Could u maybe do more shanks smut like when he is jealous?
love and jealousy | shanks x f!reader
After months apart at sea, Shanks finally comes back to you — jealous, exhausted, and far more emotional than he’ll ever admit.
tags : 18+ only, smut, jealous shanks, possessive shanks, fluff, shanks is a softy, silly softy shanks, use of nicknames, established relationship
☆ masterlist ★
The Red Force had dropped anchor near the little coastal island. As they approached the coast, a soft sense of familiarity settled over the crew, along with the promise of a moment of peace and plenty of booze. They had become something strangely close to regulars over the years.
And if anyone asked Lucky or even Benn, they'd swear there was only one reason they kept finding excuses to stop by this tiny island in the middle of nowhere.
You.
More specifically, your tavern.
The place sat just a few steps from the shore, warm light spilling from its windows every evening like an invitation to anyone seeking good food, strong drinks, and a place to forget the world outside for a few hours. You ran it with the kind of confidence that made even the roughest sailor sit back down after a single look.
The locals adored you too much. And the crew, well, the crew had practically adopted the place as a second home.
The first few visits had started innocently enough, nothing more than a casual stop, somewhere to fill their stomach for the night after a long day on the sea. Good drinks, good atmosphere.
Then one visit became two. Two became ten. Then suddenly the crew had somehow reached the point where Lucky walked into the kitchen like he owned it, Yasopp complained if his usual seat was taken, and Benn had his own corner table without anyone needing to ask.
And Shanks.
Shanks had become a completely different story. Because somewhere between long conversations after closing hours, late nights spent sharing drinks, and waiting at the docks whenever the Red Force disappeared for months at sea...
He'd fallen quite hard for you. You'd quickly become the pretty owner Shanks couldn’t stop smiling at.
And now whenever Shanks announced they were making another stop here, nobody even questioned it anymore, because everyone knew their captain wasn't coming back for the tavern itself. He was coming back for you.
Tonight, the tavern is louder than usual. Music spills from the corner where Lucky has somehow convinced a few drunken sailors to sing along to a sea song completely off-key. Shanks usually loves this kind of atmosphere. He would be the one laughing the loudest, setting up foolish little bets with the locals. He’d hook an arm around someone’s shoulder as he walked past, a lazy sway in his step, and drink like there was no tomorrow.
But tonight, he hasn't heard a single word Benn has said for the last ten minutes because his eyes are entirely locked on you. More specifically, on the way you're smiling, on the way your head tilts back when you laugh, and on the way your fingers absentmindedly toy with the rim of your glass while listening to some visiting merchant ramble on beside you.
Shanks narrows his eyes. The man is handsome, he'll give him that. Clean clothes, expensive rings, the type who probably made a living charming people before selling them anything. And the bastard is good at it. Too good perhaps, because you're laughing. Not the polite kind way, but more like the real one. The one Shanks knows all too well. The one he waits for after long weeks at sea.
The guy leans a little closer, and some more until his hand settles on your shoulder, subtly caressing the little bit of skin that isn't covered by your top..
The wood beneath Shanks's fingers creaks.
"You're going to break the mug, Captain." Benn doesn't even bother looking up from his cards.
Shanks says nothing as his gaze never leaves you. Across the room, you still haven't noticed him watching. Still smiling and listening to this random guy. Still letting that man's hand linger where Shanks suddenly wishes it wasn't.
Something hot and ugly twists low in his chest and he hates the feeling immediately. A strange mix of anger and fear. Fear wrapped in jealousy, buried under irritation.
Because Shanks knows he doesn't own you. Knows you stay because you choose to, and that if you ever wanted to walk away he couldn't stop you.
His jaw tightens. Then he drains the rest of his drink in one swallow and slams the mug down hard enough that nearby conversations briefly pause. The lazy grin he usually wears is gone.
Before the merchant can even finish whatever story he's telling, a heavy arm slides firmly around your waist, pulling you back against his familiar warmth. Flush against his side, almost claiming.
"Is this guy bothering you, sweetheart?" Shanks's voice was smooth.
The merchant freezes as he slowly looks up and pales instantly. Because suddenly he isn't in front of some random tavern guest anymore. He's standing face to face with an Yonko.
You blink in confusion, looking between the two men. "Hm? No?" You frown slightly. "We were just talking."
The merchant immediately nods a little too eagerly. "Y-Yes! We were talking about the different islands near the Grand Line."
"Oh!" Your face brightens as you turn toward Shanks, completely oblivious to the tension beginning to coil around you. "Actually, he was telling me one of his stories –" A small laugh escapes you. "You'll like this one. Apparently he accidentally sold an entire shipment to pirates once because he thought they were merchants and –"
You look up at Shanks, expecting his usual grin or the amused spark in his eyes. But instead you find him staring straight at the man, his jaw tight.
"...Shanks?" You call his name softly.
The merchant shifts awkwardly under the weight of his gaze. "I-It was actually pretty funny—"
"Great," Shanks cuts in smoothly, dark eyes never leaving the man's face. “Doll face, can you make me a new drink please?”
The merchant blinks, looking between the two of you, the sudden realization of who he’s dealing with making him take a polite step back.
You roll your eyes at the ridiculous nickname, but you still head towards the other side of the bar. “I thought you had every right to help yourself as you pleased in this bar, Captain," you tease him. “And Benn is literally sitting right next to a full barrel," you counter with a small smile tugging at your lips.
"Yeah, but Benn's drinks taste like gunpowder and misery," Shanks whines softly, his voice taking on that childish, exaggerated tone he only uses with you. "Please? I’ve been at sea for months. My throat is parched."
With a sparkle in your eyes, you busied yourself preparing two brightly colored cocktails, one for Shanks and the other for the young merchant, who was slowly beginning to lose color the longer he stayed closer to him.
You slide the first glass across the polished wood toward the merchant, giving him a warm, reassuring wink. "On the house," you hum smoothly. "For the trouble."
“T-Thank you,” he looked at the beautiful little drink you just made, and then at your encouraging smile, and somehow found courage beside the terrifying aura of the Yonko.
"Actually... since it’s on the house, would you do me the honor of sharing a toast with me, beautiful?"
He reaches out, his fingers boldly brushing against yours as he takes the glass.
Shanks’s eye doesn’t just twitch, his entire face tenses. Before you can even answer, he grabs his own brightly colored cocktail to lift it high in the air with a forced grin. "A toast! Yes, let's toast!" Shanks exclaims, his voice a little too loud, completely disrupting the tavern's vibe. He slams his glass against the merchant’s with enough force to make the liquid slosh over the rim. "To you leaving right after this drink! Cheers, pal!"
You chuckle softly behind your counter, amused by Shanks' childish behavior.
The merchant stammers. "I—uh—"
"You know," Shanks continues smoothly, completely ignoring the merchant. "If it's bright and colorful things you like, sweetheart, you should see the coral reefs in the New World. I fought a giant Sea King there once. Sunset was just like this drink.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, trying your absolute best not to burst out laughing. He is trying to charm you, like a lovesick teenager bragging on a playground.
"Oh, really?" you tease, leaning your elbows on the bar and looking at him. "A Sea King? Wow, Shanks. That sounds much more interesting than a merchant who actually travels the world to sell beautiful silks."
Shanks gasps softly, looking deeply offended. He looks at you, then snaps his head toward the merchant, eyeing the man's expensive, shiny rings.
"Silks? You like silks?!" Shanks babbles. “I can get you silks! I'll wrap this entire tavern in silk by tomorrow morning!! Benn!" he yells across the room without looking. "How many silk ships can we find by sunrise?!"
From his corner table, Benn doesn't even look up from his cards. "Zero, Captain. Leave the poor girl alone and drink your juice."
Shanks chokes on his own breath, looking betrayed by his own first mate. He snaps his head back toward the merchant, who is currently looking a little smug now.
"Oh, you think that's funny, huh?" Shanks grumbles. He turns to you, "Does he even know, your dear friend here, that I can make punks like him faint on the spot just with my Haki?"
A genuine laugh escapes you at such childishness. "Shanks, stop it!" you laugh. You immediately turn to the young merchant, whose face has lost absolutely all its color. “Please don’t listen to him, he’s just kidding. He makes very bad jokes sometimes."
"I-I see..." the merchant stammers, his hand shaking so badly his glass nearly slips from his fingers.
“I think it’s your cue to go big boy,” Shanks said, downing the cocktail in one gulp.
The poor man sets his cocktail on the counter and almost sprints toward the doors, disappearing into the night as if his life depended on it.
You let out a theatrical sight, even though your eyes were shining with amusement at Shanks’ behavior. He leans against your bar counter, his face against the cool wood, pouting a little bit. "What's wrong, Shanks? Don't tell me the great Yonko is throwing a tantrum because I was nice to a customer."
"I am not throwing a tantrum!" Shanks fires back, his head snapping toward you. His cheeks are flushed a furious pink that has absolutely nothing to do with alcohol. “It’s just bad business practice to give free drinks to guys who wear too many rings. It's unprofessional."
"Right. Unprofessional," you mimic, your smirk widening. "So it has nothing to do with the fact that he was touching my shoulder?"
Shanks tries to hold his defensive glare for three more seconds, but under your teasing gaze, his pride completely crumbles. He lets out a long and dramatic whine, dropping again his forehead right onto the bar counter.
You reach out with your free hand, gently running your fingers through his red locks, scratching his scalp the way you know he loves. Almost immediately he leans into your touch, shifting closer until his cheek rests against your hand.
“Don’t like it, he was too close to you.” He starts with his dramatic whiny voice. “And you were laughing at his stupid stories! I've been sleeping on a rocky ship for three months, dreaming about coming back here to see you, and the moment I arrive, you're smiling at some kid who probably doesn't even know how to tie a knot!" He pouts, reaching for you, his calloused fingers wrapping around your wrist.
You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head as you watch him. "Shanks, you are an absolute idiot."
“It's his fault. He shouldn't have tried to steal my favorite girl."
“Your favorite girl? Is that so?” You laugh, your fingers gently tugging at a stray red lock near his ear.
Shanks tilts his head up, his chin in your palm now, with his dusting pink cheeks. "Yes, it is so," he grumbles, tightening his grip on your wrist just enough to draw your hand down to his lips, planting a soft kiss right against your knuckles, his dark eyes looking up at you like a needy puppy.
You find Shanks absolutely adorable like this — slightly vulnerable, quietly exposing his feelings in his own clumsy way. So you lean in and plant a quick kiss on his hair. Shanks blinks, his stubborn expression melting into a soft smile.
“You’re cruel,” he murmurs. “Teasing a tired pirate like this.”
"If you're so tired, maybe you should go rest in the back room," you whisper, a wicked little glint returning to your eyes. "Unless you'd rather stay here and keep an eye out for more merchants?"
Shanks scoffs. He stands up straight, his grip on your wrist tightening as he gently leads you along the bar to walk around it. He wraps an arm around your waist, and suddenly it feels like your feet aren’t even touching the ground. He entirely ignores the loud wolf-whistles that erupt from Lucky and Yasopp's table as he guides toward the quiet hallway.
When the door of your private room clicks shut, he steep right into your space, wrapping his strong arm completely around you and burying his face in the crook of your neck with a contented groan. He holds you so tightly you can barely breathe, molding your body completely against his. “Finally,” he breathes against your skin, his lips brushing your collarbone. “No more merchants, just you.”
"Are you done pouting?" you ask softly, your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders, holding him just as close.
"No," he mutters playfully, his teeth gently nipping the sensitive skin right under your ear. He pulls back just enough to look down at you. "I still need to be properly compensated for all the stress you caused my heart out there."
"Compensated, huh?" You smirk, your hands sliding down his chest to fiddle with the buttons of his shirt. "And what exactly does the great Yonko require to feel better?"
"Everything," Shanks whispers.
He leans down, his mouth catching yours in a kiss that is incredibly slow, and sweet. There’s no rush, no anger. His tongue slides into your mouth with a lazy rhythm, tasting you thoroughly while his hand slides under your shirt, against your bare waist as he gently guides you backward toward the bed.
While still tangled in the deep kiss, you slip your hands down to his broad shoulders.You use your movements to slowly turn him around, until he’s the one who ends up sitting on the edge of the bed.
Shanks looks up at you with wide, slightly dazed eyes. His red hair is beautifully messy, his cheeks are still flushed, and he finds himself completely trapped as you stand tall right between his spread legs.
A slow smirk spreads across your face. “There… exactly at eye level.”
Shanks lets out a soft chuckle, as his single arm comes around you, pulling you a fraction closer to him. "You really like taking advantage of a tired captain, don't you?" he grumbles playfully, tilting his head back to look up at you.
"Someone has to keep you in check," you tease, your fingers reaching down to gently trace his jawline.
“You right… Maybe a merchant’s gonna steal me away otherwise.” And just like that, Shanks is back, playful and mischievous, with that familiar grin creeping onto his face.
You let out a soft gasp. "Oh, is that so? Are you threatening to leave with the next ship that sells shiny rings, Captain?"
"Hey, a guy's got to feel appreciated," Shanks teases, tilting his head farther back to look up at you. "I'm just saying, if my favorite girl is too busy laughing at other people's jokes, I might have to find someone else to buy me drinks."
"You wouldn't dare," you whisper, leaning down slightly so your face is just inches from his. The proximity makes his breath hitch as his gaze drops instinctively to your lips.
Your fingers caress the nape of his neck and play with the buttons of his shirt. He always has this habit of wearing his shirt very loose, leaving the first four buttons open, his chest on display for everyone to see. As you undo the very last button and help slide the fabric off his shoulders, he leans closer to try and kiss you. But you quickly push him back, and he lets himself fall heavily onto the bed.
He groans, but his flirty smirk doesn’t fade. “Come on, baby, don’t play with me like that.”
You let out a soft, muffled laugh, crossing your arms over your chest as you look down at him. You take your time to admire him. His red hair is beautifully fanned out against the sheets, framing the face you missed so much, and your gaze slowly roams down his sculpted sun chest. New scars have appeared since the last time you saw him, but he still looks just as powerful. "Who says I’m playing?" you tease him, tilting your head slightly.
"Okay, fine," he whispers. He sits up slowly, his hand already magnetically drawn to your thigh. "I wouldn't dare. I'm completely helpless against you, and you know it."
"Good," you hum.. "I'm glad we understand each other."
Shanks lets out a soft and defeated laugh. His hand on your thigh slides upward, his thumb hooking into the waistband of your clothes to tug you forward until you’re forced to straddle his lap, your knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips.
He immediately buries his face right into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. He drinks in your scent – bar soap, sweet alcohol, and just you.
“I missed you so much,” he mumbles against your skin, sounding a little pouty. “You have no idea, every single night on the sea just thinking about you, missing how you smell, how soft you are … and then this silly little boy all over you and touching you.”
He brings up the boy again and you let out a soft laugh, your fingers instantly tangling in his messy red hair to scratch his scalp. "Are you still thinking about the merchant, Shanks?"
"Yes!" he groans, shifting his head to press his hot face into your chest. He sounds so ridiculous like this, sulking like a teenager. "It’s so stupid. I know it’s silly.” He tilts his head back up, looking at you with wide, almost hopeless eyes. "I don't want anyone else looking at you. Kiss me. Please."
“Aww, my sweet lover boy.” You don’t make him wait this time. You lean down and press your lips to his. Shanks lets out a needy whimper against your lips, instantly deepening the kiss with such hunger.
He is definitely taking what he’s been starving for over the last three months, tasting you thoroughly while his arm locks around your lower back, grinding your hips down against his hardening length. The friction makes a soft gasp catch in your throat, which Shanks drinks right away.
His hand moves over your body, sliding under your shirt to map out every inch of you, your waist, your ribs, your belly. He needs to touch you everywhere, to reassure himself that you are actually here with him.
Breaking the kiss just an inch, his lips trail down your jawline to your throat, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin until he finds the sweet spot right where your neck meets your shoulder. He bites down gently, making you arch into him with a quiet whine.
"You're mine," Shanks mutters darkly against your heated skin, his breath hitching as his hand slides down to the hem of your shirt. “You were so pretty tonight, so soft,” he impatiently pulled your shirt up and over your head to toss it blindly onto the floor. "Tell me you're mine."
You grin a little, your hips moving against him. God, he was being completely ridiculous, and possessive, and dramatic, acting like someone was about to steal you away from him. And yet, he sounded so good like this, so desperate for you.
"I'm yours, Shanks," you breathe out, your hands sliding over his broad shoulders. “It’s okay, I am here now.”
The word drives him entirely over the edge. With a low, guttural growl, Shanks grips your hip and rolls you over in one smooth, powerful motion. The world tilts, and suddenly you are flat on your back against the mattress.
He leans down, completely burying his face in your hair, inhaling your scent. His lips slide down to the junction of your jaw, pressing bruising kisses there, before his tongue licks over the spot he bit just moments before. A sharp, needy gasp escapes your lips as Shanks shifts his weight, sliding his knee between your thighs to force them open. He presses his hips firmly into yours, the friction through his pants sending a delicious wave of heat straight to your core.
"I want you to be so loud the whole crew downstairs hears exactly who you belong to."
You move your hands over his body as best you can, appreciating every curve of his strong, healthy frame. You feel goosebumps rise on his skin as your hands drift dangerously toward his pants. And while he loses himself in your scent, he feels your fingers moving between your bodies, your knuckles brushing against the soft hair of his happy trail.
“What are you up to?” he grumbles, reluctant to pull away from your hair to see where your hands have gone.
“I’m trying to take off my shorts,” you reply simply, accidentally rolling your hips against him as you struggle out of the denim shorts.
He groans even louder, pressing his mouth against the swell of your breasts, still sitting perfectly high in your lacy bra. That stupid baby pink bra looked so good against your skin tone.
“Let me.” He helps you take off your denim shorts and your panties down your legs and kicks them off the edge of the bed. You barely have time to breathe before he slides down your body, his tongue tracing a burning path down your stomach. He wastes no time and buries his face directly between your thighs.
It’s so overwhelming that you whine out loud. “Shanks – no please, I want you inside me,” you gasp, your fingers gripping his red hair.
He groans against your wet skin.
He groans against your wet skin, a vibration that shivers right through your thighs. He doesn't pull away, instead, he grips your hips to pin you firmly to the mattress while his tongue does its work.
"Just a taste, sweetheart," he mutters between your thighs. "Just let me have a little taste first. I've been starving for so long."
He parts your swollen folds with his thumb and dives back in with hunger. His tongue licks and sucks at your sensitive clit slowly, making your head toss back against the pillows.
Every stroke of his tongue is messy, as if he were drinking your nectar like a dying man parched with thirst, consuming every single drop of your wetness. He plunges his nose deep between your folds to inhale your scent, completely losing himself in the comfort of your warmth.
You let out a loud, broken cry, your hips bucking helplessly against his mouth as your fingers dig deep into his messy hair. You want him inside you so badly it aches, but his tongue drives you crazy too. "Shanks... ah! Please..." you whimper, your toes curling into the sheets as you try to pull him up.
He lets out a muffled groan, absolutely pleased by how loud you are for him. He gives one last wet lick right over your sweet spot, before he stops torturing you. His cheeks are flushed and his lips are glistening with your wetness.
When he drags himself back up on the mattress, his eyes are so dilated. Your own hand instinctively slips down between your legs, driven by the need to feel something filling you. You slide two of your own fingers deep into your soaking wet entrance.
Shanks freezes, completely captivated, completely hypnotized by the sight of your delicate fingers moving in and out of your swollen folds. When your fingers slide all the way out, he stares, fascinated by how heavily coated they are in your own wetness, glistening under the dim light of the room.
An arrogant chuckle escapes his lips. He looks at your hand, then up at your flushed face. To him, your fingers look almost ridiculous trying to satisfy an ache that big. He knows your thin and delicate hand won't ever be enough to make you come, not when your body is practically begging for his cock.
"Look at you," Shanks murmurs. "You're so beautiful like this, sweetheart. So desperate for me. But those pretty little fingers aren't going to fix this, are they?"
"Please, Shanks," you whimper, tilting your hips up. "Do it. Use your fingers. Please."
"Keep them there," he commands softly. "Don't take your hand away." He slides his large hand down, his fingers crowding into the tight space right alongside yours. The contrast is intoxicating. Your small fingers working in tandem with his calloused hand, stretching you beautifully as he begins a deep, heavy stroking motion. The wet sound of your pussy fills the quiet bedroom, sending a sudden rush of heat to your cheeks.
“Yes, just like that,” Shanks mutters, biting his lip, completely captivated and overwhelmed by the contrast between your two hands. His large frame trembles slightly, intoxicated by the heat radiating from your skin. Looking down at you, he’s struck by the sight of you so flushed and pliant, allowing him to touch you so intimately after months apart.
"God, I adore you," he finds himself saying. "You have no idea how much I missed you.” You let out a broken whine, your hips jerking helplessly against his large hand. "You're mine, doll face... everything about you is mine," he confesses rawly, his gaze dropping to the beautiful, heavy swell of your breasts. “Look at what you do to me. I'm so obsessed with you. I'd do absolutely anything for you."
The double friction of your hands working together sends a violent electric wave of pleasure straight to your core. You can feel the orgasm building, threatening to shatter you right then and there. But you desperately want more, aching for something much bigger. “Shanks,” you sob out, your free hand clutching at his pants, your hips jerking helplessly against his large palm. “Please Shanks, I want you, put it inside me.”
Hearing you beg for him, using your sweetest voice, shatters the last thread of Shanks's restraint. "God, you're going to be the death of me.”
He abruptly pulls his large hand away from your soaking warmth, and you let out a weak, needy whine at the sudden loss of friction. He clumsily gets his pants off as best as he can. When he settles back down between your spread legs, his hot skin pressing directly against your inner thighs makes your breath hitch. He is massive, his slick tip brushing hungrily against your aching entrance.
Your hands slide down, wrapping securely around the base of his throbbing cock. Shanks freezes instantly, as your fingers close around him. He feels incredibly heavy in your hands, pulsing between your fingers.
You begin to stroke him, your palm sliding slowly up his shaft, feeling the rigid veins beneath his smooth skin. You give a soft, playful tug, "I missed your dick so much, Shanks."
A loud, strangled groan escapes his lips, his head tossing back as his jaw clenches tight. "Fuck, sweetheart... don't say things like that when I'm already this close."
You just grin, your inner tease taking over. Instead of letting him slide inside, you pull his length up and begin to slide it deliberately against your own soaked core. You trail his thick shaft right over your clit, coating him in your wetness while a needy whimper escapes your own lips. Then, you press the head of his cock right against your opening, letting it nudge your swollen folds without actually letting him sink in.
Shanks completely loses his mind. His single arm slams down onto the mattress right beside your head, his fingers clawing into the sheets as his entire body shakes with the effort not to just sink into you.
"You're a menace," he pants, his dark eyes wide, dazed, and completely desperate as he stares down at where your bodies are rubbing together. "An absolute menace. Playtime is over, doll face."
Before you can tease him any further, Shanks grips your hip with a bruising force and slowly sinks his hips down. He buries his full length into your tight heat in one long, agonizingly deep push.
A loud, broken cry echoes through the quiet bedroom as your body stretches to accommodate him. You moan loudly as he fills you so well. It’s exactly what you were starving for.
Shanks goes completely still, his jaw clenching so hard the muscles twitch, as your tight walls pulse frantically around him, welcoming him home. He buries his face back into your neck, his breath coming in ragged pants as he waits for you to adjust to his size.
"Fuck, you're so tight," he rasps, his single arm wrapping completely beneath your lower back to lift your hips higher, locking your pelvis flush against his. "Hold on to me, baby. Just like that."
The moment you wrap your legs tightly around his waist, anchoring him deep inside you, Shanks completely loses his mind. He begins to move, his hips pulling back until he is almost entirely out before plunging back in. The wet, slapping sound of his skin hitting yours fills the room, accompanied by your soft moans. Every thrust is deep, aimed directly at the sweet spot that makes your toes curl.
Your fingers are digging deep into his back as the pleasure starts to build up. He grumbles, his pace turning fast and punishing as he senses your climax nearing. He kisses you fiercely. "Forget everything else. Just feel me. Know it's me inside you."
The frantic, punishing speed of his hips sends you completely over the edge. Your vision is blurred by brilliant bursts of white light as your walls convulse around him, clamping down on his thick length. His name falls from your lips over and over in soft whispers, your thighs shaking violently where they are locked around his waist.
Shanks lets out a raw groan at the exquisite torture of your climax squeezing him. He doesn't slow down, instead, he drives into you even harder, chasing his own release through the tight, pulsing heat of your orgasm.
"That's it, cry for me," he pants heavily, his face buried deep in your hair as his chest heaves against yours. "Let it out, sweetheart. You're so fucking good around me."
With three more deep thrusts, Shanks stiffens completely. He bites your shoulder as he buries himself into you as far as he can. His heavy body pinned you flush against the bed as his hips shuddered violently, pouring his release deep inside you.
The room falls quiet, save for the sound of your mingled, ragged breathing. Shanks remains heavy on top of you for a long moment, completely spent, his forehead resting against your shoulder. Slowly, he shifts his weight to his elbow, looking down at you with a gaze that is soft, lazy, and utterly overflowing with adoration. His red hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat, and that familiar, doting smile creeps back onto his face.
He leans down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, tasting the salt of your skin.
"See?" he murmurs, his voice a low, rumbling purr as his thumb gently traces your cheek. "I told you those pretty little fingers couldn't fix it. You just needed your captain."
//
You let out a breathless laugh, your hands, still weakly tangled in his messy red hair, lazily smooth down the damp locks at the nape of his neck. "You're a menace, Captain" you murmur, your voice dropping into a tired, affectionate whisper that lacks any real bite.
"Only for you, doll face," he murmurs, a soft, incredibly tender smile breaking across his handsome face.
With a slow, heavy sigh, he reluctantly slides his length out of your body, making you let out a small, disappointed whine at the sudden loss of his heat. Shanks immediately shushes you with a tender, lingering kiss to your forehead.
With a soft sigh, he rolls onto his side, taking you with him as the thought of letting you go simply isn't an option. One arm stays wrapped securely around your waist, keeping you tucked against his chest as your legs tangle together beneath the sheets. Then you feel his lips brush the crook of your neck, pressing a lazy trail of kisses along your skin before settling there with a content hum.
For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The room is quiet except for the sound of your slowing breaths. Exhaustion settles heavily over your limbs, your bodies still warm from one another as you remain tangled together beneath the sheets. Shanks's fingers trace absentminded patterns against your side, and for a while, that's enough. Then, eventually, he breaks the comfortable silence.
"I mean it," he whispers, all traces of teasing gone from his voice. "I was miserable without you." You lift your head slightly, surprised by the raw honesty in his tone. "I kept thinking about you." His fingers tighten where they're resting against your side. "Wondering what you were doing. Who you were talking to." He pauses. "Whether some idiot was making you laugh more than me."
A soft laugh escapes you. "Shanks—"
"There were days I caught myself reaching for you before I remembered you weren't there." He lets out a small, self-conscious laugh. "Pathetic, huh?"
Your heart melts instantly. You wrap your arms around his neck and tuck your face against him. "Not pathetic," you murmur. "I missed you too."
For a moment, he says nothing. His arm only tightens around you, as though he can't quite hold you close enough. Then he buries his face in the crook of your neck with a content sigh. "Good," he whispers. “I don’t think I could go through that again.”
A smile tugs at your lips. "You crossed half the Grand Line."
"Yeah." He presses a kiss to your skin. "Worst decision of my life." You laugh softly, and he hums in satisfaction, already sounding half asleep. "You’re all that I need,” he murmurs.