And bolted.
⸻
You didn’t even scream — you couldn’t.
You were too stunned — too dizzy — too busy clutching his shirt like your life depended on it as he raced straight down the mountain trail at full speed, his long legs eating up the rocky path like it was flat ground.
The wind whipped past your ears, your hair flying, the world a blur of green and stone and blue sky.
Behind you — the sound of boots and shouts — the other commanders hot on his heels.
Yasopp: “I’M NOT LETTING YOU WIN THIS TIME—”
Roux: “OUTTA THE WAY—”
Kael: “WHY DID I SIGN UP FOR THIS—”
Shanks only laughed — loud and wild — as he leapt over boulders, his grip on you firm, his crimson eyes sharp and focused as if this was just another fight to win.
“Still with me, sweetheart?” he teased over the roar of the wind, smirking down at you even as he barreled toward the next switchback.
You could only cling tighter, bury your face in his collar, and pray.
At one point, you cracked one eye open — just long enough to see Roux trip on a rock and nearly take Yasopp out with him — and then promptly shut it again with a strangled squeak.
Shanks did not slow down.
When he finally hit the base of the trail — skidding to a stop in a cloud of dust, the crew still thundering behind — he stood tall, breathless but grinning like a madman, his arms still locked securely around you.
“You alright?” he asked, voice low, almost gentle.
You glared up at him, face still buried against his chest.
“…I hate you.”
He chuckled, leaning closer, his crimson eyes dancing as he murmured just for you:
“Didn’t hear you complaining when I crossed the finish line first.”
⸻
Behind you, the rest of the crew stumbled down one by one — bruised, panting, swearing — while Roux collapsed dramatically in the grass and groaned,
“…That doesn’t even count, Cap’n had an advantage—”
Yasopp: “Advantage? He carried Y/n and still smoked us!”
Kael, still pale, gasped: “You looked so… so SMALL. He looked like he was carrying a loaf of bread down the mountain!”
The crew broke into laughter, one of them snapping another picture of you still tied to his chest, glaring into the distance like the defeated royalty you were.
Shanks only grinned wider, tugging the shawl loose just enough to press a kiss to your temple before setting you back on your feet.
“Next time,” he teased, “you can carry me.”
And you swore then and there — as the crew kept cackling and patting you on the head — that there would never be a next time.
…Or at least, not one they’d ever let you live down.
Everyone’s talking about shanks’s tattoo, but here I am thinking about shanks with that little heart over his head running 💨 over a lingonberry tart. SOO DAMN CUTE 🥹
You, two cats, a loud tavern, and a captain who’s done pretending he doesn’t want you.
But none of it—not a single sound—drowns out the moment he pulls you into his lap.
One shot | fluff | I love cats so I had to include them | Shanks has two hands.
⸻
The bar was loud.
Too loud for this late on a lazy island night.
Red-Hair Pirates were deep into it—sake flowing, stories flying, boots thudding against the wooden floorboards as mugs clashed and laughter echoed out onto the moonlit sand.
You were late.
By your own fault, of course.
You’d gotten distracted in the market with your two cats—Bella trailing with indifference, Miso curled in the crook of your arm like royalty.
You’d promised to just “buy some spices” but ended up with a new sash, two strange musical trinkets, and a caramel tart still warm in your bag.
When you finally strolled into the bar, hair windswept, cheeks glowing, your cats casually padding behind you like you were royalty…
The room shifted.
“Aye, look what the tide dragged in!” Yasopp barked, raising his mug.
“Took you long enough!” shouted Lucky Roo. “We were starting to think you ditched us for a richer crew!”
“There’s no seats left, sweetheart,” Limejuice said with a wicked grin. “But don’t worry… you can sit right here.” He patted his lap dramatically.
A chorus of whistles followed.
“Yeah! Take your pick, love!”
“I’ll even warm it up for you—”
“She can sit on my lap and I’ll buy her the next three rounds!”
They meant it playfully.
They loved you—every single one of them.
But they were still men.
And you were wearing that damn dress again—the one that hugged your waist just right and made even Bella you cat give a jealous meow when heads turned.
You raised an eyebrow, resting a hand on your hip.
“You’re all drunk and delusional if you think my royal ass is landing on any of your bony thighs.”
That earned a roar of laughter.
But before you could tease back or even eye the nearest barrel to steal as a seat—
A hand caught yours.
Big. Warm. Sure.
You didn’t have time to turn around.
You were pulled—smooth and sudden—backward into a strong chest.
The world spun just once before you found yourself…
Seated.
In his lap.
Shanks.
His arms draped loosely around your waist, hand still holding yours.
His scent hit you instantly—spice, leather, sun-soaked wood and sea.
“She’s not a prize in a tavern game,” he said coolly.
The room went still for a beat.
“And she’s not yours to offer.”
Silence.
Then—
“Daaaamn, Cap’n,” Yasopp muttered, mock-wincing. “Didn’t know you were claiming territory now.”
A few whistles. A couple of surprised chuckles.
You blinked, still processing the heat of his palm against your stomach.
“He’s grumpy ‘cause he wanted to offer his lap too,” Benn Beckman drawled, not even looking up from his drink.
That made Shanks snort.
But he didn’t let go of you.
Didn’t explain himself either.
He just leaned back slightly, letting you settle against him like you’d been there a hundred times. Like your place had always been there.
Your cats jumped up beside you—Bella curling at Shanks’s sandals, Miso climbing onto your thigh and purring like he’d planned this.
“Comfortable?” Shanks asked, voice low near your ear.
You turned slightly, arching a brow.
“Possessive much?”
“They were starting to forget I’m still the captain.”
“Mmm,” you hummed. “So I’m just your power move now?”
“No,” he said softly. “You’re the only thing I haven’t had the courage to move on yet.”
You froze.
Just a second.
And in that second, his thumb traced the back of your hand where he still held it.
No kiss.
No declaration.
Just that quiet ache in his voice.
And the subtle way his body curled around yours—like he wasn’t protecting you from the crew…
…but from the way he felt every time you walked into a room.
⸻
The tavern carried on around you—raucous, familiar, overflowing with life.
But where you sat?
It was a pocket of calm.
Tucked into Shanks’s lap, your back resting against his chest, one of his hands splayed casually over your stomach—
just beneath the edge of your sash.
You laughed at something Yasopp shouted across the table, and you felt Shanks’s chest rumble against your spine in response.
“They’re already drunk off their asses,” you murmured over your shoulder.
“And I’m getting drunk off you,” he muttered back.
You elbowed him lightly, but your smile lingered.
He was different tonight.
Still your captain. Still the carefree rogue.
But softer. Tighter. Present in a way that made the air hum between your skin and his.
You reached for a piece of grilled pineapple being passed around—only for Shanks to pick one with his fingers and hold it to your lips instead.
You blinked.
“Seriously?”
“C’mon. Let me feed my favorite crew member.”
You narrowed your eyes.
“I thought that was Lucky Roo.”
“He doesn’t sit on my lap like this,” he said, his voice lowering into something that skimmed just beneath your skin.
You took the fruit.
Bit into it—slowly.
Let the juice slip down your lip just a little.
And when his thumb came up to catch it, his gaze never left yours.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he murmured.
“Me?” you whispered, arching a brow. “You’re the one who pulled me into your lap like you owned me.”
He leaned in—his nose brushing the edge of your cheek, his lips close to your ear.
“I’m trying very hard not to act like I do.”
Your breath hitched.
His hand on your waist squeezed—just once—before retreating, resting politely again. But the tension behind it? Barely leashed.
You shifted slightly on his lap—just enough to settle more comfortably.
Except…
You felt it.
The way his body reacted.
He sucked in a breath and cleared his throat quickly, grabbing his mug with the free hand and drinking like it would hide the heat climbing up his neck.
But you felt it in his thigh beneath you.
In the way his fingers tapped your side.
In the way his eyes refused to meet yours for a full minute after.
So you leaned back sweetly and murmured:
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to squirm.”
“Liar,” he whispered, low enough only you could hear.
You giggled—honest and soft—and for a moment, everything else faded.
Miso had curled up in Shanks’s open coat. Bella was dozing near your feet, occasionally glaring at anyone who got too close.
And the rest of the crew?
Singing sea shanties now.
Arm-wrestling.
Trading stories you’d heard ten times over.
But Shanks?
His hand was back on your thigh—under the table now.
Not moving.
Just resting there with casual intimacy, like it belonged there.
Like you belonged with him.
“You’re going to make this hard for me,” he said, his voice barely a breath.
You turned to look at him.
“What?”
“Not loving you.”
You froze.
For just a second.
Then smiled—soft, surprised, and entirely undone.
But before you could say anything back—
“CAPTAIN!” Lucky Roo bellowed, standing up with a triumphant roar. “BENN’S CHEATING AGAIN!”
Shanks groaned. Loudly.
“For fuck’s sake, Roo, I’m in the middle of something sacred here!”
“What? Holding your future wife like she’s dessert?”
“YES. GO AWAY.”
More laughter.
You buried your face in his shoulder, giggling uncontrollably as he groaned again and muttered,
“We’re never getting through a night without them ruining it, are we?”
Young!Shanks x reader. This is part two of two. This fic is dedicated to @madbadpadawan and @fifo96!
Reader is vaguely implied to be plus-size but her body type is not described. Themes of physical and sexual abuse are discussed.
Part one is mainly narrated from the point of view of a different character, part two from reader's.
*****
The wedding dress hanging from the wardrobe doors is beautiful, precious white silk embroidered with delicate floral patterns of beads and tiny gems, paired with slippers of the finest leather and an equally elegant veil to cover your hair. As you observe it, heart heavy with fear and anticipation, you think back to a time in which you would have been happy to wear it, even if it meant walking down the aisle -arm in arm with your guardian, no less; you’d rather walk alone, or even surrounded by the demons of the lowest circle of Hell- to go marry a man you don’t love or even just respect, and who despises you equally in return. A time in which you were sure you had no other option, no matter how hard you had fought and stood your ground and shouted and cursed against the men who had forced you to surrender everything you wanted and stood for. Since your life was over, and you’d be lucky to actually live to old age rather than being disposed of by Cerric as soon he and his uncle had taken ownership of your fortune, you may as well look good as you walk towards the gallows, you thought morosely.
That woman had been fighting against the destiny that had been arranged for her since she was nine, and been beaten often for it, but you can’t believe you were actually going to do it - to let them marry you off, your body and life subjected to the cruel yoke of a man who had preyed on you since you were a child, with no regard whatsoever for your happiness, your safety, or even your life. As long as you are able to say yes, I do, you know Gorham cares nothing about what will become of you once you officially become his niece by marriage, and given the sort of man Cerric has grown to become, you wouldn’t be surprised to discover he has already paid a couple of cutthroats to quietly dispatch you a week after your wedding.
It’s not like you actually wanted that future, or were even just content with it; far from it. Rather, you didn’t think you had any other choice; the law is clear on the rights of a married woman -specifically, she has none, not even on the money she legally inherited- and not even your lawyer friend could do anything about it. Even if for some miracle you were able to avoid marrying Cerric, his uncle, in whose house you have been living since the death of your parents, would have found a way to keep you on a leash, or to throw you in the streets, berryless and alone.
You rebelled, every chance you got, but you did not actually fight, because you didn’t think you had anything better to strive for; and then you met Shanks, and he opened your eyes.
Your name is (full name); you have been of age for less than a day, and tomorrow your new life will begin.
You have been careful in preparing your bag, aware that you’ll need to travel light, non to mention that from tomorrow on you won’t have as much space to store your things as you do now, which is why you only packed the essentials: simple, sturdy clothes, all the little money you own, a few basic toiletries, a medallion with the tiny portraits of your parents. That is your most precious possession, the sole item you would never part from, not even to save your life; you were too young when you lost them to know what your mother and father would think of the woman you have grown to be, but you know they would approve your efforts to take control of your life and find happiness.
And then, of course, there are the other things, two items you are less attached to but that belong to you by right, and that you had no intention of leaving behind, and in Gorham’s hands. Your guardian considers you nothing more than an helpless, unintelligent girl, but he’s wrong, which actually works in your favour, because he would never suspect what you have done a few days ago - namely, wait for a night he’s away on business to slip in his study, open the heavy chest he keeps his work documents and letters in, and find a parcel that has been written soon after your birth: your parents’ last will and testament, which officially names you the sole heir of the family fortune in the event of their -sadly untimely- death. You have been kept on a tight leash since you were brought back, your guardian still unaware of what actually happened during the cruise seven months ago but determined not to lose you again, but your lawyer has always insisted neither Gorham not Cerric be admitted to your conversations, which means neither of them has any idea your parent’s will is in your lawyer’s possession now, together with a letter with which you charge him to devolve the whole sum to several charities.
Your lawyer friend has assured you Gorham will have no way to invalidate the act that you have formalised together today, and you’re unsure of what makes you happier: to know that your parents’ money will be used to help those who need it, or to imagine your guardian’s helpless rage when he finds out that the wealth he has waited for so long to come into possession of is lost forever. In part to avoid him noticing the will had disappeared and in part simply because you couldn’t stop yourself, you also asked your lawyer to procure you another parcel, identical on the outside but empty, save for a single line: I got you, chump! (name). You really wish you could see Gorham’s face when, an hour or a month after your escape, he’ll suspect what you have done, and find the fake parcel; he’ll probably curse you your name and wish you the worst, but by that time you’ll be far, too far for him to touch and hurt you anymore.
The second item you are determined not to leave in Gorham’s hands you will unfortunately have to take it just before you leave -that is, now- because it would have been impossible to create a believable copy and Gorham has the habit to go look at it at least twice a day, both to make sure it hasn’t been stolen and simply to revel in its beauty. Fortunately, you have found a way: passing by the kitchens before dinner with the excuse of discussing your wedding lunch with the cook, you have slipped a large quantity of the sleeping draught you sometimes take to combat insomnia in the already full wine carafe. Fortunately, neither Gorham nor Cerric have noticed you have only drunk water at dinner, they will sleep soundly throughout the night and by the time they awake with a slight migraine at worst you’ll be far away.
At least you hope you will be; you have spent a whole month preparing for tonight, reflecting on the safest way to leave without being noticed, not to mention the long discussions you and him have shared to come up with your plan, but you can’t help fearing the worst. What if you are caught? What if you alert the staff as you try to slip through the door? What if a policeman patrolling the neighbourhood notices you and becomes suspicious of a woman walking by herself at night? No matter how desperately you want to succeed, and what a Hell your life would become if you fail, your plan is anything but foolproof, and if you don’t do it tonight, now, you fear you will never have another choice.
Today. The day of your birthday, which also coincides with a feast day, which means that your wedding could not take place today but had to be postponed to tomorrow. Gorham grumbled and even tried to bribe the local priest to convince him to make an exception -thank God he couldn’t- but you heaved a sigh of relief, well aware of the single but precious chance that day of difference afforded you. You have spoken to your lawyer this morning, entrusting your entire wealth to him with your first formal act as a still unmarried adult woman; you are now, technically speaking, completely berryless beyond the little you have in your knapsack, but you don’t care. Freedom is much more precious than money, and if you manage to escape tonight, you know you will never regret giving everything away.
Lying on your bed, the blanket lifted to your neck to hide the fact you are still dressed, you listen intently for any noise coming from the rest of the house, hoping that both Gorham and Cerric and the staff -on whose support, or even just their silence, you can’t rely on- are fast asleep. It’s the night before your wedding, but the anxiety that fills your heart is very different from the one so many brides-to-be experience; you are terrified something might go wrong… and at the same time, more excited and full of hope than you’ve ever been.
It’s finally midnight; the solemn, almost mournful tolling of the bells of the town’s main church fills the air, heralding the birth of a new day - and as far as you’re concerned, a new life as well. A deep breath to gather whatever courage you can -which is very little, and that is a terrifying thought in its own right; how hard it is to feel brave now that you’re on your own, with everything you have ever wanted close enough you can almost touch it and at the same time so fragile you feel hoping too much could make it disappear. Until a month ago, while you were with him, held safely against his side or laughing freely as you ran hand in hand down the streets towards the ship ready to sail, it was so easy feeling brave, maybe because that courage was his rather than yours…- and you rise. You quickly put your sturdiest boots on, retrieve your knapsack from under the bed and a hooded coat that you hope will help you keep your identity secret and, walking as silently as you can, slip out of the door.
Gorham’s room is at the opposite end of the corridor. You linger on the door for a moment before entering; the room is pitch dark and in the many years you’ve lived in this house you’ve never had many reasons to come in here, so you’ll have to be very careful as you move around. Gorham is in bed, his soft snoring reassuring you that the sleeping draught has kicked in and he won’t realise what you’re doing; nevertheless, you hold your breath, trembling with fear, as you kneel in front of the dresser across from the door. The first drawer contains a few toiletries and old letters, the second heavy coats and scarves, the last… the last is empty save for a velvet box, twice as big as your hand. Lifting it in your hands, you decide it’s too heavy to be empty, but both because you need to leave as soon as possible and because you suddenly discover you lack the courage to, you decide not to open it to check its content.
A scream almost escapes from your lips when you hear Gorham talk behind you; thank God it’s only a few unintelligible words he mumbles under his breath before turning on his side, still fast asleep. The minute you are forced to wait for your legs to stop shaking and your heartbeat to return to normal, kneeling with the box in your hands, is the longest of your life, but finally you’re back in control of yourself. Not even daring to breathe, you close the drawer, stand, and slowly walk out of the door, the first and perhaps most dangerous part of your plan already accomplished.
The timid feeling of hope and satisfaction in your heart meets a quick, cruel death when, on your way to the house’s door, you find yourself face to face with Cerric, whose bedroom is also nearby.
Judging from his sleepy look and his state of -fortunately partial- undress, the man who is to become your husband in less than ten hours must have gotten up to go use the privy. You have no idea whether it was the call of nature that awoke him ahead of time or if for some reason the sleeping draught had no effect on him; whatever the reason, he’s awake, and he’s seen you, and the little light filtering through the windows is enough to allow him to see you’re fully clothed, ready to go out in the middle of the night, with a heavy bag on your back and a hood to cover your face. Cerric is not stupid -rather he’s cunning and deceitful, probably more than his uncle believes him to be, the sort of man who smiles at you while hiding a dagger behind his back- and even when half-asleep and taken aback it takes him a moment to realise what you are doing.
“Where are you going? And… that is the Heart, right?”
“This does not concern you, Cerric.” you tell him, barely able to hear yourself above your pounding heart, and struggling to remain calm despite the horror you’re feeling. You have been discovered, and unless you take a very drastic decision your escape will end before it has time to begin, and you can’t have that “Let me go.”
As you expected, he doesn’t, and a moment later his hand has grabbed you by the arm, which makes the bix almost slip from your grasp. “You are running away, aren’t you?” he hisses threateningly; he’s neither physically strong nor armed, but that apparently harmless facade is what makes him so dangerous, like a venomous viper disguised as a humble grass snake “You slut; I won’t let you. I don’t relish the idea of fucking you after you’ve been mounted by the whole of Red-Haired’s crew, but if I need to in order to get your money I think I will make an effort…”
You have reacted before you realise, as if your body had moved without your brain having to order it to; you lift your free hand, that until now you have used to keep the small but heavy box close to your body, and slam it with all your might against Cerric’s temple. A trickle of blood runs down his cheek as your husband-to-be, who clearly did not expect your retaliation and therefore didn’t feel the need to protect himself or even just to be on his guard, falls to the floor, unconscious.
Seven months ago an act like this would have horrified you, assuming that you had the courage to carrying it out; but you’re a different person from the one you were back then, and while you still dislike violence, you have become stronger and braver than you ever thought you could be -he would tell those are gifts you have always had, hidden and forgotten deep down in your heart, and you only needed the right incentive to muster them; to have something it was worth fighting for- and you will not let this snake of a man stop you from achieving the freedom you have aspirated to all your life.
You make sure he’s still breathing before stepping beyond Cerric’s unconscious form, silently but quickly cross the corridor, and finally reach the house’s door. Once outside the cool night air raises goosebumps on your arms, but you feel great, like a caged animal released to enjoy its freedom in the wild; you raise your eyes towards the sky, and wonder if the stars have always been so numerous, and bright. Taken a few steps towards the street, you turn to look at the still silent house behind you; it’s a large, comfortable building, located in the most affluent area of the town, but even after the many years you have lived there, it’s still Gorham’s house, not yours. You’ve never felt at home, or even just safe, there, and you don’t mind leaving it behind.
The silence of the night is broken only by the distant barking of a dog, but you know you’re not safe yet; you turn again and start running, first to the street and then towards the southmost gate of the town. The streets are fortunately empty save for a patrolling policeman, from whom you make sure to stay clear, and a couple of drunkards leaving the tavern, who don’t notice the woman -this is what you are now, formally; no longer a girl, but an adult woman, clever and resilient enough to look after herself without a man having to step in- running as if she had demons chasing after her, but who is only spurred forward by thirst for freedom, joy, and love - a love she never thought she could feel.
The beating of your footsteps on the stone floor resonates in time with your pounding heart; you pass by the library, and your favourite tea room, and the modist shop - places you knew and enjoyed visiting, but that now belong to a past you’re happy to leave behind. Soon, the taste of salt in the air announces your arrival at the town harbour where, hidden among the large ships of the town’s notables and the Marines’ vessels, is a tiny boat ready to carry you away.
“Yassop! Roux!” you whisper, torn between the fear of not finding them and that of alerting someone, and a moment later you notice a hand waving towards you in the darkness “I am here!”
“Hi there! We thought you wouldn’t come.” they greet you, as friendly and happy to see you as if you had been a loyal, long-time member of their crew, and not a civilian who they had sailed with for a few short months only. They both have a gun hanging from their waist, and there are daggers and swords on the hull, indicating that even for a relatively easy mission like the one of your recovery, the two didn’t want to take any risk.
Or maybe this is the norm for them. After all, as he told you more than once, a pirate’s life is difficult, and unpredictable, and often dangerous; you will have to give up on many comforts you have until now taken for granted, and while the others will do their utmost to protect you, and teach you to fight so that you can defend yourself, he can’t promise you will not feel hunger, and pain, and fear, and tiredness. I don’t want you to regret joining us, (name); God only knows how much I want you here with me, but if you gave away your life and then hadn’t one to return to, I would never forgive myself.
The answer you gave him needed no words, only your lips pressed on his, your kiss relatively chaste but that left you both breathless. I have made my choice, and I’m not turning back. you told him; you had just started discussing your plan, and he had proposed to accompany you to an island far away, where Gorham would never find you and you could begin a new life, but you made it clear that he was much more than a means to an end, and that whatever future you would embrace it better have him in it - as its male protagonist, preferably. Any life would be better than what awaits me back to the town, but what I want more than anything is to be with you; keep me by your side, allow me to pull my weight here on the ship, and I can promise you I will never regret this choice.
You promised you would come back, no matter how dangerous it was for you to return and make sure your disappearance didn’t actually favour Gorham, and even though you could see how worried he was, he trusted you, supported your decision, and promised he would wait for you. He has, and now he has sent his closest companions to pick you up, to make sure you ran no risk, and they came, because their captain had ordered them to, and because after six months they have come to see you as one of them, and they care for you as they would care for any of their crewmates, and as you care for them.
Gratitude fills your eyes with tears as you let the Red-Haired Pirates’ cook and sniper help you on board, the boat rocking gently under your added weight. The eyes of both pirates linger curiously on the small box you have delicately placed down where it’s not in danger to fall in the water.
“Believe me, I would have come if the Devil himself tried to stop me.”
“That’s good to know. (name), did you bring the family jewels?” Yassop asks.
“In a sense.” you answer vaguely “Not to tell you what to do, and I’m sure no one followed me, but perhaps we should go.”
The pirates agree that it’s not safe for you to linger where the local police, or worse the Marines, could see you, recognise you, and decide to take you back. You offer to help with the rowing, but the men assure you there is no need -or more probably, you would only be able to slow them down, since you lack the physical strength to match theirs, but they’re both too kind to tell you- and so you sit where you won’t hinder them, your knapsack on your lap and the box between your feet, and let them work. Yassop and Roux grasp the oars, and the tiny boat moves away from the pier, unseen and undisturbed as the dark of the night envelops it, carrying you away from the town, and from your old life.
*****
The Red Force is too large a ship to pass unnoticed in a Marine-patrolled harbour, which is why Shanks decided the safest thing was to wait hidden behind a rocky promontory, and send a boat with his most loyal crewmates to get you, like a guest to a party would be picked up at home by a carriage. Shanks is perhaps too reckless and brave for his own good, but he’s not stupid, and you have both agreed that would have been the safest option, even if it meant having to wait a little longer before you could finally be together.
That little longer feels like an eternity as you sit, forcing yourself to remain still without betraying the impatience that is eating you alive, and the boat moves slowly across the blue expanse of the sea, its actual movement almost imperceptible despite the pirates’ vigorous rowing. It takes you a full hour to reach and turn around the promontory, and then the Red Force, as large and imposing as it was the first time you saw it, finally appears in front of you, its dragon figurehead silhouetted against the horizon, the white sails ready to be hoisted to catch a favourable wind.
Once your boat, which looks like nothing more than a child’s toy compared to it, reaches its side, a rope ladder is lowered to allow you, Yassop and Roux to come on board. “I bet the captain is dolling himself up for the meeting with his lady-love.” the sniper mentions, and then they both laugh “You need a hand, (name)?”
While grateful for the offer, you’re determined to receive no special treatment, even if just a help from a friend, and to work as hard as everyone else once you’ll have officially joined the crew; you may as well begin now. You grab the ladder and laboriously hoist yourself up; your arms ache from the effort, but you’re determined not to give up, and in the end, when your back is soaked in sweat and your hands feel about to lose grip, you reach the bulwark, and two strong arms emerge from the darkness to help you climb over. Lit torches bathe the deck of the Red Force in a warm, reddish light that allows you to distinguish the faces of the pirates gathered around you, the men you at first feared, given the weapons all of them handled and the menacing reputation of those in their line of work, but who in six months have become your dearest friends, a family like you hadn’t had one since you were nine, and whose company you have sorely missed.
Beckman, the first mate, grins at you between drags of his cigarette; he was the first to support your plan, and helped convince Shanks it was actually doable, the risk minimal if you planned your moves well. Some of the others wink, smile or wave at you, greetings you return in kind, by now aware of each of their names, roles on the ship, and as far as they chose to share it with you, their past. Still, the only one you can focus on, and who attracts your gaze as if you were a moth and he the brightest of flames, it’s him, the one whose hair does have the colour of fire, whose smile still makes you tremble months after you saw it for the first time, and whose gaze makes you more aware of your body and its impulses than you've ever been.
He who makes your heart soar, and joy fill your very being. Him, your beloved, your captain, your…
“Shanks.” you murmur, your own joy suddenly making you shy; you have waited for this moment, hoped and even prayed for it, for a month, and now that it’s finally happening, the emotion is almost precluding you from speaking “I am back.”
“I see.”
“It went well. Cerric found me, but I hit him, and I ran away as we decided. I have given the will to my lawyer, and…”
“It's fine.” Shanks murmurs, kind and almost comforting, as if he had realised the tornado of emotions inside you and wanted to comfort you “God, you are so beautiful…”
You're suddenly happy to have shoved the box in your knapsack when his hands find yours and bring them to his lips, so that he can kiss them. The pure tenderness of that gesture is enough to bring tears to your eyes.
“I have missed you.” you murmur, and the happiest, most relieved smile opens on his lips.
“Welcome back, my darling.” Shanks says, before picking you up and spinning you around, while the rest of the crew rejoices around you.
*****
The moon tonight is full, a detail you were yet to notice given the anxiety filling you, but it is, you have to admit it, a breath-taking scene, especially if one enjoys it from the bow of a ship, its sails filled with wind as it moves swiftly through the waves, the gentle rocking of the hull lulling you.
Having made sure his men were each to their station, Shanks has joined you a few minutes ago, bringing you a portion of the same food he and the others had eaten for dinner and that he had expressly asked Roux to put aside for you, by now knowing you enough to foresee nervousness would have prevented you from eating at dinner, which in fact happened. You sit quietly side by side, his arm holding you close as you, having quickly eaten your fill after realising, once the danger had passed, that you were starving, and you enjoy the safety of his embrace, the pleasant sensation of his firm and warm body against yours, and the sweet kisses he places on your brow every time your gazes meet.
He didn’t tell you he missed you, and that he’s relieved you came back safe and sound, and that he has spent the last month thinking about you and hoping no harm would befall you while Gorham and Cerric still had the chance to hurt you. He does, his very being yearning for yours, but he doesn’t need to utter the words; you know it already, because after six months spent in close contact with each other, and given everything that has been born between you and that you now share, it’s easy for you to perceive what the man next to you feels, like Shanks would be able to read you like an open book. His relief is evident in the tight, almost possessive hold of his arm around your hips, and the way for a moment he looks unable to swallow as he looks at you drink water directly from the bottle, head bent backward and throat exposed. That last month spent apart from each other was Hell, and the unspoken desire between you is something neither bothers trying to ignore; there will be time for that as well, for the relief he will find between your thighs and sweet words and love declarations swallowed by kisses made more urgent by the pressure of his hips against yours, but now… just now, you have tacitly decided you will enjoy this moment, the precious awareness that you’re back, and with him, and that nothing and no one will ever come between you.
And to think it all started from a misunderstanding: specifically, from a mistaken identity.
The last thing you could ever imagine was the comfortable, peaceful cruise you were enjoying, sailing on a luxurious little vessel, sunbathing on the deck and visiting the most famous tourist destinations, being attacked by a pirate crew, but this is exactly what happened. You were terrified, the prospect of having to marry Cerric and remaining under Gorham’s thumb for the rest of your life -your coming of age was still seven months away, but you could already feel the bars of the cage closing around you, the day you would finally lose whatever little freedom you had enjoyed to become a prisoner in your own home getting closer and closer- suddenly disappearing in front of the danger posed by the group of men who had stormed the ship and taken the crew prisoner. You were terrified, shaking as you tried to hide in your cabin and were quickly stopped and dragged away. All you knew about pirates you had read it in the papers or heard from the Marines, who clearly painted a less than flattering image of their sworn enemies, so, when the pirate seized you to bring you to their captain, you thought your life was over: they would kill you, or keep you on their ship and subject you to every kind of abuse known to man, or sell you at the slave market…
And then your gaze met his. You didn’t even know his name, nor the sort of man he was, let alone that you would come to love him with all your heart, but when you saw Shanks, smiling kindly at you and talking with gentleness in his voice, for a moment you were not afraid anymore.
“It’s alright; you are safe now, Vanessa. I’m a friend of your father, he asked to come take you.”
Confused and still terrified as you were, you didn’t manage to tell him that he had to have the wrong woman, since your name was not Vanessa, and unfortunately you didn’t have a father anymore. You fainted -a memory that still fills you with embarrassment seven months later; most women would have felt scared in your place, but you really wish you had made a better impression on Shanks and the others on your first meeting, even though he likes to say you fainted in his arms like the princess of a fairytale, already madly in love with him- and by the time you came around, the Red Force had already sailed away, with you safely laying in the bed of the spare cabin.
When you were finally able to talk to him and told him you were not the woman he thought, and he realised his blunder, embarrassment made Shanks blush the same shade of red of his hair. Vanessa was the daughter of a friend of his, the captain of another pirate crew, and had been kidnapped by a rival of her father; the man had asked for Shanks’ help in finding and taking her back, and when a woman who matched Vanessa’s description -you- had been spotted on a ship, he had come to pick her up, at first not even wondering why a supposedly kidnapped woman was travelling on a cruise ship. Shanks did show you Vanessa’s picture, which her father had provided, and you had to admit it: a twin sister wouldn’t have looked more similar to you.
“I am so sorry for what happened; you’re safe here, and I’ll bring you back to the cruise ship immediately, or home if you want, wherever that might be. You have my word.”
Even now that it was clear Shanks had no particular interest in you, you had no reason to trust him, but you did, something in your heart telling you he was an honourable man, whatever the Marines and Gorham -but who gave a damn about his opinion? Certainly not you- might say, and desperate as you were, the danger of becoming a pirate’s prisoner felt acceptable compared to the nightmare your life was destined to become seven months later.
So you explained your situation to Shanks, told him that returning home was the last thing you wanted, and asked for his help. I have a little money, and you can have my jewels as well; I’ll scrub the decks and work in the kitchen if you want me to, but please, bring me somewhere else. A far away place, where my guardian and my fiancé can’t find me and I can build a new life for myself.
At first, he later told you, Shanks thought you were only a rebellious girl who had had a fight with her guardian, or a bride-to-be suffering from pre-wedding jitters, but when you told him about the death of your parents, of the laws that prohibited you from administering your own money once you were wed, and that the man you were being forced to marry was the nephew of your guardian, he started getting a clearer idea of your situation, and immediately decided to help you, both because he felt he owed you and because it was the right thing to do. At first, he planned on accompanying you to an island he knew, a safe place far away from your home… but things went differently.
You gained his respect when you offered to help him save Vanessa; since the two of you looked so alike, you could serve as a bait, as long as he promised not to take her and leave you in the hands of her captor - not that he ever would, after two days you were already sure of it.
Why would you do that? You don’t even know her; I’ll do all I can to ensure your safety, but why would you risk your life for a stranger?
Believe it or not, I don’t like the thought of a woman kidnapped and kept prisoner, away from her family. If I were in her place, I’d hope the person who has the chance to help me would; and I trust you, captain Shanks, I know you won’t put me in any danger you are not sure you can take me from.
You did trust him, and you were aware of the risks, and still decided to do it. Shanks wasn’t sure how that made him feel, but he did sigh in relief when he and his men finally managed to save Vanessa, thanks in part to you. He reunited the poor girl with her father, and Shanks saw you dry tears from your eyes; you told him that the scene had reminded you once again of the loss of your parents, who you had loved so much, and of the fact you had literally no one waiting for you at home, except for Gorham and Cerric, whose only interest is in your wealth and who you suspected would have you dispatched as soon as they had taken possession of your money.
Shanks’s heart hurt for you; a kind, brave person like you, who had known nothing but loneliness and exploitation for years, deserved better, and he was determined to help you achieve it as much as he could, accompanying you to a place where you would be safe and introducing you to a few people who could offer you a job and host you until you were able to support yourself. No matter how short your acquaintance, he knew he would never forget you, and who knows, even though they planned on entering the Grand Line soon, maybe one day his travels would lead him back to your new home, and he could meet you again…
And then you asked him to let you join his crew. I am serious, and not crazy; I know it will be hard, and there will be danger, and that I could lead a safe, happy life in the place you are leading me to, but… I am almost an adult, and this is the first time in my life I had ever been out of the sea surrounding my town, I know nothing about the world beyond what I have read in the books, and I’ve never done anything in my life beyond strolling, drinking tea and being kept prisoner in my own home. Please, bring me with you! I'll do everything I can, everything you want, and I’ll never complain. Please, Shanks; they say pirates are the freest people in the world, and I want to be free as well.
The six months that followed were not easy, not lacking in moments in which you felt exhausted and in danger, but they were also the happiest of your life; you sailed around the sea together with Shanks and his crew, battled rival crews, searched for and found treasures, and lived all sorts of adventures. You ran the risk of being captured by another pirate who could teach Gorham and Cerric a lesson or two in terms of cruelty, knew cold and hunger and thirst like you never had before, to the point you feared you would die from it, but you also fought to defend the innocent people whose village a rival band of pirates had enslaved, and to help those who had quickly become your dearest friends; you learnt to read a map, to orient yourself looking at the stars, and to sing sea shanties with a mug of cheap ale in your hands, and even to use a gun - both in its intended way and like a club, once you had run out of bullets. Most precious of all, you discovered in your heart a courage and a resilience you never thought you possessed.
And you discovered Shanks. Shanks, the captain his men would follow to Hell and back, who never asks the others something he wouldn’t be ready to do himself, always ready to defend those who can’t defend themselves, and who would give his life for any member of his crew. Shanks, who is different from any man you had ever known, and to whom it felt so easy, so natural, to feel attracted to, to the point you couldn’t tear your gaze away from him when you saw him walk down the deck, his bright red hair tossed by the wind, and to feel butterflies in your stomach every time he spoke or touched you. Before you met him you thought you would be content with any man who wasn’t Cerric, and that the most you could aspire to was an illicit relationship once you were married, and having to fear your husband would kill you when he found out; then he entered your life, and you soon realised you would never be happy if not by his side, knowing he was yours like you already were his.
You didn’t dare hoping Shanks would return your feelings, he who women’s gazes followed in every village or town the crew disembarked in, and who occasionally took one on his lap while the crew drank in a tavern or spent a night with her -or at least, you had been told he did; it had never happened since you had joined the crew- but who never seemed to develop special feelings for anyone, at least for what you could see, and perhaps was either uninterested in a relationship, or unwilling to enter in one with one of his crewmates. You would be content with living side by side with him and being his friend, but he did care for you like you cared for him, and with equal passion, and the air was warm, so full of possibilities, on that night six weeks ago in which Shanks took your hand as you both observed the sea at the end of a lookout shift, your elbows resting on the ship’s side, and quietly, a slight blush visible on his cheek despite the darkness, asked for permission to kiss you. He was kind, and made it clear that you were free to refuse and that he had no intention of forcing you or to take advantage of his role as captain to make you uncomfortable, but he had no reason to fear a rejection or any reaction different from a free, joyful acceptance.
As your mouths met in a searing kiss, both sweet and passionate and intense enough to make your head spin if it weren’t for the strong arms wrapped around your middle, you realised that your destiny was indissolubly bound to that of this brave, generous red-haired man, that so it had been long before you first met, and that attempting to fight it would have been both dumb and useless.
Not that you wanted to, obviously.
*****
“I wish we had taken your guardian’s ship.” Shanks mentions after a while, tearing you from your reflections.
“Sorry?”
“The brigantine. You told me it was his pride and joy, and that he cared much more about its well-being than about yours; it would have been fair to take it and force him and his nephew to return home on a lifeboat.”
It would have been pleasant, you admit, even though you doubt a pirate crew could make use of a pleasure vessel like the Princess; nevertheless, thinking about Gorham still makes you shiver in fear.
“He can’t find me, can he?” you ask quietly; you don’t like how weak and helpless pronouncing those words makes you feel, even with Shanks, who knows you better than anyone else and would not lose respect for you just because you needed reassurance, but you can’t help it. You’ve been living as Gorham’s prisoner since you can remember, fed -except when your guardian decided you had been disrespectful and needed to be punished, or had gained weight- and clothed and taught more than decently, which made you much luckier than thousands of people in the country, but well aware of the plans he and Cerric were making on your wealth, your life, and your body, without any respect for your desires and your happiness, and it’s almost like your heart doesn’t dare feeling safe “Gorham, I mean. I know it’s stupid, but we had hoped he wouldn’t notice I had left until morning, but I doubt Cerric will sleep until then…”
“It’s fine.”
“What if he calls the Marines to bring me back? I’m sorry, Shanks, maybe I put all of you at risk…”
“You didn’t; and we’ll worry about the Marines if and when the time comes.” he gently points out; his arms snake around your hips to pull you close, an embrace that is both possessive and reassuring, comforting and sensual “I am the one who should apologise; for that horrible thing I said while we delivered you to Gorham. About your… weight.”
“Well, we had agreed he mustn’t suspect I was in league with you; an offensive remark like that is exactly what Gorham expected from a merciless pirate.”
“I know, but still… I know how much you dislike that sort of remark…”
You assure him you didn’t mind, at least in that specific moment; you look at Shanks, careful not to break his embrace, and you can see the relief in his warm brown eyes as he kisses your brow once more.
When you told him you wanted to return home to retrieve your things and, most importantly, make sure your guardian could not put his hands on your parents’ wealth, he tried desperately to stop you; not because he feared you would choose to remain, rather than going back to him, but because of the danger Gorham and Cerric represented for you.
“I’m not asking you to come take me if you think it might endanger you and the others, Shanks; this is a matter that concerns me and me alone.”
“Don’t be daft, of course we’ll come take you; you’re one of us now. But I know how much you despise those two, how much they have hurt you. How could you want to go back, (name)? All of it for a matter of money?”
“No; it’s a matter of honour. That monster has taken advantage of me my whole life, the last thing I want is to let him get rich and live the good life with my parents’ patrimony. I’ll go, make sure that money is well-spent, and then I’ll come back here, and to you, and never look back.”
It took you days, and Beckman’s precious support, to convince him, and you know Shanks feared for and missed you as much as you missed him; as captain he could have forbidden you from going, but he didn’t, because he had understood how important it was for you, and you loved him for it… and now that you’re back by his side, you know you will never leave again.
The night, and the company you’re enjoying it in, is almost too beautiful to ruin it with words, but there is an important thing you have to discuss with Shanks. “Do you remember when I told you I wanted to make sure -hmmm- my parents’ money would be well-spent?” you ask, struggling a bit to speak since Shanks has started kissing your neck, his lips leaving a trail of fire as they nip at your flesh; you have been intimate only once -the night before he returned you to Gorham, when following an unconfessable but undeniable impulse, you joined him in his cabin and promised him, without the need to utter a word, that you were his, and that he was yours, and that not even God Himself could keep you apart- but your lover knows how to arouse you, especially when he drags his tongue along the vein on the side of your throat, a tiny spot that makes stars appear behind your closed eyelids, as Shanks hand runs up and down your thigh.
“Of course; did you do it?”
“I did; I am officially berryless, but my parents’ wealth will be used to help the people who need it the most, the sick, orphans and widows. Except for one thing… one thing that Gorham stole when he first took me in his house, and then convinced our lawyer that it had been taken by thieves.”
You pull your knapsack to your lap, and Shanks looks on as you delicately retrieve the box you have taken from Gorham’s room; it is heavier than you remember it being. “What is that? A jewel?”
“Not exactly. Look for yourself.”
You open the chest, and no matter how many wonders and treasures Shanks must have witnessed in his years as a pirate, you see him remain speechless as he observes the item you have stolen back from your guardian. “Fuck.” he manages to say in the end “Is that…?”
“A diamond, yes. Before my father built his wealth playing the stock market, my great-great-grandfather was a miner; he worked in terrible conditions, for a slave wage, in a diamond mine.” you start explaining, repeating the same story your parents told you when you were little “He was in love with the mine owner’s daughter, and she loved him, but they knew her father would never consent to their marriage. One day, he found this diamond; he managed to keep it secret from his coworkers and the foreman, kept it for himself, and showed it to his fiancée. They ran away, eloped, and thought about selling the diamond to buy a house since they had literally nothing but the clothes on their back, but surprisingly it was never necessary; my great-great-grandfather found a job, his wife inherited a bit of money from an old aunt she didn’t even know existed, and they were able to build a comfortable life for themselves.”
You go on recounting that the diamond had remained in possession of your family down the generations, each of your ancestors imagining they might sell it in case of need, but they never had to. That diamond, whatever objective value it held, has become your family’s lucky charm: your grandfather who risked drowning during his career as ship’s captain, his mother’s carriage accident, sicknesses, periods of economic turmoils… your family was able to get by, which, you are convinced, is due to the diamond’s protection.
“At least until my parents’ death; I guess that day the diamond was distracted.” you conclude with a sad smile “Still, this is my family’s greatest treasure, even more precious than its own monetary value. Traditionally, every male descendant of my great-great-grandfather donated it to his wife; I am an only child, but I am my father’s daughter, and because of this, I’m giving it to you.”
Shanks looks at you, startled; immersed as he was in your story, it takes him a while to understand your words. “(name), no. I can’t accept it.”
“As I said, it’s a family tradition; and as a pirate I thought you liked treasures.”
“Exactly; and I have the most precious of them all here with me already.” he points out without missing a beat, tightening his hold around your hips “I… wow. I don’t know what to say.
Both of your gazes fall on the diamond, resting on a velvet pillow, its multifaceted surface reflecting the moonlight; in a sense it’s nothing more than a rock, even though your father told you once it could ransom a King and buy a small state, should its owner be so inclined. You are not, a life of freedom and love by Shanks’ side is all you want and need to be happy, but the gem is precious for you… the last and most important memento of the family you no longer have.
“It has a weird shape.” Shanks notices after a while, his head tilted to the side as he observes the gem “Seen from here it looks a bit like a heart.”
“I’m glad you noticed it. That’s why it made for such a romantic token of love. Its original owner called it the heart of Thago, after himself, and then donated it to his wife. We never bothered updating the name, but… well, now it's the heart of (name), technically; and that is why it should go to you. Because you already have my heart, Shanks; and you forever will.”
Shanks looks at you; he is not blushing, let alone crying, but you can see your story has affected him. “I don't deserve this, darling.” he murmurs in the end, holding you close “But I promise I will. Be with me forever, and I swear I'll make you happy.”
You are already happy -how could you not be, now that you're with him?- and you make sure to tell him before the dark of the night envelopes you, hiding you as you kiss passionately, Shanks’ hands running up and down your hips and your fingers running through his red hair. He has mentioned your next destination is Dawn Island, in the Goa Kingdom, before you enter the Grand Line, and you can’t wait to see what lurks beyond the tiny limits of the world you have known until now, but in the end, where you go is secondary: all you need is to be by his side.
“Does it mean I have to marry you now, since your ancestors gave the diamond to their wives?”
“If you want to. I can no longer wear white, but I expect a proper proposal, you hear me? You get on one knee and everything.”
Shanks promises he will remember. “Shall we remain here for a little more before going back?” he proposes softly, nodding in the direction of his cabin; you smile, closing the chest and then resting your cheek on his shoulder. You sigh happily, thinking that freedom is never more beautiful than when you can share it with the other half of you.
Young!Shanks x reader. This is part one of two. This fic is dedicated to @madbadpadawan and @fifo96!
Reader is vaguely implied to be plus-size but her body is not described. Themes of physical and sexual abuse are discussed.
Part one is mainly narrated from the point of view of a different character, part two from reader's.
*****
Standing on the bow of his ship, the Princess of the Waves, Jonathan Gorham scans the horizon, a grumpy, annoyed grimace on his already not attractive face. Around him there is nothing but water as far as the eye can see, the ship having left the town many miles behind it. Between the sea and the cloudless sky -the weather couldn’t be more pleasant, the sort people choose to enjoy with an outdoor meal or a romantic stroll, especially in the middle of of a milder than average autumn- above him the world is completely blue, the ship he’s standing on nothing more than a tiny shell in the middle of that vastness.
It might be a poetic vision, at least in the eyes of a predisposed soul, and lead a man to reflect on the fragility of human life in the face of the forces of nature, or inspire an artist to reproduce that magnificent view on a canvas, using all shades of blue to paint the vastness of the sea, bathed in the sun’s light, the tiny waves lapping against the ship’s side.
Gorham is not that sort of man.
He has been waiting for barely a few minutes, according to his pocket watch he’s still technically early for the meeting he has travelled so far for, but Gorham is already trembling with impatience. He lets his gaze wander over the horizon for the umpteenth time, grimacing once more as he sees absolutely nothing, save for a solitary seagull cawing as he flies by over his head. Punctuality is more difficult to achieve for those who travel by ship than for a person who walks to places or uses a carriage, but after having summoned him there, as if he were an errand boy bringing a client’s purchases to his home, or a criminal called to a judicial hearing, the least those brutes could is not to make him wait, he thinks with resentment.
The summoning has been delivered barely forty-eight hours ago, to Gorham’s desk in his office, written in a better penmanship than he expected from a vulgar pirate, by a hand whose owner had disappeared without being seen by both the man and his employees. The message was short and peremptory: if Gorham wanted to have his ward back, he was to depart from the town two days later, bringing with him a million berry in cash, and no Den Den Mushi or weapons. The pirates would be able to tell whether their conditions had been respected, and if they weren’t the deal would be off, no second chance or reconsiderations. The Princess -they knew the name of Gorham’s ship! He didn’t even want to know what else those bastards had learnt about him- had to follow the route described at the bottom of the message and reach its destination before midday, when the pirates would meet Gorham to make the exchange.
The deal he has been forced to take part in is the real source of Gorham’s frustration, much more than the fact that a dangerous crew of pirates has kidnapped a young woman under his protection - of whom, he freely admits in the privacy of his thoughts, he cares nothing about. Those bastards are blackmailing him, extorting him a huge sum of his money to protect an investment he has been working on for over a decade.
I’ll take it back, with interest, he thinks, reassuring himself the loss is only temporary. Nevertheless, lowering himself to make a bargain with a band of sea thieves is so humiliating Gorham can barely control himself. Maybe teaching (name) not to cause him so much trouble will make him feel better, he reasons as he moves a few aimless steps up and down the ship’s bow; he could use his belt, like he used to do when the young woman was a child and disobeyed him, or even punch her in the face, and have her tell people the bruises were the pirates’ fault. Yes, that would make him feel better.
(name) is Gorham’s ward, a young woman who is today exactly twenty-nine days away from the birthday that will make her an adult according to the law of the country. She’s the only heir of an extremely wealthy family - heir and only member, since her parents, who had no other children, died when she was only nine during an epidemic that had caused many other victims. Gorham, an affluent businessman, was then made legal guardian of the girl - which mainly meant he had the responsibility to ensure (name) was kept safe, raised respectably and educated, until the day she came of age and took possession of the frankly enormous wealth her parents had left her, that until then no one, not (name) herself nor Gorham, could touch.
Gorham is not known as a man of heart, or even just an emphatic one, which is why many in town were surprised he had decided to assume responsibility for a child he hadn’t even known beforehand. The expenses for (name)’s rearing were paid from her patrimony, meticulously administered by a lawyer who had been a friend of her parents, but the guardian received no payment for his efforts. Some had speculated Gorham, who was unmarried, felt the desire for a child in his life to love and care for, while others thought that (name) had been entrusted to him by her parents, reassured by his well-known reputation as a capable businessman.
None of it is true. Gorham has reasons of his own, and while he wasn’t paid to make sure (name) was more than decently clothed and educated beyond learning to read and write, he does nothing, not even blowing his nose, if he isn’t more than sure he has something to earn from it - and since (name)’s parents have had a daughter, rather than a son, this years-long pain in the ass is going to earn him a veritable fortune
Beyond the one I seized on the first day, that is.
“Do you think they violated her?”
Gorham blinks; so immersed he was in his thoughts, he had momentarily forgotten he is not alone, and the only person who has accompanied him in that recovery mission -apart from the ship’s crew, who the pirate captain had ordered had to remain under deck- has been silent until now, more interested in the book he had brought from home than in the imminent meeting with (name)’s kidnappers.
“What?”
“(name). Do you think the pirates have abused her?” Cerric specifies, apparently more out of curiosity than of worry. The young man, two years past his own coming of age, is the son of Gorham’s sister, as well as his heir; the older man feels no particular affection for his nephew, but he needs Cerric to bring his project to completion, and because of this he took the boy under his wing years ago “I mean, I know she’s not exactly a beauty, but six months with a crew of pirates…”
Gorham winces, annoyed by the unpleasant topic his nephew has introduced. “As you said, given the sort of people we are dealing with, it seems reasonable to think that she has been mistreated.” he points out “In his letter the pirate captain swears she’s alive and in one piece, but I doubt that sort of violence was included in the definition.”
Cerric frowns unhappily - a look that makes the family resemblance to his uncle even more evident, as he sticks his hands in his pockets. “Do I still have to marry her?”
“Of course you have to.”
“But uncle, she’s ruined. Why do I have to marry a woman who is damaged goods? She’s not even pretty, it’s not fair…”
Gorham doesn’t even bat an eye as he lifts his hand and slaps his nephew hard across the face. He’s no longer a young man and he was already smaller than most when he did, but the slap hurts. A lot. A moment later, Gorham has grabbed the front of his nephew’s shirt and drawn his face so close to his own the younger man can count the hairs of his uncle’s eyebrows. It is not a pleasant sensation.
“Don’t you ever say that again.” Gorham hisses; the most dangerous foe he has ever threatened is a rat that, years ago, the man surprised as the little creature munched on the corner of a sheet of paper in his study -he threw an heavy paperweight to kill the mouse, but he missed him by a metre- but as he looks back at the other man, Cerric feels himself trembling “Never, you foolish boy. Did you hear me?”
“I…”
“You, nothing. (name) is one of the wealthiest women in this country; her patrimony will be enough to support your descendents for the next eight generations! Can’t you see how much you have to gain, even though you did nothing to earn it besides having been born a male? The day that girl comes of age, you’ll marry her, and all she owns will become ours. This is the objective I have pursued ever since she was nine, and I have no intention of giving it up. You will marry her, and consummate the marriage, so that there will be no take backs or impugnations. I do not care if she has been mounted by any single man in Red-Haired Shanks’ crew; I don’t even care if she is pregnant. Do I make myself clear?”
“Hell, you hurt me…”
“Do I make myself clear, Cerric?”
For a moment the younger man seems ready to argue; then, perhaps in response to his uncle’s flaming eyes, he deflates. “Yes, uncle.” he grumbles, averting his eyes “Whatever you want, uncle.”
“Good.”
Gorham pats his nephew’s cheek, an apparently sweet gesture that feels painful on Cerric’s still tender skin; when the younger man moves to turn away, his uncle’s hand falls on his shoulder to keep him still, and a finger is lifted under his nose.
“As I said; ours.” Gorham repeats softly “I need your help with this, since it wouldn’t be proper for a guardian to marry his ward, but you’ll do well to remember who you owe everything to. You’ll be free to go on vacation, gamble, and spend your time with your whores, but I’ll take care of the money. I trust you have no objections to this.”
Cerric actually does; the thought of receiving an annuity of his own money, as if he were still too young, or stupid, to administer it himself, fills him with rage, but if he can leave his boring job in his uncle’s business and rent an apartment away from the home he’ll have to share with (name), he can be patient. In any case, he thinks resentfully as he’s finally free to walk away, rest his back against the ship’s side and return to his book, the old man is not going to live forever.
Silence falls on uncle and nephew as the sun above their heads approaches the summit of its trek. They’ll be here soon, Gorham tells himself; after all they proposed the meeting, and whatever fun Shanks and his men might have had after making (name) their plaything, a million berry is without a doubt a more attractive option. The pirate captain will give him the girl back, and he’ll make sure to beat her to within an inch from her life, and then have her ready for her wedding, which will take place as soon as she is of age.
She’s alright. Probably abused in every sense of the world -and how could she not? Unlike many of his kind Red-Haired Shanks is not famous for his lust for blood and pleasure in abusing women, but what can one expect from a pirate?- but alive and hale, adequate to walk down the aisle and exchange Cerric’s ring with the vast patrimony she inherited from her parents. She HAS to be; it can’t be otherwise, not after so many years Gorham has spent making sure (name) grew well, safe and refined and educated enough society and those who had known her parents would approve, enduring her presence in his home, her stubbornness and rebellious attitude. And if she’s not, she’s going to do it all the same.
Gorham dreaded the worst when, six months ago, the girl departed for a brief cruise and was then kidnapped after the ship had been boarded by pirates; so many years wasted, and his golden goose lost forever. Cerric would marry her even if she was no longer pure, even if she had lost a limb or had her face ruined to the point her own parents would not recognise her, but what if the pirates had done something to her that actually forbade the wedding from taking place? What if the violence and torture Shanks’ men had subjected her to had made her lose her mind, so that she would be considered unable to consent to the union? Gorham might be allowed to remain as her guardian, but what would become of her wealth, with the sole heir of the family declared incapacitated? He would never put his hands on (name)’s money, and all he has done will have been for nothing…
Well, I will see her before having to pay the ransom, won’t I? If she’s not marriageable, I may as well leave her to Shanks, and save myself the trouble…
“Uncle…”
“Shut it, Cerric.”
Could he have a document drafted in (name)’s name, making it appear it had been written by the girl herself, with which to claim she wanted him to inherit her fortune in case something happened to her? Her lawyer friend would surely challenge it, since (name) would not have been of age when the document had been written, but he had friends -and even better, debtors- at the town hall, and he could find a judge who…
“Uncle, listen…”
“Will you stop complaining, Cerric, the matter is…”
“I think they are coming!”
Those words bring Gorham instantly back to reality; looking in the direction indicated by his nephew’s pointed finger, he can see a tiny spot at the horizon, barely visible against the azure backdrop of the sky but clearly moving towards them. Finally, he thinks, allowing himself a single sigh of relief before squaring his shoulders and preparing himself for a meeting that will be as short as possible, but probably unpleasant in any case. He waits, deceptively calm, as the spot becomes a shape and then a recognisable object that gets bigger by the minute.
It’s exactly midday, both Gorham’s watch and the sun itself agree on it, when Shanks’ ship reaches the Princess, easily stopping close enough to allow a conversation between the people on the two bridges. The Princess is his owner’s pride and joy, a well built brigantine that many in town envy him, but it is completely dwarfed by the pirate ship, a large galleon with a dragon figurehead, like a donkey entered in a dressage competition; a comparison between the two ships is unfair, but Gorham bites his lip, annoyed. He feels belittled, even before he and the pirate captain find themselves face to face, and he doesn’t like it at all.
The pirate ship’s bridge is empty, save for a pair of men. The older has black hair in a ponytail, a rifle hanging from his shoulder, and a cigarette between his fingers from which he takes lazy drags as he observes the two men on the Princess, clearly unimpressed. Gorham, who has documented himself about Shank’s crew with an acquaintance he has at the local Marine base, knows he is Benn Beckman, the first officer.
The other is the captain himself.
“Mister Gorham, I suppose; good to meet you.” he cheerfully greets the older man, placing a hand on the top of his straw hat to then bow his head in greeting “My apologies for having you come all the way here.”
Shanks looks the same age as Cerric, but that is the only similarity between the two men. The pirate captain is tall, slim but strong, the bright red hair he owes his moniker to visible under his hat; he’s young but already a formidable pirate, Gorham has been told, less unnecessarily bloodthirsty than other crews but clearly dangerous, having already vanquished many foes. Gorham is aware that if the pirate captain decided to go back on the deal he had proposed, take the bounty and kidnap him and Cerric to extort even more money from them, there is nothing either man could do to oppose him; he can’t help being afraid, afraid of that vermin of the sea and his band of cutthroats, and he hates it.
“Where is (name)?” he asks, determined not to prolong that conversation any longer than he has to.
“The young lady is safe and sound, rest assured; she is unhurt, and she’ll continue to be if you have kept your part of the deal.”
Gorham wishes he could argue that deal is not the appropriate word to use, given that in their case one of the parts has unilaterally set the terms and the other -him- could do nothing but accept them, but he decides to save his breath: discussions about semantics are probably wasted on riffraff like Shanks and his men.
He wordlessly nods towards Cerric, whose lack of enthusiasm is evident as he walks away, disappearing beyond the small door leading below decks; two minutes later he is back, evidently struggling as he carries a heavy chest.
“A million berry, as you requested.” Gorham announces, while his nephew puts the chest down beside him; Shanks grins.
“I’m sure you kept your end of the bargain, as befitting an honourable man like you.” he says, sarcasm evident in his voice. Gorham wonders if as a pirate he is naturally inclined to disrespect, or the younger man is deliberately insulting him; he would have no reason to, since he and Gorham have never met before “But you’ll forgive me if I want to make sure.”
He turns towards the stern of his own ship and whistles; a few more men appear on the bridge, carrying a gangway that is quickly positioned between the two decks, allowing the red-haired man to step onto the Princess.
Shanks smiles at them, while Gorham and Cerric instinctively step back, both having noticed the sword in its sheath hanging from the pirate’s side. “Hi there.” he greets them affably, as if he had just entered a house he had been invited in for dinner; and then, as he looks all around him: “What a nice little ship.”
He sounds unexpectedly sincere, but for some reason Gorham feels those words as a humiliating insult. He forces himself to hold his tongue while Shanks reaches the chest, opens it and observes the large quantity of golden coins inside, clearly judging the sum they represent.
“I’d say it’s what we discussed.” he announces in the end; then, a moment later, he has turned towards Gorham, his hands reaching towards the older man.
“What are you…?”
“I am not going to hurt you, you have my word. I just want to… ah. What do we have here?”
After a brief search, the pirate has found the gun Gorham had hidden under his coat, making sure as he stood in front of a mirror the weapon was well concealed. Shanks takes it, looking at Gorham like a teacher who has caught his most promising student cheating during an exam.
“I had asked you to bring no weapons, mister Gorham; don’t you care about your ward’s safety?”
“You really thought I would come meet a dangerous pirate like you without taking precautions for my own safety?”
“As I said, no harm would be done to you as long as you respected my instructions. Now what? I should take the money, and keep your ward for myself; a well-bred girl like her could fetch quite a sum at the slave market of the Sabaody Archipelago.”
He actually seems to consider the option, and Gorham feels himself trembling. A million berry is a more than considerable sum, but almost nothing if compared to the wealth he will come into possession of as soon as Cerric marries (name); that damn girl is once again source of nothing but trouble, but Gorham knows he can’t give up now, less than a month away from the day he has been waiting for so long.
“Please, captain, let us not throw away all we have worked for.” he says, forcing himself to sound polite, even -ugh- friendly towards a man he would gladly see swallowed by a Sea King “The gun was only for my protection; I am an old man, and I couldn’t help fearing for my life when meeting a known pirate like you. My nephew and I are very worried about poor (name); please return her to us, so that we can bring her home.”
Shanks turns towards Cerric; the barrel of the gun the pirate is still holding does as well, making the other man jump.
“This is your nephew? Miss (name)’s future husband?”
“The very same.”
Gorham knows they shouldn’t desire to make a good impression on Shanks -who cares what the pirate thinks about them?- but he really wishes his nephew could at least straighten his back, and stop trembling; Shanks wordlessly looks at him, clearly unimpressed. “A very sweet deal for you both, I’m sure.” he comments “Throw your gun into the sea and I’ll overlook your little transgression.”
It takes his uncle’s dirty look to convince a clearly reticent Cerric to comply. Now they are really helpless, Gorham thinks; it’s a situation he doesn’t like, at all.
“Now it’s your turn, captain Shanks.”
“Very well.”
Shanks turns to share a look with his first mate, who nods wordlessly towards the men who have brought the gangway; they disappear, presumably to return under deck, and then return two minutes later, a crying woman held tight between them as she screams.
“Let me go! Let me go, please…!”
(name) looks nothing like the young woman who habitually patronised the most elegant tea rooms of the town, and strolled down the harbour with her parasol open to protect her from the sun’s harsh rays. Her elegant dress, bought in one of the town’s most expensive boutiques -she had at least a dozen of them, because she liked being up to date with the latest fashions and her lawyer friend was more than generous with the allowance she received, having pointed out that a young woman of (name)’s class deserved to be more than decently clothed. Gorham had found no way to oppose this waste of money, resentfully calculating the loss his capital was suffering every time his ward went out shopping- is torn into pieces, grime and dirt soiling the delicate fabric, her hair dirty and unkempt, her face bruised and streaked with tears; she’s barefoot. She struggles as the men roughly manhandle her across the ship’s deck, clearly too weak to escape; a scream erupts from her lips when the young woman sees the two men on the Princess’s deck.
“Mister Gorham! Cerric! For God’s sake, help me, please…!”
“Shut it, you.” Shanks brusquely barks at her, and the mere sound of his voice is enough to make the young woman cower and shiver; the pirates’ laugh fills the air “As promised, mister Gorham; your ward, alive and hale.”
“She’s not exactly in the same conditions as the last time I saw her, I think.” Gorham objects; he’s not especially interested in whatever abuse the young woman may have suffered, and since she’s alive and lucid enough to recognise him he’s confident there will be no opposition to her wedding, but the thought that he’s paying a million berry for a woman who would not look out of place in the seediest brothels of the town is frustrating.
Shanks shrugs, clearly even less interested in his prisoner’s well being. “You try keeping a crew of thirty men calm with a young woman on board; I had to let the boys spend a bit of time with her, or I would have had a full-blown mutiny at my hands.” he points out “But she shouldn’t be pregnant, so you won't have a little bastard on your hands.”
Those words have the power to make (name) weep even louder; she crumbles to the ship’s deck when the pirates let her go, and now she's crying inconsolably, the sound, Gorham thinks with distaste, as pleasant as the scratching of nails on a blackboard. “If you only knew what they did to me.” the young woman laments “Every day, for hours… and when I tried fighting back they left me without food…”
“Well, you did need to lose a few pounds, didn’t you, miss?”
“You animal! You-you bastard! You have no heart, God will punish you for what you have done!”
He’s been in her presence for a minute and Gorham is already fed up with the girl’s whining; he looks at her, sobbing pitifully in her dirty dress, and wonders how long the pirates had been without seeing a woman, if they had welcomed her presence on their ship. “Please give her back to us, captain.” he says, already dreading the next hours; he knows already (name) will cry and wail until they bring her home.
Shanks nods; a gesture is made towards the pirates, and Beckman grabs (name)’s arm to pull her to her feet, and then pushes her towards the gangway. “Come on, walk.”
Trembling, and clearly unsteady on her feet, (name) looks terrified as she observes the thin, fragile platform providing a passage between the two ships.
“If you please, miss.” Shanks invites her with a mocking bow; (name) glares at him -not that it looks very threatening, given her sorry state- and then looks at the gangway once more, as if judging its solidity.
“I can’t…!”
“Of course you can. Come on, your guardian is waiting for you.”
“No, I… I’m afraid of heights. I can’t do it, I’ll fall in the water…”
Shanks grins. “In that case I’ll come to fish you out personally; would you like that? Maybe you can repay me with a kiss…”
“You monster, don’t you dare…!”
“Alright, I’ve had enough.” Gorham barks. He had promised himself he would not lose his temper in front of the pirates, but he has already spent a million berries to save that idiotic girl, not to mention the years he has been forced to share his house with her and deal with her stubbornness and lack of respect; it is almost satisfying to see her like this, reduced to silence and begging for help, not to mention her money will finally be his in less than a month, but the longer he is forced to listen to her crying, the more he wishes he could silence her with a slap or a dozen “(name), get on that gangway and come here.”
The young woman shakes her head, as if trying to deny the truth in front of her, the perceived danger posed by the water, as she hugs herself. “Mister Gorham, please, I can’t…”
“Come here, I said! I am sick and tired of your crying, if you’re not here within two minutes I swear I’ll leave you here with the pirates!”
He wouldn’t, of course, not when the golden goose is so close to give him all her eggs, but the girl can’t know - or maybe she does, since she’s been told for years she’ll have to marry Cerric as soon as she comes of age, a prospect she is clearly not thrilled about since she has said several times she considers her fiancé a sorry excuse for a man. Still, whatever reticence she had about her wedding has disappeared after six months in Shanks’ -and his men’s- care.
Satisfied, Gorham sees (name) step on the gangway and, stumbling a bit as she desperately tries not to look down, cross it in the direction of the Princess; from the way she moves it’s clear she’s sore - Gorham doesn’t need to wonder from what sort of activity. Behind her, the pirates wave their hand derisively, whistling when a sudden gust of wind lifts the young woman’s skirt.
“I’ll remember your tits for the rest of my life, girl!” one of them cries to her, much to the amusement of the others. As soon as she’s safe on the Princess’s deck, (name) walks past Shanks, who quickly slaps her behind. She glares at him, but that measly act of rebellion seems to be everything she has the strength for; she bursts into tears again, collapsing in Cerric’s arms. He, clearly unhappy with the closeness, lowers her to the deck and quickly steps away, leaving her alone to sob loudly; Gorham, exasperated, really wishes he could kick her in the backside to make her shut up - and maybe he will, he promises himself, as soon as they’re home, or at least on the way back.
A minute later, Beckman has also crossed the gangway to step on the Princess; both Gorham and Shanks look on as the first mate effortlessly lifts the chest with (name)’s ransom and carries it back to the pirate ship, to the cheering of the other men.
Shanks grins, openly satisfied as he bows his head towards Gorham, a hand resting on the top of his straw-hat. “It was a pleasure making business with you, sir.”
“I really wish I could say the same, captain.” Gorham can’t help answering “To think that you have such a positive reputation for a pirate; and yet you’re exactly like the rest of them, a brute who kidnaps innocent women and leaves their families destitute to ransom them.”
Shanks looks at him, clearly unimpressed. It only now dawns on Gorham that having taken his money the pirate, who still has his gun in his hand as well as his own sword, could easily kill him, and Cerric. The older man only has a moment to regret opening his mouth, before realising the red-haired pirate is grinning, openly amused.
“Alas, you are right.” he says, a hand on his heart as if Gorham’s words had pained him “I like to think I am a man of honour, but it takes a lot of berry to feed a crew, and unfortunately we are running quite low on funds. Your ward offered us the chance to put away quite a bit of money… as well as to enjoy the company of a woman for the first time in months; at least if she wanted to eat at least once a day. Thanks to you, we have more than enough to live on for a while; we are deeply grateful, truly. I bid you farewell; perhaps we will meet again one day.”
Gorham dearly wishes they won’t; that unpleasant morning trip has already cost him a million berry -that he’ll soon recuperate after (name) and Cerric’s wedding, but still- and a throbbing headache, and he’ll be happy to never meet, and never hear about, Shanks again.
He remains still as the pirate captain returns to his own ship and then has the gangway pulled back; he turns to smile at the trio on the Princess’s deck, and Gorham looks away, supremely fed up with the whole matter.
“Let us go.” he orders as he turns and starts in the direction of his cabin, anxious to release the crew from their confinement and order the captain to lead them home. Cerric is quick to follow, while (name) remains where she is, no longer sobbing but perfectly still as she regards the pirate ship, and the red-haired man who looks back at her, equally unmoving on the bridge.
“Come, (name).” Gorham orders.
Silence.
“Have you not heard me? Move, girl!”
Cerric brusquely grabs her by the arm to haul her to her feet; startled, (name) lowers her face and follows the two men, arms wrapped around her torso as if to protect herself from a cold she cannot feel. She turns to glance once more behind her; a moment later she has disappeared below deck.
On the pirate ship, the celebration has ended; all the eyes are trained on the captain, whose gaze is in turn still fixed on the Princess, so intense one could actually believe he could see beyond the walls.
Beckman’s hand gently rests on his shoulder. “It’s going to be alright, captain.” he murmurs, almost soothing as he tries to offer the comfort they all know the younger man needs.
“I know.”
Shanks sighs. “Let us go, boys.” he orders as he turns to his men, his usually sunny expression having darkened suddenly; only a few minutes later both ships have departed, leaving the agreed place for the meeting empty, nothing more than a stretch of sea populated by gently rolling waves and the cries of seagulls.
I'm writing a new fic about my beloved red-haired captain!!!
Detective!Shanks x tracker!reader; a modern AU. This story is based on an idea I had years ago, and I'm so happy I finally get to use it! I'm not yet sure about the finale...
discoholicmusic
andulkaphoto
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