#figarland shanks | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

haerenven · 3 days ago

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Sniper!, Wifey!

Red-haired shanks x fem¡reader

Summery. The enchantress of the Red-Haired Pirates.

tag(s)&warning(s). Spoiler ep1109&ep1112, absolutely fucking kinda jealousy, insults

As the sky shimmered with the vibrant hues of blue and warm orange, a silent promise hung in the air—the sun would soon dip below the horizon, signaling the close of another day. The Red-Haired Pirates were busying themselves with the preparations to leave, each movement deliberate as they readied their ship for departure. The anchor would soon be raised, and the ship would sail again, leaving behind the tranquil island that had served as a brief respite.

This island, protected under Shanks’ vigilant watch, was a symbol of his power and influence. His Jolly Roger flag fluttered in the breeze, a beacon to all that the island fell under his protection. The crew, aware of the quiet significance of the moment, moved with purpose, knowing that their journey was about to continue under the banner of their beloved captain.

In the midst of the hustle and bustle, you couldn’t help but chuckle softly as you noticed Monster sliding down the ship’s stairs in a comically clumsy manner. With surprising speed, the little creature launched himself and clung to Bonk Punch’s broad shoulder, the burly crew member grunting in surprise. Monster, clearly pleased with himself, let out a triumphant squeak, almost as if boasting about his successful stunt. Bonk Punch rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at his lips as he adjusted the monkey, shaking his head in mock exasperation.

As Shanks gave the command, “Time to drop anchor,” his voice rang through the ship, steady and assured. The sound alone stirred a small smile to your lips—there was something undeniably captivating about the way he carried authority with such effortless ease.

From the edge of the ship, a crew member with golden-blonde hair stepped forward, his stance firm, his voice sharp with urgency. “Boss! The subordinate crews—they’ve already gone ahead to intercept the enemy!”

“They cannot be serious.” Your voice, soft yet laced with unmistakable authority, cut through the air like silk over steel. There was no need to raise it—your tone alone carried enough weight to command attention. A slow blink, a tilt of your head, and a smirk just ghosted your lips, dripping with disbelief. The audacity.

Shanks, ever composed, remained unfazed, his expression a picture of quiet dominance. Without hesitation, he gave his order, his voice smooth but firm. “Tell them to retreat. Once the damage is done, it’s too late.”

His words left no room for argument. His was a command meant to be followed, not debated. And yet, as the wind played with the strands of your hair, you simply exhaled, gaze flicking toward the horizon.

Fools. Some people just didn’t know when to back down.

But that wasn’t your problem. At least, not yet.

“Whoa-whoa-whoa, wait wait wait” As the clamor of running footsteps filled the air, three men from Elbaph suddenly appeared, their clumsy entrance causing them to trip over one another. They sprawled on the ground in a comical heap, their faces sporting wide grins. "What are you talking about, chief?!” they blurted out in a chorus, their words tinged with a mixture of excitement and sheepishness.

Your attempt to contain laughter proved futile as a gentle, sweet chuckle escaped your lips. Shanks, both confused and amused “what are you guys doing!?”, couldn't help but glance in your direction, his features softening upon noticing your subtle display of amusement. He then turned his gaze back toward the trio, awaiting their response.

The three men beamed with determination as one of them declared their intention, "We won't let them harm you!", followed by eager agreement from the others. Shanks smiled appreciatively at their offer, acknowledging their loyalty and care. Before they could embark on their mission, he firmly commanded, Shanks looked at the trio, his smile warm as he recognized their genuine intent. "Well, It means a lot to me your offered," he said appreciatively. With a wave over his shoulder, he then added, "But don't go out to sea." His tone was firm, yet there was a hint of tender care in his voice.

Stepping closer to your beloved, you let out a soft, velvety chuckle, the sound dripping with quiet amusement as the trio behind you protested. Their bickering was entertaining, but your attention was quickly stolen by something far more pressing.

The distant rumble of thousands of footsteps sent a shiver through the ground beneath you. Your instincts sharpened, every muscle tensing as you spun around, eyes widening at the sight before you.

A massive crowd was surging toward you all, their numbers seemingly endless, a relentless tide of bodies moving as one. The air itself felt heavier, thick with the promise of battle.

Your breath hitched for just a second—just long enough to flick your gaze toward Shanks.

His expression remained unreadable, but in the fleeting moment your eyes met, a silent understanding passed between you.

This is about to get messy.

A surge of islanders rushed toward Shanks, their voices overlapping in desperate pleas—

“Don’t go!”

“Let us fight too!”

Their collective cries filled the air, thick with emotion, their determination palpable. And then, amidst the chaos, a blur of ginger hair darted forward. Before anyone could react, a woman threw herself at Shanks, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace, clinging as if her grip alone could anchor him here.

Shanks let out a lighthearted chuckle, unfazed as always. His voice, warm yet unwavering, rose above the noise in an attempt to soothe the crowd. “Now, now, don’t get all worked up…”

Just then, a mechanical voice cut through the commotion, its robotic tone an odd contrast to the emotional scene.“Don’t be so cold, Chief.”

Shanks quirked a brow, his smirk deepening as he glanced toward the source. “Well, am I?” he mused, his usual playful charm intact, completely unbothered by the dozens of hands reaching for his attention.

The red-haired woman tightened her hold, lifting her gaze to him with fiery determination. “Yeah, don’t leave us behind,” she insisted, her voice firm, unwilling to be dismissed so easily.

Shanks finally looked down at her, his smile never wavering. His eyes, bright with amusement, softened just a touch as he replied, “Hey, hey.” His tone was light, teasing, but beneath it lay that same undeniable certainty—the kind that said he had already made his decision.

You moved away from the chaotic scene, You took a quiet step back, slipping into the background while Shanks remained at the center of the commotion, his easy charm drawing them in like moths to a flame. The crowd swarmed around him, voices overlapping, hands reaching— some seeking reassurance, others clinging to him with something far more desperate.

It was nothing new.

You had long since grown accustomed to watching your man be fawned over by women-fans, admirers, or, depending on how generous you were feeling, some motherfucking sluts who just couldn't seem to find someone else to fill their damn pussyholes.

Alright... maybe that was a bit much. Bad y/n!

Still, the feeling stirring in your chest wasn’t quite jealousy. No, that wasn’t the right word. It was something else. Something quieter, heavier. A mix of familiarity and mild irritation—the kind that came from seeing the same damn thing play out over and over again.

Weren't you?

A massive figure from the Elbaph tribe, a titan who happens to be dorry, chimed in, his voice booming, "When it comes to this, even an emperor can't hold his own!" The other titan who known as brogy chuckled in agreement. The sea of voices surrounding you raised in protest, "Trying to make Shanks change his mind," they pleaded. "No! Chief!, you’re leaving already?”, "Yeah, chief, we finally got to see you!" The crowd's entreaties echoed through the air, the desire for his presence palpable.

With a glance over his shoulder, Shanks let out a low chuckle, his smile as effortless as ever. “Sorry,” he said, his tone light yet certain, “we just dropped by on our way somewhere else.” But as his gaze drifted downward, his expression shifted—just slightly. The amusement in his eyes dimmed as they landed on the woman still clinging to him, her grip stubborn, unwilling to let go.

His voice, though still warm, took on a quiet firmness. “Now, guys, stop clinging onto me.” For a beat, she hesitated—just long enough to test the boundaries of his patience. Then, with clear reluctance, she finally peeled herself away, her touch lingering longer than necessary.

Shanks, however, had already moved on.

You fought against the smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, your inner feminist spirit rising with quiet defiance. But still, there were moments, small and fleeting, when you couldn’t help but feel a sharp twinge of possessiveness. The sight of other women clinging to Shanks, your husband, stirred a cocktail of emotions—pride, irritation, and the undeniable urge to remind the world of your place in his life. Yet, you knew better than to wear your jealousy on your sleeve.

Sniper! Wifey. You hadn’t the faintest clue where or when the nickname had originated, but there it was, following you like a shadow, growing in popularity with each passing day.

At first, you were convinced the “Sniper” part came from your deadly precision with a rifle—how you could hit a target from six meters without any aids, using nothing but your bare eyes and steady hands. But Wifey… now that one had always puzzled you. Was it because you were Shanks’ wife, or perhaps because of the role you had unofficially taken on as the lady of the Red-Haired Pirates?

Regardless, you couldn’t deny the thrill that came with those names. Something about the way they rolled off the crew’s tongues felt… right. Almost like a silent acknowledgment of your place in the grand scheme of things, even if it was a title wrapped in ambiguity.

“We ran into a big name because we stayed too long,” Shanks announced, his voice carrying a weight of casual amusement, as if it were just another detail in the ongoing chaos.

But before anyone could respond, his voice cut through the noise like a blade, sharp and commanding, as he turned toward the ship. The change in his tone was instantaneous—no longer playful, but firm, the kind of voice that demanded attention without needing to raise itself.

“Now, let me through.” The crowd, sensing the shift in his demeanor, hesitated for only a moment. Then, with a collective understanding, they began to part, making room for Shanks as he moved forward. The path cleared, and with each step, his presence seemed to command the very air around him.

As Shanks walked through the crowd, his presence exuded an undeniable aura of confidence and authority. It was a familiar sight to you, the way he could command a room with his mere presence. Memories of the day you two first met flooded your mind, the moment when his charismatic energy had first captivated you. Even now, years later, the memory was vivid, etched in your heart forever.

The day you first laid eyes on Shanks was seared into memory, a moment suspended in time like the hush before a storm. He was a mere rookie then, and you-a guardian of an island untouched by the tides of the outside world. Your home, a quiet and forgotten corner of the East Blue, knew no strangers. The waves whispered only to those born upon its shores, and the land bore no footprints but those of its own people. Outsiders were myths, stories murmured in wary tones, and visitors were rarer than the lull of the restless sea.

So when the Red-Haired Pirates arrived, their presence was not a novelty but an intrusion. They were interlopers in a world that did not belong to them, and you, fierce in your devotion, had no intention of letting them stay.

With no weapon at your disposal, you sought what little you had—a bottle of liquor, cool and smooth in your palm. It was no blade, no steel sharpened for war, but desperation is the mother of invention. You didn't hesitate. In a swift, decisive motion, you brought it crashing down against the nearest rock, the sharp crack splitting the silence like a gunshot. Shards rained down in glittering fragments, but in your grasp remained a jagged piece of glass, its edges keen enough to carve through flesh with ease.

Without a moment's pause, you lunged. The broken glass found its mark, pressing against the bare skin of Shanks' throat. Your breath was steady, your hand unwavering, every fiber of your being burning with fierce resolve.

The Red-Haired crew reacted instantly. Swords left their sheaths, pistols were drawn, the weight of their intent pressing against the air like the crackling tension before a lightning strike. One wrong move, one twitch of your wrist, and the standoff would descend into chaos.

But you did not yield. This was your home. Your land. Your people. And you would not let strangers take it from you.

"I’ll cut your throat! That'll make you step back!"

"You're beautiful."

He spoke, his voice low and filled with an intensity that seemed to shine from within, as if the very weight of the world rested in his gaze. When his eyes met yours, it felt as though he saw the very essence of everything—every star, every moment, every breath. It was as if he saw you not as a mere woman, but as the embodiment of beauty itself, the living, breathing grace that the gods had woven into the fabric of the universe. His words were pure, free of artifice, and yet, in their simplicity, they carried a depth that tugged at something deep within you. In his eyes, you were not just flesh and bone; you were a divine creation, a vision of perfection, as if the heavens themselves had sculpted you from stardust.

And in that moment, your heart fluttered—not with fear, but with a strange, heady warmth that seemed to ignite every nerve in your body. His sincerity was both a balm and a fire, so intense it stole your breath away. Your pulse quickened, and the air around you felt thick with something you couldn’t quite name. It was as if the ground beneath your feet had shifted, leaving you suspended in a delicate balance between certainty and chaos. The butterflies, wild and frantic, swirled within you, their delicate wings beating against your ribs as if they too were drawn to the magnetic pull of his presence.

You were caught—caught in the quiet storm of his gaze, lost in the depths of his words, unable to move, unable to look away. Time itself seemed to slow, leaving only the soft, undeniable truth between you: you were falling.

You barely noticed the sting at first. Not until the sharp scent of blood filled the air, not until warm droplets trickled down your wrist.

Only then did you realize-your grip on the glass had tightened so fiercely, the jagged edge had cut through your own flesh.

As his subordinates cleared a path for him, they waved and offered encouragement, one of them shouting, "Summon us anytime!" Shanks responded with a broad smile, his tone lighthearted as he replied, "Yeah!" Another crew member chimed in, declaring their affection, "We love you!" This prompted a small chuckle from Shanks, amused by their devotion.

As you observed the various women casting admiring glances at Shanks, a sharp pang of jealousy gnawed at your chest, despite your best efforts to suppress it. You didn’t want to admit it, but the sight of other women vying for your man—their eyes sparkling with interest, their flirtatious gestures—stirred something deep within you. The way they batted their eyelashes and twirled their hair around their fingers… it was too obvious, too deliberate, and it irritated you more than you cared to acknowledge.

But then, in an instant, your sadness and frustration faded, replaced by a warmth that seemed to wrap around you like a soft embrace.

As Shanks extended his hand toward you, that familiar, heart-stirring smile spread across his lips—the very same smile that had always sent your heart racing, filling you with an indescribable love that only he could provoke.

In his eyes, there was no need for words. The silent reassurance they held spoke louder than any promise could. It was as though those eyes were whispering to you without sound:

“I will never find anybody better than you, wifey.”

It was a vow unspoken, yet deeply felt. A devotion that made your heart flutter, like it had found its home in him once more. In that moment, his gesture—his very presence—offered a silent assurance, one that echoed within you with all the certainty of a thousand spoken words.

As your eyes met his, you felt yourself swallowed by a sea of pure love. It radiated from him like a tangible force, so overwhelming that you could see nothing but him, nothing but the affection that poured from his gaze. It was as if Cupid himself had showered him with arrows, embedding a love so deep within him that it glowed in his every glance. The way he looked at you sent a flutter through your chest, stirring a response in you that mirrored the depth of his emotion. A genuine smile tugged at your lips, and the sparkle in your eyes reflected the depth of your affection for him.

With a calm grace, you raised your hand, delicate and soft, and placed it gently in his rough, weathered one. The contrast between your skin and his was striking, but it felt perfect. Shanks’ fingers encircled yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache. It was as though he was holding something far more precious than a mere hand—like you were a delicate, priceless diamond to be treasured. His touch was reverent, adoring, as though every moment of contact was an offering, a silent vow to protect and cherish.

You felt the tender caress of his lips against your knuckles, a kiss so soft it felt like a whispered promise. Shanks then lifted his gaze, his eyes filled with love and something deeper, and his voice—deep, powerful, and filled with that unshakable confidence—whispered, “After you, lass.”

A gentle chuckle escaped your lips, the playful undertone in your voice carrying a hint of mockery that you couldn’t quite hide. “Such a gentleman,” you murmured low enough for only him to hear, your words laced with a teasing edge. There was no mistaking the affection in your tone, even with the light jest.

With effortless grace, your steps synchronized as you both ascended the ship’s wooden stairs, your movements in perfect harmony. Each step felt like a silent dance, the rhythm of it drawing you closer together as the world around you seemed to blur into the background.

Shanks stepped onto the first couple of stairs, his hand still holding yours with an affectionate yet firm grip, as though he were clutching onto his most prized possession. His touch was a silent declaration, one that spoke volumes without a single word.

Without so much as a glance over his shoulder, he spoke to his allies, his voice steady and commanding. “Oh, I’ll repeat myself. Tell the ships to return!” The words rang out, carrying an undeniable authority that left no room for hesitation. The crew members, well-accustomed to his unshakable resolve, reacted without question, the strength of his command weaving its way into their actions.

Shanks glanced over his shoulder at his allies, his face breaking into a huge, playful smirk that was utterly uncharacteristic of the usual serious leader. He let out a soft chuckle, his voice light and teasing as he declared, “Our allies are famously weak.”

The moment the words left his lips, the atmosphere shifted entirely. The allies erupted into laughter, the sound echoing across there. Some even collapsed onto the floor, struggling to breathe through their fits of helpless amusement. It was a rare, carefree moment—a side of Shanks that reminded everyone, even in the face of command, how effortlessly he could bring levity to any situation.

“How could you say that! Jeez!” One of them exclaimed between fits of laughter, lying on the ground, completely helpless with his hysterics.

Amidst the chaotic laughter, a distinct, older female voice rang out, her tone warm with affection but still laced with a playful edge. “We survived thanks to you!” she chimed in, adding to the merriment. “We’ve been protected by your flag!”

Her words, though lighthearted, carried an undeniable truth—acknowledging the strength and leadership that Shanks brought to his crew. It only seemed to fuel the laughter even more, as the crew reveled in the comfort of being under his protection and the joy of simply being together.

Shanks, never missing a beat, joined in the lighthearted banter with a grin that seemed to stretch from ear to ear, his colossal smirk unwavering. With a playful glint in his eyes, he quipped, “Yeah! Mind your own longevity more than your enemies. Crone Oli!”

The old woman, undeterred by the teasing, laughed louder, her voice warm with familiarity. “Shut up, Chief! How dare you!” she shot back, her playful tone carrying no offense, just a shared sense of camaraderie.

You, unable to hold back a soft laugh, playfully smacked Shanks’ muscular, tanned chest with a light tap, your fingers grazing his skin. With a mock scold, you chided him in a sweet, charming voice, “That was harsh,” though your tone betrayed the amusement you were trying so hard to hide. The subtle warmth in your gaze was all the proof needed—no matter how teasing, you always enjoyed seeing Shanks so carefree.

“See, Y/N-swan!” one of the allies teased, dramatically pouting. “Your husband is so harsh to us allies!” The others chimed in, playing along with exaggerated expressions of mock pain, their laughter filling the air. You simply chuckled softly, entertained by their antics and the lightheartedness of the moment.

But the atmosphere shifted the moment you turned toward Shanks, your energy turning electric, darker and more magnetic. With a slow, deliberate grace, you stepped closer to him, your fingers lightly tracing the sharp curve of his jawline, the touch gentle yet laced with an undeniable intensity.

You leaned in, your voice low and sultry, dripping with a seductive confidence that could melt anyone within a five-foot radius. “Oh, I’ll deal with that attitude,” you purred, your eyes locking with his in a way that sent a shiver down his spine.

The temperature in the air seemed to rise, the playful banter falling away as the raw energy between you two intensified. You were iconic in your grace, your presence commanding attention, and for a moment, it was clear—every single soul around you was entranced, caught in the magnetic pull of your dark feminine energy.

Shanks’ smirk softened, a gentle, knowing smile tugging at his lips as he absorbed the impact of your playful hit against his chest. But he didn’t release your hand. Instead, he placed his larger, warm hand over yours on his chest, holding it steady. “Harsh, you say?” His voice was low and teasing, a glint of affection dancing in his eyes. “But I know you secretly love it,” he teased, the charismatic charm in his tone undeniable.

The smirk on his face deepened, a playful gleam flickering in his eyes, as if daring you to deny it. His gaze was locked onto yours, mischievous and filled with an unspoken understanding.

With a dramatic roll of your eyes, you tried to maintain a semblance of indifference, the picture of a disapproving manager in control. But in truth, you knew the power of his words. You felt the heat in your chest, the pull of his teasing charm. Still, you couldn’t help but appreciate the playful energy between you two—effortlessly electric, filled with that sharp, unmistakable connection.

As you ascended the ship’s wooden floors, the rhythmic sound of your footsteps echoed across the deck. Your every step was in sync, a dance of perfect elegance and quiet confidence. You were iconic—your presence undeniable, captivating. Every movement you made seemed to carry the weight of a thousand unspoken promises, the silent power that made every pair of eyes around you aware that you were a force to be reckoned with.

You didn’t need words to command attention—your very aura spoke for you.

Lime Juice was the first person you encountered on the deck, his lips curling into a playful smirk as his eyes flickered between you and Shanks. His tone dripped with jest as he spoke, “You’re so popular, boss!”

Shanks responded with a hint of mock resignation, his voice laced with amusement but tinged with a sigh, “Tell me about it.” He glanced at you with an affectionate, almost exhausted look, as though he was accustomed to the attention but couldn’t escape it.

You, however, leaned into the moment, your eyes narrowing playfully as you crossed your arms, the embodiment of a mischievous black cat who had just been teased into a corner. Your lips curled into a subtle, almost predatory smirk as you quipped, “And oh, I can see you quite enjoy the attention.” Your eyebrow arched in a silent challenge, the air around you crackling with that undeniable aura of dark feminine energy. You weren’t just aware of the attention—you commanded it, like a panther poised and dangerous.

Shanks chuckled heartily, his lips curling into a mischievous grin as he accepted the playful jab with a gleam in his eyes, but it was clear he adored the fire in your spirit. “Well, don’t you know me all too well, wifey,” he murmured, his voice low, affectionate, and teasing all at once. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you just a little closer, and there was a possessive edge to his touch, a reminder that you were his and no one else’s. “So, I’m sure you know how to attract attention too, wifey,” he added, his tone laced with a hint of boastful pride.

You rolled your eyes, the playful sass radiating from you like a silent command. You uncrossed your arms, letting the fabric of your clothes fall just right as you tilted your head. You were a force of nature, a sleek black cat in human form, dripping with that intoxicating energy that made all eyes around you gravitate toward you. Your smile remained, but it was more than just playful—it was a silent declaration, a quiet reminder that nothing would ever come close to matching the pull you and Shanks had, not even the rest of the world. Your eyes, dark yet luminous, sparkled with that deep, unyielding power, your movements smooth and graceful, drawing the attention of everyone, but leaving them with the unmistakable impression that you were untouchable. Iconic, alluring, and impossible to forget.

“Oh, are you sure, hmm?” you replied, your voice dripping with mock nonchalance, a playful flicker in your eyes as you tilted your head. Your words hung in the air, smooth and confident, the type that made people question whether you were just teasing or if there was something far more dangerous beneath the surface.

You stepped closer to Shanks, your presence exuding that effortless grace, but the subtle shift in your posture made it clear that you were a force to be reckoned with. Your lips curled into a small, teasing smirk, the kind that made it impossible for anyone to look away, yet hinted at the wild, untamed energy simmering just beneath the surface.

“Because I don’t think you really know how much attention I can attract,” you added with a slow, deliberate wink, your voice low and laced with that unmistakable allure. The air around you seemed to thicken with tension, your energy undeniable, as if you were the calm before a storm—unpredictable, captivating, and always in control.

Shanks’ expression softened, his usual playful smirk now mingling with a trace of something deeper. The flicker of admiration in his eyes was unmistakable, but he didn’t back down. Instead, he chuckled, a rich sound that echoed in the quiet tension between you two, his voice thick with a knowing, seductive warmth.

“You think I don’t know?” he mused, his tone teasing but laced with genuine appreciation. His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you even closer, the space between you two becoming impossibly thin. His lips hovered dangerously close to your ear as he added, “I know exactly what you can do.”

There was a pulse in the air, electric and filled with the unspoken promise of something wild, something that could ignite at any moment. You leaned in just slightly, your breath mingling with his, your words barely a whisper but heavy with intent.

“Then prove it,” you murmured, your voice a velvet challenge that sent a shiver down his spine, daring him to match your energy. You could feel the shift in the place, the subtle danger that always followed you when you embraced this version of yourself—the one who knew how to command attention and captivate every gaze in there.

His grin returned, now sharper, more confident. “I always do,” he growled, his voice now low and dark, like a promise wrapped in temptation.

And in that moment, everything seemed to pause—the world, the crew, the chaos surrounding you. It was just the two of you, wrapped in an undeniable bond, where the line between affection and temptation blurred into something that made the air burn with unspoken desire.

As Lucky Roux sauntered over with his signature confidence, a piece of meat hanging from his mouth like it was just another casual snack, you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at his effortless swagger. He was carrying that massive box of supplies like it weighed nothing, as if he were taking a stroll through a marketplace. The creaking sound of the deck as he placed the box down seemed almost like a punctuation to his nonchalance.

“Boss, don’t worry – we’ll take care of him,” Lucky said with a grin that could light up even the darkest corners of the ship, his voice calm, casual, and utterly at ease. You watched him for a moment before shifting your gaze to Shanks, whose reaction wasn’t quite as relaxed. There was something about the way Lucky held that grin, unbothered by the weight of the box or the situation at hand, that didn’t escape Shanks’ discerning eyes.

“Oi, oi, he’s worth 3 million each,” Shanks muttered, his voice edged with caution, his gaze following Lucky as he placed the box down with a solid thud. “Don’t underestimate how fast young people grow up.”

The words carried a layer of wisdom, one that made you admire your husband even more. He wasn’t just the carefree, mischievous pirate captain who could charm anyone with a smile; he was also deeply aware, measured, and experienced. His caution was a quiet reminder of how carefully he navigated the world, no matter how lighthearted he appeared. You loved that about him—the balance he struck between playful exuberance and the quiet respect he had for both the dangers and the people around him.

As Shanks’ gaze met yours for just a moment, you saw the subtle flicker of pride, knowing he had your admiration. You gave him a small smile in return, appreciating his wisdom even more. He could’ve easily dismissed Lucky’s nonchalant attitude, but instead, he offered a gentle reminder—a lesson in underestimating nothing and no one, no matter how insignificant they may seem at first glance.

It was a side of him that you loved, especially because it made you realize that, despite all his power and charisma, Shanks was always grounded, never too far removed from the world he sailed through. It made him, in your eyes, even more formidable.

As you turned your focus back to Shanks, the subtle flirtation, the unspoken words, and the undeniable chemistry between you two lingered in the air, still electric, still magnetic, still perfectly in your control.

He stepped up beside Yasopp, who was perched by the ship’s railing, a telescope in hand as he scanned the horizon. I’ll keep it short. A couple of days ago, we got word that Eustass ‘Captain’ Kidd is heading to Elbaf. Seems like he’s looking to settle a score with the Red-Haired Pirates.

Shanks then turned to Hongo, calling his name with a flicker of urgency in his voice. Hongo responded without hesitation, handing him a piece of paper while starting to speak. “Here—info about Captain Kidd,” he said flatly. One of the crew couldn’t resist adding with a grin, “That’s our Hongo-san, always prepared.”

A sarcastic smile tugged at the corner of Hongo’s lips, his eyes glinting with dry humor as he shot back, “Shut up and keep loading.”

A light laugh escaped your lips, unbidden, as your gaze shifted to Hongo, who was perched casually on a wooden barrel. Watching him, memories began to resurface, weaving their way through your thoughts like familiar ghosts of the past.

Let’s go back to your first encounter with the Red-Haired Pirates—when your emotions overwhelmed you so intensely that your grip tightened around the glass in your hand, shattering it. The jagged shards dug into your palm, and a sharp cry of pain escaped your lips before you even realized what had happened.

The red-haired man with the shabby straw hat on his head turned toward you, his sharp gaze landing on the blood smeared across your hand.

“You’re bleeding,” Shanks said simply, his voice carrying a mix of concern and calm. You had always been quick to understand situations, but in that moment, the pain, the blood, and the sheer presence of the man before you left you disoriented. You stared blankly at your injured hand, unsure of how to respond, until his voice broke through your haze.

“Hongo! We’ve got someone injured!” Shanks called out, his tone firm but reassuring, and for the first time that day, you felt the weight of your vulnerability in his presence.

Though you knew you desperately needed treatment, your pride was far stronger than your pain. The moment he called for the ship’s doctor, you instinctively pulled your hand away from his, cradling your wounded palm against your chest as if shielding it from the world.

His gaze softened as it dropped to meet yours, a flicker of understanding crossing his features. With a calm voice that held no trace of judgment, red-haired said, “We won’t hurt you—we just want to help.”

She shook her head firmly, her voice laced with both strength and defiance as she said, “I don’t want any help. Go back to where you came from, pirates.”

For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air, only to be shattered by Shanks’s sudden burst of laughter. His rich, carefree laughter echoed around you, and a cheerful grin spread across his face, lighting up his features. The unexpected warmth of his reaction made your heart race in a way you couldn’t explain, prompting you to clutch your injured hand even tighter against your chest, as if shielding yourself from the strange, unfamiliar feeling stirring within.

The rest of his crew offered friendly smiles, their unexpected warmth leaving you feeling perplexed. You raised a questioning eyebrow, your voice edged with curiosity as you asked, “What’s so funny?”

Shanks gradually calmed his laughter, his cheerful expression softening as he looked at you. “Nothing,” he replied with a hint of amusement still in his tone. “It’s just refreshing to see someone your age standing up for their land like that.”

You frowned, still unconvinced. “I still don’t get what’s funny,” you said, your confusion shifting to skepticism. “And it’s even weirder that you talk like some old man when you look like you’re my age.”

He smiled, the corners of his lips curling with a mix of charm and mischief. “We might be the same age,” he said, his tone light yet sincere. “But anyway, how about you drop the stubborn act and let us help you?”

Despite being a cautious individual with a tendency to struggle with trust, you rely on logic and reason to assess situations. To you, these pirates didn’t seem to pose a significant threat. Their demeanor was unexpectedly kind—they offered help and even smiled warmly, rather than exploiting your seemingly frail appearance. If they were truly malicious, wouldn’t they have attacked you already, and pass you seeking to claim your village and land through violence? Instead, their actions and gestures suggested otherwise, leaving you to question their true intentions.

Yet, in both instances, you nodded in agreement, allowing them to assist you and tend to your wound. The red-haired man smiled briefly before shifting his gaze to a blond young man whose pale, ivory-toned skin seemed almost translucent under the sunlight.

Shanks gently took your hand, guiding you toward his ship with an air of carefree confidence. His cheerful and nonchalant demeanor contrasted sharply with the tension of your earlier encounter. You couldn’t help but frown in surprise at his apparent indifference. Wasn’t it unusual—perhaps even inappropriate—to touch a stranger, especially considering you had threatened him and his crew just moments before?

All you remember is at a small wooden cabin, the faint scent of the sea lingering in the air. Your body sat on a simple wooden bed, covered with a soft white blanket that felt oddly comforting despite your circumstances. One of Your hands rested at your sides while the other extended as the blond-haired man, Hongo, carefully wrapped fresh bandages around your wound with practiced precision.

“We’re done,” Hongo said, his voice calm and soothing as a gentle smile spread across his face. You studied him for a moment, taking in the kindness reflected in his expression, before nodding silently. Finally, you found your voice and softly said, “Thank you.”

“So… I noticed you stood against us, trying to shield your island and your people from harm,” the man named Hongo remarked, his voice carrying a strange blend of admiration and amusement. “Truly, it’s a rare sight—one lone soul willing to defy the odds for the sake of his home and kin.”

He offered a soft, knowing smile, and though you couldn’t quite recall why, a sudden heat rushed to your face. Flustered, you quickly averted your gaze. “Tch… Whatever!” you scoffed, grasping for nonchalance. “It’s not like I did anything remarkable! Anyone would have done the same.”

“Of course,” Hongo said smoothly, his voice carrying a gentle warmth. As he spoke, he casually brushed a stray blonde lock away from his face before offering his hand with an easy smile.

“I’m Hongo, by the way.”

Your eyes flickered to his outstretched hand, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “I know~,” you teased, your tone light and rowdy. But as your gaze dropped for a brief moment, something softened within you. Slowly, you lifted your eyes to meet his, your voice quieter this time.

“I’m Y/N.”

Hongo chuckled at your response, clearly amused by your boldness. “Fair enough,” he said, withdrawing his hand with a smirk. “Still, it’s good to finally put a name to the fiery spirit I’ve been hearing about.”

You rolled your eyes playfully but didn’t deny it. Before you could respond, however, a familiar presence made your heart skip a beat.

“Getting acquainted, are we?” That voice. That deep, smooth voice you could recognize anywhere. Turning your head, you found yourself meeting his gaze—Shanks. The moment your eyes locked, a warmth spread through your chest, as if the whole world had faded into the background.

He stood there with that easygoing smile of his, but there was something in his expression, something subtle yet unmistakable. A quiet claim. A knowing glint in his eyes that sent your heart fluttering. Hongo glanced between the two of you and smirked, as if he had walked into something unspoken. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” he said, stepping back with a knowing chuckle. “Try not to get too distracted, Captain.”

Shanks let out a soft laugh, but his attention never wavered from you. And as Hongo walked off, it was just the two of you now. “So…” he drawled, tilting his head, that teasing yet utterly endearing smile still playing on his lips. “Were you enjoying his company?”

You huffed, crossing your arms tightly. “I would never. To me, you pirates are nothing but enemies—nothing more, nothing less.”

His grin widened as he stepped closer, his presence utterly intoxicating. “Should I be?” The way he looked at you—soft yet intense, playful yet laced with something deeper—made your breath hitch.

“…Bitch,” you muttered under your breath, barely loud enough to be heard. Shanks chuckled—a low, rumbling sound that sent a prickle down your spine. His eyes, sharp and knowing, lingered on you with an unreadable glint. The dim glow of lantern light flickered across his face, casting shifting shadows over his amused smirk.

His presence was imposing despite his easy demeanor, the kind of calm that felt too controlled, too deliberate. A slow step forward closed the space between you, and though his touch was featherlight as his fingers ghosted along your arm, it left a trail of warmth that burned hotter than it should. “You sure you wanna say that?” he murmured, his voice quiet—too quiet. The usual playfulness laced with something else, something heavier.

The air between you thickened, charged with an unspoken tension. You had seen Shanks laugh off threats, brush aside danger with that same devil-may-care smirk. But this? This felt different. And for the first time, you weren’t entirely sure if you’d pushed too far.

“Would an enemy offer to help treat the hand you so carelessly injured yourself?” he murmured, his voice low and laced with something you couldn’t quite define. And just like that, you were lost in him all over again. She lifted her gaze, meeting his eyes with a flicker of uncertainty before shaking her head. “No…? I mean… I—” she faltered, frustration laced in her voice. “I don’t know.”

“Then we don’t have to be,” he said with quiet certainty, removing his straw hat and placing it over his face as he reclined lazily, resting his head on his arm. His tone was unwavering, effortlessly confident, as if the thought had never been a question to him. You frowned, your brows knitting together in frustration. “What? Of course we do,” you shot back, your voice laced with conviction. “Pirates are all the same—you kill, you steal… it’s what you do.”

“Not all pirates are the same…” he said simply, his voice steady, and you swear you saw a flicker of something—an undeniable spark—in his eyes.

His words carried an unshakable confidence, as if he knew with absolute certainty that his tongue would not fail him. He spoke not just of himself, but of the truth that not all pirates were born to kill, steal, and ruin the lives of others.

And, truth be told, somewhere along the way… you started to believe him.

You snapped back to reality as Shanks’ voice cut through your thoughts, commanding Dorry and Brogy to take their positions. With a quiet sigh, you leaned against the ship’s railing, propping your chin in your palm, watching the scene unfold.

“What a hard-headed fool, Eustass~” you mused, your tone dripping with amusement.

Just a few days ago, while you were all gathered at a bar in a small port along Elbaph’s rugged coast, a familiar scene unfolded before you.

A quiet chuckle slipped past your lips as you watched the scene before you—a young boy with messy pink hair, his eyes filled with determination, persistently plead with Shanks to let him join the crew. He spoke with unwavering confidence, insisting that he’d be of unimaginable value, as if sheer will alone could carve his place among seasoned pirates.

Shanks remained unfazed, his refusal steady and unwavering. But the pink-haired boy wasn’t ready to back down just yet. With unshakable determination, he straightened his shoulders and declared that he wasn’t afraid of getting hurt.

“That’s exactly why I won’t take you,” Shanks replied smoothly, his tone light yet firm.

Still, the boy pressed on, insisting that no one on this island was braver than him—that he was the strongest, the most fearless, the perfect addition to their crew.

A quiet scoff left Shanks’ lips before he shook his head. “Dummy,” he muttered. “I’ll never take a hot-headed brat like you.”

As you watched the flicker of defeat cross the boy’s face, you turned your gaze to your red-haired captain. A hint of amusement danced in your eyes as you murmured, “You’re being a little harsh on the kid~ Sometimes, being too realistic isn’t the best way to handle a child.”

A smirk tugged at his lips, slow and knowing, as his gaze locked onto yours. With effortless ease, he reached for you—his only arm, strong and sure, coiling around your waist like a serpent claiming its prize. His grip was firm, possessive, the heat of his touch seeping through the fabric of your clothes as he pulled you flush against him.

Leaning in, his breath ghosted over your skin, his voice a low murmur laced with amusement and something darker, something indulgent.

“Taking the kid’s side now, are we~?”

A slow, teasing smile curled on your lips as you tilted your head, your fingers trailing up his chest with deliberate ease.

“Someone has to, don’t they?” you murmured, voice dripping with honeyed defiance. Your eyes flickered with challenge, the heat between you crackling like a slow-burning fire. “Besides… it’s a little cruel, don’t you think? Crushing a boy’s dream so easily.”

You pressed in just enough to close the sliver of space between you, your breath mingling with his. “Or is the mighty Red-Haired Shanks afraid of a little heartache?”

Shanks let out a low chuckle, the sound warm and full of amusement, yet laced with something more dangerous beneath the surface. His grip on your waist tightened just enough to remind you who was in control—and it was unmistakably him.

“Heartache?” he mused, his voice a smooth, lazy drawl, each word laced with quiet confidence. “Darling, I’ve faced battles, storms, and men who’d sell their very souls just to see me fail.” His thumb traced an idle circle along your side, a deceptively gentle touch that sent an unexpected tremor through you. “You think a kid’s broken dream could keep me awake at night?”

His smirk deepened as he leaned in, the space between you charged with an undeniable tension. His lips hovered just above yours, his breath a whisper against your skin. “But you…” His voice dipped, lowering into a hushed, almost teasing tone. “You speak as if you understand heartbreak, don’t you?”

His words weren’t a challenge, they were a provocation, drawing you in with their heat.

His thumb continued its slow, deliberate circle, pulling you even closer, his warmth seeping into every inch of your skin. “And as for you…” He grinned, that playful gleam in his eyes never fading. “You’re not just trying to soften me up, are you?”

A sly smile tugged at your lips as you met his gaze, the playful energy between you both palpable. You leaned in just a fraction closer, your voice a teasing whisper, laced with challenge. “I can make you soften with nothing more than the way I play with my hair,” you murmured, your fingers slipping through a strand, twirling it slowly between your fingers. Your eyes never left his, watching for the subtle shift in his expression, the crack in his unshakable facade. You could feel the heat between you growing, the line between playful banter and something far more charged starting to blur.

A slow, teasing grin would spread across his face, his eyes lighting up with that familiar spark of mischief. He’d lean in closer, his breath warm against your ear as his voice dropped to a sultry murmur.

“Oh, really?” he’d say with a chuckle, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm. “You think you can make me soften just like that?” His gaze would flick to your fingers, twirling the strand of hair, before locking back onto your eyes with a flirtatious intensity.

He’d give a soft, amused laugh and add, “Well, sweetheart, if that’s all it takes, I’m in trouble.” His lips would hover just a breath away from yours, the air thick with unspoken desire. “But don’t think I’ll go down that easily.”

A playful smirk tugged at your lips as you met his intense gaze, the heat between you undeniable. You leaned in just enough to close the distance, your voice dripping with teasing defiance, “shuties,” you purred, the words dripping with confidence as they rolled off your lips, each syllable sweet and playful, but laced with that sultry edge only you could pull off. Your smile curled at the corners, showing just a hint of your gorgeous teeth, a tease in the way your lips parted.

With a deliberate flick of your fingers, you twirled your hair one last time, knowing exactly how it would drive him wild. You held his gaze, your eyes glinting with a mix of challenge and invitation, leaving no doubt you were fully in control of the moment.

He pressed his lips to the rim of the glass, savoring the moment before slowly sipping the rum, each drop disappearing into him with a deliberate, almost reverent slowness—as if the very act of drinking was an indulgence to be relished. He swallowed with purpose, enjoying the burn that lingered, before pulling the glass away from his lips, almost as if drawing out the pleasure to its fullest extent.

In that charged silence, the boy spoke again, his voice hold a tiny hope and resolve. “What do I have to do to convince you?”

Benn Beckmann smirked, his expression nonchalant, as he slowly opened his eyes, the cigarette dangling carelessly between his lips. “Quit messing with the kid, Captain,” he said, his voice smooth and laid-back, yet carrying an undertone of amused warning.

“Don’t mock a kid who’s serious about his dreams,” Lucky Roux said with a grin plastered across his face, the kind of carefree smile that never seemed to leave him. He took a generous bite of the fruit in his hand, chewing leisurely as if the world itself were his to enjoy. “You never know how someone like that might react,” he added, his tone light but with an edge of quiet understanding.

Benn Beckmann exhaled a cloud of smoke, the tendrils curling lazily around his head as he watched the interaction unfold. His eyes were calm, yet sharp, as his voice cut through the moment. “You’d be a fool to underestimate his fighting spirit,” he remarked, the weight of his words lingering in the air. There was a quiet confidence in his tone, as if he had seen countless souls driven by that same reckless resolve.

Yasopp, ever the quiet observer, took a long, slow gulp of rum, feeling the burn as it slid down his throat. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before speaking, his voice steady, but carrying a depth that only experience could bring. “Sometimes,” he said, his gaze distant as if he were recalling distant memories, “those youthful kids do things that can shake the world to its core. It’s a fire you can’t ignore.”

The little boy huffed, frustration flickering in his eyes. “Say something! Come on!”

Shanks let a slow, knowing smile curve at the corner of his lips before finally speaking, his voice smooth, amused. “See? You’re quick to anger.”

The little boy pouted, his gaze fixed on Y/N as he whined, “Y/N-chan~ please convince him~”

She rested her chin lazily on her palm, a soft hum escaping her lips as she watched the scene unfold. The energy around her was playful, effortless, like a black cat waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

“Oh~,” she teased, her voice playful, yet dripping with charm, “The little one’s trying to tug at the captain’s soft spot, huh? Clever little thing.” Her words danced through the air, light and teasing, as the crew laughed along, adding their own mock agreements.

Her laughter was like a soft breeze, airy and delicate, carrying the kind of playfulness that made it impossible to resist. She glanced at Shanks, the glint in her eyes both mischievous and warm.

“Well, I’m sorry~,” she purred with a soft smile, her tone drawing out the tease. “But I’m sure you’ll handle it on your own someday~ Who knows—maybe you’ll even beat him.” The last words were a playful promise, before she winked at Shanks, her movements slow, deliberate, like an invitation wrapped in silk, the space between them electric with unspoken temptation.

The door to the bar swung open with a sharp creak, and Rockstar stormed in, breathless, his voice cutting through the casual hum of the crew. “Sorry to interrupt, excuse me!”

All eyes turned, and the soft murmur of the crew died down. Y/N, Beckmann, Lucky, and Yasopp all glanced over, the silence heavy with curiosity. Lucky Roux, his mouth full of food, looked over with an exaggerated frown, his tone thick with mock annoyance. “Of course, you should apologize,” he mumbled through his mouthful. “Don’t interrupt us!”

Rockstar, flustered but determined, spoke quickly, his urgency unmistakable. “Apologies, but it’s an emergency.” He wiped his brow, eyes frantic. “That breasted attacked us!”

Yasopp’s lips curled into a smirk, one eyebrow raised in the perfect mix of mockery and amusement. “What a pain in the ass…” he drawled, his voice low and laced with sarcasm.

Lucky Roux chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back in his seat, his large frame towering even in casual repose. “He’s full of energy!” he quipped, his voice booming with playful amusement.

But Rockstar’s distress only grew more evident, his shoulders tense as he straightened. “Our youngsters are out there, squabbling, angry about getting blindsided…” His voice higher , a touch of anxiety creeping into his words. “What should we do? This could turn into a full-blown battle.”

Y/N leaned back slightly, her eyes narrowing as she processed the words. There was a flicker of amusement behind her gaze—this situation, the chaos of it all, was a dance she was familiar with. She felt the energy in the room shift, playful yet dangerous, like the calm before a storm.

Shanks finished his drink with a sigh, setting the empty glass down with a quiet clink. “Gee,” he murmured, running a hand through his unruly red hair. “Can’t tell if this is good timing or bad.” His gaze flicked toward the newcomer as he added with a casual chuckle, “We were just about to head out.”

Rising to his feet, he stretched lazily, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of their conversation. “Guess we got a little carried away talking.” Then, a smirk tugged at his lips as he turned to Rockstar, his eyes glinting with something between amusement and nostalgia. “But hey, I’ve run into friends I thought were dead before.” His smirk deepened. “Can’t be helped.”

Benn Beckman’s smirk sharpened, his tone laced with dry amusement as he remarked, “Looks like we’ve managed to rattle the enemy.”

Lucky Roux burst into laughter, shaking his head. “Beck! You can’t just say that! Who do you think they despise the most?”

Beckman exhaled a slow, knowing chuckle, his smirk deepening as he took another drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing like a distant warning.

You crossed your arms sharply over your chest, your gaze unwavering. You knew exactly what lay beneath their words—after all, it was Beckman who had cost Eustass his arm. A silent understanding passed between you and the First Mate, but neither of you felt the need to say it aloud.

Instead, your eyes lifted toward your man, the red-haired emperor who stood effortlessly commanding in the dim light. His voice cut through the rising energy like a blade. “Prepare the ship.”

Yasopp’s face lit up with excitement. “Are we going to fight, Chief?!” His question was met with a roar of enthusiasm from the crew, fists raised high, voices echoing with untamed exhilaration. You chuckled softly, shaking your head at their boundless eagerness, the energy in the air crackling like a brewing storm.

A small boy tugged his hand in fist , his eyes wide with anticipation of excitement . “Is it gonna be a war, Shanks?”

The red-haired man gazed, his usual carefree aura laced with something heavier, something resolute. “I won’t let this land turn into a battlefield,” he said solemnly, his voice carrying the weight of an unspoken promise.

From behind the bar, the blonde bartender propped her elbows up, resting her face in her hands as she sighed dreamily, her voice dripping with admiration. “A man , like no other ~”

Your lashes fluttered as you blinked, once, twice. Oh, for the love of— Your fingers twitched at your side, but you forced yourself to exhale smoothly, tilting your chin ever so slightly. Relax, Y/N. Don’t let jealousy crack your poise. You’ve got this. Stay composed. Stay effortless. Girl hold yourself for the love of feminism! Still, the urge to roll your eyes was too strong to resist.

Yasopp leaned in slightly, his voice dipping into a teasing murmur. “You’re being obvious ~”, Lucky Roux let out a chuckle, amused by the exchange, while Benn Beckman merely smirked, exhaling a slow stream of smoke as if he had already seen through you.

You rolled your eyes, feigning ignorance, though the warmth creeping up your neck betrayed you. “Obvious? About what?” Your voice was smooth, unwavering—but the way Yasopp’s smirk deepened told you he wasn’t buying it.

Yasopp’s grin widened as he tilted his head, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh, you know… just how gracefully you handled that little moment back there.”

Lucky Roux snickered, stuffing another piece of meat into his mouth. “Yeah, real graceful,” he said through a mouthful, his amusement only growing.

Benn, ever the observer, took a slow drag from his cigarette before exhaling, his smirk unreadable. “Nothing wrong with a little jealousy,” he mused, watching you from the corner of his eye. “As long as you don’t let it rattle you.”

You scoffed, tilting your chin up, exuding that effortless poise you refused to let crack. “Jealous? Me?” A soft chuckle escaped your lips, low and honeyed. “You’re all reaching.”

Yasopp leaned back, both hands raised in mock surrender. “Sure, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.”

You flicked your gaze toward Shanks, who had already moved on from the exchange, giving orders to the crew with that signature air of confidence.

Still, something in the way he smirked ever so slightly—as if he knew—sent a slow, teasing heat curling through you.

Damn him.

You raised your middle finger in a slow, deliberate motion , without even sparing them a glance, your expression unbothered, exuding that effortless grace they loved to tease you about. the picture of effortless grace.

Lucky Roux nearly choked on his food before bursting into laughter, clutching his stomach. Yasopp, on the other hand, threw his head back, cackling. “Oh, she’s really feeling it today!” he wheezed, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye.

Benn simply shook his head, taking another drag from his cigarette. “You keep things interesting,” he muttered, amusement flickering in his sharp gaze.

You arched a brow, lips curling into a slow, taunting smile., finally shifting your gaze toward them. “Glad to be your entertainment,” you drawled, voice dripping with faux sweetness. but there was an unmistakable challenge behind it.

Yasopp grinned. “Oh, you do, sweetheart. Every damn day.”, Lucky Roux was still laughing, shaking his head. “No wonder the Chief—” Benn cut him a sharp look, and Lucky quickly stuffed another bite of food into his mouth, muffling whatever he was about to say.

Your gaze flicked toward Shanks instinctively, but he hadn’t turned, still focused on the crew, issuing orders in that easy, commanding tone of his.

Still… something in the way his shoulders shifted, the faintest tilt of his head, told you he had heard everything, And that damn smirk playing at the corner of his lips? Yeah, he definitely knew.

You looked back at the trio, memories stirring like whispers carried by the wind. To be honest, you weren’t even sure how it happened—how the course of fate had shifted so effortlessly beneath your feet.

At first, when you saw those pirates set foot on your land, something in you bristled. You hadn’t liked it—hadn’t liked them. Their presence alone had pushed you to the edge, sharpening your instincts, making you defensive, fierce. They were outsiders, and you had no reason to trust them.

But that resistance didn’t last long.

Because in what felt like no time at all, Shanks and the Red-Haired Pirates didn’t just earn your trust—they won your heart.

And these three… these three were the first to break past the walls you hadn’t even realized you’d built.

Benn was the first to speak to you. The first to test the waters, to study you with those sharp, knowing eyes of his. He was patient, steady, but undeniably persistent. He wanted your trust, and he wasn’t afraid to work for it. And the craziest part? He was flirtatious. More so than even Shanks at times. It was almost surreal—because everything about Benn screamed wisdom, control, a man too grounded for something as reckless as playful teasing. And yet, there he was, murmuring smooth words with a smirk just sharp enough to make you wonder if he was serious or simply playing the game.

Then there was Yasopp—the one who made you laugh the most. No matter how tense or uncertain things were in the beginning, he had a way of breaking through it. Whether it was some ridiculous magic trick he’d pull out of nowhere, a stupid joke, or an exaggerated story that couldn’t possibly be true (but he swore it was), he always knew how to make you crack a smile. He had that rare gift—one that made the world feel a little lighter just by being in it.

And Lucky Roux… at first glance, he seemed like nothing more than a cheerful, carefree spirit. He laughed easily, smiled even more, carrying an energy so warm, so effortless, that you couldn’t help but enjoy being around him. But as time passed, you saw more. Beneath the laughter, the endless appetite, and the easygoing nature, there was an unwavering loyalty, a quiet understanding of the world that made you respect him even more.

Looking at them now, you realized something.

You had fought so hard against their presence at first, ready to push them away before they could ever get close. But in the end, they hadn’t just become people you trusted.

They had become people you cherished.

You stood side by side with your man and his loyal crew, all gathered atop one of Elbaf’s towering hills. The wind howled through the vast expanse, tugging at your hair, making the crimson of Shanks’ coat ripple like a banner of war. The scent of earth and sea filled the air, mingling with the quiet weight of anticipation.

From below, the booming laughter of Dorry and Brogy echoed like rolling thunder, their voices carrying across the land.

Without looking at them, Shanks spoke, his tone light yet carrying an unmistakable edge. “You two will help me with that.” Then, glancing over his shoulder at the towering giants, his lips curled slightly. “Dorry. Brogy.”

Brogy let out another deep, hearty laugh, his massive axe resting easily in his grip. “No problem, bro!”, Dorry followed suit, his laughter just as thunderous. “Are you gonna fight them, Red-Haired?!” The weight of their words settled in the air, unspoken tension crackling like the wind that swirled around you.

You are thankful. I am more than thankful.

Thankful for the day the Red-Haired Pirates set foot on your remote island, changing the course of your life in ways you never could have foreseen. Thankful that you had stood your ground, faced them head-on—even if, in the beginning, your only intention was to fight them. And thankful, above all, that Red-Haired Shanks is not the kind of man who gives up. That he is a dreamer, a force of nature, a man with a spirit so unyielding it could shape the tides themselves.

And, well… it certainly doesn’t hurt that he’s handsome too.

But beyond even that, you are happy. More than happy.

Because there will never be a day you regret the moment Shanks turned to you with that effortless, knowing smile—the kind that seemed to hold the weight of a thousand stories—and asked you to join his crew.

You still remember how stunned you were, the way your breath hitched as you pointed at yourself. “Me?”

His gaze, warm as the setting sun, locked onto yours. And with all the confidence in the world, he nodded. “You.”

Then, without hesitation, he extended his hand toward you—an unspoken promise, an invitation into a life you had never dared to imagine for yourself.

Your fingers slipped into his, and he pulled you forward, steady and sure. As your feet touched the wooden steps of the Red Force, something deep within you shifted, as if the sea itself had welcomed you home.

And in that moment, as the wind carried the sound of laughter and distant waves, you knew.

There was no turning back.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.