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kultkorner · 2 days ago

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MY HUSBAND 😫💖

If you really love me, let me go PI

Parings: Red Haired Shanks x Vice Admiral! Reader

Prompt:

Hey Mami! Soo I've been thinking about our beloved Shanks x Vice admiral!Reader. Cuz why not? He's so carefree, so it would be nice to see him with someone who is the opposite of him.

Warning: Angst.

For, @orange-milky who gave me the prompt for this story. Always making me flustered with their nicknames for me.

ON WITH THE SHOW!!~~

You were peacefully sleeping, the kind of deep, dreamless sleep that came after an exhausting day of paperwork and drills. The cool breeze from the open window gently rustled the curtains, and all was silent in your little abode atop the plateau that overlooked the town.

Everything was still, quiet—until a sudden, sharp crash from downstairs jolted you awake.

Your eyes snapped open, heart still calm and steady despite the noise. You groaned softly, already reaching for the duel pistols you kept under your pillow, a natural reaction born from years of training as a Vice Admiral in the Navy. The best-case scenario flashed in your mind: Luffy and his friends, showing up unannounced again for some reckless, impromptu visit.

You wouldn’t put it past the kid, not after the last time they used your backyard as a training ground for their latest techniques.

But you weren’t one to take chances. Slipping out of bed as quietly as possible, you padded across the room in your fuzzy bunny slippers, your anchor-shaped earrings gleaming faintly in the moonlight.

A quick glance in the mirror showed your reflection: hair in rollers, a green mud mask you’d forgotten to wash off, and your pajamas—a set featuring Uta's face plastered all over, a playful gift from her before she went to sail with Luffy.

The robe you wrapped around yourself was adorned with Luffy’s jolly roger, a ridiculous but endearing gift from the cutie himself. You sighed, raising your dual pistols to your side, wondering what kind of chaos you’d be walking into this time.

The hall was silent as you made your way down the stairs, moving like a shadow, every step measured, controlled. You clutched the pistols tightly, ready for anything. As you neared the kitchen, the faint sound of muffled whispers reached your ears—low voices, trying (and failing) to be quiet. You rolled your eyes, already guessing the culprits.

There were too many deep voices to be Luffy’s crew.

When you flicked on the light, the kitchen was suddenly bathed in a warm glow, and the scene before you could only be described as utter madness. Every available surface was covered in food, bottles of rum, and—most tellingly—members of the Red Hair Pirates. The twelve of them were scattered across your kitchen as if they owned the place.

Shanks’ crew, all of them: Benn Beckman, Lucky Roux, Yasopp, Hongo, Limejuice, Bonk Punch, Monster, Building Snake, Gab, Rockstar, and—by some cruel twist of fate—Uta wasn’t there this time. She was still off with her brother.

Yasopp was the first to notice you, though his reaction wasn’t what you expected. The second his gaze fell on you, still standing in the doorway with your pistols in hand and a full-on “I-will-kill-you” expression on your face, he burst into laughter.

It started as a quiet chuckle but quickly grew louder, causing a ripple effect across the room. One by one, the rest of the crew joined in, their laughter filling the space until it felt like the walls themselves were vibrating with the sound.

Your eye twitched in annoyance. Standing there in your bunny slippers, hair in rollers, Uta PJ’s, green mud mask still smeared across your face, you probably looked more ridiculous than intimidating.

Like a pop princess wicked witch of the west. But you were still a Vice Admiral, and your patience had limits.

“Oh, this is rich,” Yasopp wheezed, doubling over as tears streamed from his eyes. “We’re gonna die—” He cut off with another fit of laughter, but before you could decide whether to shoot him or not, the back door swung open, revealing a familiar mop of red hair.

Shanks strode in, his entrance casual as ever. His trademark grin stretched across his face, a bottle of rum in one hand and a bouquet of wildflowers in the other. His eyes lit up when he saw you, seemingly oblivious to the chaos he had caused.

“Hello my love!” he said brightly, as though this were a perfectly normal scene to walk into at what had to be three in the morning.

Your response was instinctive. You raised both pistols and fired—ten rapid shots that would’ve made any rookie in the Navy tremble. Shanks, to his credit, dodged every single one of them with that infuriating grace he always seemed to have, weaving between the bullets like it was all just a game.

“Now, now, let’s not start with violence!” Shanks laughed, clearly unfazed by the near-death experience. He took a step forward and offered the flowers toward you. “For you, my little sea monster.”

You huffed, your glare softening just a fraction as you lowered your pistols. Behind him, Benn Beckman gave you an apologetic smile, his hand already reaching into his coat. “We didn’t mean to disturb you. I wrote you a letter ahead of time,” he explained, holding out the envelope,

“and we tried to be quiet…”

You sighed, arms crossing as you stared at the lot of them, still lounging around your kitchen as though they lived here. “Clearly, you failed.”

They all muttered their apologies, though none of them seemed particularly guilty. Lucky Roux stuffed his mouth with another pastry, while Bonk Punch and Monster shared a conspiratorial glance. Yasopp was still grinning like a fool, clearly amused by your appearance, though he was at least trying to stifle his laughter now.

Benn stepped forward with a steaming cup of tea, which he handed to you with a practiced air of calm. “In case you woke up,” he said gently, and before you could take a sip, Shanks handed you the bottle of rum with a wink.

“Don’t forget the important part.”

You rolled your eyes but accepted both. “You’re all lucky I like you,” you muttered before taking a seat in the barely-used dining room. Pistols stashed into your pockets, the crew, now more relaxed, went back to their conversations, though they kept their volume lower, out of some remaining respect for your sleep.

Shanks slid into the chair beside you, his arm resting lazily on the back of your seat. He didn’t say anything for a while, content to watch you as you stirred a bit of rum into your tea, the warmth from the cup seeping into your hands.

After a few quiet moments, he leaned in, his voice dropping into that soft, almost tender tone he used only with you.

“Come with me for a second?”

You arched a brow but didn’t protest. Shanks stood, grabbing the rum bottle as you followed him out of the room. He led you outside, through the back door and up a hidden staircase to the roof. The air was cool, the stars glittering above you like a sea of diamonds, and from this height, you could see the town below, quiet and peaceful in the night.

Shanks leaned against the railing, his gaze wandering across the horizon. You joined him, your eyes following the lines of the ships docked in the harbor and the soft glow of lanterns lining the streets.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the sound of distant waves crashing against the shore filling the silence. Then, Shanks let out a low chuckle.

“You’re still mad, huh?”

You snorted softly, taking a sip of your rum-laced tea. “You and your crew have a terrible sense of timing.”

His grin was mischievous, but there was something softer behind his eyes as he looked at you. “Well, I’ve always had a bad habit of showing up unannounced.” He reached over, brushing a thumb against your cheek, his touch light but affectionate. “But you’ve always taken care of us anyway.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Someone has to.”

The stars above stretched endlessly across the night sky, their brightness cutting through the dark canopy like diamonds spilled across velvet. It was your favorite part of living here—how open and vast the heavens always seemed. You found comfort in how steady they remained, unmoved by the chaos of life below.

Sometimes, as you looked up at the twinkling lights, you wondered what it would be like to sail in the sky itself, drifting from planet to planet like the sea of stars was just another ocean. Luffy, ever the dreamer, always promised to make your wildest fantasies come true, and knowing him, it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.

But what about you? What about your responsibilities?

Shanks' voice pulled you from your thoughts, though you hadn’t caught his words.

"Hey, are you alright lass?" he asked softly, his tone laced with a gentle concern.

You blinked, turning your attention back to him, meeting those familiar, warm eyes that seemed to hold a world of their own.

"Sorry, no. What did you say?"

He smiled, that easy, carefree grin that never quite matched the weight of his words. "I was asking if you’d join me at sea again."

The idea hung between you like the scent of saltwater that always seemed to cling to him. You opened your mouth, glancing toward the town below, gesturing to the village that stretched out in the distance, its peaceful quietness versus the unpredictability of a pirate’s life. The flicker of lanterns from the homes and streets was like the heartbeat of the place you’d sworn to protect.

But Shanks shook his head, his expression unbothered by your hesitation. "Not for long," he clarified. "Just two weeks. I know you couldn’t stay forever."

His words were calm, non-pressuring, but the temptation lingered like a beckoning wave. You mulled it over, your mind swimming with the responsibilities that weighed you down. You weren’t young anymore, at least not in the way that counted. The youthful impulsiveness of picking up and leaving whenever you felt like it had long passed.

Now, you had cadets who looked up to you, a village that relied on your protection, and a life you couldn’t simply walk away from. The thought of leaving—even just for a few weeks—and returning to disaster haunted you.

Yet, here stood Shanks, the man who could never be caught, the one who had always captured your heart. He wasn’t crowding you, wasn’t demanding an answer. He was just… there, waiting, like always. He reached into his pocket and passed you a handkerchief. You hadn’t realized you still had remnants of your green face mask smeared across your cheek.

You took the handkerchief with a small, grateful nod, wiping away the last smudge of your mask. Shanks’ grin widened as he watched you, a mischievous glint lighting up his features.

"Lovely as ever," he said with that familiar charm.

You raised an eyebrow, disbelief clear on your face. "Really now?"

"Yes," he said, his tone softening into something more genuine. "Like the first day I saw you. You just keep getting better and better."

His words, while honest and genuine, cut deep. They were too real, too heartfelt for the situation you were both in. It hurt—knowing he meant every word. You let out a heavy sigh, your chest tightening as you voiced what was already understood.

"That’s what makes this so painful, Shanks. We’ve been dancing around each other for years. How long can we keep playing this game?"

You both fell silent, a weight settling between you like the fog rolling off the sea. The unspoken truth was something everyone knew—from the Celestial Dragons to the mermaids deep in the ocean. Even the sea beasts you used to ride in your younger days knew: You and Shanks were in love. But there were laws to nature that even love couldn’t break.

A bird and a fish could admire each other, even come to each other’s aid when needed, but they could never be together. One couldn’t fly, and the other couldn’t swim—not where it mattered.

"What a cruel twist of fate this is," you whispered, your voice barely carried by the wind.

Shanks nodded solemnly, his gaze never leaving yours. "Indeed."

The night carried on in its quiet way, the hum of distant waves filling the silence between you. You both sat there, not speaking, just watching each other, as if memorizing the lines of each other’s face.

His presence was like the sea—calm, vast, and eternal. You felt it deep in your bones, the pull toward him that was as strong as the tide, and yet you remained anchored here, to this place, this life.

Eventually, your eyes drifted back up to the sky, the stars glittering down on you like an endless sea of possibilities. The two of you were suspended between worlds, the stars and the ocean, the past and the future, and all you had was this fragile, fleeting moment.

Shanks followed your gaze, his hand brushing against yours in a light, almost accidental touch, as if he too was trying to capture something too precious to hold onto.

For now, that was enough.

There was no real use crying over it. You had both spent countless nights easing the sorrow of your situation in your own ways—Shanks drowning his thoughts at the bottom of another bottle, while you buried yourself in the work that defined you. The understanding he’d given you when you first saw this village in ruins so many years ago, when you decided to stay and rebuild it, still lingered between you.

It had been a quiet acknowledgment, a silent support. He didn’t fight your decision, didn’t call it betrayal. Instead, he—and the rest of his crew—had simply accepted it, open arms waiting if you ever wanted to come back.

The night you became Vice Admiral was one you still laughed about, remembering their terrible disguises as they snuck into your ceremony. There was Benn Beckman in a comically oversized face mask, (you were all thankful that he wasn’t immediately recognized) Lucky Roux sporting a pair of ridiculous sunglasses, and Yasopp trying to hide his distinct dreads under a crooked wig.

You’d all spent the evening in a local pub, singing sea shanties and dancing like no one was watching. The memories were a balm to the ache of what you couldn't have—the laughter, the carefree joy.

You smiled faintly now, the sea breeze playing with your hair as the memories came flooding back. Shanks had always been at the heart of it. You teased him mercilessly when you heard he’d taken in a daughter.

"Shanks, raising a kid? Who’s the poor soul responsible for keeping the both of you in line?" you had joked.

It was Benn, obviously. His face had lit up with pride as he spoke of Uta, and before, when he told you about a scrappy young boy named Luffy—the boy he believed would change the world.

And Luffy had.

You’d come to know him well, hiding him and his crew whenever they came to pass. They always treated you like family, laughing and eating meals around your dining table, as if this was their home away from the seas. You adored Luffy’s brothers too—Ace, with his fiery spirit, and Sabo, with his quiet determination.

They’d both been reckless and had nearly gotten themselves killed more than once, leading to your stern lectures. But they always grinned sheepishly, knowing your scolding came from a place of deep affection.

Even Buggy—oh, Buggy. You picked fights with him like it was second nature, always at each other’s throats with bickering and insults. But despite the chaos, you were one of his oldest friends. The bond between you two ran deeper than either of you cared to admit.

When you’d heard about what he’d done to other villages, you punched him square in the nose. "Get it together, you ass hat," you growled, and he’d just sulked before eventually grumbling an apology.

And then there was Shanks' trust. His absolute faith in you, especially when it came to Uta. Whenever he had dangerous missions, he left her in your care, knowing no harm would come to her under your watch. The girl had become like a daughter to you, and even now, she sailed alongside Luffy, her spirit as free as the wind.

You entertained Mihawk whenever he happened to sail by, sharing quiet conversations and sparring matches under the moonlight. Perona would pop in with her gloomy charm, and you welcomed her with the same warmth you gave all of Luffy’s friends.

You had become a mother of sorts—a matriarch to all these misfit pirates who called the sea home. You were the unofficial wife of the Sea King, Shanks himself. Everyone saw it. The way he looked at you, the way you moved through his world without ever truly leaving yours.

And yet, despite it all, you didn’t rule by each other’s side.

The wind shifted, carrying the scent of salt and seaweed, and Shanks exhaled slowly beside you. His eyes were distant now, focused on the horizon, but there was a heaviness in his posture that wasn’t there moments ago. The weight of your shared history pressed down on him as much as it did on you. His hand rested loosely on his bottle of rum, fingers tracing the glass absentmindedly. He’d had countless battles, faced impossible odds, but nothing stung quite like this—the unspoken truth that neither of you could deny.

His voice was quieter when he spoke again, almost as if the words were too much to bear. "It does kill me, you know," he said, still staring out at the sea. "Not being able to hold you, not waking up with you by my side."

The confession hung between you, thick and painful. Your heart twisted, but you kept your eyes trained on the stars, refusing to let the emotion slip into your voice. "We have our duties," you replied softly.

"Responsibilities of the same weight, just in different forms."

Your words were practical, almost cold in their truth. But beneath them lay the same yearning, the same ache that Shanks felt. He was right—it killed him. And it killed you too. But you both knew the rules of the game.

A fish couldn’t live in the sky, and a bird couldn’t swim in the depths.

You had your village, your cadets, your rank as Vice Admiral. He had the seas, his crew, the freedom to roam wherever the wind took him.

Your lives ran parallel but never quite intersected.

He shifted beside you, finally looking your way. There was a sadness in his eyes, one he never let anyone else see. "I never wanted to cage you," he murmured.

"But I never wanted to let you go either."

You turned to him then, meeting his gaze head-on. The raw vulnerability in his expression was too much. You reached out, your fingers brushing lightly against his cheek, a small gesture of comfort in the midst of all this uncertainty.

"I know," you whispered, your voice gentle but firm.

"I know."

For a long moment, you simply held his gaze, letting the sea breeze carry away the tension between you. There was no easy answer, no solution to the impossible situation you found yourselves in.

The stars twinkled overhead, casting their gentle light over the quiet village. The night was cool, and the sea breeze carried the scent of salt, mingling with the earthy fragrance of the nearby forest. You sat beside Shanks on a grassy knoll, the two of you a striking contrast to the stillness around you. The village, your home, rested in peaceful slumber behind you, its rooftops barely visible in the low light.

You could hear the distant crash of waves against the shore, and for a brief moment, it was as though the world belonged to just the two of you.

There was a time where you both had talked about marriage. Shanks had brought it up many times over the years, his playful grin turning serious when the conversation lingered too long. You could still feel the warmth of his words, the weight of his unspoken promises, and the quiet desperation behind his eyes each time he spoke about wanting to make you his.

And yet, here you were. Still not married. Still bound by the same chains that had kept you apart for so long. You glanced over at him now, taking in the sight of the man who held your heart so tightly. His red hair, wild as ever, blew in the breeze, and the familiar scar over his eye seemed to catch the light just so.

His eyes, those deep, piercing eyes, held a softness reserved only for you, but there was something darker there too—an unspoken sorrow.

“We could’ve been married by now,” Shanks said, his voice low, cutting through the stillness. His gaze was fixed on the stars, but you knew his thoughts were off somewhere far deeper. “But I couldn’t do that to you. Not when it would ruin your life, your career.”

The words stung, but they were true. Marriage to a pirate, especially one like Shanks, would be a death sentence for your career. You’d lose everything—your rank as Vice Admiral, your home, your people.

You’d be hunted down, imprisoned, forced to leave the people you loved, the people you swore to protect. Your entire life would be torn apart.

Worst of all, they’d use you to lure out Shanks and have him killed.

And Shanks knew it. He always did.

“I love you too much to put you through that kind of pain,” he continued, his voice soft but resolute. His fingers fidgeted with the bottle of rum beside him, but there was a tension in his posture, a heaviness in his shoulders. He hated this as much as you did—this cruel twist of fate that kept you apart.

You sighed, turning your gaze back to the stars. They twinkled innocently above, indifferent to the turmoil below. “I know,” you said quietly. “But I hate the thought of us being this… couple that can never truly be together. Not for more than a night.”

The thought weighed on you constantly—the idea that you could never have a life together. That you would always be bound by your respective worlds, able to steal moments but never truly share them. You had responsibilities. You had a village to protect, cadets who relied on you, a duty that couldn’t be abandoned. And Shanks had his crew, his mission, his endless journey across the seas.

But there was more to it. You knew Shanks. He was a man of action, a man who followed his heart. And in his heart, he refused to leave this world without being joined with you before God, as he had said countless times. The idea of dying without you as his wife was a torment he didn’t express often, but you knew it haunted him.

“What if something happened to me?” he asked suddenly, his voice thick with the weight of unspoken fears. He looked at you now, his eyes full of emotion.

“What if I died? You wouldn’t have any legal right to me. You’d be left with nothing. Unless…” His voice trailed off, and a bitter smile crossed his lips. “Unless the crew managed to pull off some ‘common law marriage’ scheme."

"But we’re more than that.”

You bit your lip, feeling the tightness in your chest. The thought of losing him, of having no claim to him, no right to mourn him as his wife, was unbearable. You were worth more than that. Your love was worth more than that. You weren’t some fleeting romance or a temporary connection.

You were each other’s heart and soul, two people who had shared years of laughter, hardship, and devotion.

And Shanks wanted to make it official. He wanted to make you his woman, his wife, and let the world know that you were his in every sense of the word.

He reached out then, his hand resting gently on yours. His touch was warm, familiar, and it steadied the storm brewing inside you. “I want to make you an honest woman,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I want to stand before God and make you mine, for real. No more games, no more pretending we’re something we’re not.”

You looked down at your hands, his fingers intertwining with yours, and the warmth of his palm grounded you. He had always been your anchor, the one person who could make everything feel right, even when the world seemed against you. But this—this was bigger than anything you could’ve imagined.

“Shanks,” you began, your voice wavering.

His grip tightened ever so slightly, his gaze intense as he leaned in closer. “I know. And that’s why I’ve never pushed it. But if there’s a way—if we could find a way—"

"I’d give up everything to have you by my side.”

The raw emotion in his voice, the sheer vulnerability, tore at your heart. This man, this legendary pirate who commanded the seas, who had fought wars and won impossible battles, was here, willing to risk it all for you. And you… you were stuck between two worlds, two impossible choices.

The stars seemed to dim in that moment, as if even they felt the weight of your decision. The village behind you, quiet and peaceful, stood as a reminder of all that you had built, all that you would lose. But beside you sat the man who had claimed your heart long ago, the man who wanted nothing more than to make you his forever.

“What do we do?” you whispered, your voice barely audible against the sound of the waves.

Shanks smiled faintly, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and shook his head. “We figure it out, like we always do.”

And with that, he pulled you close, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You leaned into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, the strength in his embrace. You could lose yourself in the warmth of his presence, in the silent promise of the future you both wanted but could never fully grasp.

You pull away from Shanks' embrace slowly, feeling the warmth of his arm linger on your skin as you give him a small squeeze of reassurance. His presence, solid and comforting, is something you’ve known for so long, yet each time you step out of his hold, it feels like a tug on your heart.

With a soft sigh, you turn to face the open sky again, the stars above you glittering like a sea of diamonds.

“I could never ask you to abandon the sea,” you say quietly, breaking the stillness between you, “the same way you never asked me to abandon these people.”

The weight of those words sinks in as you reach up to take the curlers out of your hair. It’s a familiar routine, one you’ve done countless times. Yet tonight, with Shanks by your side, it feels different. There’s a certain tenderness in the air, a shared silence that speaks louder than any words ever could.

His rough, calloused fingers soon join yours, gently separating the pins and pulling each curler free. You let him help, allowing yourself to relish in the intimacy of this quiet moment.

One by one, the curlers come out, leaving your hair feeling lighter, bouncier, freer. Shanks hums softly, an old sea shanty you both know, as he carefully runs his fingers through your strands, styling it the way you like. The way he likes. His touch is surprisingly gentle for someone who’s lived such a rugged life, and you close your eyes for a moment, savoring the warmth of his hands in your hair.

There’s a stillness between you, but the energy that passes through his fingertips speaks volumes. You feel it in the way his fingers brush lightly against your scalp, in the unspoken affection he shows through every careful motion.

And all the while, there’s that look in his eyes again—the one you hate. That mix of longing and resignation, as if he’s silently saying goodbye to something he knows he can never truly keep.

Finally, when he’s satisfied with your hair, he drops his hand, letting it fall to his side, but he doesn’t look away. His gaze locks with yours, and for a moment, it feels like the world has stopped.

The stars, the village, the sea—all of it fades into the background, leaving just the two of you suspended in this fragile, bittersweet moment.

You can see the question in his eyes, the same one that’s been lingering between you for years: How much time do we have left? How many more moments like this can we steal before the world inevitably pulls us apart again?

It’s a question neither of you can answer, but it’s always there, lurking beneath every shared glance, every touch, every word left unsaid.

Below, you can hear the sounds of the crew bustling in your kitchen. Their laughter and chatter filter through the open window, grounding you in the present. Plates clink together as they wash the dishes, their voices teasing and jovial as they talk about what they’ll bring you from the market tomorrow.

You can almost picture them in your mind—scrubbing your pans with exaggerated care, making a mess of your kitchen, and scribbling down a list of things to restock your pantry. It brings a small smile to your lips, knowing they’re looking out for you in their own way.

The crew’s presence is a comfort, a reminder that you had a family on the seas. A family you’ve built with Shanks and his men. They’d never judged you for staying behind, for choosing a life of responsibility and duty over adventure. They understood you, accepted you, celebrated you, and always welcomed you back with open arms whenever you needed them.

They were your family too, in a way that was different from the villagers you protected.

Shanks, watching your expression soften, finally breaks the silence. “You know they’ll be back tomorrow, right?” he says, his voice low and teasing. “Probably with more supplies than you’ll know what to do with.”

You chuckle softly, breaking the tension as you shake your head. “I can already see it—half the market will be in my kitchen by morning.”

He laughs, a rich sound that rumbles deep in his chest, and it eases some of the ache in your heart.

Shanks’ laughter fades into a quiet hum, the sound trailing off as the two of you sit in the comforting stillness. Together, you glance over your garden, your gaze sweeping over the large pumpkins resting snugly in their beds of soil, their vibrant orange hue a testament to the months of careful tending.

The last of your harvest is waiting to be gathered—a few stubborn tomatoes clinging to their vines, and some squash ready to be plucked before the first frost. Despite the season's end, your wildflowers still bloom with surprising vitality, their colorful petals swaying gently in the cool evening breeze, defying the inevitable chill creeping in.

Shanks shifts beside you, looking down at your small patch of land as though he’s taking mental notes. He’s never been much of a gardener, but he appreciates the life you've built here. He tilts his head thoughtfully before turning to you with a familiar grin.

“I’ll clean your gutters tomorrow,” he offers with a hint of amusement in his voice, knowing full well you’d never ask him outright.

You smile softly in return, murmuring a quiet, "Thank you," that lingers between you like a secret. But then, silence falls again. The two of you begin to search for excuses to prolong the moment, your eyes wandering over the garden and the stars, avoiding the looming reality of parting.

You pull your knees up to your chest, resting your chin atop them, making yourself smaller as the cool night air gently settles around your shoulders.

Shanks moves beside you, his hand lifting slightly as though to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, but he hesitates. Instead, his fingers shift course, and he cups your cheek with the softest touch. His thumb moves in slow circles over the apple of your cheek, the roughness of his skin a contrast to the tender way he holds you.

It’s such a simple gesture, yet it carries with it a thousand unspoken words, memories, and years of shared longing.

His touch lingers, pulling your gaze upward, and you meet his eyes. For a moment, the world seems to fade away. The years flash before you like a slideshow—quick scenes of laughter, of whispered promises, of stolen moments that felt too fleeting.

You can see it in his eyes too, the weight of time, the shared joy and heartache, all caught in that brief exchange. It overwhelms you, the thought of how much time has passed, how much you’ve both given and lost to the lives you’ve chosen.

Before you can stop yourself, you crawl into his arms, your body moving on instinct as you bury your face against his chest. His arms immediately wrap around you, pulling you close, holding you as though you might disappear at any moment. Shanks doesn’t say a word, and for that, you’re grateful. He understands.

He always does.

You feel the tightness in your throat, and as your tears begin to gather, you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to keep them at bay. But it’s no use. The warmth of Shanks’ embrace, the quiet hum of the night, the distant sounds of the crew still lingering in the kitchen—it all presses down on you, and a tear slips free, soaking into the fabric of his shirt. You know he feels it, but he doesn’t comment. He just holds you tighter.

Shanks rests his chin atop your head, his breath slow and steady, but you can feel the slight tremble in his arms. He’s fighting his own tears, just like you. The weight of all the years, all the distance, all the longing—it’s too much for either of you to bear alone, but together, in this small stolen moment, it’s almost manageable.

A breeze rustles through the trees, sending a few stray leaves fluttering down into the garden below. The wildflowers sway again, their petals catching the moonlight in a delicate dance. Above, the stars continue to shine, as if oblivious to the heavy silence that hangs between you.

The world continues on, indifferent to your pain, but in Shanks’ arms, it feels like, just for a moment, the two of you are the only ones in it.

Neither of you speaks. You don’t need to. The tears you shed, the way you cling to him, the way he holds you close—all of it says more than words ever could. Neither of you wants to break the fragile moment, both knowing that the weight of your responsibilities keeps you from being together in the way your hearts long for.

Suddenly, with a shift of movement, Shanks stands, taking you with him in a single fluid motion. His arm slides under your bottom, steadying you as he bounces you up to secure your position.

You yelp in surprise, wrapping your arms around his neck and instinctively hooking your legs around his waist. A laugh bubbles from your lips, despite the lingering sadness, as he effortlessly carries you down from the roof.

The soft crunch of grass beneath his boots fills the quiet air, mingling with the distant sound of waves crashing against the rocky shore.

Shanks walks for what feels like forever, carrying you down the steep path toward the beach. You keep your eyes closed, resting your head against his shoulder, listening to the rhythm of his steps and the gentle lull of the ocean.

When you finally open your eyes, you see Shanks has a small dinghy set up near the water, a modest lantern flickering at its side. He sets you down gently, taking a step back before bowing dramatically, a roguish smile playing at his lips.

“My lady, would you do me the honor,” he says in mock formality, “of joining me on the water tonight?”

Your heart flutters, a mix of excitement and hesitation swelling in your chest. The responsible part of you screams that you have work tomorrow, that you could be seen. But your heart—oh, your heart aches to say yes. After all, so little happens here, and no one’s likely keeping watch. You gaze at the man you’ve loved for more than half your life, his eyes shimmering with the moonlight and something deeper.

“How could I refuse such a gracious offer from a fine gentleman like yourself?” you respond playfully, your lips curving into a smile.

Shanks grins and takes your hand, helping you step into the small boat before he pushes off from the shore. The dinghy rocks gently as the ocean cradles it, the sound of water lapping against the hull blending with the night’s peaceful rhythm. Soon, the lantern’s glow is the only thing illuminating the quiet waters as the two of you drift farther from the beach.

The moonlight glistens on the surface of the ocean, catching the peaks of the waves like scattered diamonds. The soft, silvery light bathes the world around you in a dreamlike glow, and for a moment, it feels as though time has slowed, leaving just you, Shanks, and the sea.

You dip your fingers into the cool water, feeling its gentle caress against your skin. Shanks chuckles softly beside you, warning, “Mind your hands.”

You splash him lightly in response, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. The two of you share a quiet laugh, the tension easing as you lose yourselves in the serenity of the ocean.

'This,' you think, is what you’ve always loved most about sailing—the way the world transforms under the night sky, how the ocean becomes a tranquil mirror reflecting the stars above. It’s a reminder of how vast and beautiful the world is, even in its quiet moments.

Leaning over the side of the boat, you gaze down into the water, marveling at the world below. The fish and sea creatures seem to be sleeping, floating peacefully just beneath the surface. Everything feels so calm, so different from the chaos of the day. The ocean’s gentle lull, the stars twinkling above—it’s all mesmerizing.

But for Shanks, the real beauty isn’t the ocean or the stars—it’s you. He watches as you lose yourself in the wonder of the world around you, your eyes alight with curiosity and joy, your smile so radiant it could rival the sun.

You don’t even realize it, but to him, you’ve always been the most ethereal sight, the one thing that makes this vast, untamable world feel like home.

The boat drifts gently on the quiet waters, the two of you nestled against each other as the lantern’s soft glow casts a warm circle of light. The ocean hums in the background, the sound of the waves gently slapping against the sides of the dinghy, while overhead, the stars twinkle like tiny beacons of light in the vast night sky.

It feels as though the world beyond the sea doesn’t exist, and for a while, you both simply enjoy the tranquility.

But soon, conversation naturally flows between you and Shanks, the easy back-and-forth of two souls who have shared a lifetime of stories and adventures. Luffy comes up first, his boundless energy and unshakable optimism always making you smile. Then there’s Ace, Uta, Sabo—each memory shared with fondness and a tinge of sadness as you recall the times spent with them, wondering where life will lead them next.

Shanks talks about Buggy, and you can’t help but chuckle at his long-time friend’s antics. “Buggy’s going to find the One Piece before any of us,” you tease, leaning back into Shanks' warmth. “Can’t wait to see the look on your face when he does.”

Shanks grins, shaking his head. “If that clown gets there first, I might just retire early,” he jokes, the humor in his voice laced with the familiarity of an old friendship.

Then, as conversations between you often do, the topic shifts to the grand mystery that’s captivated the world—the One Piece. You tilt your head, watching the moonlight dance over the water, your thoughts racing with ridiculous theories.

“You know,” you begin, your tone half-serious, “I think the real reason Benn’s wanted dead is because of his past in the Marines.”

Shanks raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Go on…”

You lean in, voice dropping conspiratorially. “I think Benn knows what the One Piece really is.”

Shanks smirks, amused by your sudden shift into wild theorizing. “Oh? And what’s that?”

You can’t help but grin, the ridiculousness of your idea bubbling up. “It’s a wax strip.”

He blinks, staring at you like you’ve lost your mind. “A… wax strip?”

“Yep,” you say, trying to keep a straight face. “You see, back in the day, there was this legendary sleepover with Monkey D. Dragon, Gold Roger, and Whitebeard. They tried this beauty regiment, you know, to keep their rugged looks under control. But something went horribly wrong, and now Dragon’s been walking around without eyebrows ever since.”

Shanks stares at you, and you can see the moment the absurdity of your theory sinks in. His eyes widen in disbelief before a bark of laughter escapes him. “Wait— so Dragon lost his eyebrows during a sleepover with Roger?!”

You nod solemnly. “Exactly. And the One Piece is the last remaining proof of that night—a wax strip containing Dragon’s eyebrows. That’s why they had to execute Roger, to keep the secret from getting out!”

Shanks doubles over, his laughter coming in great, booming waves. His whole body shakes with it, and he grips the edge of the boat, trying to steady himself.

“I— I can’t—” he chokes out between gasps for breath. His face is flushed, tears of laughter threatening to spill from his eyes.

You can’t help but join him, your own giggles bubbling up as you watch him lose it completely. You let go of the oars to clutch your stomach, trying not to tip the boat over as the two of you howl with laughter.

“I’m serious!” you manage to get out, though the ridiculousness of your own theory makes it hard to keep your voice steady.

Shanks wheezes, wiping a hand across his face. “Eyebrows… eyebrows… with a wax strip!”

He shakes his head, barely able to breathe as he leans back against the side of the boat, still snickering.

“I swear, only you could come up with something like that.”

The boat sways gently beneath you as you both try to regain control, and you grab the oars, taking over steering the dinghy while Shanks continues to laugh. You glance back at him, shaking your head in mock frustration.

“Well, someone’s gotta steer while you recover from my genius theory.”

Shanks sits up, trying to catch his breath. His eyes are still sparkling with mirth, the solemnity that had clouded them earlier completely wiped away by your absurdity. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and looks at you with a grin that’s both affectionate and teasing. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

You shrug, still chuckling. “Maybe. But I’ve kept you entertained all these years, haven’t I?”

He nods, his laughter finally dying down, but his smile remains. “That you have.” His voice softens, and the mood between you shifts slightly, the laughter giving way to something quieter, more intimate.

Moonlight reflects off the water, the gentle rocking of the boat creating a sense of calm that wraps around you both. As you dip your fingers into the cool water again, feeling the sea’s steady pulse, you can’t help but smile to yourself.

The beauty of the night, the ridiculousness of your conversation, and the way Shanks looks at you—everything feels perfect, like the ocean has swallowed up all the heaviness of the world and left you with just this moment.

And though Shanks has stopped laughing, he’s still watching you, his gaze filled with that familiar warmth. The sight of you leaning over the boat, eyes full of wonder as you take in the night sky and the calm waters, never fails to amaze him.

To him, you’re the real treasure in this world, your joy and curiosity shining brighter than any moon or stars.

Soon, it becomes even later, and you both return to your house. The house is still as you and Shanks quietly slip through the front door, the faint scent of saltwater and sea clinging to your clothes.

The soft sound of your slippers barely echoes as you both tiptoe through the rooms, careful not to wake the sleeping crew scattered across your kitchen and dining room.

Blankets and pillows have been pulled from the guest closet, and you can make out the tangled mess of limbs, chests rising and falling in peaceful slumber. Someone’s snoring lightly, and the soft murmur of sleep-talking drifts through the air as you navigate past them.

You exchange a glance with Shanks, and a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. It feels like sneaking in after a long adventure, the comforting sense of home mingling with the reminder of the fleeting time you have together. His hand brushes yours, a fleeting touch that anchors you in the moment as you both climb the stairs with careful steps, finally making your way to your bedroom.

Once inside, you close the door gently behind you. The familiar scent of your sheets, the worn, cozy blankets, and the soft light filtering through the curtains create an intimate cocoon. Shanks shrugs off his coat, hanging it on the bedpost, and you can’t help but grin at the casual ease of it all.

For a moment, it feels like he’s never left.

“Have you taken any lovers since I last saw you?” you tease, your voice low and playful as you sit on the edge of the bed, pulling off his boots.

“I keep telling you that it wasn’t like that with Mihawk!” Shanks replied, his voice hushed but carrying a laugh.

“So you say,” you quip, eyes twinkling with mischief. But there’s no jealousy in your words, only the shared understanding that the bond between you both could never be betrayed.

You both giggle, the sound soft and intimate, knowing full well that neither of you would ever stray. Shanks stands, stepping over to your dresser where your anchor earrings sit. He plucks them up and then reaches into his pocket, retrieving a new set of earrings shaped like a ship's helm. Without a word, he places them next to your old ones, the subtle gesture saying more than words ever could.

A piece of him, left with you.

You crawl back under the covers, the weight of the day catches up with you, the sea breeze still lingering on your skin. Shanks settles beside you, watching you with that ever-present glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

You watch him, a warm feeling blooming in your chest. He turns back to you, and before he can slip under the covers, you reach out, cupping his face with your hands. Your fingers poke and prod at him, squishing his cheeks in playful teasing.

His skin is warm under your touch, rough from years at sea, but familiar. You even pick at his scruff a bit. He squints at you in mock offense, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Go ahead, bite me,” you challenge with a grin, your voice barely above a whisper but playful nonetheless.

Shanks chuckles through his nose, his teeth flashing in the low light as he leans in and gently snaps his jaws at you, catching your finger between his teeth in the softest, most careful bite. He holds it there for a second before kissing it gently, the warmth of his lips sending a shiver down your spine.

You pull your hand back and snuggle down into the mattress, pulling the blankets up to your chin. Shanks joins you, his strong arms slipping around you as the two of you settle into the comfort of each other’s presence. His body is warm and familiar, his scent a mix of the ocean and the faint hint of rum.

The silence stretches out, peaceful but heavy with unspoken words. Shanks’ voice breaks it first, quiet and reflective.

“I’ll be gone in the morning.”

You swallow, your throat tightening at the inevitable. “I know,” you whisper, staring at the dark ceiling.

He shifts beside you, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm. “I’m going to miss you,” he says, his voice barely above a murmur, filled with a tenderness that makes your chest ache.

“As will I,” you manage to say, though the words feel too small for the weight of what you feel.

A beat of silence passes before Shanks speaks again, this time his voice softer, more serious. “Can I tell you something?”

You turn your head to look at him, your eyes searching his face in the dim light. “Yes?”

He hesitates for just a moment, and when he speaks, his words are laced with raw emotion.

“I love you.”

The confession makes your heart clench, the quiet sincerity of it hitting you like a wave. You’ve known it, felt it in the way he’s always treated you, but hearing it spoken aloud—especially now, on the edge of another departure—makes part of you want to cry.

“I… I love you too,” you whisper, your voice trembling despite yourself.

Shanks’ hand moves to your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that escapes before you even realize it’s there. “In case I die tomorrow,” he says softly, his voice barely a breath, “I want you to hear it one more time.”

“I love you.”

The words hang in the air between you, and you can’t help but bury your face against his chest, trying to hold back the sob that threatens to escape. His arms tighten around you, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, grounding you in the present.

You close your eyes, willing the moment to last, even as the heaviness of his impending departure settles over both of you like a storm cloud waiting to burst.

The morning light pours through your window, casting long shadows on the wooden floor. You stir, reaching out to the empty space beside you, and, as expected, find it cold.

Shanks is gone, true to his word. You sigh softly, sitting up in bed, pulling the covers around you for just a moment longer. But then the smell of freshly baked bread wafts through the house, and your curiosity draws you downstairs.

In the kitchen, everything is pristine. The countertops gleam, your pantry is fully restocked, and a neat stack of notes sits on the stove. You pick one up, recognizing Benn’s precise, no-nonsense handwriting.

A brief note, polite as ever, informing you that everything was taken care of: your gutters cleaned, garden weeded, and the trash dutifully taken out.

You smile at the thoroughness of it all, imagining Shanks probably supervising the entire crew to ensure everything was done right. Your eyes drift to the corner of the room where your favorite scarf used to hang, only to notice it’s missing.

In its place, a vibrant red sash and a neatly wrapped box for your pistols now rest, a clear sign that Shanks had left a part of himself behind once more.

You pick up the red sash and hold it for a moment, feeling the soft fabric between your fingers. Then, with a sigh, you begin to get dressed, opting for something simple at first—a starch white blouse that feels cool against your skin, paired with a navy blue pencil skirt.

But as time ticks away, the pressure of duty calls, and you finally surrender to the full uniform. You button up the military jacket with its crisp white fabric, pull on your cap, and lace up your combat boots.

The final touch is the red sash, which you tie snugly around your waist for comfort, a small piece of Shanks’ world blending with your own.

Stepping outside, the morning air feels crisp, the breeze carrying the faint scent of the sea. You make the familiar walk down the hill, your boots crunching over the dirt path, your thoughts scattered between Shanks’ departure and the day ahead. As you near the village, however, you’re met with an unusual commotion. There’s a buzz of excitement in the marketplace, people whispering and pointing toward the docks.

You pick up your pace, weaving through the crowded market, dodging vendors and children playing in the streets. The sound of hurried feet matches the beat of your heart as you make your way to the docks. And then you see it: the unmistakable sight of Admiral Garp’s great ship, its massive sails billowing as it rolls into the harbor.

The towering figure of Garp stands at the helm, his broad shoulders and unmistakable grin visible even from this distance.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, relief washing over you. With a quick salute to the other marines at the docks, you leap onto the ship, barely giving the cadets time to register your presence. They jump aside as you dart past them, your eyes fixed on the familiar figure ahead.

Before you can even greet him properly, Garp’s arms are around you, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. His laugh is loud and booming, the kind that shakes your entire frame. His massive hand slaps your back with affection, the force almost sending you stumbling.

“There you are!” Garp beams, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I was starting to think I’d have to drag you down from that hill of yours.”

You chuckle breathlessly, your ribs aching wonderfully from the sheer force of his hug.

“You know I wouldn’t miss you coming into town, old man.”

Before you can say more, you feel a small weight cling to your hip. Looking down, you see a pair of tiny arms wrapped around your waist. A bright pair of curious eyes look up at you, and a grin splits your face as you recognize the small boy holding onto you.

Your heart swells as you see the familiar bright eyes of your seven-year-old son, his small arms wrapping tightly around your waist. His fiery red hair, unmistakably like his father’s, catches the sunlight, creating a soft halo around his cherubic face. His smile mirrors yours, full of joy and innocence.

Not far behind him is your oldest daughter, walking with that confident stride you’ve seen in yourself for years. She’s fifteen now, her auburn hair rich and vibrant, carefully styled the half braided way you taught her, cascading down her shoulders in waves.

Her face is your mirror image, except for her eyes—either wide, deep pools like the night sky reflected in the ocean or sharp and cunning, with a twinkle of mischievous intent that’s all her own.

Or maybe a repressed part of you.

“Mom!” your son exclaims, his small hand reaching for yours. You scoop him up in one swift motion, hugging him close to your heart. Your daughter sidles up next to you, her arms crossing playfully as she surveys the scene with that knowing smirk.

“Miss me?” you ask, ruffling your son’s hair and pressing a quick kiss to his temple. He giggles, nodding vigorously before trying to wriggle free.

“Of course, they missed you,” Garp chimes in, a grin on his face as he watches the reunion. “Though I think they enjoy ‘grandpa’ time more than they let on.”

You give Garp a grateful nod. “Thanks again for keeping them busy. I know how much they love running around with you.”

Your daughter laughs, her voice ringing with a mix of sarcasm and sincerity. “Oh yeah, grandpa has the best stories, especially the ones about how he used to throw cannonballs at people.”

You shoot her a look that says behave, but she just winks at you, flipping her auburn hair over her shoulder. Her brother, ever eager to help, adjusts the strap of her large bag that he’s somehow decided to carry for her. She, in turn, holds his much smaller backpack, their roles hilariously reversed as they shuffle beside you.

You three start the walk back home, their small hands in yours, swinging gently as they chatter about their adventures with "grandpa."

Your son’s voice is filled with awe as he recounts how Garp taught him to dodge imaginary cannonballs, while your daughter’s tone is more measured, full of wit as she talks about navigating the ship’s rigging like a pro.

“I could totally be a pirate, you know,” your daughter muses, casting a sidelong glance at you, her auburn hair gleaming in the sun.

“Not like a bad one, just… you know, one of those good ones, like Uncle Luffy.”

You smile knowingly, squeezing her hand. “A pirate, huh? You know your dad wouldn’t be too happy to hear that.”

She shrugs, a mischievous glint in her eye. “He’s not here to say no, is he?”

Your son giggles at that, tugging on your arm as he jumps over a small rock.

"But I’m gonna be a marine! Just like you, Mama. And fight bad guys!"

His enthusiasm is contagious, and you can't help but laugh, thinking how they’ve inherited the best and most chaotic traits from both you and Shanks.

As you reach the house, the familiar creak of the door welcomes you home. Your son immediately kicks off his shoes, darting into the living room while your daughter takes a more measured approach, carefully setting down her bag and tidying up the space as if it’s her own personal domain.

“I’ll get changed,” your daughter calls out, already halfway up the stairs with your son at her heels.

“Don’t take too long,” you respond, your voice trailing after them. You take a moment to breathe, the house suddenly quiet save for the faint sounds of your children settling into their routine.

Your gaze falls on the kitchen counter, where the notes from Shanks' crew are stacked neatly. You pick them up, glancing at the distinct handwriting. These notes are a secret you’ve kept close to your heart, carefully hidden from prying eyes.

Not even Shanks knows about the of half of life you’ve built here. The villagers think you’re married to a man who works overseas. Only a few, like Mihawk and Luffy’s crew, have come close to uncovering the truth.

With the notes safely tucked into your purse, you can’t help but glance around the house—a place where every corner holds a memory of you and the kids. It’s a life filled with quiet joys, secrets woven into the fabric of your everyday life, a delicate balance between worlds.

The thought of Shanks lingers in the back of your mind, but for now, it's pushed aside as you focus on your children. They’re your best-kept secret, a legacy of love and strength that connects you to both the sea and the land, as you’ve always been torn between the two.

You watch as your daughter, Mariana, comes bounding down the stairs, her curly auburn hair bouncing with every step. She looks like a flash of sunlight, her bright eyes scanning the room as she carries her silver sandals in hand. You can’t help but smile—she’s always been so full of life, a perfect mix of your stubbornness and her father’s boundless energy. Her bare feet pad softly against the wooden floor, and she glances at you with a mischievous grin.

“Mom, are there any snacks?” she asks, already half-knowing the answer.

You tilt your head toward the back door, giving her a playful look.

"There’s still fruit from the yard."

“Score!” she exclaims, her excitement bubbling over as she practically skips toward the back door, already dreaming of the sweet taste of ripe peaches.

You watch as she swings the screen door open with a flick of her wrist, the sunlight filtering through and casting a golden glow over her figure. Her silhouette looks so much like you at that age, yet there’s something else—something wild and untamed about her that reminds you of the sea.

It reminds you of him.

You sigh, feeling that familiar weight pressing on your chest. Shanks doesn’t know. He’s never known. And every day, as Mariana grows more curious and your son becomes more aware, the burden of that secret becomes heavier. You’ve managed to avoid the question time and time again, especially with Mariana.

She’s smart—too smart for her own good—and every so often, her sharp, inquisitive nature leads her to ask about her father. You’ve always found a way to deflect, to change the subject, but with each passing year, it feels like you’re running out of excuses.

Your son, on the other hand, barely asks. He’s content in his little world, more attached to you and the village than Mariana ever has been. But that doesn’t lessen the guilt you feel. The worst part of it all?

You’ve never told Shanks. Not one word.

He doesn’t know that he has a daughter who shares his vibrant spirit, or a son with his piercing red hair.

He doesn’t know that the two children running through your home, laughing, playing, and growing up in the safety of this small village, are his.

And how could he?

How could you shatter his world with the truth? He’s worked his whole life to protect the seas, to maintain the balance of power, to keep the chaos at bay. You know what kind of man Shanks is—if he knew, he’d give it all up in a heartbeat to be here. To be with you. To raise them.

And who would be there to keep peace in the seas then?

You loved the village, the safety it provided. It was your sanctuary, a place where you didn’t have to worry about your children being held for ransom or hunted like some sick prize because of who their father is.

But every time you think of that last visit with Shanks, when he stood in your kitchen, laughing with you and stealing glances like he always had, it took everything in you not to crumble. To not bow and confess everything—the sins, the secrets, the life you’ve hidden from him for so long.

A part of you wanted to. You wanted to fall at his feet and tell him the truth, to take his hand and show him the family he didn’t know he had. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

"Mom, I'm staying outside!" Mariana’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. You look up, seeing her standing by the back door, already slipping her sandals on.

"Don’t go too far!" you call after her, though you know she’s probably already halfway back to the peach tree, her favorite spot in the yard. You smile despite the ache in your heart.

Mariana, so full of life, is your pride and joy. She’s quick-witted and cunning, always one step ahead of everyone, including you. It’s the same kind of cleverness you’ve seen in Shanks a thousand times, the way he always seemed to anticipate what was coming before anyone else did.

You wonder how long it’ll be before she pieces it all together—the resemblance, the stories, the red hair her brother shares with the infamous pirate.

As she disappears into the garden, you run a hand over the kitchen counter, absently picking at the sash left by Shanks. Your eyes scan the outside, but your mind is elsewhere. Shanks is out there, somewhere, unaware of the legacy he’s left behind.

The truth lingers in the air, unspoken, but ever-present. And one day, you know, you won’t be able to keep it hidden any longer.

Mariana, your star of the sea, was already off in the yard, likely sitting high in the branches of the peach tree with her sandals discarded in the grass. Her laughter echoed faintly through the open window, blending with the soft rustle of the breeze.

Inside, Luca, your moon, was making his usual descent—sliding down the banister of the stairs, too lazy to take them step by step. His red hair caught the light from the window as he landed with a thud, standing proudly before you with a mischievous grin plastered across his face.

“Oh, Luca,” you murmur, shaking your head with affection as he strides over to you, his chest puffed out. “What am I going to do with you?”

Luca, your greatest helper when it came to finding the “best” rocks on the beach. Who was very bit as in awe of the world around you. Who was skittish of thunder but always ready and willing to fight for his sister. His little arms always holding some wild creature that he’s found while exploring. Picking twigs out of his sister's hair while he himself was covered in sand.

The little one who had once dyed his hair blue using paint because he was curious about how it would look.

If you had to pick him from a line up of other children with a resemblance to Shanks you’d choose this cool little dude that has a heart as big as his father.

Luca doesn’t answer, only beams up at you with those bright eyes—your eyes—and you scoop him up into your arms despite his whines.

His legs kick in mock protest, but you kiss his round cheeks anyway, peppering his face with affection. His giggles fill the room, that sweet, innocent laughter that tugs at your heart.

“Stop! I’m a man!” he squeals between fits of laughter, trying to wriggle out of your embrace.

“Oh, a man, are you?” you tease, holding him tighter and pressing another kiss to his forehead. “Well, this man is still my baby boy.”

You hold him close, feeling the warmth of his small body against yours, and for a moment, everything feels perfect.

Just you and your children in the safety of your home, far away from the dangers of the sea. You smooth a hand over Luca’s red hair, wondering—if Shanks could see this, if he could see how much Luca looks like him—would he even need you to say the words?

Raising them without him had been the hardest thing you’d ever done. It felt wrong, every lie, every evasion of the truth, every time you had to cover up why you couldn’t tell him.

You’d sent aid when you couldn’t be there for a fight, feigned illness or some convenient excuse when he’d visited on nights the children were staying in your room.

On those nights, you’d stayed downstairs, telling Shanks it was for old times’ sake, a ‘slumber party’ for the two of you, when in reality, you were protecting the secret that grew harder to contain with each passing day.

You’d felt Benn’s eyes on you, too. How many times had he nearly stumbled upon the bottles, pacifiers, and toys you’d hastily hidden? Maybe he already knew and was keeping your secret, but you’d never asked. The fewer people who knew, the safer your children would be.

Luca’s laughter dies down, and he nuzzles into you, resting his head on your shoulder. The weight of his small form in your arms feels like the weight of the world at times, the burden of secrets and lies pressing down on you. But here, now, in this moment, it’s just you and your son.

You don’t hear the footsteps outside. You don’t hear the soft creak of your front door opening or the steady sound of boots on the wooden floor. You're too wrapped up in Luca, kissing his cheeks again, earning another round of giggles. It’s only when you hear your name being called—familiar, yet unexpected—that your heart skips a beat.

“My love?”

The voice is unmistakable, and your breath catches in your throat as you turn, still holding Luca in your arms. There, standing in the entryway, is Shanks.

The room seems to shrink, and time feels like it slows to a crawl. Shanks stands in the doorway, sunlight framing his figure, his usual carefree smile faltering slightly as his eyes land on you and Luca.

There’s a moment of silence, thick with unspoken words and heavy with the weight of what you’ve hidden for so long. Luca, oblivious to the tension, wriggles in your arms, his small voice breaking through the quiet.

“Mama, who’s that?”

Your heart pounds in your chest as Shanks’ gaze shifts to Luca, his eyes widening slightly. For a moment, he looks at Luca—really looks at him—and you can see the realization starting to dawn on his face. The same red hair, your sweet grin, the spark of life in his eyes.

“y/n…”

End of part 1, second half to be posted 09/09/24

Pppppssssssssssttttttt,

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Edit: Part 2 is up now!!!

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#shanks x reader #red haired shanks #shanks opla #one piece live action #one piece #opla #captain shanks #red hair shanks

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kultkorner · 2 days ago

Text

LITERALLY FOAMING AT THE MOUTH 😫💕💕

If you really love me, let me go PII

Parings: Red Haired Shanks x Vice Admiral! Reader

Prompt: Hey Mami! Soo I've been thinking about our beloved Shanks x Vice admiral!Reader. Cuz why not? He's so carefree, so it would be nice to see him with someone who is the opposite of him.

This is Part 2 and the final installment of this story.

For, @orange-milky who gave me the prompt for this story. Always making me flustered with their nicknames for me.

ON WITH THE SHOW!!~~

“y/n…”

Shanks’ voice is quieter now, a question lingering on his lips, one you’ve dreaded for years.

At first, Shanks couldn’t quite make sense of the scene unfolding in front of him. He had sensed the girl playing in the backyard the moment he stepped closer to your house—the faint sound of laughter drifting in the breeze as she swung from a tree, her flowy green dress catching in the sunlight.

He had even seen you from the window, bending down to pick something up, but he hadn’t expected that "something" to be a someone.

For a brief second, Shanks’ mind flashed to another time—a memory of you with Luffy. The way you had scooped the small boy up and perched him on your hip, kissing the scar on his cheek with such natural, motherly tenderness.

It had been then, in that moment, that he had first imagined what it might be like to be a dad and have children with you. The thought had come so effortlessly, like it had always been there in the back of his mind, waiting for a reason to surface.

That wasn’t all.

Shanks remembered the day he knew you were the one he wanted to call his girl—the day he saw you hurl a needle into the eye of an opposing Marine admiral in the middle of a hurricane without missing. The sheer precision, the raw confidence, and the way the storm made your wild hair cling to your face... it was breathtaking.

And when you had smiled at him for the first time, after being stoic in the beginning, he knew in his heart that he wanted you to be his wife.

But this... this was something different entirely.

At first, he thought maybe you had company. You always did draw people to you like moths to a flame, your natural charm pulling in anyone who crossed your path. He figured some friends had dropped by—people with children. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for you.

But when the little boy nestled in your arms turned to look at you and said, “Mama,” Shanks felt like the world stopped spinning.

“Mama.”

That one simple word felt like a cannonball straight to his chest. It knocked the wind out of him, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. His heart clenched painfully, a tightness in his throat he hadn’t felt in years. You had always been able to surprise him, but this... this was something he couldn’t have anticipated, not even in his wildest dreams or worst fears.

Shanks stood frozen in the doorway, unable to move, unable to think. His mouth felt dry, and all the air in the room seemed to vanish. His mind raced, trying to make sense of what he had just heard, trying to replay the moment in his head to confirm it wasn’t the rum still coursing through his system.

His eyes darted between you and the boy, searching for any explanation, any reason that could make sense of this. But it was undeniable—the boy had your face, your eyes, and his hair... God, his hair was red, just like his own! Shanks’ heart pounded harder.

Was this real?

Had you... had you really kept this from him?

For how long?

‘Why?’

You could see the shift in his expression, the flicker of realization sparking behind his eyes as his gaze grew darker, more confused. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. His hand, the one that always held so much power and steadiness, trembled just a little at his side.

He clenched his fist, swallowing hard as he tried to ground himself, but the weight of it all was crashing down faster than he could process.

The little boy—Luca, you’d said his name was, hadn’t you?—squirmed in your arms, oblivious to the tension hanging thick in the air. He giggled again, reaching up to touch your cheek, his tiny hand brushing your skin with such innocence, completely unaware of the storm brewing just behind him.

“y/n… ” Shanks finally managed to say, his voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper. The words cracked as they left his throat, laden with confusion and hurt, though he fought to keep his composure. “Who... who is this?”

The question was simple, but the emotion behind it was anything but. You could see it—feel it—in the way his eyes searched yours, desperate for an answer, desperate to understand why the woman he loved had hidden something so monumental from him.

You held Luca a little closer, your heart racing as you met Shanks' gaze, knowing there was no more running from the truth.

"Mom! Are we leaving soon? Oh."

Mariana had raced back into the house, her sandals clutched in one hand as she ran. Her face was flushed with excitement, eager to get back to town and discuss the details of her latest adventure with her friends. But as soon as she stepped into the living room, her excitement faltered, her gaze quickly shifting from you to the tall red-haired man standing in the doorway.

She saw you standing protectively over Luca, your arms encircling him as if to shield him from harm. Your face, usually so composed and unflappable, was now clouded with a mix of fear and uncertainty. The sight was enough to make Mariana’s heart race with alarm.

You, her vice admiral mother? The legendary figure who sailed through storms as if they were mere playgrounds, her ship slicing through turbulent waves with a thrill that bordered on defiance?

The daring woman who preferred to dive into the abyssal depths of the ocean, where most would fear to venture, embracing the dark and enigmatic waters with an insatiable curiosity?

Her mother, who commanded duel pistols with such precision and flair that she could have dazzled the world with a thousand breathtaking gun tricks?

The same mother who governed as a Vice admiral, her name whispered with awe and reverence across the seven seas, known throughout the nearby islands for her serene and steadfast duty of nurturing Kehlani Village? Her mother was–

afraid?

In an instant, her instincts kicked in. She didn’t fully understand what was happening, but she knew she had to act. Her small frame tensed, and her eyes narrowed as a protective rage bubbled up inside her.

Without a second thought, she activated her Haki, her aura flaring with a palpable intensity that filled the room.

The air seemed to thicken around Shanks as the powerful force of her Haki enveloped him. The change was immediate and unmistakable—his relaxed posture stiffened, and his eyes widened in surprise as he felt the weight of her presence pressing down on him.

Mariana’s anger surged through the room like a tangible wave, her emotions channeled into a commanding presence that left no room for argument.

“Get out!” Mariana’s voice was sharp and authoritative, imbued with a strength far beyond her years. Her small hand pointed decisively towards the door, her gaze locked onto Shanks with a steely resolve that belied her age. She was not just a child; she was a protector, and she was determined to keep her family safe from whatever threat this stranger posed.

Shanks stumbled slightly, caught off guard by the sheer force of the young girl’s command. His usually confident demeanor was now replaced with confusion and a hint of fear. He had always known children could be special, but seeing her wielding her Haki with such raw power was a revelation that left him momentarily speechless.

You, too, were taken aback by the sudden turn of events. The sight of Mariana standing up so fiercely, her small frame radiating an aura that demanded respect, was both impressive and heartbreaking. You could see the determination in her eyes, a mirror of the strength you had hoped to instill in her.

“Mariana, stop!” you finally managed to call out, your voice tinged with both urgency and desperation. You reached out to her, but she didn’t waver. Her focus remained solely on Shanks, her Haki still directed at him, making it clear she wouldn’t back down until he left.

“Mom, who is he?” Mariana’s voice trembled slightly, the authority in her tone giving way to the confusion of a child who had just discovered that the world wasn’t as simple as she once thought.

“Why is he here?”

Your heart ached at her words, the protective instincts of a mother clashing with the need to protect your children from the harsh truths of the world. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you faced both Shanks and your daughter.

“Mariana, please,” you said softly, trying to deescalate the situation.

“He’s someone from my past. It’s complicated.”

Shanks, still grappling with the intensity of Mariana’s Haki, took a step back.

The standoff in your living room was charged with palpable tension. Mariana’s Haki shimmered with fierce determination, her small figure standing defiantly as she directed her raw power at Shanks. Shanks, in turn, squared his shoulders and met her gaze with an intensity that matched her own.

The air crackled with their combined aura, a silent battle of wills as they locked eyes in a high-stakes staring contest.

Luca, his wide eyes reflecting the chaos around him, clung to you tightly, his small body pressed against your side. He looked up at you with a mix of fear and confusion, his tiny hands gripping your jacket as he sensed the seriousness of the situation. His gaze flicked between Shanks and his sister, caught in the whirlwind of emotions and unspoken words.

Desperation gripped you. Your voice was swallowed by the overwhelming presence of the Haki clash. “Mariana, Shanks, please!” you pleaded, but your voice fell on deaf ears.

Behind Shanks, the rest of the red-haired crew stood in the doorway, their expressions a blend of curiosity and concern. They shifted uneasily, exchanging glances but staying silent, unsure of how to intervene.

They looked on with a mixture of curiosity and concern, their eyes flickering from Shanks to you and back again. It was clear that they were unsure whether to intervene or stay out of it, their loyalty to you both keeping them rooted but alert.

The commotion had attracted attention from outside, and you saw the imposing figure of Garp bounding up the steps to your house. His heavy footsteps thudded loudly, the sound of his approach adding an additional layer of urgency to the already tense scene.

You knew that words alone wouldn’t bridge the gap between Mariana’s unyielding resolve and Shanks’s own formidable aura. The weight of the situation pressed heavily on you, your thoughts racing as you desperately sought a way to defuse the standoff.

With a steely resolve, you reached for your pistols, pulling them from their holsters with practiced ease. The metallic clink of the guns echoed through the room as you aimed carefully.

Without hesitation, you fired two warning shots into the ceiling. The sharp cracks of the gunfire reverberated through the room, and the sound of plaster and dust raining down punctuated the noise. The sudden, jarring interruption shattered the intense focus between Mariana and Shanks.

The force of the shots broke the spell, causing both of them to flinch and turn their attention towards the source of the commotion.

Mariana’s Haki wavered, her concentration broken by the startling sound. She blinked rapidly, her stance faltering as she took in the sight of you with your pistols drawn. Her fierce expression softened slightly as she realized the gravity of the situation.

Shanks, too, broke his intense gaze, his shoulders slumping slightly as he turned to look at you. His eyes held a mixture of surprise and understanding, his own aura dissipating as he took in the scene before him.

Luca’s grip around your middle tightened, his small frame trembling slightly as he looked up at you with wide, worried eyes. You reached down to reassure him, placing a calming hand on his head as you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself amidst the chaos.

Garp’s booming voice echoed through the open door as he arrived, his presence adding to the already fraught atmosphere. “What’s going on here?” he bellowed, his gaze shifting from the tense standoff to you, then to Shanks and his crew.

You lowered your pistols, holstering them with a resigned sigh. The weight of the situation had become almost too much to bear. “Garp,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “There’s a lot to explain.”

Shanks took a step back, his expression conflicted as he glanced between you and Mariana. He seemed to be weighing his next move, his own emotions turbulent as he struggled to process the revelations of the past few minutes.

Mariana, still standing her ground, looked to you for guidance, her eyes searching yours for answers. The fierce protectiveness in her gaze had not completely faded, but it was now tempered with a growing confusion.

The room was a mix of tension and relief, the air thick with the weight of unspoken words and emotional turmoil. As Garp stepped inside, his stern face softened slightly as he took in the scene, his presence a grounding force amidst the chaos.

“You’ve got some explaining to do,” Garp said firmly, his gaze shifting between you and Shanks. His tone was authoritative but not unkind, as if he understood the complexities of the situation and was prepared to offer support.

You nodded, feeling the exhaustion of the night catch up with you. “I know,” you said softly, taking a deep breath. “I’ll explain everything. Just…give me a moment.”

With the immediate tension broken, you focused on calming your children, your heart heavy with the weight of the secrets that had been exposed.

Mariana’s voice sliced through the silence, her tone sharp and demanding. "Who are you?" Her dark eyes bore into Shanks with a ferocity that matched the weight of the moment. Shanks blinked, the intensity of her gaze catching him off guard.

He had faced storms fiercer than this, fought battles against some of the most dangerous foes in the world, but nothing quite compared to the piercing challenge of his daughter’s question—the daughter he never knew he had.

"I'm Shanks," he said, his voice steady but low, as though the weight of his own name carried a burden he hadn’t anticipated. The truth. It wasn’t an explanation, but a declaration. He glanced toward you, hoping for some guidance, some sign that this was all a misunderstanding, but you stood frozen, your face a whirlwind of emotions—guilt, fear, protectiveness, and something deeper.

Shanks’ mind raced, the events of the previous night replaying in fragments—your shared laughter, the warmth of your embrace, the way you looked at him like nothing had changed. But now? Now there were children, your children, and he couldn't help but wonder what had happened in the years since you left the crew.

His heart pounded as memories of your departure flooded back. The day you chose to leave, to stay behind in Kehlani Village, had always felt bittersweet. He respected your decision, even if he didn’t fully understand it. You were a force of nature—his vice admiral, the woman who kept his crew in line, the one who understood his restless spirit.

You had a no-nonsense attitude that made him laugh and kept him in check, but you also had a hidden tenderness, a softness that only he was allowed to see.

Could you have left him for another man? The thought twisted inside him like a knife, cutting deeper with every moment of uncertainty. No, it couldn’t be. The fierce, protective way you held Luca, the way you looked at Shanks now, terrified yet determined—there was no betrayal here. Not you. Never you.

His mind flashed back to the times you'd playfully shoot glares at any woman who dared come too close to him. There was a fire in you that would never tolerate sharing what was yours. And he was yours—he always had been.

But these children, Mariana and Luca, the spitting images of you with traces of him in their features, left him breathless.

The truth was staring him in the face, but he couldn't comprehend it.

His eyes softened as they fell on Mariana’s auburn curls, so much like his own, and then Luca, with the same stubborn streak Shanks could see reflected in his gaze. These were his children. He knew it now, deep down in his bones.

Still, the uncertainty gnawed at him. "Did you stay behind… for someone else?" he finally asked, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. His voice was laced with pain and disbelief, the confusion of a man who felt his world had shifted beneath his feet.

"Were the past few years all a lie?"

Your heart clenched as you met his gaze. You could see the pain behind his eyes, the cracks in his usually unshakeable demeanor. This was Shanks, your Shanks, the one who always knew you, who could read you better than anyone.

But this—your children—was a secret you had kept for too long, and now it was all unraveling before him. Luca’s small voice cut through the tension like a blade.

"Is this a friend of Dad’s?"

He looked up at you, wide-eyed and oblivious to the storm swirling around him. His words hit like a punch to the gut. You hesitated, the silence in the room thickening as you grappled for an answer.

"Not exactly," you finally managed, though the weight of the truth was heavy in your throat.

That simple phrase seemed to unravel something deep within Shanks. His face, already strained with emotion, fell. The flowers he had been holding slipped from his grasp, petals scattering across the floor in soft, colorful disarray.

The rest of the Red-Haired crew, standing just outside the door, exchanged glances, unsure of how to react to this heart-wrenching scene. Garp stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing as he took in the children, the shattered expressions on both you and Shanks, and the unspoken reality hanging in the air.

You swallowed hard, your grip on Luca tightening as the words you had dreaded for so long fought to reach your lips. "Shanks… I never betrayed you. I swear. But… there’s more you need to know."

The weight of the truth was suffocating, and you could see the battle raging within him—wanting to trust you, yet needing answers. Shanks stepped closer, his hand reaching out toward you, his expression softening as he said, "Then tell me. Tell me everything."

Mariana’s eyes darted between you and Shanks, her young mind trying to piece together a truth she hadn’t been prepared for. The tension was building to a boiling point, and you could see the fire igniting in her, just as stubborn and quick to react as you’d always been. She finally demanded, "What’s going on? Who is he? I want an answer, now!"

The words tore from your throat before you could think. "Yes. This man… Shanks… Red-Haired Shanks… is your father."

The room froze. For a heartbeat, everything stood still as the words reverberated through the air like a gunshot. Shanks, still standing near the threshold, looked like he’d been struck. His face paled again, only to flush with a rush of overwhelming emotion.

His eyes flickered from you to Mariana, then to Luca—his children. His children. It was like he was being squeezed by a sea beast, caught between joy and devastation. His hands trembled slightly as he ran one through his hair, disbelief warring with the knowledge that everything he had ever dreamed of with you had been real… and hidden from him.

Mariana couldn’t believe it. Her eyes widened, and she took a step back, staring at Shanks like he had grown another head. "You lied to me!" she screamed, the betrayal and hurt evident in her voice. Her cheeks were flushed with anger, and tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Before you could reach for her, to explain, to comfort, she spun on her heel, bolting from the room with a speed that caught you off guard.

"Mariana!" You shouted after her, lunging forward, but she was already gone—racing through the dining room, her bare feet slapping against the floorboards, past the kitchen, and out the back door. The screen door slammed shut with a loud bang, leaving you frozen mid-motion, your outstretched hand hovering uselessly in the air.

Luca stood in the center of it all, looking up at you with confusion and fear written across his young face. "Mom?" His voice was small, uncertain, and it broke something inside you.

Benn Beckman, watching the chaos unfold with the calm understanding that only a seasoned pirate could muster, gave a subtle nod. "Alright, boys, back to the beach for now," he said quietly, his deep voice carrying authority as he motioned for the rest of the crew to fall back. One by one, they complied, stepping away from the house and leaving the scene to unravel without their presence.

Shanks, still standing in the entryway, finally seemed to break free of the shock that had held him in place. His legs moved, slow and heavy, as if every step toward you carried the weight of the years you had been apart. He entered the house, his eyes fixed on you, but his face was a tangled mess of emotion.

Hurt. Anger. Fear. Joy.

He was trying to make sense of it all, and failing. Garp followed behind him, uncharacteristically quiet, his large hands resting on his hips as he assessed the situation. Shanks swallowed hard, his voice rough as he tried to find the words.

"Why didn’t you tell me?"

His question wasn’t an accusation—it was a plea, a desperate attempt to understand how things had come to this, how you had kept such a monumental secret from him.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, the weight of your decision pressing down on you as you held Luca close. His small hands gripped the fabric of your shirt as he clung to you, confused and scared by the sudden explosion of emotions around him. You could barely look at Shanks, your throat tight with unshed tears as you whispered,

"I thought I was protecting them… protecting you."

The silence that followed was suffocating, thick with unsaid words and painful truths, as Shanks stood just a few feet away, his gaze piercing but gentle, like he couldn’t decide whether to embrace you or collapse under the weight of everything you had just revealed.

Shanks' question hung in the air between you both, heavy with meaning. "What do you mean by that?" His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable edge, as though he was trying to understand the impossible weight behind your words.

You shifted, your arms tightening protectively around Luca as you spoke. "I can't have my children go through what Ace and Luffy do just for being alive," you said softly, the memories of what those boys endured flashing in your mind. The fear. The danger. The constant threat simply because of who they were.

Shanks’ jaw clenched. "Our children." He corrected you, his voice firm. His hand twitched at his side, as if he were holding himself back from reaching out, from pulling you both to him.

You took a breath, your gaze flicking to the open door where sunlight spilled into the room, a glaring contrast to the weight of your conversation. "You have a home at the sea, Shanks," you continued, your voice steady but filled with the pain of the truth you were revealing.

"You're a fish, always moving, always searching. Who would be there to keep order in the world’s oceans if not you?"

He looked at you, his eyes searching your face for answers, for understanding. "And you?" His voice was rough now, the emotion threatening to spill over.

"What about you?"

"I created a life here," you replied, your gaze dropping to Luca, who was still clinging to your side, confused and scared by the tension between the adults he looked up to.

"For them. A life where they’re safe. Where they don’t have to be in the crossfire of your world."

"I can gather that," Shanks said, his tone softening slightly, his eyes following yours to Luca. His son.

You gently cupped Luca’s cheek, your thumb brushing over his soft skin. "Luca, sweetheart, please go to your room and play with your toys," you said quietly, trying to keep your voice calm for his sake. But Luca, being your son, stubbornly held his ground.

"But mama—" he began, his small voice filled with the conflict of wanting to stay and protect you, though he didn't understand what was happening.

Garp, standing in the corner with his arms crossed, decided to step in, his voice gruff but filled with a firm gentleness only a grandpa could manage. "Better do as you're told, lad." His tone left no room for argument, and Luca glanced between you and Garp, caught between his loyalty to you and his desire to obey.

He took two reluctant steps back, his small shoulders slumping as he realized he had to leave you behind. His mother—the one who woke him early to watch meteor showers, who was always there to pick him up after school. His heart ached, but he wanted to respect you, just as you'd taught him.

Before he could turn to go, Shanks spoke again, his voice suddenly soft. "Wait." He held his arm out to Luca, a silent plea for just a moment longer.

Luca hesitated, then stepped forward and placed his tiny hand in Shanks’ much larger one. He looked up at his father with wide, innocent eyes, and whispered, "You have hair like mine."

His little fingers touched his own fiery red locks, and Shanks felt his breath catch in his throat, unable to respond for a moment.

He gazed down at Luca, taking in every detail of the boy's face—the round cheeks, the curious eyes, the soft red hair that mirrored his own. His son. He felt an overwhelming rush of emotions he hadn’t expected to feel, and for a brief moment, everything else melted away.

Shanks’ gaze drifted from Luca to the open door, where Mariana had fled moments before. Sunlight streamed through the entryway, casting long shadows across the floor.

He could almost see her stubborn silhouette in his mind—her fierce temper, her bold spirit. His daughter, with her mother’s lovely face and fire in her heart, but his eyes, his stare. A perfect blend of both of you.

He returned his gaze to Luca, who was still studying Shanks' face intently, trying to make sense of the man standing before him. And then, he looked back at you—kneeling before your son, still dressed in your Vice Admiral uniform, the red sash he had given you tied snugly around your waist.

The hat and jacket you’d discarded were forgotten on the sofa, your combat boots by the door. The delicate earrings, little ship helm’s, adorned your ears. His heart swelled with pride and sadness all at once.

You were every bit the woman he had fallen in love with—and more.

Shanks moved carefully, almost as if he were afraid to break the moment, and gently pulled Luca into a one-armed hug. Luca looked to you for reassurance, and you gave him a soft nod, granting your silent permission.

The boy hesitated only for a second before wrapping his little arms around his father's neck, burying his face in Shanks' shoulder.

Shanks closed his eyes, pressing a kiss to the top of Luca's head, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. He wanted to thank you for this—for giving him these perfect children, for creating a life even when he hadn't been there to share it.

His heart ached with the bittersweet realization that he had missed so much, but also with a deep, unshakeable love for the family standing before him.

After a few seconds, Shanks gently released Luca, his hand resting on the boy's shoulder as he whispered, "Mind your mama and go upstairs, Luca."

Luca nodded obediently, his eyes still wide as he took a few cautious steps backward, watching his father with a mix of awe and curiosity. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his small feet carried him up the stairs, and the soft click of his door echoed through the now quiet room.

Shanks let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his gaze shifting to you once more. The weight of everything between you was still there, but now, there was something else—something unspoken but undeniable. Shanks knelt frozen at your side, his brow furrowed as he processed everything.

"And the lassie?" he asked softly, his voice quieter now, almost fragile.

You closed your eyes, not ready for the next wave of emotions that were bound to crash through him. "Yours too, you drunken rat," you bit out, more out of frustration with yourself than with him. The truth, now laid bare, felt like a slow burning fire spreading through the room.

A brief, stunned silence followed before Shanks tried to regain some semblance of control, his smile strained as he retorted, "Hey now, I'm not the one who kept a secret family from you!"

His words were meant to be light, but there was a deeper hurt in them.

"Oh really?" you shot back, unable to keep the edge from your voice. You glared at him, pushing yourself to sit straighter as your frustration swirled to the surface.

"You're the only woman I've ever been with!" Shanks nearly shouted, his face flushing with emotion, his fist clenching at his pants as he shifted toward you.

Before either of you could escalate any further, Garp interjected with a heavy sigh, his patience clearly worn thin. "Now, don’t the two of you start," he rumbled, his gravelly voice cutting through the tension.

He pointed at Shanks, then at you, his expression somewhere between exasperation and amusement.

"Look, you lied, and it was wrong," Garp said, turning to you with a firm but oddly gentle tone. "And you should say your apologies, lass."

You opened your mouth to argue, but Garp continued before you could. "But," he added, now looking at Shanks, "she has a few good points. And you," he jabbed a finger at Shanks, "still act incredibly immature at times for your long-in-the-tooth age."

Shanks raised an eyebrow, momentarily stunned into silence as Garp scolded him like a misbehaving child.

"Now," Garp grunted, standing to his full height as he stretched, "I’m going outside to cover for you at the base." He adjusted his cap and shot you both a knowing look.

"Go find Mari before she decides to invoke revenge. I hope the two of you can kiss and make up," he finished, a wicked glint in his eye.

As Garp began to move toward the door, he tossed one final, cheeky comment over his shoulder.

"And maybe give me just one more grandchild."

"GARP!" you and Shanks shouted in unison, completely flustered and caught off guard.

Garp grinned, fully enjoying your reactions. "Oh, don’t be shy now. There’s already two of ’em!" he called out, tipping his cap before stepping out the door, leaving you and Shanks alone in the wake of his words.

The room seemed to still after that, the only sound the soft creak of the door shutting behind Garp. The weight of everything that had been said, combined with the reality of the situation, caused you to slump to the floor, your legs finally giving out beneath you.

Your pencil skirt rode up as you landed in a heap, too exhausted and too overwhelmed to care. You let out a groan, covering your face with your hands in a mix of frustration, embarrassment, and exhaustion.

Shanks stood for a moment, watching you from above. Even after all these years, after the chaos and the misunderstandings, the sight of you—disheveled, vulnerable, and bathed in sunlight from the large open windows—made his heart race.

You were still so beautiful, even now, maybe especially now, with your guard down, raw and real before him.

Without a word, Shanks scooted over and gently dropped his sword onto the coffee table with a soft thud. He crouched beside you, his movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid of spooking you.

Then, with a tenderness that betrayed his rough exterior, he lay down beside you, his broad body stretched out next to yours on the floor.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was your steady breathing and the occasional rustle of fabric as the two of you settled into the silence. The warmth of the sun kissed your skin, making everything feel surreal, almost dreamlike.

Shanks turned his head to look at you, his gaze soft and filled with something you hadn’t seen in a long time—an old love, deep and steady.

"I never stop thinking about you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as though the admission was almost too heavy for him to bear aloud. His fingers twitched at his side, aching to touch you, but he held back.

You peeked through your fingers, still hiding your face but catching his eyes from the side. "I... never stop thinking about you either," you admitted, your voice muffled by your hands. But the bitterness, the pain of all the lost years, lingered like a shadow.

Shanks’ lips curved into a sad, knowing smile. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your forearm, testing the waters, seeking your permission. The touch was so simple, so gentle, yet it sent a wave of warmth through you, grounding you in that moment.

For now, in this sun-dappled room, with the weight of the world just outside the door, the two of you lay in the silence, your bodies close, the years of distance slowly shrinking, if only for a little while.

Shanks raised an eyebrow at your question, his face softening with curiosity. "Do you still not desire marriage?" he asked, his voice gentle, though there was a hint of playfulness in his tone.

You smiled, leaning your head slightly against his shoulder before whispering, “Can I tell you a secret?”

He grinned. “Is it that we have two kids—ouch!” Shanks rubbed his side where you smacked him, still chuckling. “No, not that,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

His laughter faded into a warm smile as he caught your gaze, sensing the seriousness in your tone. "What is it, love?"

You hesitated for a second, watching his expression carefully before saying, "We already are."

There was a long pause as he blinked at you. “...”

“...”

“...WHAT?!”

You tried not to laugh at his reaction, your hand already halfway covering your face as you continued. "We already got married the night I became a vice admiral. We all got so drunk that you proposed to me with those anchor earrings—the ones you said you’d been carrying with you—and I said yes because I always wanted you to be mine officially as my husband."

Shanks' mouth dropped open, and you couldn’t help but smirk as you watched the disbelief wash over him.

“And Benn,” you continued, fighting a grin, “he was the one who technically married us. He had the power to do so, and since the rest of the bar staff, some Marine personnel, your crew, and a few locals saw us in the church... it's official."

There was another beat of stunned silence, and then Shanks groaned dramatically, dropping his head into his hands. “You know,” he mumbled into his palms, “lobbing off my remaining arm, ripping out my eyes, or just carving out my heart would be a lot faster than this little game you've got going on where you don't tell me wonderful things."

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "Well, maybe you should’ve remembered," you teased back, but the smile on your face betrayed any real annoyance.

Shanks tutted at you playfully, and before you could protest, he gently cupped your cheeks with his large, calloused hands. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones, forcing you to look up at him.

“There she is,” he said softly, his voice low and affectionate. "There's my beautiful vice admiral."

His eyes held that mischievous glint again as he continued, "My little rule enforcer. The mother of my children. My wife." His voice dropped an octave lower, deep and filled with longing. "God, I’ve waited to say all of that for so long."

You wanted to cave and give him another baby right there.

Your breath caught as he drew you close, his strong arms wrapping around you like a fortress. Instinctively, you curled into his embrace, your body fitting against his as it always had. The weight of his presence was familiar, comforting, and for a moment, you forgot the years of separation, the missed moments.

It was just you, him, and this warm bubble of intimacy.

"I wish I was there," he whispered into your hair, his voice laced with regret. "I’m so sorry, too."

You shook your head, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. "Don’t be," you said softly. "I had no right to bar you from your children. They belong to you as well, and... you belong to them."

Shanks’ eyes softened further, and for a moment, you saw the man beneath the pirate, the man who had once only dreamed of having a family, of being yours. He leaned his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered, "I do wonder how it is you're so good at keeping secrets."

You smirked, your lips brushing against his as you replied, "I work for the world government. You pick up a thing or two."

"And you talk about pirates," he shot back with a teasing grin, pinching you on the rear.

You squealed in surprise, smacking his side before grabbing a handful of his own behind in retaliation. "Ah ah ah," Shanks teased, his voice rich with amusement. "I think this is what led to making the first one."

“Mariana,” you murmured, the name of your daughter heavy on your tongue, filled with both love and the weight of everything that had happened.

Shanks’ grin softened into something more tender, his eyes glowing with pride. "My daughter, Mariana," he repeated, his voice reverent. He looked so happy in that moment, lying beneath you, his face bathed in the warm sunlight that streamed through the large windows.

The golden rays danced in his crimson hair, highlighting the deep lines of his face that had come from years at sea. His eyes, though, were as bright and vibrant as the first time you met him—full of life, mischief, and something even deeper now. Love.

With you now on top of him, straddling his hips, the world seemed to slow down. His hands settled on your waist, fingers tracing small circles on your hips as he gazed up at you with that boyish smile, one that melted your heart every time.

“You look beautiful like this,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as his thumb brushed over the red sash you still wore.

His eyes were half-lidded with contentment, utterly lost in the moment, in you, in everything you had built together.

While that was happening downstairs, Luca had managed to lower himself from his window with the makeshift rope of bedsheets, his small hands gripping tightly as he carefully descended. When he hit the ground with a soft thud, he rubbed his sore bottom and glanced around with a mix of curiosity and concern.

The sun was bright now, casting long shadows across the yard as he set off towards the woods. He was determined, despite his groggy state, to find his sister and make sure she was okay. His tiny feet crunched softly over the grass as he walked, pausing occasionally to glance back at the house and the open back door that seemed to sway gently in the evening breeze.

The sight of the door left a chill of unease, but his worry for Mariana pushed him forward. The path markers you had placed to guide their way through the forest, with their vibrant colors and gentle sway in the wind, gave him a sense of direction and reassurance.

He moved cautiously, his small, determined steps echoing with the faint rustle of leaves. The forest, which had always been a place of adventure and fun during the day, now felt different in the encroaching twilight. Shadows seemed to stretch longer, and the occasional hoot of an owl made him jump.

Eventually, Luca came upon the frog pond you had always adored. Its surface was still, the only movement coming from the occasional ripple as a frog leapt away from the edge.

There, near the pond, he saw the silver sandals discarded carelessly at the base of a large tree. His heart skipped a beat, and he hurried over, finding the small, worn slingshot and marbles hidden in the trunk alongside a butterfly knife.

As he was examining the items, a sharp, sudden pain hit the top of his head. Luca yelped and stumbled, rubbing the spot where something had struck him.

Looking up, he saw a small, bare foot sticking out among the tangled mess of green foliage above him. It seemed that the nut that had hit him had fallen from the tree where someone—likely Mariana—was perched.

He peered up into the branches, spotting a hint of a familiar green dress tangled among the leaves. With a determined gulp, he started to climb the tree, his tiny hands grasping at the rough bark.

The climb was challenging for his small frame, but he was driven by a deep concern for his sister. His movements were slow but steady, his feet finding purchase as he climbed higher.

He finally reached a sturdy branch where he could see his sister more clearly. Mariana was sitting cross-legged, her face set in a scowl as she looked out over the pond. Her peach basket lay beside her on the branch, her earlier distress evident in her frown.

"Luca!"

Mariana’s eyes widened in surprise as she spotted her brother clambering onto the branch. Her anger seemed to dissolve into confusion and concern as she saw him. "What are you doing here?"

Luca, still catching his breath, looked at her with wide eyes. "I was worried about you. I didn’t know where you went and I... I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Mariana's face softened, a mixture of guilt and relief washing over her. She shifted closer to him on the branch, her usual stubbornness giving way to a rare moment of vulnerability. "I’m sorry, Luca. I didn’t mean to worry you. I was just... upset."

Luca, still holding onto the branch for support, reached out to her. “It’s okay. Let’s just go back home. Mama and Papa are looking for us.”

Mariana’s face was a mixture of stubborn defiance and lingering hurt as she sat perched on the tree branch. “I don’t want to come down,” she said firmly, her voice echoing with a blend of frustration and sadness. “I feel like I’ve been lied to, and I can’t just trust a man I’ve only just met.”

Luca, his small face crumpled in thought, nodded in agreement. “You’re right,” he said softly, sitting beside her. The sky above was painted with vibrant hues, and the air was filled with the sweet scent of ripe peaches. Mariana’s basket, left behind in her hasty climb, contained a few juicy fruits. She offered one to Luca, and they began to eat in companionable silence, the warmth of the peaches contrasting with the cool afternoon air.

They sat together, their quiet conversation and the occasional rustle of leaves were the only sounds. Suddenly, a deep, unfamiliar voice cut through the calm, calling out their names. The voice was deeper and carried a hesitant note, far different from their mother’s familiar, comforting tone.

Mariana’s eyes widened with alarm. “Luca, stay quiet and don’t move,” she whispered urgently, her eyes scanning their surroundings. The rustling of leaves indicated that someone was approaching, their steps growing closer.

Luca nodded, his small body tensing with nervousness as he kept his gaze fixed on his sister. Mariana carefully maneuvered up the tree, her movements cautious yet determined. She reached a higher branch, peering down through the dense foliage to get a better view of their uninvited guest.

As she settled into a more secure position, she spotted Shanks moving with purpose toward the tree. His tall figure was unmistakable even through the green shrubbery, and she could see the concern etched on his face. He had noticed the sandals at the trunk and was now inching closer, his gaze darting around as he tried to locate her.

“Damn it,” Mariana heard Shanks mutter under his breath as he drew nearer. She quickly covered her mouth, her eyes wide as she remembered the rule about cursing. Luca tsked, “That’s 1 berrie in the swear jar!”

“Shh!” Mariana whispered urgently, her eyes locking with Luca’s. He gave a small, frightened nod, trying to remain as still as possible.

They watched in tense silence as Shanks approached the trunk, his footsteps growing nearer. His movements were deliberate, yet he seemed uncertain of his surroundings, his usual confident demeanor momentarily shaken.

Shanks crouched by the base of the tree, looking up with a mixture of concern and desperation. His eyes scanned the branches, searching for any sign of the children. Mariana could see the strain on his face, the worry etched deeply into his features.

She held her breath, her heart racing as she tried to stay as silent as possible. Luca, too, was frozen beside her, his little fingers gripping the branch for support. The quiet of the forest seemed to intensify the situation, every rustle and whisper magnifying the tension of the moment.

Shanks, crouched at the base of the tree, caught the murmur of conversation coming from the branches above. He tilted his head, a wry smile curling his lips as he heard the whispered exchange between his children.

"He’s got one arm; I don’t think he can do much damage,” Luca said quietly.

“You know I can hear you both, right?” Shanks called out, his voice tinged with amusement. The children’s startled faces appeared through the foliage, their hands flying to cover their mouths in surprise.

“Also, it's quite hurtful to mock your father, don’t you think?” he continued, trying to keep the tone light.

Mariana’s eyes narrowed as she peered down at him. “We don’t know you!” she shouted, her voice echoing through the quiet woods. Shanks’s heart ached at the sound of her. The resemblance to you was undeniable—her hair was the same length and texture, though the auburn hue hinted at his own blood.

She wore a necklace of small sea shells, a gift he had given you long ago. His daughter, fierce and lovely, carrying both your fire and his own mischievous glint.

Shanks’s gaze softened as he looked at Mariana. “Please, come down,” he requested gently. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but I’m here to prove myself. I’m your father, and I care deeply about both of you.”

Mariana shook her head firmly. “I don’t talk to strangers,” she said, her voice resolute.

Luca, sitting quietly beside her, finally spoke up in a hushed whisper. “Mariana, I do want to go home to Mama soon.”

The mention of their mother made Mariana’s face soften just a fraction, but she remained resolute in her decision. Shanks could see the internal conflict in her eyes as she turned her gaze back to him.

"So, you are up there, Luca?" Shanks called up, a hint of humor in his voice. "Your mother is quite displeased with what you did to your bedding."

Luca’s cheeks flushed a deep red, matching his hair as he shifted uncomfortably. Mariana shot him a questioning look, her eyes wide with surprise.

Shanks’s smile widened as he continued to speak to them, trying to ease the tension. “I assure you, I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m here to be part of your lives and to make things right. I understand it’s a lot to take in, but I promise you I’m here with good intentions.”

Mariana’s eyes flared with anger again as she looked down at Shanks. “Get lost,” she demanded, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and defiance.

Shanks’s expression turned serious, though his eyes remained warm and sincere. “I’m not going anywhere until I can prove to you that I’m not just some stranger. I want to show you that I’m your father and that I’m here to make things right. It’s not just about me; it’s about us.”

Luca, who had been watching the exchange with a mix of curiosity and concern, looked up at Shanks and then to his sister. He knew how much their mother meant to them, and he could see the pain in Mariana’s eyes. He wished he could help bridge the gap between them, but for now, he could only stay silent and hope that Shanks’s words would eventually reach her.

Mariana took a deep breath, her grip tightening on the branch she was perched on. She wanted to believe him, to trust that he was sincere, but the shock of the revelation and the hurt of feeling deceived were still fresh. She glanced at Luca, who was now sitting quietly, his small face full of uncertainty.

Shanks stood at the base of the tree, his eyes never leaving Mariana’s. He knew he had to be patient and earn their trust, one step at a time.

Mariana’s emotions churned like a storm inside her as she watched Shanks stand below her. Her mind raced through the snapshots of her life: the vibrant memories of her grandfather Garp, with his dog-eared hat and tales of adventure; her secret dreams of sailing the world with Luca as her loyal first mate; and most importantly, the unwavering love and dedication you had poured into raising her and Luca alone.

You, her mother, who had never faltered in her devotion or patience, even when faced with countless questions about a father she had never met.

As these thoughts swirled, Mariana felt hot tears sting her eyes. She squeezed her hands into tight fists, a gesture she had learned from you during moments of frustration. With a deep breath, she let go of her palms, her resolve hardening like the iron will she had seen in you so many times before.

Luca’s gentle touch on her hand broke through her turmoil. She opened her eyes to see him looking up at her with a mix of concern and hope. His small, comforting presence anchored her thoughts, and she took a moment to adjust his ponytail so it fell neatly around his face. The sight of her little brother’s earnest expression gave her the strength to make a decision.

“You may go with him if you wish,” she said softly, her voice trembling slightly. “But I will stay here until Mom comes to get me.”

Luca’s eyes lit up with a grateful, albeit anxious, smile. He nodded, his small hand giving hers a final squeeze before he turned to descend the tree. As he made his way down, he passed by Shanks, who watched the interaction with a mixture of hope and sadness.

Luca paused briefly to pat Shanks’s knee, a gesture both encouraging and endearing. “Good luck,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, before hurrying back down the path and disappearing from sight.

Shanks’s heart ached as he watched his son run off. The warmth in Luca’s small touch was a balm to his troubled heart, but it only served to deepen the ache of the gap between him and Mariana. With a deep breath, he turned his gaze back to Mariana, who was now perched high in the tree, her silhouette framed by the setting sun.

Mariana took one last look at her father before turning her gaze back to the forest. The tension in her shoulders began to ease as she considered the possibility of embracing this new chapter in her life, yet the fear of change and the longing for her mother’s presence kept her rooted in place.

Shanks stood at the base of the tree, his red hair glowing under the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves. His one arm rested casually at his side, while the other, with its practiced grace, caught the peach Mariana had thrown at him. He gave her a warm, reassuring smile and a friendly wave, trying to bridge the chasm of uncertainty between them.

“Can I come up?” he asked, his voice carrying the warmth of a father who was eager to reconnect.

Mariana, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed, responded skeptically. “How are you going to do that with just one arm?”

Shanks shrugged, his smile never fading. “I’ve learned to live with it. It’s not the easiest thing, but I manage.”

Mariana’s eyes remained cautious. “No, you can’t come up. Just have Mom come get me.”

Shanks shook his head gently. “No, I’m going to stay right here until you come down or let me come up.”

Determined, Mariana tossed another peach, aiming for his head. This time, Shanks sidestepped with a fluid motion and caught the fruit effortlessly with his one hand. He held it up, examining it with a grin before looking back at Mariana.

“Nice try,” he said. “But I’ve had a lot of practice with dodging things.”

‘Your mothers bullets, Buggy’s knives. Mihawk's stare.’

Mariana huffed in response but couldn’t hide a small, hesitant smile. Shanks took this as a sign of progress and began to speak, his tone sincere and gentle.

“So, how’s your day been?” he asked, trying to draw her out with friendly conversation.

Mariana shrugged. “It’s been weird.”

Shanks nodded, understandingly. “I can imagine. And I know there’s been a lot of confusion and hurt. Your mother, she had her reasons for keeping me a secret. It wasn’t right, but she did it to protect you and Luca from the dangers of the world.”

Mariana’s eyes softened a bit, though skepticism still lingered. “Why is the world so cruel then?”

Shanks sighed, looking up through the branches as if seeking an answer from the sky. “I’m not too sure. The world can be harsh and unforgiving. But I believe there’s still hope. I’ve met some very good people in my lifetime, people who’ve shown me that there’s kindness and love to be found even in the darkest places.”

Mariana’s voice wavered slightly. “Is Mom one of those good people?”

Shanks’s eyes softened even more, his heart swelling with affection.

“Yes, she is. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever met. I remember when she was a young marine cadet, separated from her ship during a storm. My crew and I picked her up. We sailed around the world together for three years.”

Mariana’s curiosity piqued. “What was she like?”

Shanks’s face lit up with nostalgia. “She had this incredible light about her. Everywhere we went, she brought joy to the people we helped. Rebuilding bridges, repairing docks, fixing windows, finding lost livestock, and even helping with laundry—she never stopped. She had this unwavering spirit and kindness that drew me to her.”

Mariana listened intently, a mixture of fascination and sadness in her eyes. “Why did you let her go?”

Shanks’s smile grew bittersweet. “I’ve always secretly hoped she’d return. She had a calling, and I understood that. But I’ve never stopped hoping.”

Mariana furrowed her brow. “If she’s a vice admiral, why hasn’t she arrested you or Uncle Luffy or Mr. Mihawk?”

Shanks chuckled softly. “Your mother believes in justice, but she doesn’t agree with everything the Marines say they believe in. She has her own sense of right and wrong, which often aligns more with what her heart says.”

Mariana tilted her head, her curiosity growing. “That sounds like piracy.”

Shanks laughed heartily. “It does, doesn’t it? But she always refuses to admit it.”

Mariana’s sniffles became more audible, and Shanks’s heart ached seeing her distress. He glanced around and spotted her sandals lying by the tree. With a gentle smile, he picked them up and tucked them into his belt.

“I think it’s time I make my way up to you,” he said, determination in his voice.

Shanks began climbing the tree with careful, deliberate movements, his one arm working in tandem with his strong legs. The branches creaked slightly under his weight, but he moved with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to navigating tricky terrains.

As he neared Mariana, he could see her expression shifting from wary to curious. He took his time, ensuring every movement was gentle, to avoid startling her further. Finally, he reached her, settling on a sturdy branch beside her.

Mariana looked at him, her eyes wide and filled with a mix of emotions. Shanks extended his hand to her, his gaze steady and kind.

“Let’s talk,” he said softly, “and I promise, I’ll be here for as long as it takes to make things right.”

Mariana sat in the tree, silent at first, her breath shaky as she tried to steady herself. Shanks, now beside her, remained still, allowing her the space she needed. He watched her, marveling at the uncanny resemblance she shared with you.

Her auburn hair, a mix of yours and his, caught the light, while her eyes—those wide, vast, star-like eyes—glistened with unshed tears. A delicate seashell necklace that hung from her neck, the one he’d given you years ago, was an instant thought of the bond that he had unknowingly shared with her all this time.

His chest tightened at the thought. This was his daughter. His daughter, the one he'd imagined countless times but never truly believed he’d have.

Mariana’s lips parted as if she wanted to speak, but no words came. Instead, her face crumpled, and soft, quiet sobs escaped her as she hid her face in her hands. Shanks’s heart clenched at the sight—he remembers how you do the same when you were overwhelmed, hiding your emotions behind your hands.

It was like looking at a part of you, vulnerable and raw, and it pulled at him in a way that he hadn’t expected.

"Now, now," he murmured softly, his voice gentle but carrying a sense of reassurance, "we can’t have this."

Shanks shifted slightly, reaching across the branches to move the basket of peaches higher up to ensure it wouldn’t fall. His movements were slow and deliberate as he scooted over to the base of Mariana’s branch.

With a careful, practiced ease, he held out his arm, the only one he had left, offering it to her like an anchor.

Mariana’s tear-filled gaze met his, her expression hesitant. She looked at him like a wary stray cat, unsure whether to trust him or bolt. Her eyes flitted between his outstretched arm and his face, weighing her options, her small body tense with uncertainty. Shanks could feel his own heart beating harder, but he kept his gaze soft, patient. He didn’t rush her, didn’t demand anything.

He just waited.

Finally, with a quiet resolve, Mariana slowly, almost tentatively, shifted toward him. She crawled carefully into the crook of his arm, her small frame pressing into his chest as if testing the waters of this unfamiliar embrace. As soon as she settled against him, Shanks propped his leg up to provide her with more stability, creating a makeshift seat for her as they sat among the branches.

He wrapped his arm around her securely, his hand resting gently on her back as he felt her small body tremble with the weight of her emotions. She slumped against him, her tears quiet but present, and Shanks held her close, his heart swelling with a fierce protectiveness he hadn’t felt in years. He pressed his cheek gently to the crown of her head, feeling the soft strands of her hair against his skin, and closed his eyes for a brief moment.

Mariana’s quiet sobs gradually slowed, though she didn’t pull away. Shanks simply held her, rocking her slightly as they sat nestled in the tree, surrounded by the whispering leaves and the distant sound of the wind through the branches.

The world around them seemed to fade as the moment stretched, the silence broken only by the occasional rustling of the tree and the soft sniffles from Mariana.

“It’s alright, love,” Shanks whispered softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m here now.”

For the first time in a long while, Shanks allowed himself to believe that things could be different—that maybe, just maybe, they could start anew.

Shanks shifted slightly on the branch, feeling the rough bark press against his back as he gathered his thoughts. His one arm tightened around Mariana protectively, and he tilted his head down to meet her eyes. She was still slumped against his chest, picking at a leaf, her little hands shaking slightly. He could feel the tension in her body, the conflict of emotions swirling inside her like a storm.

“I’ve seen you before,” she said quietly, her eyes distant as if replaying the scene in her mind.

Shanks watched Mariana carefully as she spoke, her voice soft and tentative, as though she was still piecing together memories from the past. His heart ached with every word, but he kept his expression calm and gentle, letting her guide the conversation at her own pace.

“Really?” Shanks asked, keeping his voice low, curious but patient.

Mariana nodded. “Yes, in her photos.”

“Tell me,” he said softly, encouraging her to continue.

Mariana shifted in his lap, sitting up a little straighter, though she still picked nervously at the leaf in her hands. "I was small, about five," she began, her fingers tearing small pieces of the leaf as she spoke.

"When I was playing in her room. Mama was cleaning out her closet, and she set a box of photos down on the bed. She began to match faces to the people from her stories, but she had a large picture of you and her together."

Shanks felt a flicker of surprise, but he didn’t interrupt. His mind raced back to those days, trying to recall the moment she was describing.

"You had a funny jacket on," she continued, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "And both arms, and they were wrapped around her. She was wearing her earrings and vice admiral cap. It looked like it was taken in a church."

Shanks chuckled softly, his gaze softening as he remembered that day. "I think I remember that photo," he murmured, more to himself than to her.

"Is that when you asked about me?" he asked gently, watching her closely.

"Yeah," Mariana replied, her eyes flickering up to meet his for a brief second before looking away again. "She was really emotional when she found that. Said she didn’t even remember taking it."

Shanks frowned slightly, the weight of her words settling in. He could imagine you finding that photo, the flood of memories and emotions that must have come with it. He wished he could have been there to see your reaction, to share that moment.

"What happened after that?" he asked quietly, wanting to know more.

Mariana hesitated for a moment, her fingers still picking at the leaf until it was nothing more than tiny shreds in her hands. "I found more photos of you," she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "And an old bounty poster."

Shanks’ breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t realized you had kept those. His bounty posters had always been a point of pride for him—proof of his reputation, his strength—but knowing his daughter had seen them, knowing what they represented, made his chest tighten.

"When I asked about it," Mariana continued, her voice trembling slightly, "she couldn’t tell me the full truth. And when she picked me up after school, all the wanted posters with your face were gone."

Shanks sighed deeply, reaching out to tilt her face toward him gently, his calloused thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down her cheek.

"I knew I had a father," she whispered, her voice breaking, "but I didn’t know who my father was."

Her words struck him like a dagger. He had always prided himself on being free, a pirate without chains or obligations, but now, seeing the pain in his daughter’s eyes, he realized how much he had lost—how much they both had lost.

"You’re mother was scared," Shanks said after a long moment, his voice thick with emotion but steady. "In the eyes of the world government, we could all be separated and killed."

Mariana slumped against his chest again, her small body trembling slightly as she processed his words. Shanks ran a soothing hand through her hair, letting her feel his warmth, his presence.

"She may have a personality opposite of mine," Shanks continued, his voice soft yet firm, "but let me make one thing perfectly clear."

Mariana tilted her head up slightly, her tear-streaked face still filled with uncertainty.

"What’s that?" she asked, her voice fragile.

Shanks met her gaze, his eyes burning with sincerity. "She wouldn’t have done it if she didn’t love you. Now, did she make a mistake?" He paused, nodding as if to affirm his own words.

"Yes, yes she did. I myself didn’t know of you and Luca until I walked through that door. But…" He leaned down slightly, bringing their foreheads close, his voice barely above a whisper.

"She wants to apologize. She wants to make things right."

Mariana’s lip quivered, and she looked down, her fingers tracing absent shapes on the bark of the tree branch they sat on. "What if the danger does come?" she asked, her voice so small it was almost lost in the wind.

Shanks sighed softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "I’ll handle it," he promised, his voice low but filled with unwavering resolve.

Mariana blinked up at him, her eyes wide and filled with a mixture of hope and fear. "How?" she asked, her voice breaking.

He sighed softly, the sound barely audible over the rustle of leaves. He leaned his head back, glancing up at the patches of sky visible through the thick canopy, searching for words that would reassure her, though none came easily. Mariana shifted slightly in his lap, her small fingers still picking at the leaf she’d plucked, her emotions evident in every fidget.

She waited, eyes on the horizon, the soft remnants of tears drying on her cheeks.

Shanks exhaled softly, brushing a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. The wind rustled through the leaves above them, casting dappled sunlight across their faces. Shanks stared into the canopy, watching the light dance for a moment, then lowered his gaze to his daughter.

"How?" she repeated, her voice a fragile whisper, as though she didn’t really expect an answer. Her eyes, so much like yours, flickered up to him briefly before darting hardening again, unsure, lost.

"By any means necessary," he said quietly, his voice carrying a weight that made Mariana look up at him again. This time, he held her gaze. "I’ve made a life out of protecting what’s important to me, and right now, there’s nothing more important than you, your brother, and your mother."

Gently, he placed his large hand over hers, stilling her restless movements. "How will I handle it?" he repeated her question, his voice quiet yet steady, trying to find a balance between fatherly wisdom and the raw honesty his daughter deserved.

"Well, I’ve been through a lot. Fought more battles than I care to remember, and I've had to protect people I love. Your mother, she was no exception." He tilted his head, peering down at her.

Mariana kept her face angled away from him, biting her lower lip, clearly caught between anger and the need for comfort. Shanks knew that look—he’d seen it in the mirror on countless occasions.

"I’ll tell you a secret," he continued, offering a small, warm smile despite the seriousness in his voice.

"I wasn’t always the most… reliable man. But when it comes to family, when it comes to protecting the people I love, I don’t run away from the fight. I face it head-on." Mariana finally looked up at him, her eyes still red but full of curiosity.

"But what if you can’t win?"

Shanks chuckled softly, the sound carrying a hint of self-deprecating humor. "That’s a good question. Your mother asked me that once, too. And I gave her the same answer I’ll give you." He gently took her chin between his fingers, guiding her gaze to his, soft yet firm.

"It doesn’t matter if I win or lose, Mariana. What matters is that I don’t stop fighting. Not for her, not for you, and not for Luca."

She blinked, processing his words, before glancing away again. "Why didn't you find out before?...."

Her question hung heavy between them, and Shanks let out another long breath, his eyes darkening with regret.

"That’s something I’ve asked myself every second since I found out about you and Luca. I could give you a thousand excuses, but the truth is... I didn’t know. I should’ve been there, and for that, I’m sorry. Truly."

Mariana paused, her fingers curling around his hand for just a moment, as if testing whether she could trust this man who had appeared so suddenly in her life. She dropped her gaze again. "I don’t know if I can forgive you yet."

"And you don’t have to," Shanks said, his voice as gentle as his touch. "But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere unless you ask me to."

The weight of his promise settled in the air, a quiet but sincere offering. Mariana glanced at his hand, seeing the missing limb and the scars etched into his skin, living proof of the life he’d led without them.

She could feel the genuine warmth in his words, a vulnerability she hadn’t expected from someone she thought of as distant and unattainable.

A soft breeze passed through the branches above them, carrying with it the faint scent of saltwater, a reminder of the world beyond the tree they sat in. Mariana wiped her face with the back of her hand, the quiet calm finally starting to settle over her. "If the danger does come," she whispered, her voice wavering,

"I want to fight too. I want to be strong, like Mama."

Shanks smiled, a proud gleam in his eyes. "You already are, Mariana. You’re just like her—brave, fierce, and full of love. And if you want to fight, I’ll teach you. But remember, strength isn’t just about battle. Sometimes it’s about knowing when to ask for help, when to protect the ones you love without raising a fist."

She mulled over his words, leaning into the solid comfort of his chest. "And Luca?" she murmured after a while, her voice small.

"Luca's got a good heart," Shanks said, his arm tightening around her. "Just like you. He’ll grow up to be strong too, in his own way. And we'll make sure he knows he’s got people who’ll protect him, no matter what."

Mariana’s lip trembled, and she bit down on it to stop the quiver. She tried to speak, but her voice broke, so instead, she dropped the leaf she had been fiddling with and pressed her small hands into his chest, leaning into him fully. Shanks rubbed her back gently, letting her take her time, waiting for her to continue when she was ready.

"I just… I don’t know if I can trust you," she whispered after a long moment, her voice barely audible.

Shanks nodded, the motion slow and deliberate. "That’s fair," he replied, his tone soft but firm. "I haven’t been here. I haven’t been the father you deserve. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere."

Mariana sniffled, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. She shifted slightly in his lap, her fingers tracing the worn fabric of his shirt, her mind clearly still wrestling with everything.

"You know…" Shanks began, his voice lightening just a touch, "your mother threw a peach at me the first time we argued too." He gave her a crooked smile, hoping to coax one from her.

Mariana blinked up at him, her lips twitching faintly, but the sadness still lingered in her eyes. "Did she miss too?" she asked, her voice catching slightly as she tried to play along.

Shanks chuckled, a deep, warm sound that rumbled through his chest. "Nope, she hit me square in the face." He tapped his nose with a playful grin. "And it hurt."

A small giggle escaped Mariana before she could stop it, and Shanks felt a flicker of relief. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. He kept his arm secure around her as she wiped at her face again, the tension in her body slowly loosening.

"But why did Mama lie?" she asked, her voice small again as the weight of her thoughts came rushing back. "Why couldn’t she just tell me the truth?"

Shanks sighed, his smile fading as he looked out at the horizon. "Because, sometimes," he began, "the truth is scarier than the lie. Your mother… she did everything to keep you safe, to protect you from a world that’s not always kind."

His voice softened even more as he turned back to her. "She thought keeping the truth from you would protect you from that pain. She didn’t want you to grow up too fast, to worry about things children shouldn’t have to worry about."

Mariana mulled over his words, her fingers idly playing with the shells on her necklace, the ones that had once belonged to you. "But now I know," she murmured. "And it hurts."

Shanks pressed his forehead gently to hers, closing his eyes. "I know," he whispered. "And I’m sorry. But the truth doesn’t have to hurt forever, Mariana. It can help us grow, help us understand each other better."

She took a shaky breath, then nodded slightly, though her uncertainty still hung in the air between them. Shanks could feel it—her hesitation, her reluctance to fully trust him, but he didn’t push. He wouldn’t force her to feel something she wasn’t ready to.

Instead, he pulled her closer, cradling her as if she were still the small child he’d only just learned about, the one whose life he had missed so much of.

"And if danger comes," Shanks added, his voice steady and sure, "I’ll be here. Every step of the way. You’ll never face it alone."

Mariana looked up at him, her wet eyes reflecting the sky. "Promise?"

Shanks smiled softly, brushing a thumb across her cheek. "I promise."

Mariana nodded, the fight slowly leaving her tense posture. She leaned her head against Shanks' chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. She still had doubts, still held onto her hurt, but for the first time, she felt something else too—a sliver of hope.

They stayed like that for a while, the world around them quiet, save for the wind and the distant sounds of the village. Shanks didn’t push her for more, content to let her process everything at her own pace.

Finally, Mariana broke the silence. "Okay," she whispered. "You can stay... for now."

Shanks smiled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "That’s all I ask."

They stayed there like that for a long moment. Happy to just exist together and silently enjoy each other's company. Mariana had taken to holding Shank’s hand and he was watching her with a soft smile of his own.

Until they heard a loud crunch at the bottom of their tree.

Shanks tensed at the rustling sound, his instincts taking over, and he quickly pulled Mariana closer to his chest, shielding her with one arm before reaching up. His fingers wrapped around the first object he found—a ripe peach from the basket above them.

Without hesitation, he hurled it in the direction of the noise, a practiced flick of his wrist sending the fruit flying. A familiar, irritated voice broke through the tension.

"Ow!"

Shanks grinned despite himself, recognizing the voice immediately. The peach was returned with surprising speed, and he only barely ducked in time, catching the fruit’s impact against the back of his shoulder instead. Mariana giggled, steadying him as Shanks rubbed his shoulder.

Before he could protest further, your head poked through the thick canopy of leaves, Luca perched in one arm. Shanks’ face softened immediately, his previous tension melting away into a look of affectionate guilt.

“You’ve got some nerve,” you said, your tone teasing but sharp, though the corner of your mouth twitched like you were fighting a smile.

“It was an accident, my love!” Shanks quickly replied, raising his hands in mock surrender, flashing you that irresistible, crooked grin he always wore when he was trying to get out of trouble.

"Uh-huh," you shot back, not letting him off that easily.

Your gaze shifted, assessing Mariana carefully. Her nose was a bit red, and the drying streaks of tears lined her face, but she looked more settled, calmer now.

Climbing onto the branch beside them, you allowed Luca to squirm out of your hold and into his sister’s lap fully, giving them space. He sat there happily, his tiny fingers curling into Mariana’s dress, unaware of the emotional storm that had just passed between her and Shanks.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you sat down, finally realizing what was in front of you—the sight of your children, together with their father for the first time, side by side.

It was surreal. The way the mid-afternoon sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting warm, golden patches of light over them, made the moment feel frozen in time. Mariana’s tear-streaked face looked so much like Shanks’ right now, her features carrying his softness and strength, while Luca’s wide eyes gleamed with the same mischievous spark that you had seen in Shanks a thousand times.

Funny how you both saw the other in your children.

You could feel your ears burning as the emotions swirled in your chest. Shanks, always perceptive, didn’t miss a thing. His eyes flicked to you, and his grin softened into something more knowing, more tender. He raised an eyebrow, clearly catching the look on your face.

"Feeling a bit strange, huh?" Shanks teased gently, though there was a deeper understanding in his gaze. He reached over and brushed his fingers lightly against your arm, the touch both comforting and familiar, as if reminding you that you weren’t alone in this moment of overwhelming realization.

You bit your lip, your eyes darting between him and your children, finally meeting his gaze again. The teasing sparkle in his eyes had faded into something softer, something that mirrored the way you were feeling—an acknowledgment of just how much this moment meant.

“Yeah,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "A bit."

Shanks chuckled, low and affectionate, before leaning over to press a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than usual. His arm slipped around your waist, pulling you closer to him on the branch, his warmth grounding you.

You sighed, leaning into him just a little, your eyes still locked on your children. Luca had reached up to tug at one of Mariana’s curls, laughing as it bounced back. Mariana smiled softly, her eyes still red but clearer now, her hand gently holding her brother's.

Finally, you felt the tension in your chest begin to ease. Here they were, together. And so were you. The people who held your heart were finally connected in a way that seemed almost impossible not so long ago.

Shanks, sensing the shift, whispered just loud enough for you to hear, "We’ve got a lot to figure out, but for now… let’s just enjoy this."

You nodded, unable to speak, your throat too tight with emotion, but you managed a smile, leaning your head against his shoulder. In this moment, the future and all its uncertainties didn’t seem so daunting. You had them. You had each other.

And that was all you ever wanted.

Luca began to tug at your sleeve, grumbling about his rumbling stomach, you gave him a reassuring smile before looking toward Shanks.

"Alright, you two, go on down and get some food," you instructed, waving them off. "I'll be down in a bit."

Shanks, ever the tease, flashed a grin as he hoisted Luca up onto his shoulders. "You girls be nice to each other, now," he called over his shoulder as they began their descent from the tree.

You and Mariana exchanged a look, both of you narrowing your eyes at him in a glare before simultaneously huffing out a small laugh. Shanks glanced back, winking, before continuing down the path, Luca’s hands playfully tousling his hair. You watched as they disappeared, Luca’s joyous giggles mixing with the crunch of leaves beneath Shanks’ boots. The sight of your son perched high on his father’s shoulders, laughing freely, tugged at your heartstrings.

They looked so natural together—in fact, as if this moment had always been meant to be.

You barely had a chance to turn back toward Mariana before you felt the weight of her body suddenly collapse into yours, her arms thrown around your waist. Instinctively, your arms wrapped around her, pulling her close as you both sank into the tree, rocking gently back and forth. The quiet creaking of the branch and the distant birdsong surrounded you as you cradled her.

You buried your face in her thick hair, whispering, “I’m so sorry, Mariana.”

For a moment, the world shrank to just the two of you, and it was as if she was little again, the same way she used to cling to you after a bad dream or when the world had been too much for her. You felt her grip tighten, her breath coming in uneven bursts as she fought back tears. Her body trembled slightly, and you rocked her gently, like you used to, as if swaying could soothe the storm inside her.

"I’m sorry too," she mumbled into your shoulder, her voice thick with emotion. "For running off. I just… I didn’t know what to do."

Pulling back just enough to look at her face, you saw the way she was trying so hard to hold it together, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. It almost broke you. You wanted to put on your vice admiral face, the one that held everything in line, but not here. Not with her. Mariana didn’t need that façade—she needed you, her mom, raw and honest.

“Your feelings are valid,” you whispered, cupping her face in your hands. “You have every right to be upset, sweetheart. I wasn’t honest with you, and that’s on me.”

Her lips quivered as she met your gaze, and you could see the inner battle she was waging against her tears. You could feel it in your own chest too, that deep ache that came with the vulnerability of motherhood. You pulled her close again, resting your chin on top of her head as you fought your own tears.

After a moment, you spoke, your voice low and gentle. "Your father and I… we live in very different worlds. We’re on opposite sides of the same coin. But, Mariana, none of that matters when it comes to how we feel about each other. We love each other—deeply—and I don’t care what anyone has to say about it. I’m proud of our family. I’m honored to be your mother and Luca’s."

There was a pause, and then Mariana pulled back slightly, her eyes wide with surprise. "What about the Marines?" she asked, her voice small but curious.

You let out a short, amused laugh, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "They can kiss my ass if they know what’s good for them."

“MOM!”

“IT’S TRUE!”

Mariana blinked, taken aback, before bursting into laughter. The sound of her joy filled the air, and it was like a weight had lifted. The tension, the confusion, it all seemed to dissipate in that moment.

"I forgive you, Mama," she said softly, her smile breaking through the remnants of her tears. Then her expression turned mischievous as she teased, "But seriously, I mean, Dad must’ve been a real looker back in the day, huh?"

You shot her a playful glare, swatting her arm lightly. “Hush. He still is.”

Before you could say more, a familiar voice called out from behind you. “That’s good to know!”

You whipped your head around to hear Shanks’ voice echoing through the trees. Both you and Mariana immediately yelled in unison, "Were you eavesdropping?"

Shanks’ loud, hearty laugh echoed in the clearing. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t hide your smile as you offered your hand to Mariana, who took it gladly. You helped her carefully down from the tree, the peach basket swinging lightly in her other hand.

The moment you both reached the ground, you barely had time to catch your breath before a strong arm wrapped around your waist, lifting you effortlessly into the air.

“Shanks!”

You yelped, half in surprise, half in laughter, as you were spun around. Behind you, you heard his grunt of effort as he hoisted you and Mariana both off the ground.

“I’ve got my family, don’t I?” he said with a wide grin, spinning you around with playful ease.

‘Family.’

Before you could protest, all three of you tumbled—laughing, kicking, and squealing—into the nearby frog pond. The cool water splashed up around you as you landed in a heap, Shanks' arms still wrapped protectively around you and Mariana. The frogs let out startled croaks, hopping away in every direction as you all landed with an ungraceful splash.

Water droplets clung to your hair and clothes as you gasped, momentarily stunned, before the laughter bubbled up again. Shanks’ deep, rumbling laugh mixed with Mariana’s bright giggles as she kicked her legs in the shallow water, and even you couldn’t help but join in.

In that moment, soaked and tangled together in the pond, with your children and Shanks all around you, everything felt just right. It didn’t matter how complicated life was or how many challenges lay ahead—right here, right now, you have everything you ever wanted.

The three of you stumbled out of the pond, laughing and soaked to the bone, water dripping from your hair and clothes. Shanks shook his head like a dog, sending a fresh spray of droplets everywhere as Mariana shrieked and tried to dodge. Luca, ever the quick one, scooped up her sandals before grinning at you with his mischievous eyes.

"Race you home!" he shouted before taking off down the path, his little feet splashing in the mud as he ran ahead.

Without missing a beat, you broke into a sprint after him, your wet clothes sticking uncomfortably to your skin. Shanks was right behind you, his deep voice calling out, “Not fair! I’m at a disadvantage!” He exaggerated a limp, clutching at his missing arm in mock despair.

You threw a glance over your shoulder, smirking as you shoved him playfully. “You’ve still got one arm to brandish a sword or a gun, so you’re doing just fine!” Shanks, ever the dramatic, stumbled back into a large pumpkin, shouting about abuse of the disabled.

Laughter rang out between you as the kids raced ahead, disappearing toward the familiar path leading to the home you shared. Home. The word felt right, a warmth spreading through your chest. It wasn’t just a place—it was where the four of you belonged, together.

Once inside, everyone scrambled to get out of their soaking clothes. Shanks made a great show of peeling off his shirt, wringing it out theatrically, earning a giggle from Mariana and a groan from Luca as he darted into his room. You quickly ushered the children to their respective rooms, helping them into dry clothes before heading to your own.

You exchanged a quick glance with Shanks as you changed, his grin warm and teasing as usual. “Better hurry,” he said. “The crew’s waiting.”

After everyone had dried off and dressed, you led the children down to the beach, where the Red-Haired Pirates were gathered, laughing and drinking. The sight brought a familiar comfort, but today, something was different.

Today, they weren’t just Shanks’ crew—they were your crew too.

As you approached, you noticed the unexpected sight of another crew mingling with Shanks’ men. Straw Hats and... was that Mihawk? Your brows lifted slightly at the irony of such a gathering. Luffy’s wide grin was unmistakable as he spotted you first, with Ace right behind him, their gazes lighting up with recognition. But then your eyes landed on someone else—a figure with blue hair and a ridiculous red nose, hunched over in laughter.

“Oh, not the blue-haired freak…” you muttered under your breath, sighing as Buggy doubled over, cackling so hard you thought he might actually pee himself. Alvida shot him a death glare, threatening to splash him with her drink if he didn’t rein it in.

But before you could react to the odd combination of characters, the questions started flying. “Who are these children?” “Shanks has kids?! THE Vice admiral has kids?!” Voices swirled around as everyone pointed between you, Mariana, and Luca.

Shanks, always one to command a crowd, raised his one hand, grinning wide. “I’m actually a married man,” he announced proudly, his arm coming around your waist to pull you close. “This is my family.”

The declaration caused an immediate stir. Luffy looked like his mind had been blown, and Ace—sweet Ace—seemed momentarily hurt before you locked eyes with him, mouthing a soft apology. He gave you a brief nod, his lips curling into a small, understanding smile before he walked over and picked up Mariana and Luca, spinning them around with joy.

Mihawk, always composed, looked at you intently for a moment, his piercing gaze softened by something like respect. He offered a small, approving nod. “Congratulations,” he said coolly, turning to your children.

“Obey your parents and grow strong.”

You barely had time to respond before Buggy’s voice cut through the din. “You got married without telling me?!” His face was red, not from anger but from sheer disbelief, as he jabbed an accusatory finger at Shanks.

“Kids?! You didn’t even tell me you had kids!”

The two men were soon bickering like old friends, the insults flying fast as Buggy flailed dramatically, still laughing as if the whole situation was some cosmic joke. Alvida threatened to dump her drink on his head again, rolling her eyes at his antics.

Your eyes drifted across the crowd and landed on Luffy and Ace, with Uta and Sabo not far behind. A wave of affection hit you as you looked at them—your other “children,” the ones you had loved and cared for in their own way. Luffy was still grinning like a madman, and Uta waved excitedly, while Sabo flashed you his warm smile.

You crossed the short distance to Benn, who had been standing off to the side, a quiet observer to the chaos. He met your gaze with a knowing smile. Without hesitation, you threw your arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. “Thank you,” you whispered, the words filled with years of unspoken gratitude. “For everything.”

Benn chuckled softly, patting your back as he returned the embrace. “You’re a fine lady,” he said gently. “And a wonderful mother. It was my honor to serve you all these years.”

You smirked, pulling back just enough to smack his arm lightly.

"Don’t get all sentimental on me now, Benn.”

Before he could respond, Shanks’ voice rang out over the celebrating crowd.

“Benn! No more hiding secrets with my wife!”

You and Benn exchanged a glance, rolling your eyes as Shanks’ playful accusation echoed across the clearing. You stuck your tongue out at your husband, a grin tugging at your lips.

“Well,” you said, looking around at the gathered pirates and your family, “I think it’s time for a proper celebration.” The excitement in the air was palpable as you made the decision. “How about a bonfire tonight? To celebrate our wedding and our family?”

The cheer that went up was loud and boisterous, filled with the warmth of your crew and friends. As the sun began to sink lower in the sky, the thought of the upcoming night filled you with joy.

Tonight, you’d celebrate—not just your marriage, but the long-awaited union of your family.

'Finally, you thought, as you glanced over at Shanks, who was watching you with that same, familiar grin.

‘Finally, we're together.’

‘Finally, we're together!’

Officially.

Years have passed and Luffy had found the One Piece and claimed the title of Pirate King, but the world hadn’t stopped moving. It kept spinning, adventures blooming on every horizon. True to his nature, Luffy refused to settle down, his hunger for excitement never dulled.

With his crew by his side, he continued sailing the world, chasing whatever wild dream came next.

Mihawk, the stoic swordsman, had found his own happiness, his once-lonely island now filled with the laughter of his wife and their growing family. Buggy—who would've thought—was a sensation, performing for adoring fans around the world. His wife was expecting their first child, and he never missed a chance to boast about it to anyone who would listen.

As for the others, many had paired off, found their own partners, and were off on adventures, whether on the seas or on land. The world, freed from the tyranny of the Celestial Dragons, felt a little bit brighter, a little bit freer.

But you?

You found your peace in a new home tucked away on a hill in a clearing, surrounded by swaying trees and soft breezes, just near enough to the beach that you could always hear the gentle lapping of the waves.

The house itself had been built by many hands—your friends, your family, all coming together to create a place that felt like home, solid and warm. The ship docked nearby was always ready for the next spontaneous stargazing adventure, a reminder of the sea that would always call to you. But for now, you were content to stay grounded.

Today, you were wearing a flowing white dress that draped over your swollen belly, the fabric glowing softly in the warm light of the setting sun. Your usual combat boots were long forgotten, traded in favor of your husband's larger boots, which provided some relief for your aching feet.

The gentle breeze fluttered the edges of your dress as you sat outside on the porch, basking in the fading warmth of the day.

The house hummed with life. Your children, Mariana and Luca, were down at the beach, their laughter carrying over the waves as they played, waiting for their father to return with dinner. It was the kind of peaceful moment you’d come to treasure, a slice of simple joy in a life that had been anything but simple.

Mariana had taken to sailing with her father and his crew when she could. She was often torn between her love for the sea and her desire to accompany her “other siblings”—Luffy, Uta, Ace, Sabo—on their wild escapades. She had her father’s spirit, free and bold, and you couldn’t help but feel proud every time she set sail.

Luca, on the other hand, had found his calling elsewhere. At his own request, he’d been enrolled in a Marine academy, determined to follow a different path from his father, one of order and law. Shanks, to your surprise, had never been prouder. He spoke of his son’s choices with nothing but admiration, loving that Luca was forging his own way.

And Garp—oh, Garp was positively thrilled at the news of receiving another grandchild to dote over.

Your home had become the heart of every gathering, a place where pirates, marines, and in-between friends could come together, raid your kitchen, and fill the nights with laughter and stories.

Midnight sleepovers were common, and everyone was more than a little protective of you now that you were pregnant again.

The marines had tried to fire you after your marriage to Shanks, but Luffy—backed by several other influential voices—had quickly put an end to that nonsense. The threats of violence, though well-meaning, had been more than enough to convince the higher-ups to back down.

Your village, the one that had accepted you with open arms all those years ago, remained fiercely loyal. When you revealed the truth about your family—about Shanks, the children, the title of pirate—they hadn’t turned their backs on you. Instead, they accepted your life, standing by your side regardless of titles.

They had outgrown the island and decided to relocate to a larger nearby continent, where they continued to thrive under your guidance.

Now, you sat quietly on the shore, your hands resting on your belly, which felt impossibly large. The white dress you wore caught the last of the sun’s light, giving you an almost ethereal glow as your belly rose like a round, warm balloon.

You smiled softly, watching the way the waves sparkled in the distance.

And right on cue, there he was—Shanks, strolling up from the beach, his signature red hair a mess from the wind. Mariana and Luca spotted him immediately, shrieking with excitement as they raced across the sand to tackle him. He let out a hearty laugh, stumbling back under their enthusiastic hugs, but he didn’t drop the fish he was carrying for dinner.

“Alright, alright!” he chuckled, ruffling Luca’s hair and lifting Mariana into his one arm with ease. “Help me get these fish inside, will you?” The children eagerly took the catch from his hands, dashing toward the house to begin cleaning them for the meal.

Shanks’ eyes followed them for a moment, a smile playing on his lips, before he turned his gaze to you.

He approached slowly, kneeling down beside you. The look he gave you was full of warmth, the kind of love that had only deepened over the years. His hand found yours first, giving it a gentle squeeze before he pressed a kiss to your lips. Then, with the kind of tenderness only he possessed, he placed his warm hand on your belly.

A flood of comfort washed over you as you felt the weight of his palm, grounding you in the moment.

Shanks grinned, his fingers splayed wide over your stomach. “I missed you,” he whispered before leaning down further, pressing a kiss to the top of your belly.

The movement inside you was immediate—your shared child stirring in response to the attention. The warmth that bloomed through you was indescribable, like a slow, happy glow spreading from your core.

Shanks straightened, but his forehead remained pressed to yours, your breaths mingling in the close space between you. “Admiral,” he teased softly, his voice a low rumble in your ear.

“Pirate,” you shot back with a grin, leaning your head against his.

“Wife.”

“Husband.”

He kissed your nose. “Mine.”

You leaned into him, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “Yours,” you whispered back, feeling the deep truth in the word.

“Forever,” he murmured, sealing the moment with a kiss to your lips, slow and sweet.

From the house, you could hear Mariana’s voice rising in playful exasperation. “They’re kissing again!”

Luca’s reply came next, louder and full of disgust. “BLAH!”

The two of you broke into laughter, pulling back just enough to glance toward the house, where your children were peeking out from the kitchen window. You could see their exaggerated grimaces from here, and it only made you smile more.

Shanks shook his head, chuckling as he stood up, offering his hand to you. “Come on, let’s go before they start a mutiny.”

You took his hand, rising slowly, your belly heavy but your heart light.

Together, you walked toward the house, where the laughter of your children and the warmth of your home awaited.

You are happy.

You are loved.

You are home.

That wraps it up! Link to part 1 is right here.

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