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cloudzoro · 6 months ago

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Girl, since you mention the OP dilfs, I would LOVE to see some headcanons or something about either how they flirt with you or when they realize they like you 👀👀👀

you can add who you like but I’m begging for Shanks and Mihawk ✨🧍🏽‍♀️

hi!!!!! I went with 'realising they like you, and I actually added most of the dilfs. hope you enjoy 🤤🙏

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Realising He's In Love | ♡

characters: beckman, buggy, crocodile, dragon, mihawk, shanks, smoker

cw: fem!reader, crocodile's is suggestive,

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Beckman

Beckman realises his love for you on a random cold morning.

It's a very rare calm day aboard the force. Beckman, sitting in a chair on the deck, listens to those of his crewmates who are awake this early, navigating around the ship. He hears your voice humming a pretty tune. He hears the clanking of pans in the background, giving away your location.

When he enters the kitchen, he sees you dancing around and helping yourselves to Lucky Roux's ingredients.

“Whatcha doing?” he asks. He laughs as you jump, startled by his interruption.

“It's kind of chilly out, and you were running a little cold this morning, so I'm making us some nice warm breakfast,” you say, adding ingredients to a pan. Your desire to take care of him warms him up enough already. He walks up to you and wraps his arms around your waist. He buries his face into your neck as he hums in response. The domesticity of it slaps him in the face. A warmth spreads through his body. He understands, in this moment, what it is to truly love someone, but he'll keep it as his little secret for a while longer

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Buggy

Everyone is so mean to him. All his life, he's been treated poorly. Then he meets you; you're a subordinate of Mihawk's that he's brought along to the cross guild. Mihawk is a solitary creature, so the fact he keeps you around must mean you hold some value to him. This fact scares Buggy; it makes him distrust you, even if you're so kind to him.

You talk to him gently, offer to pour him drinks when he stops by Mihawk's tent and patch him up when his two business partners beat him down. At first, he thinks you have alternative motives, that this is a ploy, and you're going to hurt him in some way. Then, he thinks you're patronising him and taking pity on his poor soul.

It takes Mihawk stomping his boot down a little too hard, which causes you to step in and beg your boss to back off, to make him realise you genuinely care about him. You standing up to Mihawk despite what repercussions it may have is the day he realises that he doesn't ever want you to leave.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Crocodile

He's pretty into you from the beginning, but he doesn't fall quickly. You're a colleague, a hard worker, and he likes you. He takes you to many galas and events and proposes that the two of you should work together more often. That leads to the two of you being tangled in the sheets, and Crocodile makes it clear to you that this ‘relationship’ is sexual in nature and nothing more. You're fond of the man, but you keep your feelings to yourself. Until one night when he needs to take his stress out and finds himself unable to be rough with you.

He doesn't lay your back against his sheets, doesn't flip you onto your front and squish your head into the pillows. Instead, in a move that baffles you, he asks you for a kiss. You oblige, seated on his lap on a soft velvet sofa. His hook caresses your leg, keeping you pressed to him while his hands explore you. You gently ask if he's ok, careful not to anger the beast beneath you. He nods, moving his kisses down to your neck. He feels it in his heart, his chest crumbling from the inside as he bares it to you with every kiss placed on your skin.

He laughs at himself as he remembers telling you this was nothing more than sex. What a fool he was.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Dragon

Dragon and you are dating, and you have been for a while. He's quite frankly terrified of love. He's been there once, and it didn't work out for him. He takes things slowly with you. Every late-night talk and comforting hug in the privacy of your room pulls his heart deeper and deeper.

He realises just how deeply in love he is when he sees you standing with Koala, giving her some advice. Your heart is what attracted him to you in the first place. Seeing you so readily help other people makes him realise just how strongly he feels about you. He more than loves you; he admires you. He approaches you as Koala leaves, looking much calmer than she did before.

“Is she ok?”

“She's fine, honey. Are you ok?” It's a simple question of concern, but it still has his heart squeezing in a way he's never felt before. He kisses you softly, hoping the action will convey his feelings properly.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Mihawk

He's very straightforward and to the point. He knows what he wants. He realises he likes you pretty much immediately after meeting you.

The first time he meets your eyes from across the bar, he plans to take you back to your home, entertain you and leave you before you wake the next morning. Then he strikes up a conversation with you, and everything changes.

“Can I buy you another drink?” he asks, sliding into the seat next to you.

“Please don't, this cheap wine tastes like shit. I could probably use this as a truth serum against my enemies” You bite, smacking your lips together at the bitter taste. Something about your attitude lights a flame in Mihawk. He's found a kindred spirit in you. A fine woman with a fine taste. Now he's intrigued by you, suddenly struck with a desire to know more.

So he starts talking to you about wine. There's no flirtation in his words, no exaggerated flattery or innuendo. He asks about you, divulges very little about himself and then tells you he found you interesting. He asks if you'd like to go home with him and see his much more impressive collection of wine. Of course, you accept. He lets you break open a well-aged bottle, drinking happily with you.

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Shanks

Oh, he's pathetic, actually. Everyone else realises before he does. He denies it with every fibre of his being. You've known each other for a long time. Every time you touch him, talk back to him, even look at him, his heart stirs. He has to tell himself the tightening of his chest is just the drink catching up to him.

After a night of drinking and joking, you go off to bed. When you part with your captain, you're so drunk that you don't even realise what you're doing and press a goodnight kiss to his cheek. You cart yourself off to bed, tiredly waving at your crew. You go to sleep, completely oblivious to the fact that Shanks is currently turning the colour of his hair while Yasopp and Roux tease him for it. Beckman gives him a look that says, ‘I told you so’.

“I'm not in love with her”, he groans as he's hit with flashes of all the times you've made his heart skip a beat. “ I just think she's beautiful, smart, talented, fun and” he pauses his sentence when he realises he's rambling, rambling about you. “I'm in love with her,” he sighs, putting his head in hand. What kind of captain falls for his crewmate?

✩♬ ₊˚.☁️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Smoker

Smoker doesn't realise until it's almost too late. The two of you are co-workers and have known each other for years. While working together, an enemy you hadn't noticed takes a shot at you, and Smoker puts himself in the line of fire. The bullet hits his ribcage, and enough of the soldiers under his command help him away to be seen by a doctor.

Seeing that bullet fly towards you had every missed opportunity to kiss you, cycling through his brain. He moved to save you, knowing it would harm him because he realised at that moment he would rather die than spend a single minute without you. He needs you to eat, breathe and sleep. He convinced himself at one point that you two were just inseparable friends, but the singular bullet in his torso had the truth bleeding out of him.

When he wakes up from surgery, you're sat in his hospital room, asleep in a chair next to his bed. His busy heart relaxes, seeing you safe and sound. He considers the bullet a silent vow of protection. A vow he will never break.

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thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading. comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡

tag list: @bloodfixnd @sexysapphicshopowner @beachaddict48 @lem-hhn @quanxifangirl @mythicallystupid

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#one piece x reader #fem!reader #shanks x reader #mihawk x reader #crocodile x reader #buggy x reader #smoker x reader #dragon x reader #benn beckman x reader #monkey d dragon x reader #sir crocodile x reader #buggy the clown x reader #op x reader

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mydaysaresmall · 1 month ago

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#mushrooms #photography #not art #velvet shank #probably #fungi

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innerfare · 4 months ago

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Playing With Your Nipples - Part 2

Summary: how they play with your nipples

Characters: Shanks, Beckman, Mihawk, Crocodile, Doflamingo, Corazon

Genre: pure smut

CW: NSFW // the obvious + toys (whips and clamps), Shanks is devious, Crocodile is mean with his hook

———

Shanks:

Genuinely doesn’t understand why it’s not acceptable to play with your nipples through your shirt in public. Men grab their girl’s ass all the time in public. Sometimes, they’ll even spank them. And while you protest to him grabbing or swatting your ass in front of the crew, it’s always a halfhearted complaint. But when he starts squeezing your tits and feeling for your nipples… well, suddenly that’s a problem, one he thinks is asinine. If you don’t wear a bra around this man, he will be pinching your nipples, and if he does that, it’s only a matter of time before his mouth is on them, so you really ought to wear a bra. He’s definitely guilty of unclasping your bra in public (magician’s fingers).

Beckman:

He’s not sure what he likes more: you sitting in his lap and feeling him up, or you sitting in his lap and letting him feel you up. But he knows his favorite thing in the world is you sitting in his lap, usually at night or in the early hours of the morning when the rest of the crew is passed out, your shirt on the floor. If your back is pressed into his chest, it’ll be mere seconds before his hands are beneath your shirt and he’s tugging on your nipples, and it won’t be long after that that he’s laying you down on his desk to suck on them. Some of the most desperate moans you’ve pulled out of this man have been as you were grinding into his massive bulge while he sucked on your nipples.

Mihawk:

He enjoys using a whip on your ass every now and then, enjoys the way you squeal when it makes contact with your sensitive skin, and especially enjoys how much harder you seem to cum around his cock when he fucks you afterwards. But it wasn’t until you used it on his chest that it occurred to him to use it on yours, and now he can’t stop spanking your tits, leaning in to kiss your poor nipples between every two or three strikes. He’s merciless in his back and forth, tormenting you then comforting you, over and over again.

Crocodile:

Perhaps his favorite arrangement in the world is you naked and him fully clothed, not so much as a button undone on his shirt. He likes to bark orders at you, telling you which items of clothing to take off when, which now-naked body parts to caress and squeeze and pinch. Then he likes to drag his hook across your naked breasts, watching closely in hopes he can see your heart jump in your chest. And when he fucks you, without exception, his fingers are twisting one of your nipples, and if he can get his mouth around the other, he will, always biting down almost too hard when he cums.

Doflamingo:

He buys all sorts of pretty things to decorate your tits, a menagerie of expensive bras and pieces of body jewelry- silk, lace, velvet, pearls, and gold. He normally destroys these things, if not with his hands than with his mouth, often using shredded scraps of silk or broken strands of pearls as an excuse to punish you, even if he’s the one responsible. And punish you he does, at that point pulling out heavy clamps to torture you, some with little bells, others attached to collars. He also has a stack of close up photographs of your nipples stuck in these little traps, your skin littered with hickies. He's definitely a biter, not a sucker.

Corazon:

So many sweet, gentle kisses it’s unreal. He’s so excited to kiss your lips, never mind your jaw and then the column of your neck. He normally starts out kissing your tits over your shirt because he just needs to get used to it, and then he’s pulling your shirt down and even tugging at your bra, gently kissing your tits and inching toward one of your nipples. His big, warm lips press into it, and you gasp, encouraging him to take it into his mouth. He’s much more of a sucker than a biter, though he might tug on them a bit with his teeth, if only because he’s over excited.

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

#one piece #one piece headcanons #one piece x reader #one piece smut #shanks x reader #beckman x reader #Benn Beckman x reader #mihawk x reader #crocodile x reader #doflamingo x reader #corazon x reader #rosinante x reader #shanks #benn beckman #mihawk #sir crocodile #donquixote doflamingo #donquixote rosinante

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avdxl · 29 days ago

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The Red King's Prize- 18+! SMUT

summary: Y/N made a grave mistake when meeting Shanks. She caught his interest.

A/N: Summaries are hard. Hopefully the story is better lol.

pairing: Shanks X Female!Reader

wc: 5301

C/W: dubcon(?) just to be safe. kidnapping towards then end. slight overstimulation.

"Look lively, my sons!" bellowed the ship's captain. The crew of the Moby scurried about the deck, securing ropes and swabbing the planks. Whitebeard had a gentle but firm voice that could be heard over the crash of waves. His eyes twinkled with the excitement of a pirate's life, and his laugh lines deepened as he surveyed his men.

"Is that Akagami's ship?" one of the crew members shouted, pointing to the speck of red growing larger with each passing moment. The air was filled with a mix of excitement and tension. Shanks was a legend among legends, and his visits were never without incident.

"Aye, it is!" confirmed Whitebeard, squinting into the distance. His daughter, Y/N, emerged from the cabin, her curiosity piqued. She was a young woman with a spirit that matched her father's. "It's been too long since we had good company," he said, ruffling her hair.

"Father, what's so special about Shanks?" she asked, watching the ship draw closer. The name alone was enough to make the most hardened pirates whisper in awe.

Whitebeard turned to her, his gaze softening. "Shanks is a good man, he’s also a friend of sorts, as well as a powerful man." he said, his voice filled with a hint of pain and nostalgia. "But remember, he's got a peculiar sense of humor. Don't take anything he says to heart."

The ships docked with a thud that echoed through the Moby's wooden hull. Shanks' crew, a motley bunch of men, swaggered onto the deck, their captain at the forefront. Shanks was a tall man, with a mischievous glint in his eye and three scars that slashed across his eye.

"Whitebeard, my old friend!" he called out, a wide grin splitting his face. The two men embraced, their laughter booming through the salty air. The crew of the Moby watched as the two pirate lords exchanged greetings like old comrades.

Y/N, feeling a bit shy, hovered at the edge of the group, taking in the scene. That's when she felt it - a pair of eyes on her, assessing her from head to toe. She looked up and met Shanks' gaze. His smile didn't falter, but his eyes held a darker, more intense look than she was expecting. It sent a shiver down her spine.

"And who is this beauty?" Shanks asked, his eyes never leaving hers. The question hung in the air, and she felt the weight of his stare.

Whitebeard beamed with pride. "This is my daughter, Y/N."

The crew grew silent. The air grew thicker, charged with an energy she couldn't quite put her finger on. Shanks stepped forward, his boots thudding heavily on the wooden planks. He extended a hand to her, and she took it, feeling the rough calluses of a seasoned pirate.

"A pleasure to meet you, Y/N," he said, his grip firm. There was something about the way he said her name, something that made her feel both thrilled and uneasy. As he leaned in, his breath warm against her cheek, he whispered, "We're going to have some fun together, you and I."

The crew erupted into laughter, slapping each other's backs and shouting toasts. But Y/N felt the seriousness behind his words. It was as if he had made a silent promise, or perhaps a veiled threat. She couldn't tell which.

The evening grew dark, and the stars twinkled above like scattered jewels on a velvet cloak. The two crews drank and sang, sharing tales of adventure and treasure. Yet, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that this night was the start of something she didn't quite understand. Shanks remained by her side, his presence both comforting and unsettling.

As the party began to wind down, and the crew members stumbled back to their quarters, Y/N made her way to her cabin, her thoughts racing. She was tired, but the anticipation of the night's events kept her from finding peace. Shanks, ever the gentleman, insisted on seeing Y/N to her door. His boisterous laughter grew quieter as they descended the stairs, the shadows stretching out before them like the arms of the sea at night.

The corridor grew still, the only sound the distant echo of the ocean's lullaby. Y/N turned the knob and pushed the door open, the candlelight inside casting a warm glow onto the wooden floor. She stepped in, expecting Shanks to bid her goodnight, but instead, he followed her, his eyes never leaving hers. She felt a flutter of panic, but she stood her ground, refusing to show fear.

"I've been watching you all night," he said, his tone hushed. "There's something about you, something... intriguing." He stepped closer, the scent of rum and saltwater clinging to his clothes. Y/N's heart hammered in her chest, unsure of what was happening. "I can't quite put my finger on it, but I intend to find out."

Before she could respond, Shanks reached out and touched her cheek gently, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. The gesture was so tender it sent a shiver through her body. She looked into his eyes, searching for a hint of his intentions, but all she found was an enigmatic smile. He leaned in, his breath warm and sweet with the scent of the fine wine they'd shared earlier. His lips brushed against hers in a kiss that was as soft as a whisper, yet it seemed to echo through the very core of her being.

The kiss was unexpected, but Y/N didn't pull away. Instead, she found herself leaning into it, feeling the promise of something powerful stirring within her. As they parted, she realized that she had been holding her breath. Shanks' gaze remained locked on hers, and she felt a strange warmth spread through her, as if she had just uncovered a hidden treasure. The moment hung between them, and for a second, Y/N's mind went blank.

Emboldened by the kiss and the emotions it stirred, Shanks decided to push the boundaries further. His hand reached for her waist, pulling her into his muscular embrace. His touch was firm, yet not forceful. It was as if he was testing the waters, gauging her reaction. The air grew thick with tension, and she could feel the warmth of his body against hers.

Shanks released a low growl, the hunger in his eyes unmistakable. He no longer bothered with pleasantries or sweet talk; there was no more need for such trivialities between them. Y/N's breath hitched as she felt his arousal pressing against her stomach. His grip tightened, a silent demand for her submission, and she felt herself melt into his touch, her body craving him.

He spun her around, her back pressing against the cold, hard wood of the cabin wall. His mouth found hers in a bruising kiss, his teeth biting into her lower lip just hard enough to draw a gasp. His hand tangled in her hair, yanking her head back to expose her neck. He kissed and licked along her throat, leaving a trail of heat that made her shiver with need. His hand leaving her hair and roaming down her body, cupping her ass and squeezing roughly, his fingers digging into her soft flesh.

"Pops won't be happy if he sees us like this," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the gentle rocking of the ship.

Shanks chuckled, a low rumble that seemed to resonate in her very bones. "Let's not worry about that just yet," he said, his voice smooth as silk. He leaned in again, his lips finding hers again demanding, full of passion and a hint of something darker.

Y/N's resolve wavered. She knew she should push him away, but instead, she found herself responding, her own hands moving up to tangle in his hair. The kiss grew deeper, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. She could feel the heat of his desire, and it ignited something within her that she had never felt before. It was thrilling and terrifying all at once.

Finally, she managed to break away, gasping for air. "We can't," she said, her voice trembling. "This isn't right."

Shanks leaned back, his expression unreadable. "Why not?" he asked, his hand still resting on her bare waist. "You're a pirate. Surely, you know that life at sea is about seizing moments of pleasure when they come."

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "Because... because my dad—."

He chuckled again, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. "Whitebeard and I are more than just friendly, Y/N. We share something deeper, more akin to brothers. Plus.." His hand slid up her side, and she felt his thumb trace the edge of her bra strap. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I just want to know you better."

His words were like a siren's song, tempting and dangerous. She knew she should resist, but the desire within her was growing too strong. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she had made up her mind.

"Fine," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But only if you promise to keep this between us."

Shanks' smile grew sharper, his teeth flashing in the candlelight. He leaned in, his breath hot on her neck. "I can do that," he murmured, deftly unbuttoning her dress. It slid to the floor, and she stepped out of it, feeling the cool air of the cabin kiss her skin.

Without warning, he hoisted her onto the bed, the mattress groaned under their combined weight, the springs protesting as he began to grind his hips into her. The friction between their bodies sent waves of pleasure crashing through her, and she moaned into his mouth. His hand traveled up to her chest, squeezing her breast until she whimpered. His thumb flicked over her hardened nipple, sending an electric shock straight to her core.

Shanks' hand then slid down to the apex of her thighs, pushing aside the damp fabric that barely contained her arousal. He groaned into her ear, feeling how wet she was for him. His fingers teased her clit, rubbing in slow, agonizing circles that had her writhing beneath him. Y/N's nails dug into his back as she tried to pull him closer, needing more, always more. He chuckled darkly, enjoying the way she squirmed in his grasp. He knew he had her right where he wanted her; desperate and begging for release.

The moment his finger slid inside her, she threw her head back, arching off the bed. He pumped in and out, adding another digit, stretching her until she was ready for what was to come. Her pussy clenched around his digits, her inner walls quivering with anticipation. The room was filled with the sounds of their harsh breathing and the slick noises of his hand moving within her. He could feel her muscles tightening, her orgasm building like a storm about to break.

Y/N's mind was a whirlwind of confusion and excitement. She had never been with a man before, and she had always thought it would be with someone she knew, someone she trusted. But here she was, in the grasp of the notorious Shanks, a stranger she's only vaguely heard about, feeling a passion that she had only ever dreamed of.

Y/N tried to keep up, her own desires spiraling out of control. But she could feel the shift in him, the way his kisses turned from tender to bruising, his hand moving from exploratory to possessive. A part of her wanted to stop, to demand gentleness, but the thrill of the forbidden and the power she felt in his embrace kept her from speaking. Suddenly, she was aware of his weight pressing down on her, his body a wall of heat and strength that made her feel both protected and trapped.

Shanks wasn't done with her yet. He withdrew his hand, leaving her panting and needy. He undid his pants with a swift movement, his cock springing free. It was thick and hard, a testament to his desire. He positioned himself at her entrance, pausing for a moment to enjoy the view of her flushed skin and glazed eyes. Shanks didn't waste any time, pushing aside the last barrier of her innocence with a grunt of pleasure. The pain was sharp, but it was quickly overridden by the sheer force of his desire. He set a brutal pace, his hips slapping against hers with a rhythm that was as relentless as the waves outside. The sounds of their union filled the cabin, a symphony of flesh and passion that seemed to resonate with the very soul of the ship.

Y/N's eyes widened as she felt herself stretched to the limits, her body struggling to keep up with his. Yet, with each thrust, she felt a strange, primal satisfaction blooming within her. It was as if she had been waiting for this all her life, waiting to be claimed by a man who could match her in strength and spirit.

Y/N's scream of pleasure was muffled by the pillow she'd buried her face in, her body shuddering around him. Shanks's hips continued to slam into her, the bed frame rattling with the force of his movements. Each thrust hit her G-spot with unerring precision, sending bolts of pleasure through her body. Her walls clamped down around him, trying to keep him inside her as he withdrew, only to be filled again and again. She could feel herself climbing towards climax, the pressure building with each violent collision of their bodies.

His one good hand continued to maul her breast, pinching and pulling at her nipple until she thought she might go mad with need. The hand that had been in her hair now held her face, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were dark with lust, the scars around his eye standing out starkly against his flushed skin.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice a guttural rumble that seemed to resonate through her very bones. "You'll always be mine."

Her breathing grew ragged as she felt his urgency, his need to claim her. His kisses turned almost violent, as if he was afraid she would slip away. It was overwhelming, and she clung to him, as she tried to find an anchor in the storm of sensations.

Her cries grew louder, mingling with the grunts of his exertion. The cabin walls seemed to close in around them, the air thick with the scent of lust and the salt of the sea. She could feel the tension building, a coil of heat and need that was threatening to consume her.

The possessiveness in his words sent her over the edge. Her orgasm crashed through her like a tidal wave, making her entire body convulse. She screamed his name, her nails raking down his back, drawing blood. He didn't flinch, just grinned, his eyes alight with triumph. He knew she was his, body and soul.

And as he continued to pound into her, her body still spasming around his cock, she couldn't help but admit that she liked it. Liked being claimed so fiercely, so completely, by this man who could take everything from her and give her the world in return. The world of pleasure and pain, of love and obsession, of being his in every conceivable way.

Shanks growled, his movements becoming even more frantic. He was close, she could feel it. The warmth of his breath against her ear was the only sound she could discern amidst the cacophony of their passion.

And then, with a final roar, he reached his peak, filling her to the brim with his seed. Y/N's eyes widened as she felt the warmth spreading inside her, the reality of what had just transpired crashing down like a tempest. She had given herself to this man, this enigma of power and darkness, and she wasn't sure if she would ever be the same.

Shanks' weight remained on her for a moment, his breathing heavy and ragged, as if he had fought a fierce battle and emerged the victor, but his desire for her was a never-ending maelstrom that she was all too eager to drown in. He flipped her onto her stomach, her cheek pressed into the pillow, her ass in the air. His hand slapped down on her flesh, leaving a red imprint that only added to the heat building between her legs. He positioned himself behind her, his cock nudging at her entrance. With a savage grunt, he thrust into her again, filling her completely.

The angle was different this time, deeper, hitting places inside her that had never been touched before. Her eyes rolled back in her head as he began to move, his strokes long and slow, almost tender despite his feral hunger. He reached around, his hand finding her clit, his fingers working it in time with his hips. She was so sensitive now, so close to the edge, that it only took a few moments before she was climaxing once more, her body shaking with the intensity of it.

As he came, he pulled out and immediately slammed back in, pushing his cum back into her with a brutal force that made her whine. His hand was a vice around her neck now, holding her down as he continued to fuck her through his orgasm. He didn't care if it was painful; all he knew was that he needed to be as deep inside her as possible, needed to fill her up with his seed. It was a declaration of ownership, a promise of what was to come.

He didn't stop, though. If anything, his movements grew more frenzied, more possessive. He was breeding her, marking her in the most primal way possible. His cock pulsed inside her, filling her with his seed, claiming her womb. He groaned with the effort, his grip on her tight enough to leave bruises. Y/N could feel every inch of him, making her his in every way that mattered.

When he was finally spent, he collapsed onto her, his heavy weight pressing her into the mattress. His chest heaved with exertion, his breath hot against her neck. For a moment, there was only the sound of the ocean outside and their mingled gasps. Then, slowly, he began to move again, his cock still half-hard, still buried within her. He was not content, not yet satisfied until she was a trembling, boneless mess beneath him.

His hips rolled in a gentle, almost loving motion, his hand stroking her back in a soothing pattern that belied the aggression of their earlier coupling. Y/N felt a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with the heat of their passion. It was a strange kind of contentment, one she hadn't felt in a long time. Despite the dubious circumstances of their relationship, she knew that she craved this, craved him.

With a final, deep thrust, Shanks withdrew from her, his cock slick with their combined juices. He rolled onto his back, pulling her with him so she straddled his waist.. "Ride me," he ordered, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine.

The silence was deafening, the only sound was the soft lapping of the sea against the ship's hull.

Giving her a moment to catch her breath, he watched her, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight. The intensity in his gaze made her feel as though she was a treasure he had just plundered, a prize to be savored and claimed again. Then, with a sudden, surprising gentleness, he reached out and traced the curve of her cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear she hadn't realized had fallen.

"Don't be afraid," he murmured.

Y/N swallowed hard, trying to find the words to express the tumult of emotions that were storming through her. Before she could speak, however, Shanks positioned himself at her entrance, and she felt the head of his cock nudge against her, still sensitive and swollen from their first coupling.

With a smirk that was both playful and predatory, he grabbed her again and thrust upwards, filling her once more. She gasped, her eyes flying open wide in shock and pleasure. She began to rock her hips, setting a slow pace that had them both groaning in ecstasy. His fingers gripped her waist, guiding her movements, urging her to go faster, harder. The cabin spun around her as she gave herself over to the feeling of him inside her, his cock hitting all the right spots, over and over again.

Her breasts bounced with each movement, the pain from his earlier mauling a sweet reminder of his possession. She leaned forward and took his mouth in another hungry kiss. Their tongues danced together, a false battle for dominance that mirrored their physical union. She could feel his pulse beneath her, the beat of his heart matching the tempo of their lovemaking.

Shanks's hand found her breasts again, kneading and squeezing them as she rode him. His thumb brushing over her sensitive nipples, sending sparks of pleasure to her clit. She moaned into his mouth, her walls tightening around his shaft. He groaned, his hips bucking up to meet hers, his own need for release growing more urgent.

Their rhythm grew faster, more erratic, as they approached their peak. Y/N's nails dug into his chest, leaving behind hints of pain that only seemed to fuel his desire. She threw her head back, her eyes rolling back in her head as another orgasm began to build. Shanks watched her face, his own twisted with pleasure, his grip on her hips tightening as he felt his own climax approaching.

With a final, powerful thrust, she ground herself against him, her muscles spasming around his cock as she reached her peak. Shanks roared his release, his hips jerking up to meet hers, his cum flooding her once more. They remained like that for a moment, locked in a passionate embrace, their bodies joined in the most intimate way possible.

But Shanks wasn't one to rest for long. He flipped her onto her back, his eyes never leaving hers as he began to kiss down her body. His mouth found her breasts, sucking and biting, his tongue swirling around her nipples. His hand traveled between her legs, his fingers sliding through her wetness and back into her. She gasped, her body already on edge from the last orgasm.

"I said all night," he murmured, his voice a dark promise. "And we've only just begun."

Y/N knew she was in for a long night of pleasure and pain. She could feel the exhaustion tugging at her, but the desire that burned in her was stronger. She wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him back inside her, eager for more. He chuckled, his breath hot against her skin, and gave her what she wanted. His cock slammed into her again, hard and fast, setting a pace that she knew she wouldn't be able to keep up with for long.

Shanks' fingers dug into her flesh, guiding her as he plunged into her time and again. Her orgasms came in waves, each one more powerful than the last, her cries echoing through the cabin. He watched her face, his own a mask of concentration and desire, his eyes never leaving hers, as if he was searching for something within the depths of her soul.

Hour after hour, he took her, switching positions with an ease that spoke of long practice. He was relentless, driving her to climax after climax until she could hardly move, until she was nothing but a quivering mess of pleasure and pain. Her body was covered in a sheen of sweat, her hair plastered to her face.

He fucked her like a toy, a possession to be used and enjoyed at his leisure.Yet, she never once asked him to stop. She reveled in the feeling of being used, of being his. Her pussy clenched around his cock, her walls fluttering. It was messy, their bodies slick with sweat and cum, the bed soaked beneath them. She never felt more alive, it was like she was the center of his world, the focus of his insatiable hunger.

Shanks's touch grew rougher as the night wore on, his kisses bruising, his grip on her body punishing. He took her in every way he could think of, pushing her limits until she thought she would break. Yet, she didn't. Each time she thought she couldn't handle any more, she found a deeper well of strength within herself, a need to satisfy him that overrode any discomfort or weariness.

The room was filled with the sounds of their lovemaking: the slap of skin on skin, the wet sounds of their union, the guttural noises of their pleasure. Y/N's cries grew louder, more desperate, as Shanks pounded into her. He was like a force of nature, unstoppable and primal in his need for release. And she was more than willing to be swept away by the storm.

He whispered dark, possessive things in her ear, his breath hot and ragged. He told her she belonged to him, that she would always come back for more, that she craved this just as much as he did. And as much as she tried to deny it, she knew he was right. Her body responded to him like nothing else ever had, her orgasms more intense, more all-consuming than any she had experienced before. There would be no escape from his obsession, no refuge from the storm of passion that was Shanks.

Their bodies moved together in perfect harmony, as if they had been lovers for a hundred lifetimes, and yet this was the first night they had ever shared. It was a dance of dominance and submission, of passion and power, and she found herself lost in it, unable to do anything but give herself over to the storm that raged between them.

As the night slowly crept day, their rhythm grew more frenzied, their cries melding with the cries of the gulls outside. She felt as if she was being torn apart, only to be reborn in the cradle of his arms, a creature of the sea, forever bound to this man of darkness and fire.

Shanks' grip on her hips tightened as he claimed his own release shuddering through his body.

As dawn began to break, painting the horizon in shades of pink and gold, Shanks rolled her onto her side, his cock still buried deep within her. His hand found her clit, his thumb stroking it with a finesse that belied the brutal passion of the night. He whispered sweet nothings, his voice a soothing balm to her overstimulated senses.

Y/N's eyes grew heavy, her body begging for rest. But she knew it wouldn't come just yet. His obsession with her was a never-ending cycle of desire and fulfillment. As she felt herself drifting off, she was already anticipating the next round, the next time he would take her, claim her, use her. It was a small price to pay for the exhilarating experience she had just shared with the legendary pirate

Reality started to set in. Y/N felt a cold dread coil in her stomach. She had given herself to Shanks, an act that would have repercussions she could not begin to fathom. She could feel the intensity of his gaze as he held her against him. His chest was a wall of heat, his breaths coming in ragged gasps against her neck. Her body was sore.. Carefully, she tried to disentangle herself, but he held fast, his grip unyielding.

"Where do you think you're going?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep and satisfaction. She stiffened, not daring to look back at him. "Our time is far from over," he added with a chuckle, his hand sliding down to cup her breast.

Panic set in as she realized she couldn't escape. Not now, not like this. Her father's cabin was just a few doors down, but she knew that calling for help was out of the question. Shanks was too powerful, too dangerous. If Whitebeard found out about their tryst, it could mean war between the two pirate crews.

So, when he finally dragged her to his feet and led her, still naked, to the upper deck, she didn't protest. The crew of the Moby went about their morning routines, not sparing them a second glance. It was as if they had known this would happen all along, as if her fate had been sealed the moment Shanks had stepped aboard.

The air was crisp and salty, the sea breeze a stark contrast to the warmth of the cabin. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, casting the world in a soft, golden light. It was a beautiful sight, but one she couldn't appreciate. Not when she was being led like a lamb to slaughter.

Whitebeard was at the railing, his back to them. He didn't turn as they approached, didn't acknowledge them in any way. Y/N felt herself shiver, it was as though this was the only outcome, as if it was always going to end this way.

Shanks' grip on her arm was firm, almost painful, but she kept her head held high, refusing to let the fear show on her face. The silence was deafening as Shanks' ship, the Red Force, loomed into view, its sails fluttering like a crimson flag of conquest. The crew of the Moby had already lowered the ropes, Shanks stepped onto the plank first, pulling her along with him. The wood groaned under their combined weight, the plank swaying precariously over the churning sea below.

Y/N's heart was in her throat as she looked back at her father's ship, the only home she had ever known. The men she had grown up with, the men she called her brothers, were watching her leave with the enemy. Yet, none of them made a move to stop it.

The plank hit the deck of the Red Haired with a thud, and she stumbled, almost falling. Shanks caught her, his laughter echoing in the early morning air. "Steady, love," he said, his tone mocking. "You're going to have to get your sea legs if you're going to keep up with me."

The Red-Haired Pirates watched with amusement, their eyes glinting with a mix of lust and cruelty. She knew she was in for a rough ride with these men, but she also knew she had no choice. As Shanks led her to his quarters, she steeled herself for what was to come.

The cabin was opulent, a stark contrast to the spartan rooms of the Moby. Plush fabrics and gold trim adorned everything, from the velvet curtains to the intricately carved desk. It was a den of excess, a reflection of the man who owned it.

Shanks released her arm and she stumbled forward, her legs still unsteady. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her every move with a predatory gaze. "Welcome to your new home," he said, his smile wicked.

Y/N swallowed hard, her eyes taking in every detail of the room. There was no going back now. She was Shanks' prize, his plaything. The daughter of Whitebeard, claimed by the very man who might one day seek to usurp her father's throne. And she had willingly let it happen.

The door slammed shut behind them, and she knew she was truly in his clutches.

#one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece smut #shanks x reader #shanks smut #female!reader #one piece x female reader

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 3 months ago

Text

Paper Pirates

MDNI

An unconventional member of an unconventional crew, you find yourself wrestling with frustrations out of your league

Shanks x f!reader (more relevant in part 2)

It was supposed to be a one-shot.

There are many roads to piracy.

Paperwork shouldn’t be one of them.

Sailors fly the jolly roger for adventure, for freedom, for greed. Sweet or savage, pirates turn to the sea for a thrilling life away from responsibility. Not for double-entry accounting.

It should be all swords and swashbuckling, especially on a yonko’s flagship. Music and tuneless singing have steeped in the ship’s hull along with sea brine and rum, staining the Red Force with a mighty reputation.

And yet. Here you sit: ink-stained fingers, spectacles, and all.

The financial charts, ledgers, and reports from across the Emperor’s territory make a compelling excuse to skip the evening’s celebrations. Light from the overhead lantern trembles with the rhythmic force of a dozen idiots dancing – or fighting – on deck. You have a job to do and frankly can’t be assed to even feign interest, not that you put much effort into the pretense since your first introduction.

Shanks called for this particular event because it’s a day ending in y. No one has cannons aimed at the Red Force, and there’s no pressing need for sobriety. Standard practice, really.

The exposure to the crew’s merry making itches under your skin like sun blisters. You’ll burn if you get too much, but it’s an unavoidable hazard at sea.

Even if you’re only half-crew.

You’re a leap and a bound above a coddled passenger but so removed from the functional hierarchy you don’t even have a title.

Except. Well. There was always…

“Nerd!”

You drag your eyes away from ledger lines and decimals to blink at Yasopp. The sniper is drunk and enjoying himself. And pointing at you.

“Captain says you have to have a drink when you’re done.”

One finger curls over a notebook’s cover, and you contemplate how many more hours of work you can eek out before you’re too tired for responsible accounting.

“I swear the books get worse every time I come back.” It’s lighthearted, but also too fucking true. “I’ll be working late.”

Yasopp shakes his head. Grins. “Orders.”

Your eyes roll away from the pirate and back to the mathematic wreck on the desk. “Whatever. Just leave me something and I’ll lift a glass to your unconscious ass before I sleep.”

Cackling, Yasopp ferries your answer back to the party, and you work the puzzle of knotted equations until the lantern stops swinging and the racket falls silent. Pirates not on watch stumble through the corridors on their way to their bunks, slurring and laughing on the other side of the wall. Even that goes quiet eventually.

Your eyes burn from focusing too hard to blink for minutes on end, and you decide it’s safe to stop for the night. Off come the glasses, neatly folded and tucked into a desk drawer. They’ll be safer there than on your person, and you only need them for reading fine print. You didn’t used to. Not when you started. But that’s true of a lot of things.

With joints that creak like the steps you ascend, you head up on deck. Bodies of the fallen sleep under a blanket of stars – the ones who drank themselves to sleep or refused to leave the party before waking in the morning. The few on watch peer down from crow’s nests or attend minor chores around their comrades’ spread limbs and upturned bellies.

Yellow lights contrast with the velvet black-blue stitching together endless sea and sky, and you can’t help relaxing just a little as you approach the one table with a conscious crewman. The cherry of his cigarette burns bright, and smoke curls into the breeze.

“Benn.”

He nods, mumbling your name. As you sit, he slides a large tankard to your side of the table.

It doesn’t look like wine. Doesn’t smell like beer. It’s the wrong color for sake. “It’s rum, isn’t it?”

“Didn’t send Yasopp with a preference,” the first mate says. The telling glint in his eye betrays his good humor. “This was all we had left.”

“I’ve seen the inventory. There’s plenty for the next week of travel, even if the crew gets shit-faced twice a day.”

Benn shrugs. “It was all that was left on deck.”

You doubt it, even if it’s more plausible, but there’s no point arguing. Time to finish the last task of the day.

Lifting the heavy cup, you tilt your head back and chug.

“Steady.” Benn watches with his arms crossed.

You drink rather than answer. Swallowing fire, you drain half of what was left for you.

“I’m tired,” you say when you stop to breathe, “and I want to go to bed.”

Bed is a hammock in the groaning belly of the ship. Surrounded by other hammocks. Full of pirates. Who snore. Loudly. A night of drinking never helps the volume, but maybe your share will help you black out.

“If I drink fast enough, I’ll be asleep before it hits and it won’t matter.”

“If you say so.”

He’s very good at letting people make their own mistakes. You’ve watched him to it. But this isn’t the first time you’ve rushed through liquid social obligations on your way to rest. He doesn’t know you as well as he thinks, you’re sure.

The second half of the rum goes down like the first, and you aren’t even tipsy as you take your leave and head below. It’s a good plan. Maybe it would’ve worked, too, if it weren’t for the chaos you find in your assigned quarters.

While the little study always holds records, you aren’t aboard often enough to have a dedicated sleeping space. No cabin. Not even a bunk. Just a hammock in the hold with the lower ranks. You left your small trunk by one near the door, and you’d slept there for the past five nights running without issue.

Until now.

There must’ve been a brawl, or one of the bigger men misjudged his approach under the influence, because a wad of ripped and tangled hammocks sits piled in the center of the room. All the remaining options, including your unofficially claimed space, are full.

You can’t go to bed.

There is no bed.

Benn doesn’t seem surprised when you come back.

Sooner or later, the rum will hit, and you know better than to wait for it on your feet. So, you pick a place by Benn’s table and settle with your ass on the deck and your back against a wall.

Technically speaking, you’ve slept in worse places.

Realistically speaking, you usually sleep in better.

Honestly speaking, you’re too old for this shit.

This is the consequence of your actions. Today it’s glasses and rum. Tomorrow it will be a sore head and an aching tailbone. The day after it will probably be a cannonball to the face. No matter how lackadaisical the crew behaves, they’re all pirates at the end of the day, and so are you.

Why are you a pirate? Why are you here? Your life was so slow and orderly before a big grin and a thatch of red hair flipped it on its head. Did you ever actually agree to this life, or did you just fail to argue with the plan? That must be the problem. If you never learn to say no, whatever comes is your fault. But if you learn to say no, you’ll have to learn to say yes, too. That might be worse.

Of course, Benn can’t let you mope in peace.

“What’s eating ya?”

“Mosquitoes, maybe.”

“Nah.” He stubs out the butt of his cigarette and reaches for the pack. “Been off since your last sabbatical. Longer, if we’re being honest, but it really has its teeth in you now.”

“Nothing.” Gods. You sound like a teenager.

He hums, lights up a fresh smoke, and leaves it alone.

You can’t even explain why you’re in a bad mood. It’s just vibes. A feeling that makes sense until you try caging it in words.

You’ve been part of Shank’s entourage for years now, and you’ve seen the impact of his influence.

He makes things better. Things grow under his care.

That’s good. That’s great. That’s better than most folks in the New World ever expect to find in their lifetimes. But somehow it doesn’t apply to you.

You let your head fall back against the wall. The hollow thunk sounds as empty as you wish you could make your skull.

People drink to forget, or so some sad, broken soul tells you in every bar in every port you’ve ever visited. It’s a neat trick you never learned, though. Booze makes you think. Then it makes you speak. Then it makes you sleep.

It doesn’t make you the party girl the Red-Haired Pirates clearly hoped for the first time they dragged you into a night of carousing. It didn’t help your on-again off-again crewmate status. No one besides a handful of the most seasoned officers knew how to speak to you, and you could count those on one hand.

If you could bring yourself to care less about what you did, you would’ve flipped everyone the bird ages ago, refused to board the Red Force after one of your little layovers and made a home somewhere.

But you can’t, and you don’t, and the alcohol fumes up from belly to brain with old memories.

Once upon a time you bumped into a grey-haired man at the dock. His hands were full of loose papers and notebooks. When they clattered to the ground, you immediately helped pick them up, because that was just good manners. As you gathered the pages, you saw the numbers, and your brain leapt ahead of your mouth, so as you handed the collection back to Shank’s first mate, you blithely mentioned, “You have some transportation and duplication errors in the top account that are throwing off your totals.”

And, low and behold, the next day the first mate – one Benn Beckman – tracked you down and discussed working for one of the most powerful people in the Grand Line.

You almost turned him down. You tried, actually. But he insisted you at least hear his captain out, face to face. And then Shanks smiled, and it was all over.

They gave you a strange job.

Emperors reigned in their own ways. Force and threats were standard, but Shanks followed no rules. He governed without actually doing anything, relying on booty stolen at sea and the generosity of thriving island economies to maintain his ship and crew. At least it looked that way from the outside. But the system relied on more than luck and good looks.

Your tasks follow a cycle. The Red Force drops you at an island, leaves you there, then picks you up a few (many) months later. When you’re aboard, you review and balance the ship’s books. When you’re on land, you do the real work. You record how things work on the island, or how they don’t, and you gather the numbers to prove it. Then Shanks and his commanders use your data to find the best ports for long stays, to spot unrest before it became insurrection, and to generally handle pirate business.

Honestly, you enjoy it. You never thought your uncanny skills with numbers could lead to so much travel, and you like island hopping. It’s nice to be special. It’s nice to be needed, even a little. It should be enough. You have more than most.

The itch in the back of your mind has been getting worse, though, especially as you start looping back to hubs you visited in your early days as a quasi-pirate.

Things have grown. People have put down roots. They flourish and offer good fruit in return.

But you haven’t found a way to grow into the Red-Hair Pirates the way other people settle into their lives. Your roots grasp at salt water.

At the start of this adventure, years ago, you let the tide wash you out to sea. It’s no one’s fault but yours, and that doesn’t make you feel any better, so you self-isolate and avoid what you can’t explain.

Pirates aren’t big on feelings talk.

And you’re at least half a pirate.

“Eh, nerd still can’t hold her rum?”

Apparently, Shanks hasn’t surrendered to tomorrow’s hangover yet.

You huff as Benn’s chuckle rumbles over you. Without opening your eyes, which slipped closed at some point you can’t be fucked to remember, you say, “Nerd can hold her rum. Nerd’s hammock was a casualty of war.”

“Ah.” A chair creaks as the captain joins Beckman’s table. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t stay out voluntarily. And if you hold your rum so well, why don’t you have another with us?”

“I did my duty. I just want to sleep.”

Shanks tsks, and you finally crack an eye open. He’s taken the chair closest to your spot on the floor. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” You knock your boot against his bare ankle, frowning. “You should take better care of yourself.”

“Are you going to nip at me like a sheepdog until I do? Come on, you’re awake. Have another drink.”

The insistence is inching towards an order. While the Red Hair Pirates have never followed conventional standards of respect, when Shanks tells you to do something, you listen.

Groaning, swearing, and taking your precious time, you stretch and inch away from the haze of sleep. You spare a filthy look for Beckman as you clamber onto a chair, because you can easily reason your way into this being his fault. The bastard smirks around his cigarette.

Maybe he really did plan this. Maybe Shanks did. Maybe the rats are in this together. Fuck knows what “this” is, but you’re sailing through Tipsy on the way to Drunk, and clearly there are plans in motion to blow you to the far shores of Hammered.

Fresh bottles have appeared on the table as if by magic, and you pull your discarded tankard over, resigned to your fate. It’s already been refilled.

You drink. So does Shanks. Beckman enjoys his smoke.

It’s…companionable. If it was always like this, maybe you could set your roots in the Red Force’s planks. Trust it to be a home.

But you’ll be ashore again in a few days, and if you let yourself grow into the crew, you’ll tear yourself apart when they leave.

And if they never come back?

Even a Yonko can die. And Shanks is changeable. One day they may not come back for you.

Did you eat dinner? The rum glows warm in your blood.

You find yourself ready to forgive Beckman. For… whatever. He was responsible. He was never the problem.

Shanks is deep in his thoughts, famous red hair drifting in the breeze. As he quietly enjoys his sake, you glare.

“Do you realize how frustrating you are?”

His cup pauses against his lips. His eyebrows leap up. “Eh?”

Yes. This is what you’ve been wrestling with it. He’s the problem.

“You’re the strongest.” You gesture as you speak, and rum splashes out, burning the cracked skin over your knuckles. “No one else can take care of you, so you better take care of yourself.”

Another kick. You aim for your captain’s ankle again, but you hit his shin. It’s not a big deal. It’s not like you could hurt him if you tried. While you aren’t the weakest aboard the Red Force, you’re pretty damn far from the strongest.

Shanks whines anyway, and Beckman’s dry laugh sounds like old leaves rattling in the wind.

“Seriously.” You empty your cup. That gives the truth time to percolate. There’s no helping it now. You’re smashed, and your dignity has flown. Your fist props up your drooping head as tangled thoughts spin out into thread.

“It’s so frustrating. You have no idea what’s like being weaker than someone you love.”

The immediate silence takes a minute to catch up with you. The rum has floated you beyond a standard perception of time, and your head is too loud to notice everything outside hasn’t kept up.

You frown.

You think.

And you realize.

In that moment, you aren’t a ship. There is no chair, table, or lantern to keep you steady. You’re floating in the black abyss, and you know without seeing that a sea king is circling for the kill. There’s no air. Or light. Or distraction. Just terrible, dreadful awareness.

Oh, gods.

Stars, seas, and sabers. Fucking hells and all the horrors below.

You love Shanks.

It’s the stupidest thing in the world, and it makes perfect sense.

You just informed on yourself. To yourself. And possibly to the two men eyeing you, but there’s grace in nebulous phrasing, and no one should be taken too seriously after so much rum.

You leap to your feet and point straight between the captain’s eyes.

“I am drunk, and I refuse to face the consequences of my actions.”

Shanks just blinks at you, and Beckman keeps his thoughts to himself as you back away, trip over your chair, and stagger back down to the study. You hold your head so high you can’t see your feet, and you earn a dozen nicks and bruises on your way.

You sleep in the corner with your jacket as a blanket, and in the morning, you tell yourself nothing happened at all.

#shanks x reader #red haired shanks x reader #one piece x reader #shanks x you #one piece fanfiction #fic: paper pirates

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1chaerry · 4 months ago

Text

Tides of Possession

summary: shanks falls in love, a deadly obsession that twists and turns, capturing the one who stole his heart, even if it means forcing her into marriage.

c.w. : forced marriage, forced proximity, manipulative shanks, possessive and obsessive behaviour

w.c. : 5.2k

part 1(?)

Disclaimer: Reader is called Saram, meaning 'Human/Person'. Shanks has both arms.

Saram sat in the dimly lit room, the heavy oak desk before her casting a long shadow. The paper lying flat on its surface was as innocuous as it was damning. Certificate of Marriage, it read in elegant, flowing script. Each letter seemed to mock her resolve, and the delicate curves of the font were at odds with the suffocating weight in her chest.

Her hands rested on her knees, trembling as she stared down at the paper. A pen lay neatly to the side, as though taunting her.

Behind her, Shanks moved closer, the weight of his presence pressing into her back like a predator stalking its prey. The air between them crackled with something darker than words—power, control, possession.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice a velvet purr that brushed against her ear, “you don’t have to do this if you truly don’t want to.” His tone was soothing, almost kind, but the unspoken threat coiled beneath it like a viper. “No one’s forcing you, love.”

The words sent a chill down Saram’s spine. She knew better. If she didn’t sign the paper, there would be consequences. Lives would be lost, her crew would suffer, and the innocent people she had sworn to protect would bleed for her stubbornness.

Her throat tightened as she tried to find her voice. “I don’t understand why,” she finally whispered, the words trembling on her lips. “Why this? Why go this far?”

Shanks chuckled, a low sound that sent ripples through her. He placed his hands on the back of her chair, leaning down so that his lips brushed against the shell of her ear. “You already know the answer to that, Saram,” he said softly, his voice laced with possessiveness. “In exchange for sparing your precious friends, your crew, and your quaint little ideals, I want you. All of you.”

The words sent a shiver down her spine, and she hated the way her body reacted to the heat in his voice. She hated the way his mere proximity made her feel cornered, trapped, like a bird with its wings clipped.

“This just makes it more binding,” Shanks added, gesturing to the paper.

Saram’s eyes dropped back to the document. Her fingers twitched, hovering over the pen, but she couldn’t bring herself to pick it up. Her stomach churned.

“You know this isn’t legitimate,” she said, her voice weak. “It’s not legally binding without an officiator.”

Shanks let out a quiet laugh, the sound dark and rich. “Legality?” he mused. “You think I care about that?” His hand came to rest on her shoulder, his grip firm yet strangely gentle. “I can find a priest to threaten, or a Marine judge to coerce. But if you’re so worried about appearances, we could always have a proper ceremony.”

Her head snapped up, her cheeks flushing hot. “No!” The word came out sharper than she intended.

Shanks grinned, a lazy, predatory curve of his lips. “So shy,” he teased. “Don’t worry, love. We’ll skip the audience—for now.”

Her nails dug into her palms as she looked away, her heart racing. “You don’t have to do this,” she said, her voice shaking. “You could let me go. You could stop this madness.”

His grip on her shoulder tightened, and she felt him lean closer. “And why would I do that?” he murmured, his tone softer now, more dangerous. “When I finally have you right where I want you?”

She swallowed hard, her resolve crumbling. He wouldn’t stop. She knew that. He’d burn everything she cared about to the ground before he let her go. And yet, there was something in his voice, in his words, that sent a different kind of chill through her. He wasn’t lying when he said he wouldn’t hurt her. He’d destroy the world for her, but he’d never let anyone harm her—not even himself.

“I wouldn’t be unkind to you,” Shanks said suddenly, his voice dropping to a whisper. He brushed his lips against the side of her neck, barely a touch, but it left her skin burning. “You’d belong to me, yes, but I’d take care of you.”

She wanted to scream, to push him away, to fight back with everything she had. But she couldn’t. Her hands were tied, her choices stolen from her. And deep down, she hated the way his words made her hesitate. He’d never shown her cruelty—only relentless, consuming determination.

“You’d take care of me,” she echoed bitterly, her voice breaking. “Like a prisoner.”

“Like my queen,” Shanks corrected, his tone unwavering. “And you’d rule alongside me. No one would dare touch you.”

Her heart twisted painfully, the weight of his words crashing down on her. She couldn’t win this. She had to think of her crew, her people, everyone who was counting on her to make the right choice.

With a trembling hand, she reached for the pen. Her vision blurred as she stared at the paper again, the letters dancing before her eyes.

“So selfless,” Shanks said softly, guiding her hand with his own. His grip was steady, his warmth seeping into her skin. “So sacrificial. Always putting others before yourself. We’ll have to work on that once you’re mine.”

Her chest ached as the pen met the paper, the ink bleeding into the page like a wound. Each letter she wrote felt heavier than the last, sealing her fate with every stroke.

When she finished, Shanks took the paper from her and held it up, his smile dark and triumphant. “You’ve made the right choice, love,” he said, pressing a feather-light kiss to her temple. “And now, you’ll never have to make another one again.”

The first night in the shared room was suffocating.

Saram had always been independent, free to roam, to stay in her own space, with only the sea and her crew to keep her company. The quarters aboard Shanks' ship were a far cry from what she was used to. The walls felt too close, the air too thick. But what made her skin crawl the most was the figure lounging casually on the other side of the room, watching her every move.

Shanks. Of course, he had insisted she stay in his personal quarters. There were no alternatives, no protest to be heard. He made it clear, with that infernal smile of his, that this was non-negotiable. She belonged to him now, and the last thing she needed was privacy.

Saram sat on the edge of the bed, her back rigid, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. She felt exposed, vulnerable. She didn’t want to show weakness, didn’t want him to know how much she hated this. But everything about the room—the soft light of the lantern, the scent of the sea in the air, the rhythmic creaking of the ship—felt like a constant reminder of her predicament.

And Shanks, who lounged in a chair by the window, looking out at the horizon with a calm expression, was the final piece of the prison she now found herself in.

“You’re not sleeping?” he asked, his voice smooth, but with that dangerous undercurrent that she had come to dread. He didn’t even look at her as he spoke, but the way his words lingered in the air made her tense up.

Saram didn’t answer at first. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him. She shifted uncomfortably, her mind racing with a hundred different ways to get out of this.

“I know you’re awake,” he continued, his voice a little louder, more amused. “You’re not even trying to hide it. It’s cute.”

“Cut it out,” she finally muttered, her voice tight. Her eyes flicked toward him, just for a second, before she looked away again. His relaxed posture made her blood boil. How could he be so calm, so sure of himself?

“You know, Saram,” he began, his tone shifting to something far more intimate, “there’s no need to be so cold toward me. We’re in this together now.”

The words felt like a slap. She could almost feel the weight of them pressing down on her chest. Her teeth gritted together in frustration.

“I’m not in this with you, Shanks,” she snapped, turning her body toward him. “I never asked for this. I didn’t sign that damn paper out of choice.”

Shanks finally looked at her, and there was that predatory gleam in his eyes again. “Did you really think you had a choice?” he asked, his voice dropping to a low, dark tone. “You’ve already made your choice, Saram. You’re with me now, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Her heart raced, a mix of anger and fear stirring inside her. She knew he was right. She had signed, had agreed to his terms. But that didn’t mean she had to accept it. There was still a part of her that wanted to break free.

“I’ll never be with you,” she spat, standing up. She could feel the tension building, thick and palpable between them. “I’ll never be your pawn, your property.”

Shanks’ gaze never wavered, his eyes dark with amusement. “You’re not a pawn, love. You’re my equal… for now.” He leaned forward in his chair, the motion slow and deliberate. “But that can change, you know. I’m not asking for much. Just a little trust. A little patience.”

She shook her head, stepping away from the bed. She didn’t want to give him any more room to get under her skin. She didn’t want to show him how much his words affected her.

“You’re sick,” she muttered, her voice thick with disdain.

Shanks laughed then, and the sound was rich and deep, filled with dark amusement. “Sick? Maybe. But I’m not lying to you, Saram. You know as well as I do that the only reason you’re still fighting is because you hate that you’ve given in. You hate that I’ve beaten you at your own game.”

Her breath hitched, and she turned to face him. “I’m not defeated.”

His grin spread wider, his eyes glinting with something far more dangerous. “You will be. Eventually.” He stood from the chair, moving slowly toward her. “You’re mine now, Saram. And that means we’re going to work together, whether you like it or not.”

Saram stepped back, her back hitting the wall. She hated that he was so sure of himself. She hated the way his words crawled under her skin like poison, sinking deep into her mind, poisoning her thoughts.

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed.

But Shanks wasn’t deterred. He moved closer, his presence suffocating. His hand came to rest against the wall next to her head, trapping her in place.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, his lips inches from her ear. “I’m not going to force you. Not yet. But I’ll have you eventually. You’ll see.”

Saram shuddered, every instinct screaming at her to fight, to escape, to break free from the hold he had over her. But she knew, deep down, that there was no way out. Not yet. Not until she found a way to turn the tables on him.

Saram’s heart hammered against her chest as Shanks moved closer, his eyes gleaming with that same, unsettling confidence that always made her skin crawl. Every step he took felt like a step toward inevitability.

“Come on,” he said, voice smooth and commanding, “it’s late. We both need sleep.” His tone was casual, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to force her into his bed with him.

“No,” she hissed, her voice shaking with anger. She wasn’t going to let him get away with this. Not again. “I’m not sleeping in your bed.”

Shanks' lips curled into a wicked smile, and he reached out, grabbing her by the wrist with surprising gentleness, his grip firm but not painful. “You’ll get used to it,” he murmured, his voice low, teasing. “Besides, you don’t really have a choice, do you?”

Before she could pull away, his other hand was at her waist, his fingers brushing against the curve of her hip as he guided her toward the bed. Saram's breath hitched, her body tense with the growing proximity, but she didn’t give him the satisfaction of begging him to stop.

“You’re a goddamn menace,” she spat, trying to twist out of his hold, but he only tightened his grip.

Shanks’ chuckle echoed in her ears, dark and low. “You really think you can fight me, Saram?” he asked, his fingers tracing along her side as he gently pushed her onto the bed. “I’m not asking you to fight, love. Just… surrender. For tonight.”

Saram felt her heart sink as he climbed in beside her, his movements slow and deliberate, as though savoring every second of her discomfort. She pulled the covers tightly around her, making sure to keep as much space between them as possible. But Shanks, of course, had other plans.

He shifted closer, the heat of his body radiating against hers. His hand settled over her waist, the pressure light but unyielding. “I don’t bite,” he murmured in her ear, though the possessiveness in his voice suggested otherwise. “Unless you make me.”

Saram’s skin prickled as his hand slid a little lower, brushing just below her ribcage. She tried to jerk away, but he was too quick, his fingers sliding further down her side.

“Stop it, Shanks,” she growled, her voice barely above a whisper, but the threat in her tone was unmistakable. “I’m not your plaything.”

Shanks only chuckled again, this time more menacingly. “No, you're not my plaything.” His hand moved again, this time caressing the small of her back before his fingers slipped dangerously low along her spine. “But you are mine. I’m just getting you used to the idea.”

Her entire body tensed, the fight within her burning hot and furious. She was fighting a losing battle. She couldn’t shake off the way his hands felt on her, even if it was nothing more than his touch pressing against the thin fabric of her clothes. The possessive glint in his eyes made her stomach churn. Every small touch, every movement, was a reminder that he wasn’t going to stop. He was just getting started.

Saram held her breath, trying to ignore the way his thumb brushed lazily along her waist, his hand resting heavy and possessive on her hip.

Shanks, sensing her tension, leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear. “You don’t have to fight this,” he whispered. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll take care of you, but you need to stop pushing me away.”

“You don’t have to take care of me,” she snapped, her voice shaky, and she tried to shove his hand off her hip. But he simply held it there, steady and unyielding.

He tilted his head, his lips grazing the edge of her ear as he chuckled darkly. “I’m not letting you go, Saram,” he said softly, his tone just barely above a whisper. “Not now. Not ever.”

She swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words settle in the pit of her stomach like a stone. He wasn’t playing, and worse, he wasn’t backing down.

“You don’t control me,” she muttered, but it sounded less convincing than she would have liked. She could feel the heat of his body against hers, the warmth of his breath, and the pressure of his hand on her hip. Every time she tried to move away, he simply pulled her closer.

Shanks leaned back, still holding her tightly. “Maybe not yet,” he said softly, but his voice was filled with promise. “But you will, eventually. You’ll see.”

She couldn’t deny the shiver that ran down her spine at the finality of his words. There was something terrifying about the way he spoke, like he knew exactly what was coming—like he had already won.

For now, she didn’t know how to fight him anymore. She could feel the tension, the raw, oppressive weight of it all, pressing in on her. And when she finally closed her eyes to block him out, her body still tense under his touch, she couldn’t escape the truth.

She was trapped. Trapped in his bed. Trapped in his world.

The night stretched on, heavy and thick, like a fog that smothered her every thought. Saram lay there in silence, Shanks' hand still resting on her hip, the warmth of his touch seeping through the thin fabric of her clothes. No matter how much she tried to focus on the steady, rhythmic creak of the ship or the distant sound of waves crashing against the hull, his presence remained suffocating, inescapable.

She could feel his breath on her neck, soft but deliberate, as if he was savoring the fact that she was there—with him, no longer a defiant stranger, but something far more personal.

Saram gritted her teeth, struggling to keep her emotions in check. She refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much his proximity affected her. He was testing her, pushing her to the brink, and she was determined not to let him see that he was winning.

But Shanks wasn’t the type to let things go. His grip tightened on her waist, and he tugged her closer, pulling her back until her back was pressed against his chest. The sudden pressure startled her, but before she could move, his arm was wrapped firmly around her waist, keeping her there.

“You don’t have to resist,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the back of her neck. The touch was almost gentle, a stark contrast to the intensity of his words. “I’m not going to hurt you, Saram. You don’t have to keep fighting me.”

Saram’s fists clenched, nails digging into her palms. She hated how his words sounded so sincere, like he was doing her a favor, like he was the only one who understood what was best for her. But beneath it all, she knew the truth. He wasn’t saving her. He was breaking her down, piece by piece, until she had nothing left to hold onto.

“You’re not my savior, Shanks,” she spat, her voice strained with a mixture of anger and frustration. “You’re just a tyrant in disguise.”

Shanks chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against her skin, and for a moment, his grip on her loosened just enough for her to consider escape. But then his fingers brushed the back of her neck, slow and deliberate, sending a jolt of heat racing through her body.

“Maybe,” he mused, his voice low and dangerous. “But you’re here with me, aren’t you? Willingly.” He paused for a beat, letting the words hang in the air between them. “You might not admit it, but I can feel it, Saram. You’re not as opposed to me as you pretend to be.”

She felt her breath catch in her throat, her pulse quickening. It was like he could see straight through her defenses, straight into the heart of her deepest fears and desires. She hated how much he understood her, how easily he read her every move. It made her feel exposed, vulnerable, and she could already feel the walls she had carefully built around herself begin to crumble.

“No,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but filled with a cold edge. “I’m not here because I want to be. I’m here because I have no choice. You’ve made sure of that.”

Shanks was quiet for a moment, and Saram could almost feel the amusement radiating off him. Then, his hand moved again, this time sliding slowly down her side, his fingers trailing a path along her ribs before resting on her hip once more.

“I’ve made sure of nothing,” he replied, his voice hushed but firm. “You’re here because you need to be, Saram. You’re here because you understand what will happen if you try to leave.”

Her breath hitched again, and she could feel the anger rising in her chest. The helplessness that clawed at her throat was suffocating, and she struggled to keep it under control.

“I will leave,” she said, her words cold and steady despite the chaos inside her. “One day, I’ll get out of this. You can’t hold me forever.”

Shanks’ laughter rang out, soft but undeniably mocking. He shifted closer still, pressing his chest against her back, his breath warm against her ear as he spoke.

“You are my prisoner, Saram, my wife,” he whispered. “I’m not worried about you leaving. I’m worried about when you’ll stop pretending that you don’t want to be here. When you’ll stop fighting and realize that everything you need is right here, in my arms.”

Saram stiffened, her teeth gritted as she struggled to ignore the way his words slipped under her skin like poison. He was playing a dangerous game, making her question her own resolve. But she refused to let him break her. She couldn’t let him win.

“I’m not some damsel in distress, Shanks,” she growled, her voice sharp. “I’m not your toy to control.”

Shanks sighed, his breath hot against her neck. “You keep saying that,” he murmured, almost in mock sympathy. “But deep down, you know you’re wrong.” He paused, and she could feel the smile tug at his lips. “You’ll see. Eventually. You’ll see what happens when you stop fighting me.”

Saram’s mind raced, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to figure out how to escape this. But for now, all she could do was lay there in his arms, utterly trapped, knowing that the night was far from over.

She hated him, and yet, she couldn’t escape him. And the worst part? A small part of her, the part she hated the most, wanted to stay.

He still remembered the day he first met her.

The salty breeze of the open sea carried a sense of freedom, a lightness in the air that always made Shanks feel like he could conquer anything. The Red-Haired Pirates had docked on a small, quiet island—a place filled with quiet townsfolk and hidden beauty, far from the chaos of the Grand Line's larger ports. It was the perfect place to rest, re-supply, and spend a few days enjoying the simplicity of life.

That was the day he first saw her.

It wasn’t like anything he had ever imagined. He had no grand expectations, no knowledge of who she was or what she might become to him. She was just another face in the crowd. At least, that’s what he told himself, the ever-determined pirate captain whose heart had long since been tempered by a thousand battles.

He had been strolling along the quiet dock, a tankard of ale in his hand and a carefree grin plastered across his face, when the sight of a flash of silver hair caught his attention. It was nothing unusual at first—there were always people walking along the docks—but there was something about the way she moved. It wasn’t just the grace in her steps or the way her eyes scanned the sea like she had secrets to share with the horizon. It was the intensity in her gaze, the quiet strength that seemed to radiate from her very being.

She was standing by the railing, her arms crossed over her chest, and she seemed... untouchable. As if the world around her didn’t quite matter. She was looking out to sea, but in the brief moment their eyes locked, Shanks felt something shift inside him. Something that made him stop dead in his tracks.

It wasn’t the usual flirtation or fascination he was used to feeling when meeting someone new. No, this was different. It was softer, almost... like a pull from somewhere deep inside him, a quiet voice whispering that this moment meant more than it appeared.

Her eyes, stormy and full of quiet defiance, held his for a moment longer than was usual, and then, with a slight tilt of her head, she broke the gaze and turned back toward the horizon.

He wasn’t sure what it was, but something in that moment felt like the world had tilted slightly. The sound of the waves seemed a little quieter, the chatter of his crew just a little more distant. In the middle of that bustling port town, with so much life happening around him, she was the only thing that mattered. She was the only thing that existed.

He found himself drawn to her, stepping closer, as if some invisible force was guiding him. He didn’t even have to think twice about it. She was standing alone, so confidently and yet so detached from the world, and he... couldn’t resist. There was no hesitation in his step as he approached her.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he called out, his voice light and friendly, his usual grin wide. He was still unsure of what exactly compelled him to speak, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Saram didn’t turn to him immediately, her eyes still fixed on the vast ocean in front of them, as though trying to understand it. But after a moment, she gave a slight nod. “It’s peaceful,” she replied in a tone that suggested she wasn’t quite addressing him, but rather the world itself.

For a brief moment, Shanks thought she wouldn’t say anything else, that she might simply dismiss him, as most people did. But then she finally turned her head toward him, her eyes locking onto his, and the world around them seemed to disappear.

Her gaze was piercing, unyielding, and yet, there was a softness to it—a vulnerability tucked beneath that hard exterior. Her silver hair fluttered slightly in the wind, and for a moment, she looked almost ethereal, as if she didn’t belong to the world at all.

“I’m Shanks,” he introduced himself, his usual confidence returning, though this time, his voice was a bit gentler than usual.

“I know,” she replied, her eyes never leaving his. Her lips curved into the smallest of smiles, a rare thing. “I’ve heard about you.”

Shanks was taken aback for a second, and he laughed softly, the sound almost like an echo in the silence between them. “I hope it’s all good things,” he said, a little self-deprecating, though he wasn’t sure why.

Her smile grew just the slightest bit. “You’re a pirate. I’m sure some people like you. Some don’t.”

He chuckled again, the tension between them suddenly lifting, and for a moment, they stood there together, side by side, each lost in the same view. The sun was low on the horizon now, casting golden light across the water, and everything felt still and right.

But there was something else he noticed, something that surprised him even more than the connection he felt with her. She hadn’t been scared or defensive with him. She hadn’t turned away or looked down in an attempt to distance herself from him, like so many others had done in his past. No, she had stood her ground, and in her quiet presence, he found something that spoke to him in a way nothing else ever had.

Saram wasn’t like anyone he had ever met. She wasn’t impressed by his fame, nor did she fawn over him like many others did. She simply was. And for Shanks, that was the most intoxicating thing of all.

As the wind swept through their hair, and the sun dipped beneath the horizon, he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this was the beginning of something he couldn’t fully understand, but that he couldn’t let slip away.

The pirate captain who had always lived for the thrill of adventure, for the joy of sailing the seas, now found himself wondering if the greatest adventure of all might be standing right in front of him.

And somehow, in a way he never expected, he had already fallen.

The soft creak of the ship’s wooden planks was the only sound that broke the stillness of the night. Shanks lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of the dimly lit room, the weight of everything pressing down on him in a way he wasn’t used to. The steady rise and fall of Saram’s chest next to him was a reminder that things were far from simple, and his heart felt heavy, a knot tightening deep inside his chest.

He turned his head to the side, his gaze falling on her. She had fallen asleep in his arms, exhausted by the endless battles, both physical and emotional, that had been waged between them. Her body was still, but her face—her face was anything but peaceful.

Even in sleep, she looked restless, as though she couldn’t find a moment of true peace. Her brow was furrowed, and the softest of frowns tugged at her lips. But it was the tears that caught his attention—tears that had slipped from her closed eyes and stained the pillow beneath her.

Shanks felt something stir inside him, something that felt dangerous and unfamiliar. He didn’t like seeing her like this—vulnerable, exposed, broken in a way he hadn’t thought possible. It gnawed at him, that sense of helplessness, the knowledge that he was the one who had caused this.

His hand hovered over her face for a moment before he moved with slow, deliberate care. His fingers brushed the damp trail of a tear from her cheek, feeling the warmth of it on his skin. His heart squeezed, a twinge of guilt lancing through him. It was hard to reconcile the woman who fought him tooth and nail with the one who now lay beside him, her emotions raw and unguarded in her sleep.

He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to feeling this… soft. To wanting to protect someone who constantly pushed him away.

But that feeling was there, undeniable. And as he wiped the last of the tears away, he realized that he didn’t want to see her like this anymore. He didn’t want her to cry, didn’t want to be the cause of her pain. For all the walls she’d built around herself, for all the stubbornness and defiance, there was still something fragile beneath it all.

Something that he, ironically, was starting to care about.

Saram shifted slightly in her sleep, her body instinctively curling toward him as if she knew he was there, offering warmth and protection without even realizing it. Shanks didn’t fight the urge to pull her closer. He wrapped his arm around her, bringing her against his chest, and for a moment, he allowed himself to enjoy the softness of the moment.

Her head rested lightly on his shoulder, her breath soft and steady now, as if she had finally found some semblance of rest. He could feel the warmth of her body, the slight tremors that still lingered from her earlier distress, and it made his chest tighten with an unfamiliar ache.

He stared down at her, his heart a strange mixture of tenderness and something darker. He knew the road ahead wasn’t going to be easy—not by any stretch of the imagination. She would fight him every step of the way, and he had no illusions about that.

But in this quiet moment, with her in his arms, the world seemed a little less complicated. He wasn’t the pirate captain feared by all, and she wasn’t the woman who despised him. They were just two people, sharing a fleeting moment of peace amidst the chaos they both carried inside them.

Shanks kissed the top of her head softly, his lips brushing her hair, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself simply breathe. The weight of the world was still there, hanging over them both, but for now, he would allow himself to feel this—this fragile, complicated connection between them.

And perhaps, in the morning, everything would return to the chaos of their rivalry. But for now, he would hold her close, as though she belonged to him, as though she was finally where she was meant to be.

In his arms.

#one piece #akagami no shanks x reader #akagami no shanks #shanks x reader #shanks #possesive love #one piece x reader #shanks one piece #shanks the man you are

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