this is my side blog that i started for writing but it has kinda gone off the rails, currently we're looking at a 50/50 split between fanfiction and memes
what are you looking for?
↳ about me
↳ silly things (different post)
↳ gen headcanons
↳ spotify playlists - music i think one piece characters would listen to
↳ x reader headcanons (multi character)
↳ series
↳ written works/all fanfiction (different post)
↳ tags - i <3 goofy tags
just so you know you can message me, i don't bite i promise
about me
lynn | she/her | in my 20s
music and memes are my two favorite things
a girlie be mentally ill so updates might be inconsistent
currently hyper fixated on one piece but that is always subject to change :/
current fav characters: ace, shanks, and robin
gen headcanons
↳ spotify playlists - music i think one piece characters would listen to
↳ favorite taylor swift songs - this is important work
↳ memes they'd have
↳ chopper's hobby
↳ straw hats' hobbies
↳ wrapping gifts
x reader headcanons
↳ you get them flowers (mostly platonic): zoro, sanji, and robin | nami, ace, shanks | luffy, usopp, chopper, brook
↳ you say "i love you" first: zoro, sanji, robin, ace, shanks
↳ they say "i love you" first: zoro, sanji, robin, nami, ace, shanks
↳ how they'd support you (romantic): sanji, zoro, robin, ace, shanks
↳ how they'd support you (platonic): luffy, zoro, nami, usopp, sanji, chopper, robin
↳ where they like to lay their head: sanji, zoro, ace
↳ jealousy: sanji, ace, shanks, nami, zoro, robin
series
↳on the run (ongoing) - shanks's x afab! reader (she/her
↳ playlists (ongoing) - ace x reader modern au
↳ after ever (ongoing) - sylus (lnds) x MC (named)
tags explained bc i like having goofy tags and in case you wanna block em
↳ canon posts - posts i made that are not updates or personal (this includes memes, fanfic and headcanons)
↳ silly shit - the sillier things (like memes and stuff)
↳ x reader - this one's self explanatory tbfh
↳ updates no one asked for - updates, be warned this is a common one that many people use
↳ nurse lynn's rambling again - this is more so like random thoughts/comments on things
↳ op update - i'm still watching one piece so it's just where i'm at in the story
↳ stuckinmyinbox - answering asks or whatever people send me <3
↳ what's in the kitchen - works in progress, basically what i've got cooking
remembered this song now i can’t stop thinking about a certain red haired commander
i am now in a spiral jotting down as many ideas as i can about this, expect something soon (soon is relative, and it will probably most likely be a synopsis while i work on weaving together the actual story)
i have a large chunk of this written and unfortunately i am being evil with it lol, prepare for angst and hurt in between a enemies rivals to lovers story. i want to say it is a slow burn but i am not so sure, in universe it absolutely is as this will follow much of their lives starting as children up to recent cannon so we got like thirty years of ground to cover lol
Plot: Shanks reflects on the quiet life he might have chosen and the home he found instead.
The Red Force was quieter at night.
The laughter had died below deck. No one was shouting over cards, and Yasopp had finally stopped insisting that the next shot was “for pride” long after pride had ceased to have anything to do with it.
Shanks stood at the rail with his hand around the neck of a bottle he had not raised in nearly half an hour.
He should have gone below.
Beckman would notice if he stayed up too long. Tonight, the deck was empty, the sea was calm, and no one needed the easy smile that told the crew there was nothing ahead worth fearing.
Shanks let his face settle.
It felt strange every time.
He looked across the black water and tried to imagine a life contained within a single harbor.
A small house, perhaps. Nothing grand. He had seen enough polished halls to know he had no use for them.
The house in his mind creaked when the wind came in. There were dishes left beside the sink. Children’s shoes crowded the doorway.
He smiled faintly.
He could almost see them.
One child with red hair and a loud mouth, climbing fences before learning how to read. Another quieter one who watched everything. A woman at the window pretending not to laugh while he attempted to sound stern.
Don’t climb onto the roof.
Don’t put that in your mouth.
Don’t tell your mother I taught you that.
They would have ordinary problems. A fence brought down by a storm. A baby who refused to sleep unless he carried them through the house at three in the morning. A wife annoyed because he tracked mud across the floor.
The worst thing waiting for him in the morning would be cold coffee and a list of errands he had already forgotten.
Shanks breathed out slowly.
The life felt close enough to picture and distant enough to belong to someone else.
He had spent all of his life at sea. He had learned early that the horizon always held another place, another danger, another reason to keep going.
Roger had given him freedom before Shanks had been old enough to understand what might otherwise have been waiting for him.
That was enough.
The bottle shifted in his hand. His thumb moved over the glass.
Sometimes he was tired.
Not tired enough to sleep. Sleep could not touch this.
It came from knowing how easily the balance between the Emperors, the Marines, and the Government could fracture once the wrong person pushed hard enough.
Shanks did not know everything.
He knew enough to understand that the sea would not remain as it was, and that the years ahead would demand more of him than those behind him had.
The wind stirred the empty sleeve at his side.
He looked down at it.
He had made peace with the arm years ago. There were still moments when instinct told his missing hand to reach for something before memory corrected it.
But he did not regret it.
Not the arm.
Luffy had lived.
Shanks had looked at him and placed his faith in a future neither of them could yet see.
That faith had not been misplaced.
The thought eased something in him, though it brought an ache with it.
A small life would have cost him other things.
Not because a man could not love a family and still stand against the world when necessary.
But Shanks knew himself well enough to understand what he would have done. He would have left whenever the sea called. He would have promised to return and hated himself each time he could not say when.
Perhaps there had once been a time when he could have chosen differently.
An island he might have stayed on. A woman he might have asked to wait.
He had let those chances pass.
Some of them deliberately.
Others because he had always assumed another would come.
Shanks closed his eyes.
For a moment, he allowed himself the house again.
A warm kitchen. Rain against the windows. A child asleep against his shoulder while he stood beside the fire. A woman reaching up to brush wet hair away from his forehead when he came through the door.
No maps spread across the table. No wanted posters. No reports waiting for him when he woke. No need to decide which threat required an answer and which answer might create something worse.
He would not be an Emperor there.
He would not be Roger’s apprentice or the last name he had refused to inherit.
Only Shanks.
His fingers tightened around the bottle. Then he opened his eyes.
Wanting a thing did not make it his. And not every man got to choose a small life.
Some people had the strength to live quietly.
Some had the strength to stay.
Shanks had always had the other kind.
The kind that carried him forward even when he wanted to stop.
The kind that let him smile in front of his crew because fear spread faster when captains showed it.
The kind that let him drink with enemies, bury friends, make threats in a pleasant voice, and cut through a battlefield when the world had finally gone too far.
He could not be the man in the little house.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
But he could make sure more people got the chance to be.
That had to mean something.
A floorboard creaked behind him.
Shanks did not turn.
“You planning to stand there until sunrise?” Beckman asked.
“Hadn’t decided.”
“That means yes.”
Shanks smiled slightly and glanced over his shoulder.
Beckman stood near the stairs with a cigarette between his fingers and his coat thrown over one shoulder.
Shanks lifted the bottle. “Want some?”
“No.”
“Thought you might say that.”
Beckman came to the rail anyway.
He rested his forearms against it and looked out over the water without asking why Shanks was awake. That was one of the reasons Shanks had kept him close for so many years. Beckman understood that silence could be an answer.
For a while, they stood without speaking.
The cigarette burned slowly between Beckman’s fingers. The ship moved beneath them.
Eventually, Beckman said, “Bad thoughts?”
Shanks looked at the water.
“Quiet ones.”
Beckman accepted that.
Another stretch of silence passed before Shanks spoke again.
“You ever think about stopping?”
“No.”
The answer came without hesitation.
Shanks turned his head. “You could at least pretend to consider it.”
“I think about sleeping more. Improving our inventory records. Occasionally finding a captain who warns me before changing course.”
“That sounds disloyal.”
“Loyalty is the only reason I still tell you.”
Shanks laughed quietly. The sound felt easier than it had a moment before, though not enough to erase what had brought him onto the deck.
Beckman took another drag from his cigarette.
“You could have stopped once,” he said.
Shanks knew what he meant.
“Would’ve made a terrible husband,” he said.
“Yes.”
Shanks looked at him.
Beckman did not appear remotely apologetic.
Shanks rested against the rail again. His smile remained for another moment before fading on its own.
“I think I wanted to know what it felt like,” he said.
Beckman’s expression changed slightly. There was no pity in it.
“To stay?” Beckman asked.
“To have something that didn’t depend on what happened beyond the next horizon.”
Beckman looked across the deck.
The Red Force was worn in places despite constant care. There were scratches in the wood where Monster had once dragged something he had been expressly told not to move. A repair near the mast did not quite match the surrounding boards.
Above them, their flag moved in the wind.
“You have people who expect you to come back,” Beckman said.
Shanks looked at him.
“It isn’t the same,” Beckman continued. “But it isn’t nothing.”
Below them slept men who had followed Shanks across half the world. They argued with him, drank with him, and complained whenever his decisions endangered their sleep, but they would sail into any sea he pointed toward.
It was not children’s shoes beside a door or a woman waiting at a window.
But it was a place where his absence was noticed.
Shanks let out a slow breath. The weight inside him did not disappear. It settled back into a shape he knew how to carry.
He lifted the bottle, took one final drink, and set it beside his boot.
Beckman remained next to him.
Neither of them spoke again for some time.
The first hint of morning touched the edge of the water.
He let himself picture the small house once more, with a child running barefoot in the grass while someone called after them.
Then he let it go.
Not because he had never wanted it.
Because the deck beneath him was real. Beckman was still standing beside him, and below them slept the men who had made this ship a home.
Beckman put out his cigarette.
“Coming below?”
“In a minute.”
Beckman nodded but did not leave.
They stayed at the rail until the sun began to rise.
Plot: A tavern waitress with roots in nobility is taken into the polished brutality of Mary Geoise. Saint Shamrock Figarland is tasked with retrieving you. How unfortunate for him.
Read on AO3
Themes: Enemies to lovers, romance, humor, drama, lil bit of angst.
remembered this song now i can’t stop thinking about a certain red haired commander
i am now in a spiral jotting down as many ideas as i can about this, expect something soon (soon is relative, and it will probably most likely be a synopsis while i work on weaving together the actual story)
i love watching people make progress reading through on the run, it brings me so much joy to recognize usernames as they spend the day (or sometimes week) reading what i poured hours into getting the notification of a like on the chapter they just read is something i enjoy, i love being like ooooo they’re about to hit this part it makes me happy and im sure im not the only one, please keep doing this
Based on anon request: I changed the premise up but there is still fighting.
Plot: The mission was simple. Shanks staying focused was not.
Warning: Smut at the end.
A/N: This takes place before he meets Luffy. He has both arms.
You had asked for a witch costume.
You looked in the mirror. The skirt was too short. The bodice was too tight. The neckline was offensive. There were stockings involved, and a pair of boots you suspected had been designed by someone with no concern for stealth whatsoever.
You stepped out from behind the screen in the back room of the costume shop and glared.
Lucky stopped chewing.
Hongo, who was halfway through fastening a ridiculous velvet cravat, blinked once and then looked very carefully at the wall.
Building Snake coughed into his fist.
You looked down at yourself, then back at the room. “The shopkeeper and I had very different definitions of witch.”
Shanks’s mouth opened.
“You look…” he started.
“Choose the next word like it matters.”
His eyes were bright with the effort of behaving. “Prepared.”
Lucky made a strangled noise and turned it into a cough.
You narrowed your eyes. “Prepared.”
“For infiltration.”
“In this?”
Shanks glanced at the costume again, helplessly. “It’s very distracting.”
“That is not a mission benefit.”
“It could be.”
“Not for our side.”
Shanks’s gaze slipped down again before he could stop it. It moved from the little pointed hat pinned into your hair, to the dark choker at your throat, to the fitted line of the dress, to the strip of thigh between skirt and stocking.
His smile started slowly.
You stabbed a finger toward him. “Do not smile like that.”
“I’m proud of you for committing to the mission.”
“I am going to commit a crime.”
“You’re a pirate.”
“Against you.”
That only made his smile worse.
He looked unfairly good, which did not help. He had been put in a red-and-black masquerade coat with gold trim, a half mask resting over his nose.
You hated him a little for it.
Hongo cleared his throat. “We should review the objective.”
“Thank you,” you said, seizing the excuse to look anywhere except at your boyfriend’s face. “The objective.”
Shanks leaned back against the table, arms crossed.
Hongo picked up the invitation. “The host is Baron Mallowe. Smuggler, shipping broker, and occasional coward.”
“Occasional?” Lucky asked.
“He becomes brave when heavily guarded.” Hongo tapped the paper. “He’s celebrating the launch of a private collection. That gives half the criminal merchants in the West Blue an excuse to attend in masks. Somewhere in that room, someone knows the name of the ship carrying the stolen medical cargo.”
Building Snake nodded. “We get in, listen, find the name, leave.”
“Quietly,” Hongo said.
Shanks was looking at your legs.
You snapped your fingers in front of his face.
He looked up. “Quietly. Right. Very quietly.”
“You didn’t hear a word.”
“I heard stolen medical cargo.”
“And?”
“And we’re stealing it back.”
Hongo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Recovering it.”
“We’re pirates,” Shanks said. “We can call it stealing.”
“We are stealing stolen cargo,” Lucky said.
Building Snake considered that. “Does that make us honest?”
“No,” you said. “It makes us busy. Can we go before I lose feeling in my ribs?”
Shanks pushed off the table and stepped close enough that the others suddenly became very interested in anything else.
“You do look beautiful,” he said.
Your annoyance faltered, which irritated you even more.
“I look like I’m one wrong step from flashing half the room.”
Shanks’s gaze dipped before he caught himself. “Then half the room and I are going to have a problem.”
You fought the urge to smile.
Shanks saw it anyway. His eyes brightened, pleased with himself.
“Boss,” Beckman called from the doorway. “Whenever you’re done flirting.”
Shanks turned. “I’m focused.”
Beckman looked from him to you, then back again. “That would be a first.”
Yasopp appeared behind him with his rifle slung over one shoulder. “We’ll be outside. Rooftops east and west. Try not to make us shoot anybody before dessert.”
You grabbed your cloak from the chair, trying to cover as much of yourself as possible. Shanks watched with visible disappointment.
You pointed at him. “Mission.”
“Yes,” he said brightly. “Mission.”
The party was worse than the costume.
Mallowe’s estate sat on a cliff above the harbor, all marble and excessive art. Guests in masks drifted between tables, laughing too loudly at jokes that were not funny enough.
You entered on Shanks’s arm.
That had not been the plan.
The plan had been for the five of you to spread out and blend in. But the moment you stepped into the crowd, Shanks’s hand went to your waist.
“You’re supposed to mingle,” you murmured.
“I am mingling.”
“With me?”
“With the most interesting person here.”
“You are insufferable.”
He laughed, quiet and delighted, and the sound brushed warm against your ear.
You refused to let it affect you.
Mostly.
Across the room, Building Snake drifted near the musicians. Lucky was talking to a woman in peacock feathers while holding an entire roast leg of meat. Hongo slipped into a circle of merchants, nodding along as if he cared deeply about port tariffs.
Shanks was still at your side.
You turned your head slightly. “Go listen to the brokers.”
“Are you telling me to leave you alone?”
“For the mission.”
Shanks sighed as he let his hand slip from your waist. Then he drifted into the crowd with the easy charm that made people trust him.
For a while, the mission almost worked.
You moved toward the balcony doors, where the conversations were easier to overhear.
A man in a wolf mask noticed you listening. “Lost, little witch?” he asked.
You looked at him over the rim of your glass. “Not yet.”
His smile widened. “Mallowe’s parties can be difficult to navigate.”
“So I’m learning.”
“Perhaps I can help.”
“I doubt that.”
He stepped closer. His gaze dropped before he bothered to hide it, lingering where the neckline of the costume sat too low for your liking.
Across the ballroom, Shanks stood with a shipping broker near the card tables, one hand resting loosely around a drink he had not touched. He was smiling at the broker, apparently listening.
His eyes cut to you.
You saw the exact moment he noticed the wolf mask standing too close.
His expression did not change.
That was worse.
The wolf-masked man leaned in. “You’re not one of Mallowe’s usual guests.”
“No?”
“I would remember you.”
You gave him your politest smile. “That sounds like a personal failing.”
Before he could answer, a servant passed behind him and murmured something too low for you to catch.
Something cold moved through your stomach.
The man looked back at you.
“You came with the red-haired one,” he said.
His hand closed around your wrist.
You twisted at once, already turning out of his grip, but Shanks was there before you finished the motion.
He caught the man’s hand.
Shanks’s smile was bright. Friendly. Terrible.
“Careful,” Shanks said. “She bites.”
The man stiffened. “This is a private conversation.”
Shanks’s fingers pressed against the inside of the man’s wrist.
“Shanks,” you warned quietly.
His eyes stayed on the man for one more second.
Then he let go.
The wolf-masked man backed away, cradling his hand and trying very hard not to look afraid.
You turned on Shanks at once. “You were supposed to be getting information.”
“I did.”
“You were staring at me.”
“I was multitasking.”
“You were not.”
“The ship is called the Marigold Saint. Leaves midnight from the north cove. False registry, medical cargo, broker thinks Mallowe’s an idiot.”
You stopped.
Shanks looked pleased with himself.
You blinked. “You got all of that?”
“Yes.”
“While watching me?”
Shanks took a sip of wine. “I have many talents.”
You stared at him for another moment. Then, unwillingly, you felt your mouth twitch.
His grin warmed. “Impressed?”
“Annoyed.”
“That’s close.”
Before you could answer, the music stopped.
Heads turned. Mallowe stood at the top of the main staircase with two guards at his back.
“My friends,” Mallowe called, voice carrying through the ballroom. “Forgive the interruption.”
The balcony doors shut and locked behind you.
Your pulse kicked once.
Across the room, another set of doors closed.
Guests began murmuring.
Shanks did not move, but the ease in him changed. His shoulders stayed loose. His smile stayed faint.
Mallowe descended one step. “It seems we have thieves among us.”
A few guests laughed nervously, thinking it was part of the entertainment.
Mallowe did not laugh.
His gaze swept the crowd and landed, briefly, on Shanks.
Then on you.
“Someone has been asking after private cargo.”
The wolf-masked man appeared near the staircase, still holding his wrist, and leaned close to speak into Mallowe’s ear.
Shanks’s smile vanished.
Mallowe’s eyes moved back to you.
“There she is.”
Your hand went slowly beneath your cloak.
Shanks stepped half a pace in front of you.
Mallowe smiled. “Search them.”
The first guard moved toward Hongo.
That was his mistake.
Hongo hit him once in the throat, caught him by the shoulder, and drove him into the nearest table. Glasses shattered. Someone screamed.
Then Lucky grinned.
“Oh good,” he said. “I was getting bored.”
A guard lunged for him.
Lucky hit him so hard the man slid across the polished floor and took out the dessert table.
The party detonated.
Guests scattered. Guards pushed through. Building Snake caught one by the arm and sent him into two more without breaking a sweat.
You drew the short blade strapped to your thigh.
Shanks’s gaze dropped.
You lifted your eyes to his. “Focus.”
His smile came back. This time, it was all teeth.
“Yes, ma’am.”
A guard rushed you. You ducked beneath his arm and drove your elbow into his ribs. Another grabbed for your cloak. You let the clasp tear free, twisted, hooked your boot behind his ankle, and sent him onto his back.
The short skirt was annoying.
The boots, however, were excellent for kicking.
A third guard came at you with a baton. You caught his wrist and turned. He hit the wall shoulder-first and dropped the weapon.
You caught it before it hit the floor.
Across the room, Shanks stopped mid-fight.
He had one man caught by the collar and another coming at him with a broken chair, and he was staring at you like the room had vanished around him.
You spun the baton once in your hand and cracked it into the knee of a man trying to rush Hongo.
Shanks’s mouth parted slightly.
The man with the chair hit him.
The chair broke.
Shanks barely moved.
Slowly, he turned his head.
The man holding the broken chair leg reconsidered several things.
Shanks smiled at him.
“Oh,” the man said.
Shanks dropped the first man, caught the chair leg before it could swing again, and tossed its owner backward into a table.
Mallowe shouted from the staircase. “Do not let them reach the balcony!”
That answered the question of your exit.
You drove the baton into a guard’s stomach, shoved him aside, and looked toward Building Snake. He was already moving, clearing a path.
“Balcony!” he called.
You ran.
A guard grabbed for your arm. Shanks caught him by the back of the collar and yanked him away. He fell into step beside you, bright-eyed.
“You,” he said, “are incredible.”
You stared at him. “This is not the time.”
“I disagree.”
A bottle flew past his head. He did not look away from you.
“Shanks.”
“I’m focused.”
Then a shot cracked through the open balcony doors.
The chandelier above the main staircase exploded in a rain of crystal. Everyone froze.
From the rooftop outside, Yasopp’s voice carried cheerfully through the broken glass. “Evening!”
Beckman fired once into the ceiling.
That settled the room.
Shanks glanced around at the sudden silence. “Right. We should go.”
“You think?”
Lucky grabbed one last pastry from the ruined table. Building Snake kicked the balcony doors open the rest of the way.
You all ran.
The escape was not elegant.
Lucky laughed the whole way down the garden wall. Hongo complained about torn velvet. Building Snake calmly knocked out a guard who tried to follow. Yasopp met you at the lower terrace, grinning like he had just enjoyed dinner and a show.
You dropped down on the other side and landed in a crouch. Shanks landed beside you.
For a moment, he only looked at you. The look was worse out here, under moonlight.
Less playful. Hungrier.
His gaze moved over you, the crooked hat, the loose strands of hair, the flush in your cheeks from running and fighting.
You felt it low in your stomach.
Then Beckman’s voice cut through the dark. “Move.”
By the time you reached the Red Force, the crew had already heard enough from Yasopp to cheer when you climbed aboard.
Shanks stood beside you through all of it, hand at your lower back.
He did not say much.
When the others turned toward the galley, Shanks’s hand slipped into yours.
He did not say anything.
You followed so quickly your shoulder brushed his arm with every step. The crew’s shouting faded behind you. Shanks took the stairs two at a time, his fingers locked around yours.
He did not look back.
At the first turn, he stopped. He turned, caught your waist, and pushed you back against the wall.
His mouth covered yours.
You pulled him closer. His hand hit the wall beside your head. The other slid down your waist, over your hip, and beneath your thigh. He lifted your leg against him, shoving the short skirt higher with his wrist.
Your boot locked behind his knee.
He kissed you harder.
You pulled his hair until his head tipped back enough for you to catch his lower lip between your teeth. His fingers dug into your thigh. Then he shifted his grip and lifted you higher against the wall, making room for himself between your legs.
“You liked me watching you,” he said against your mouth.
You answered by rolling your hips into him.
His hand tightened.
You dragged your mouth along his jaw. “I liked it.”
His mouth found your throat. His teeth grazed just below your pulse and you groaned as you felt him marking the spot with his mouth. Your fingers dug into his shoulders. He kissed down to the edge of the choker, then back up.
He caught your chin and made you look at him.
“I’m going to fuck you against this wall if we don’t move.”
“After you, Captain.”
His eyes darkened. He took your hand again and pulled you down the passage.
The cabin door shut hard behind you.
Shanks turned the lock without looking at it. You were already pushing his coat off his shoulders. It hit the floor, and he stepped out of it while walking you backward.
Your cloak came next.
His hands went to your waist.
You caught his shirt in both fists and dragged him down to you. He came willingly, mouth open against yours, one hand sliding behind your back, the other already beneath the hem of your skirt again.
He lifted you onto the desk before you could sit on your own.
His hands spread over your thighs, pushing them apart as he stepped in.
Shanks dragged his hands up over your stockings. His thumbs found the bare skin above them and massaged there.
You hooked both boots behind his legs and pulled.
His hips met yours.
The desk creaked beneath you.
Shanks laid one hand beside you, the other roughly gripping your thigh. His head dropped and you felt his mouth open against your collarbone before he kissed you there.
You reached between you and dragged at his shirt. You pushed it off his shoulders.
He caught the back of your neck and kissed you so hard your head tipped with it. His other hand found the fastenings of the costume. He tugged once. The hooks held.
He broke away just enough to look over your shoulder.
“Turn around.” The words were low.
You obeyed before you could think better of it.
Your hands landed on the desk. Shanks moved behind you, close enough that his chest brushed your back. His fingers worked at the hooks with no patience at all. One came loose. Then another.
The third caught.
He pulled harder.
Fabric gave with a loud tear.
Your hands tightened on the desk edge.
Shanks stopped. His mouth lowered to your bare shoulder. “I’ve wanted to tear this off you all night.”
You looked back at him.
“Then stop being careful.”
The next hook tore faster.
The loosened bodice slipped under his hands. He pushed it down and kissed the skin it uncovered, mouth against your shoulder blade, your spine, the back of your neck. His hands moved around your waist, dragging you back against him.
You reached behind you and caught the back of Shanks’s neck.
He followed the pull, bending over you until his mouth was at your ear.
“You liked making me wait.”
You looked back at him, mouth close to his. “I liked watching you lose patience.”
His hand slid from your waist into your hair.
Not gentle.
He gathered it at the nape of your neck and pulled just enough to lift your head from where you were bent over the desk.
Your back arched. Your hands tightened on the edge.
Shanks’s mouth dragged along your jaw. “You wanted me like this?”
“Yes.”
His hand stayed in your hair while the other shoved your skirt higher.
The fabric bunched at your hips. His fingers hooked under your underwear and pulled. Lace tore against your thigh, and you gasped, pushing back into him before the ruined fabric hit the floor.
Shanks’s grip in your hair tightened once. Then his hand was between your legs.
You bent lower over the desk, forehead nearly touching the wood, but he pulled your head back again.
“No,” he said against your ear. “Stay with me.”
You heard the click of his belt behind you. The rough sound of his breath. His hand left your hair only long enough to grip your hip and drag you back to him.
He thrust into you in one hard stroke.
Your hands slipped on the desk.
His other hand returned to your hair, keeping your head lifted as he bent over you.
“Mmm…Captain,” you whined as your hands gripped the desk.
His mouth pressed to your shoulder. “That’s it, sweetheart.”
The desk creaked beneath every thrust.
Your elbows nearly gave out. Shanks felt it and slid an arm around your waist, hauling you back against him without slowing. The new angle made your knees press harder into the desk.
You reached back blindly.
He caught your hand, pinned it to your lower back, and drove into you harder.
You felt heat coil in your lower body.
His rhythm started to break.
You felt it in the uneven snap of his hips and the way his hand tightened in your hair.
“Come with me,” he growled.
You pushed back into him once more, and that was enough.
You let out a shudder as your orgasm rippled through you. He followed a moment later, hips driving in deep before he went still against your back, spilling inside you.
Shanks stayed over you, breathing hard against your shoulder.
His hand loosened in your hair first.
He kissed your shoulder once, then the side of your neck, then the corner of your mouth when you turned your head.
“You all right?” he asked, voice rough.
You nodded. “Yes.”
His hand slid around your waist. “Good.”
Only then did he ease back enough to lift you from the desk.
For a moment, he just looked at you. You touched his chest. His heart was still racing beneath your palm.
“You’re staring again,” you whispered.
His hand covered yours and held it there.
“I love you.”
You leaned into him, forehead against his collarbone. “I love you too.”
He kissed the top of your head, then bent and gathered you up before you could protest.
The bed dipped under both of you. Shanks pulled the sheet over your hips and gathered you closer.
⋆𐙚 ̊ this is proofread but mistakes may be present, I apologise in advance! spoilers about shanks and his family! see pinned post for banner and fan art credits!
You were silent which was unusual for you. When you’re off on a mission and return to the ship, you’re greeting Shanks with a big smile, kiss and a hug as you spoke about your adventure.
This time? A forehead kiss, a “I’m going to shower” and now, hours later, you’re sat with a cup of sake before you, untouched.
Your eyes were on the horizon.
“This is unusual,” Shanks says with a chuckle as he sits next to you. “I usually get more than a kiss by now.”
You weren’t laughing.
His hand was on the table and you place your hand over his.
“I saw him.” You say.
“Saw who?”
You were silent.
“Shamrock.”
You were on a mission to collect herbal medicines for Hongo. He could’ve done it himself but he was busy tending to Beckman’s injuries. The crew couldn’t afford another stop so you offered to go, and reluctantly, Shanks agreed.
Shanks couldn’t be away from you for too long.
“Be quick,” Shanks says, caressing your hair. “And be careful.”
Quick? Yes. Careful? No.
You felt his presence before you saw him.
Your head tilts, eyes to the ground; his footsteps came closer.
Then, he attacks, and you dodge.
You straighten.
“Shanks?” You breathlessly whisper, then notice the lack of a scar, a functioning arm and it all clicked into place.
Shanks seldom spoke about his family and when he did, it was always with a tremble.
Your eyes narrow dangerously. “You’re his brother?”
In response, he attacks, and the blow lands.
You let out a gasp, your entire body on fire, but you swallow back your scream.
“I’ve had it with you lowest of scum.” He says, turning his sword.
It glimmers under the sun that was half-covered by the pearl-grey clouds.
Judging by his attire, he was royalty, and you could only stare at him.
“You look a lot like Shanks.”
He stared back.
“He’s my younger twin brother.” He attacks, and you attack back, your swords clanging.
You grin at him, a glint in your eyes. It was a look Shamrock knew all too well.
“You’ve heard of me?” You ask.
“Was I supposed to?”
He's seen your face before, but it wasn't processing.
“Perhaps,” You move back. “It would be odd if you didn’t know your own sister-in-law.”
Now that surprised him.
“Now we can spend our time fighting. Or, we can be on cordial terms.” You put your sword away first. “All I want is the herbal medicine.”
He stared at you.
Then, he put his sword away too.
Then, he turned away.
You call out to him. You wanted his name.
He didn’t stop as he spoke:
“Shamrock.”
You recount the events to Shanks.
When you mentioned his brother’s name, he was taken aback, but the longer you spoke, the quieter he became.
Then, you show him the wound, and his jaw ticked.
“You didn’t get it cleaned?”
“Too busy thinking.” You say, and Shanks’ got up. He picked you up and held you. You sigh his name.
He didn’t respond.
He takes you to Hongo to look after your wounds. Stayed behind to hear the report.
Then, he was gone, and it was just you and Hongo.
“He’s never that quiet when you hide a wound from us.” Hongo says, putting on his gloves.
You were quiet in response.
All you could do was stare at the door he walked out of.
Shanks avoided everyone but he didn’t avoid you.
When it was time for bed, he pulled you into him and held you.
You both didn’t say a word.
His good hand was on your bandaged wound.
Then, you turn, but he was already looking at you.
Your hands caress Shanks’ face. He closed his eyes at the feeling and kissed your palm.
Your fingers brush the scar on his eye.
“He didn’t say anything else?” Shanks whispered.
“No,” You say. “I have a feeling that if he and I were to cross paths again, he won’t let me off that easy.”
His jaw clenched. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“I know, love.” You kiss between his eyes.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.” Shanks says, and when you chuckle, he frowned. “What?”
“I can protect myself.”
His lip quirked. “I know you can.” Kissed you between your eyes. “But from him…”
He was slightly panicked.
You wrap your arms around Shanks and kiss him. He kissed back.
When you pull away, his eyes were closed.
“I’ll tell you everything.” Shanks whispered.
And he did.
You both stayed up holding one another as he told you his story. He shed a few tears and because of it, you were crying as well, and by the end of it, Shanks was already asleep but you were wide awake.
With your hand to his cheek, you caress his sleeping face.
“I’ll always be with you,” You whisper. Kissed the corner of his mouth.
In his sleep, he pulled you closer, and you let him.
Hi!! Wanted to share my first wip of the Red Force's headcanon layout I've been working on lately because i'm loving how it's turning out!!
I intend to make it as realistic as possible, because I want to use it as a guide for future fics, mostly involving Beckman. My take on his role is that as the first mate he almost runs the ship himself, specially the crew's logistics (e.g. watch rotations, discipline) and cargo's and supplies management (tho I think Lucky could take care of the food supplies management).
Since it's looking this good already, I wanted to share it in case it could aid any of you in your writing process. We have an idea of the Sunny's layout but the Red Force's remains ✨ a mystery ✨, and giving it is a much bigger ship (and more realistic in itself) i've always wondered about its logistics.
Some other comments on it:
About the rookies' area. The Red Force is a huge ship and I simply cannot imagine the senior officers et al. handling the situation on deck all the time by themselves. I'm saying basic course adjustments, the watches, etc. A ship of those dimensions in real life may need a crew of 50 only to handle the navigation and all the chores required to maintain the ship. Given this is One Piece, I'd propose 25 deckhands, which could be called rookies, since I think they wouldn't be that apart from the core crew. I mean, if we were historically accurate maybe they wouldn't even mingle, but knowing Shanks' character I highly doubt he'd promote such a rigid division in the crew. Also, some of those deckhands or rookies could actually learn directly from the higher ranks, as apprentices, so the rookie term would be even more adequate. This could also explain Rockstar's place in the crew. I see the deckhands as people than can fight too if there's need to do so, even if it's not at the officer's level.
About the umbrella situation in the middle of the main deck... That's looking like the party deck. I can see it. I bet they have karaoke nights there when there's nice weather. And lots of alcohol, of course. I think they could also use it for big, relaxed meetings. Barbecues. I just know it in my heart.
And lastly, the fore beak situation. It's just ornamental, since there are no elements to be adjusted from there, so it's simply a secluded zone. That's why I propose it to be the official cruising spot. Half-joking. Or not.
That's it for now, I hope you like it! I'm absolutely coming back to add more thoughts on this later, but here it is ♥️
partially-managed mental illness is so fucking funny i'll be sitting around doing my job and suddenly think "wow i hate myself" and immediately get confused because, like, that's not TRUE! i love myself so much. who are you to talk to me like that
