Back On My Bullshit

You, on the other hand, just wanted a calm day. A nice walk. No drama. Zoro didn’t have any plans, so he chose to stay with you.

“Didn’t feel like wandering off,” he said with a shrug “Plus, you always get lost.”

“I do not!” you argue with a little laugh.

“You got lost on the ship” he says with a smirk.

You roll your eyes, bumping his arm lightly with your shoulder “That happened once. And you’re the one to talk???”

Zoro just grunts, amused, and keeps walking beside you. His hands are in his pockets, his swords resting at his side like always. He walks with that usual lazy confidence, but you can tell he’s relaxed.

Then, you hear a small cry. Like a kid. You stop walking “Did you hear that?”

Zoro lifts his head “Yeah.”

You both follow the sound, turning down a quieter street. And there, near the side of a fruit stand, is a small boy. He can’t be older than five. His face is red from crying, his small hands wiping at his eyes. He looks scared.

“Hey, sweetie,” you say gently, kneeling in front of him “What’s wrong?”

The boy looks up at you with big teary eyes “M-Mommy’s gone…”

“Oh no,” you whisper “You got separated?”

He nods fast, then suddenly throws his arms around you. You nearly fall back from the sudden hug but Zoro puts a hand on the back of your head, gently, just to keep you balanced.

Zoro’s eyes widen. You glance up at him, then back down at the boy. He’s shaking.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay...” you say, rubbing his back “We’ll help you find her. I promise.”

The boy doesn’t let go. He clings tighter, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear too.

Zoro scratches the back of his neck “You sure about this? We could find a guard or something.”

You give him a look “Zoro, he’s terrified. Would you want a stranger dragging you around if you were five?”

He sighs “Fine. So we’re babysitters now.”

You smile a little “Just until we find his mom.”

Zoro folds his arms, watching the boy with a face that’s trying very hard not to be soft “What’s his name?”

You turn to the boy “Sweetie, what’s your name?”

He sniffs “Kenji.”

“Okay, Kenji,” you say with a warm smile “I’m Y/N and this is Zoro. He’s kind of grumpy, but he’s nice.”

Zoro makes a sound like a scoff, but he doesn’t argue.

Kenji peeks up at Zoro “You have swords…”

Zoro raises a brow “Yeah. Don’t worry. I only use them on bad guys.”

Kenji nods seriously, then looks back at you “You’re really pretty…”

Your face heats up a little. Zoro frowns “Kid, don’t start.”

You laugh, standing up slowly as Kenji keeps his little hand in yours “Alright, let’s find your mom, okay?”

Kenji nods, still holding onto you like you’re his lifeline.

Zoro walks on your other side, still acting cool but every now and then, you catch him glancing down at the kid. And maybe, just maybe, you see a small smile on his face. Just a little one.

You’ve been walking around the town for a while now, asking people if they’ve seen Kenji’s mom. A few shopkeepers shake their heads.

Some say, “Sorry, haven’t seen any woman looking for a kid.”

You try the market square next. No luck there either.

Kenji’s small hand is still in yours, holding tight like he’s afraid to let go. His other hand rubs at his eye now and then, but he’s not crying anymore. Still, he stays close. You’re like his safe space now.

You glance down at him “Kenji, do you remember where you last saw your mom? Were you near a shop?”

He shakes his head slowly “I was looking at fish. Then I turned and she was gone.”

“Fish,” Zoro repeats “That narrows it down to…everywhere.”

You sigh “We’ll keep looking.”

Kenji tugs on your hand “Are you tired? I can walk by myself.”

Your heart melts “I’m okay, Kenji. But thank you.”

Then suddenly he reaches out and grabs Zoro’s hand too and you both freeze. Zoro stares at the small hand holding his, like it’s some kind of bomb.

Kenji doesn’t notice. He just keeps walking like it’s the most normal thing in the world, one hand in yours, one hand in Zoro’s. As if he’s done it a hundred times.

You glance at Zoro, and your face gets warm. Really warm. This…looks kind of cute. No… more than cute. It looks like… a little family.

Zoro’s eye twitches. He knows what it looks like too.

A woman passing by gives you a soft smile “Oh, what a sweet family.”

You nearly choke “Oh! We’re not—uh—we’re just helping—”

Zoro mutters under his breath, “For the love of… please don’t let anyone from the crew see this.”

You whisper back, “Why? Afraid they’ll think you’ve gone soft?”

He scowls “They will. And they’ll never shut up about it.”

But he doesn’t pull his hand away from Kenji’s. Not even when the kid swings his hands a little. You try not to smile too much, but your cheeks still feel hot.

“Y’know,” you say after a moment, “you don’t look that grumpy right now.”

Zoro gives you a side-eye “Say that again and I’ll let you get lost on purpose.”

You grin “Worth it.”

Kenji suddenly asks, “Are you and the sword guy married?”

You and Zoro speak at the same time.

You: “W-what? No!”

Zoro: “Hell no!”

You look at Zoro kinda offended by his tone.

Kenji tilts his head “But you look like it…”

Zoro lets out a long sigh “Kid, you really trying to make my day harder?”

You can’t stop laughing now. Even Zoro, after a beat, smiles just a little. Just enough to make your heart do a little flip.

The sun’s still out, the breeze still nice and you still haven’t found Kenji’s mom, but…you’re doing okay. And as long as the kid keeps walking between you and Zoro, hands held tight, maybe it’s not such a bad way to spend the day.

Kenji’s hand is still snug in yours, and Zoro hasn’t pulled away from the other side either, though his eye twitches every few minutes like he’s trying to pretend it’s not happening.

You’re still wandering through the streets, asking around and scanning every corner for a woman calling out for her son. No luck. Then suddenly, Kenji tugs at your hand and mumbles, “I’m hungry…”

You pause “Oh… right. You haven’t eaten anything.”

Zoro groans immediately “We don’t have time to stop and eat. We’re looking for your mom, remember?”

Kenji’s bottom lip quivers “But… my tummy hurts…”

He rubs his stomach with both hands now, giving you the most tragic look you’ve ever seen. You’re done. Defeated.

“Zoro,” you whisper, “he’s so cute. Let him eat.”

Zoro crosses his arms “He’ll survive. Kids bounce back.”

Kenji grabs your arm again “Please… just a snack?”

Your heart melts into a puddle “Zoroooo…”

Zoro looks at you and you’re doing it too… That look. Eyes wide, soft voice, the tiniest pout. Now both you and Kenji are staring at him like abandoned puppies in the rain.

He curses under his breath “You guys are teaming up on me.”

You say nothing, you just keep pouting. He rubs his face like this is physical pain “Fine. Fine. Twenty minutes.”

Kenji jumps up and cheers “Yay!”

You smile up at Zoro, wrapping your hand around his arm “Thanks, babe. You’re the best.”

He groans again, but you catch the way his ears turn a little red. You head toward a food stall nearby, and as soon as you do, you hear a loud voice call out “Oi! Zoro! Y/N!”

You both turn and there they are.

Luffy and Sanji, carrying way too many bags and snacks.

Sanji’s eyes go wide when he sees the kid. He drops his bags “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!”

Kenji looks up at you, his mouth full of fried dough “Who’s the loud guy?”

Sanji points dramatically at Zoro “How could you?! You stole her away and now—now you even have a child?!”

Zoro blinks “What are you talking about? Do you know how kids are made?”

Luffy laughs “He looks just like your kid. You’re all holding hands and stuff. It’s so cute! You should make a real one!”

Sanji falls to the ground instantly “I’m dying. I’m literally dead. This is hell.”

You’re laughing too hard to speak.

Kenji, still chewing, leans over to Zoro “Are those your friends? They’re weird.”

Zoro sighs “You have no idea.”

Luffy crouches next to Kenji, nose almost touching his “Heyyy, what’s your name?”

“Kenji!”

“Cool name! You wanna be a pirate?”

Zoro grabs Luffy by the back of his vest and yanks him away “No recruiting children.”

Sanji stands back up, wiping his nose “Mon dieu… Y/N, if you ever decide you want real romance, you know where to find me.”

You smile sweetly “You’d have to fight Zoro for me first.”

Sanji turns pale, not because he’s scared but because you think of Zoro right away “…I’m good.”

Kenji tugs your sleeve again “Are they always like this?”

“Pretty much” you say with a giggle. Zoro mutters, “You get used to it.”

Even as the chaos unfolds, Zoro moves just a little closer to you. His hand brushes against yours again and Kenji, still holding your other hand, starts humming happily between bites.

After the chaos (and mild heartbreak) that was Luffy and Sanji, you wave them off with a tired smile. Sanji is still crying in the background. Luffy’s trying to steal a meat bun from someone’s cart.

“Bye, Kenji!” Luffy shouts cheerfully “Don’t forget to train so you can join my crew!”

“I won’t!” Kenji waves both hands like you’re sending off a ship.

You tug his sleeve gently “Okay, come on. Let’s keep going.”

Zoro mutters under his breath as you walk again, heading farther into the town “Out of everyone… they had to be the ones we run into.”

You smirk “Could’ve been worse.”

“No. That was the worst.”

“Even worse than running into ALL of them together?”

He gives you a sharp side-eye “Don’t push your luck.”

You giggle, swinging Kenji’s hand a little as you walk. He’s full now, calmer, but still sticking to you like glue. Zoro’s hands are back in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched. He looks like he wants to complain, but he’s still here. That says enough.

Then, out of nowhere, Kenji tugs at your hand and looks up at you seriously “Miss Y/N? Can I call you Mama?”

You freeze. Everything around you stops. The breeze. The street noise. Even Zoro seems to pause mid-step. You blink at him “W-What?”

Kenji looks a little nervous now, like he’s not sure if he’s done something wrong “I know you’re not really… but you’re really nice, and you make me feel safe like my mama does. I miss her…”

Your throat closes. You don’t even know what to say. Tears prick at your eyes so fast you can’t stop them. One slides down your cheek before you can hide it.

You crouch down, hugging him gently, trying not to cry too hard “Kenji… I’m sure your mom misses you too. We’re gonna find her, okay? I promise.”

He nods, leaning into your hug.

Zoro is quiet behind you. For once, not a single sarcastic comment. When you glance up at him, you see that flicker in his eyes. Something soft. Something… careful. He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. And somehow, that silence means more than words.

You’re walking again, slowly now. Kenji hums as he walks between you and Zoro, swinging your hands. He’s more cheerful after eating, even skipping a little. It’s almost hard to believe this is the same scared little boy from earlier.

Then you hear a woman’s voice, panicked and breathless “Kenji?! Kenji!!”

All three of you turn around, a woman is running toward you, her eyes wide with worry. Her hair’s a bit messy.

Kenji gasps “Mama!!”

He lets go of both your hands and runs to her. You and Zoro stop walking, watching as he throws himself into her arms. She catches him and falls to her knees, hugging him tightly.

“Oh, thank god,” she whispers, burying her face in his shoulder “I’ve been looking everywhere, Kenji, I was so scared…”

“I’m okay, Mama!” he says brightly “I wasn’t alone!”

You and Zoro stand quietly a few steps away, watching them hold each other. Zoro crosses his arms and says nothing. But his expression is… softer now. Thoughtful.

Then, Kenji turns and grabs his mom’s hand.

“Come on! Come meet them!” he says, tugging her toward you.

She lets herself be pulled along and gives you a teary smile “You… You helped him?”

You nod “Yeah. He was alone and crying. We couldn’t just leave him.”

She presses a hand to her chest, still catching her breath “Thank you. Truly. I don’t know what I would’ve done—”

She starts reaching into a small pouch “Please, I have a little money—let me give you something.”

You shake your head quickly “Oh no, really. That’s okay. We had… a good day, actually. He’s a sweet kid.”

Kenji beams proudly beside her. Zoro’s still silent, standing with that usual lazy posture.

The woman glances at him, hesitating “Are you sure? Maybe he wants—”

Before she finishes, Zoro shrugs “Y/N did all of it by herself.”

You glance over at him. That’s not true, you both helped. But he says it like he wants to make clear that the kindness was yours. You give him a small smile.

The woman bows slightly “Thank you both again.”

You nod, just about to say goodbye when Kenji suddenly throws his arms around your waist again.

You blink “Kenji…?”

He’s crying again. Quiet, but real tears, as he mumbles “Do you… have to go?”

Your throat tightens “Hey, don’t cry… You’re with your mom now. You’re safe.”

“I know,” he says, sniffling “But I don’t want you to go. I love you… you’re my best friend.”

Tears fill your eyes instantly. You hug him back, squeezing gently, as you whisper “I love you too, Kenji, you’re really brave, you know?”

He looks up at his mom “Can she stay with us?”

Her eyes soften “Sweetheart… she has her own life and friends. But maybe one day you’ll meet again.”

He wipes his face with his sleeve, still clinging to you. Zoro turns away slightly, trying to act like he’s not watching, but his ears are red and in his chest, something warm builds, quiet and slow.

You’re so gentle. So natural with children. And for the first time… He lets the thought sit. Maybe a future like that, with you, soft like this… wouldn’t be so bad.

Eventually, you say goodbye. Kenji waves and waves until he’s out of sight. You and Zoro walk in silence for a few minutes. Then… you feel something. Zoro reaches over and takes your hand.

You blink, surprised “Zoro?”

He doesn’t look at you, eyes straight ahead, face a little pink “Don’t make a big deal out of it. Just… thought you might need it.”

You smile, squeezing his hand gently. A few more steps go by before he adds, quietly “You’d be good at it.”

“At what?” you ask.

He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly “…Being a mom.”

Your heart skips as he glances at you out of the corner of his eye “Not saying right now. Just… someday. If you wanted that.”

You stop for a second, staring at him. He’s not blushing anymore. He’s serious.

You nod, eyes soft “With you… yeah. I think I’d want that someday.”

Zoro looks away quickly, but you see the tiniest smile on his face.

You let go of his hand and he turns to look at you surprised. But then you jump and put your arms around his neck as he grabs you by your waist to steady you.

You kiss him quickly but softly while saying “I love you so much Zoro, thank you.”

He’s still surprised but asks “What are you thanking me for?”

“To think of me when you think about your future.”

He blushes and starts to look away but you catches him saying “Of course I would.”

You smile as you let go of him and then take his hand again as you swing it and walk as you’re the happiest girl in the world, with your biggest smile one and humming a little cute song.

Zoro watches you all the time with the softest smile he ever had.

── .✦ Sanji:

The sun sets behind the island’s hills, painting the sky in soft orange and purple. You can already hear music and laughter in the air. The village is buzzing with excitement.

“We’re just in time for the Moonlight Festival” Nami tells everyone, smiling as a few locals greet her.

“They want us to join?” Luffy asks, his eyes already searching for food.

“Yes,” Robin says “They’ve prepared clothes for us. It’s part of their tradition.”

You glance around. The people here are wearing bright outfits, flowing skirts, golden sashes, beads, and flowers in their hair. It looks magical.

One of the village girls walks up to you, holding a folded dress.

“For you,” she says with a kind smile “You’ll look beautiful in it.”

Sanji’s eyes narrow, already hovering at your side “She always does” he says softly, brushing a hand across your lower back.

You smile and take the dress inside a small tent to change.

When you step out, the crew is waiting. Zoro looks away with a bored expression. Usopp whistles.

But Sanji… he freezes. His face turns red in two seconds. Then an elegant nosebleed.

“Oh my god, Sanji!” you rush to him as he stumbles back, heart-shaped eyes glowing like lanterns.

“You… You can’t just walk out looking like that, mon amour,” he gasps “I was not prepared. That dress—you… your everything—!”

You laugh “You’re so dramatic.”

“I am in love,” he moans, holding a hand over his nose “And now I’m dying.”

“Save it for later, lovebirds,” Nami rolls her eyes “Let’s go! The festival’s starting!”

The streets are glowing with lanterns. Drums beat in the background. Kids are running around with flower crowns. You hold Sanji’s hand tight as you pull him through the crowd.

“Wait, wait—look!” you gasp, pointing to a stall “Caramel apples!”

Sanji chuckles “Mon amour, you know I can make you better ones. Twice as sweet. Three times as shiny.”

“Yeah, but these are festival apples,” you grin, bouncing on your heels “It’s different!”

He groans playfully but fishes some coins from his pocket “Fine. Who am I to stop you from being adorable?”

You grab the apple and take a big bite “Mmm! Okay. Yours are still better.”

He smirks “Told you.”

You two stroll past more stalls. Roasted nuts, cotton candy, fruit juice in bamboo cups… you try everything. Sanji keeps spoiling you without complaint, even if he keeps saying, “You know I could cook all of this for you, mon trésor.”

You wipe a bit of syrup off his cheek with your thumb “Yeah, but this is more fun.”

You turn a corner and freeze “Sanji!” you gasp.

“Hm?”

“There!” You point to a game stall. Behind it is a giant plushie… a round, smiling bear with soft ears and a flower crown.

Sanji squints “You want that thing?”

“Yes! It’s so cute!”

But before you can step forward, a group of small kids run up.

“We saw it first!” one of them shouts.

“No way! I’m gonna win it!” another boy says, grabbing a ball from the counter.

You look at Sanji. He cracks his knuckles and smiles “A competition, huh?”

“Winner takes the bear!” the tallest kid says.

Sanji kneels to their level, grinning “Alright, little ones. You’re on.”

Sanji throws the first ball... Miss.

“Damn it—”

The ball bounces off the edge of the target, knocking over nothing but his pride.

“Too slow, old man!” the little boy cackles and throws his own. Miss.

Sanji raises an eyebrow “Oh-ho? You think you’re better?”

“I am better!” the kid huffs, grabbing another ball. Miss again.

Sanji leans in “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Your aim is trash.”

“So is yours.”

They go back and forth for the next minute. Ball after ball. Miss after miss. Neither hits a single target. Sanji’s hair is messier now, and the kid’s cheeks are puffed in frustration.

You cross your arms and bite your lip to stop laughing. Finally, Sanji steps back, hands on his hips.

“This game is clearly rigged.”

The kid points at him “You’re just mad because you lost.”

“You lost too!” Sanji snaps back, eyes wide.

“Only ‘cause you distracted me with your loud yelling!”

They both look exhausted and full of mutual respect…and mutual failure.

You walk up between them and say, “Okay. My turn.”

Sanji blinks “Mon amour, are you sure? It’s harder than it looks—”

“I wanna try.” you say, handing him the caramel apple you’re still holding.

You pick up the ball. It’s heavier than you thought, but manageable. You narrow your eyes, pull back your arm and… You knock over all three cans. Clean.

Sanji’s jaw drops. The little boy gasps so loudly, you think he might pass out.

The game keeper just laughs and hands you the giant plushie “Well done, miss!”

You grin and hug the bear tight “I did it!”

Sanji laughs, not caring at all about being shown up “You’re amazing!” he says proudly “Absolutely perfect.”

He kisses your cheek with zero shame “My talented goddess.”

But the kid… the kid is just staring at you now. Like something huge just clicked in his little brain.

“…What?” you ask, smiling at him “You can still try again, maybe there’s another plush—”

“I love you.”

You blink “Huh?”

“I don’t know why,” he says, completely serious “But I do.”

You stand there with your plushie, speechless. Sanji snorts so hard he has to turn around to hide his laugh.

“Is it the bear?” you ask gently.

The boy shakes his head “It’s your face. And your power.”

Sanji is wheezing now “That’s a strong statement, mon petit rival.”

“I said what I said,” the kid replies firmly, hands in his pockets “If you break up with him, I’ll wait for you.”

You pat his head “Thanks, but… I don’t think that’ll happen.”

He sighs “Fine. But just know… you’re my first love now.”

Sanji finally turns around, wiping tears from his eyes “I’ve been defeated. By a child.”

You both laugh, holding hands again. You keep walking through the festival lights, one giant plush bear in your arms, and the chef at your side.

The night deepens, and the music slows down.

Soft lanterns float above the square, swaying gently in the warm breeze. They’re glowing in different colors as orange, pink, soft blue, like slow-moving stars. Couples begin dancing in the middle of the cobblestone plaza.

Sanji gently tugs your hand “Dance with me, mon amour?”

You grin and nod “Only if you don’t step on my feet.”

“I would rather die.”

He places one hand on your waist, the other holding yours with a practiced ease. His touch is warm and careful, like he’s afraid to break you. You sway together under the lanterns, the sounds of violins and laughter floating around you.

“You look beautiful in this light.” he says quietly.

You look up at him, smiling “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

You lean into him, resting your head against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat. This moment is soft. Sweet. Just the two of you… until…

“HEY, Y/N!”

Your head jerks up. You turn. A small voice echoes through the crowd.

Sanji’s brows twitch “No.”

Walking through the legs of villagers, holding something behind his back, is that kid.

Your jaw drops “How do you know my name?”

He stops right in front of you, puffing his chest like a tiny warrior “The idiot said it like five times while we were throwing balls. ‘You’ve got this, Y/N! Knock ‘em down, Y/N!’”

You blink “Oh… yeah. That sounds like him.”

Sanji coughs “You remembered that?”

The kid pulls out what he was hiding behind his back, a delicate, glowing flower. Its petals shimmer like they’ve been dusted with stardust.

“This is for you,” the boy says, holding it out with both hands like an offering “You deserve something this pretty.”

Your heart does a little owh at the sweetness “Aww… thank you.”

You take it gently, not wanting to crush it.

Sanji, meanwhile, stares at the flower. Then at the kid. Then at you.

He chuckles lightly “How… thoughtful.”

You glance at him “You okay?”

“Oh, me? Perfectly fine,” he says with a smile that’s way too tight “Just enjoying the sight of my girlfriend being courted by an eight-year-old.”

The kid looks up at him “Nine.”

“Ah, of course. My mistake,” Sanji says, voice calm but eyes twitching “A mature gentleman.”

“Way cooler than you.” the boy mumbles.

Sanji crouches down slightly, still smiling “You want a kitchen knife to go with that flower, mon petit rival?”

You step between them, laughing “Okay, okay, enough. This is getting weird.”

The kid sighs and shrugs “I’ll just wait till you’re single. No rush.”

“There will be no waiting.” Sanji grits through his teeth.

“Time is on my side, old man.”

“SHE’S MY AGE TOO!” Sanji yells irritated.

You nearly drop the flower from laughing so hard. You pat the boy on the head again “You’re really sweet, but I’m staying with the idiot for now.”

“Forever,” Sanji corrects “She’s staying with me forever.”

“Yeah, yeah. For now…” the boy says, walking away into the lantern lights.

You turn to Sanji, still giggling “You were jealous.”

He raises a hand, dramatic as ever “I can’t believe he kept insulting me. I was not jealous. I was threatened.”

You raise an eyebrow.

He sighs “Okay. I was… mildly unsettled.”

You lean up and kiss his cheek “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

He smirks again “And you’re always cute. But please… no more nine-year-old rivals.”

The music quiets. The stalls are closing. Lanterns start floating into the sky, some by string, some released into the wind with wishes written on paper. The villagers begin gathering near the beach and hilltops.

You stretch your arms with a happy sigh, the big plushie still tucked under one arm “It’s almost time for fireworks, right?”

Sanji nods and gently takes your hand “Follow me, mon love. I found us a better spot. Private. High up. Just us.”

“Romantic?”

He grins “Always.”

He leads you up a narrow path behind the main square, through a line of trees. A few lanterns hang along the way, giving the path a warm glow. Eventually, you reach a small wooden platform, almost like an old lookout. There’s a railing, a perfect view of the sky, and just enough space for the two of you to stand side by side.

You lean against the railing, wide-eyed “This is perfect…”

Sanji steps behind you, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder “I know. Just like you.”

You snort “Cheesy.”

He kisses your temple “True.”

Just as the wind picks up slightly and you snuggle closer into his arms…“Hey!”

You both turn your heads.

It’s the kid. Again.

Sanji groans, stepping forward “Are you following us now?”

The boy crosses his arms “I think destiny wants me and Y/N together.”

Sanji points at him “She’s literally standing here with me, holding the bear I helped her win—”

“I pushed you to give up and her winning it, so technically I helped too.”

“You called me ‘trash’ and insulted me!”

“And yet… here we are.” He spreads his arms as if the universe just proved his point.

You lean on the railing, grinning like an idiot while they go at it again “I feel like I should get popcorn for this.”

The kid puffs up his chest “You’ll thank me when we’re married one day.”

“I am going to faint.” Sanji rubs his face.

You laugh softly, eyes crinkling with joy. The two of them are so dramatic in their own ways… Sanji with his poetic French curses, and the kid with his over-the-top confidence.

But then the sky explodes into light.

You gasp and rush toward the railing, hands gripping the wood. Fireworks bloom above the hills, one after another, bursts of gold, red, green, and silver painting the night. Some twinkle, some crackle, some swirl in spiral shapes like dancing stars.

“Whoa…” you whisper, completely forgetting the chaos behind you.

Then, beside you, another small gasp. You glance down. It’s the kid.

His eyes are wide. His mouth slightly open in wonder “They’re… huge.”

“Is this your first time seeing fireworks?” you ask.

He nods slowly “Yeah. They’re… kinda magical.”

You smile, your face glowing with the same light reflecting in the sky “Right?”

Behind you, Sanji watches the two of you from a few steps back.

You’re both standing at the railing, heads tilted up, eyes full of wonder, soft smiles on your faces. The flower the kid gave you is tucked in your hair. The bear still in your arms. And somehow, in that one moment, you and the kid… look similar.

Same joy. Same spark. Same heart.

Sanji feels something shift in his chest. Not jealousy. Not annoyance. Something deeper. Warmer.

He pictures this moment again, but years in the future. You, at the railing, holding a small hand. Your child’s hand.

Their eyes lighting up like yours. That same smile. That same awe. And he’s there too, arms around both of you. His future, clear as the fireworks above.

You turn around and catch his gaze “Sanji?”

He blinks and smiles softly “Sorry. Just… thinking about how lucky I am.”

You raise an eyebrow “Because we won the bear?”

“No,” he says, stepping forward to join you at the railing “Because I get to watch you fall in love with everything.”

You rest your head on his shoulder again, your free hand finding his.

“With me?” The kid says.

“NO! DROP IT!” Sanji yells at him but then they both smile and keep watching the fireworks as they keep blooming. And Sanji is already planning forever.

The last firework bursts in a shower of silver and gold, lingering like a sparkler in the night sky. Then silence.

Soft cheers rise from the village below. The glow fades, lanterns flickering low. The magic of the moment hangs in the air for just a little longer, like it doesn’t want to end.

You sigh, still holding Sanji’s hand “That was perfect…”

Next to you, the kid is still staring at the sky. But the fireworks are gone now, long finished. Yet he doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. His eyes are wide, his mouth just barely open. He looks like he’s still inside that wonder.

You smile at him “Hey… by the way… What’s your name?”

He blinks, like he’s waking up from a dream “Oh. It’s Tama.”

“Nice to meet you, Tama.” You kneel down a bit so you’re closer to his height “What do you wanna be when you grow up?”

Without hesitation “A pirate.”

You laugh softly “Really?”

He nods, proud “A brave one. With a big ship. I’ll visit all the islands with weird animals and floating rocks and treasure.”

Sanji smirks beside you, hands in his pockets “Then I guess we’ll keep being rivals even out at sea, huh?”

Tama gives him a sharp side-eye “I’ll have to steal y/n from you and out-pirate you.”

Sanji grins “Try me, mon petit.”

You giggle and ruffle Tama’s hair gently “Well, I hope we meet again when you’re out there chasing dreams.”

Tama glances up at you “What about you? What do you want to be?”

You pause. It’s not something you really think about. You look over at Sanji… messy blond hair, gentle smile, the way he’s still looking at you like the stars are in your eyes instead of the sky.

You shrug “I don’t care what I become. I just want to be with Sanji forever.”

Sanji freezes for a moment.

Then, he lets out a quiet breath, like someone just handed him the whole world.

His voice is soft “You’ll never have to wish for that, mon amour. I’m not going anywhere.”

Tama watches you both. He’s quiet. No more smug grins or snappy lines.

Then, slowly, he nods. He tucks his hands into his pockets and gives you a small smile, real and warm “Then it’s good the idiot is so persistent.”

Sanji raises an eyebrow “Hey—”

Tama doesn’t look at him. He’s looking at you “You’re really happy. I can tell.” His voice is calm now, like something inside him understands something bigger “So… I’m okay with it.”

Your heart softens “Thank you, Tama.”

Then, without fully thinking, you smile even wider and say, “Sanji, I hope our future baby is going to be like him.”

Tama blinks, clearly unsure what to say to that. Maybe even a little embarrassed. But he nods slowly, lips pressing together in a shy smile.

Sanji stops breathing.

He stares at you, completely still, as if the fireworks just restarted behind his eyes. That sentence… so casual, so soft… hit harder than anything tonight. Our future baby...

You’re thinking about it. About a future. About family. And not just that. You’re thinking about it with him. His heart squeezes in his chest.

You’re here, in his arms. You’re in love. And you’re imagining a child with his smile and your eyes, running around somewhere under the same stars.

You turn and see the look in Sanji’s eyes.

He’s smiling, but there’s something deeper behind it. Something full. Something that says, I heard that.

You just smile back, knowing he doesn’t need to say a word.

Tama shrugs and turns around “Don’t get too comfy though. I’ll be cooler than him someday.”

Sanji puts an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close “We’ll be cheering for you… maybe.”

Tama waves over his shoulder, heading back toward the village, lantern light flickering around him.

You and Sanji stay a little longer at the lookout, arms wrapped around each other, the flower still in your hair, and the last warmth of the fireworks still in your hearts.

The festival is over. But something even better stayed behind with you…

Love. Peace. And the promise of forever.

── .✦ Law:

The sea is calm. The deck is quiet. You wipe your hands with a towel and step out of the infirmary for some air. A peaceful day. For once.

“GUYS! GUYS!! I’m back!!”

Bepo’s voice booms from the ramp. You glance over, blinking. Law appears from the hallway behind you, arms crossed and already frowning. Penguin and Shachi pop their heads out of the engine room.

“Why are you yelling?” Law asks, sharp.

“I got everything!” Bepo shouts, jogging up “But also—uh—”

He’s carrying something. No. Someone. It’s a kid.

A little girl, maybe five years old, wrapped in one of Bepo’s spare coats. Her hair’s messy, face pale. No shoes. She looks completely terrified.

Shachi stares “That’s a child.”

“Bepo,” Law growls “You didn’t…”

“I had to!” Bepo pleads “She was hiding behind crates in the market. All alone. People walked right past her. Like she wasn’t even there!”

“So you picked her up and brought her here?!” Law’s tone spikes.

“I couldn’t leave her! I asked around, but no one knew her. No one cared! She wouldn’t talk to anyone but me!”

The girl looks around fast… strangers, loud voices, sharp tones. She panics.

Her eyes lock on you, maybe because you’re the only woman here at the moment, maybe because you’re not yelling, and suddenly she jumps out of Bepo’s arms.

“Wait—!” Bepo yells.

Too late. She runs straight to you and throws her arms around your waist, hugging you like her life depends on it.

You freeze.

“Woah—hey, hey,” you say softly, instinct kicking in. You crouch down, hands gentle on her arms “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

She buries her face in your chest and doesn’t say a word. Everyone is staring.

“Y/N,” Law says, voice low “Do you know her?”

You shake your head “Never seen her before.”

“Then why is she hugging you like that?” Penguin asks, confused.

You rub her back carefully “She’s scared. She saw someone safe. That’s all.”

Law narrows his eyes, crouching beside you.

“Kid,” he says quietly, “what’s your name?”

“…Mimi.” she whispers.

“How old are you, Mimi?”

She holds up five fingers without looking up.

“Do you know where your parents are?”

She shakes her head.

“Do you remember anything?”

She shrugs.

Law stands up “Fantastic.”

“I don’t get it,” Shachi says “Why would she run to Y/N? Just randomly?”

“She doesn’t know me,” you say, still holding Mimi gently “She was just scared.”

“She’s still shaking,” Bepo murmurs “I think she really was in danger.”

Law opens his mouth to reply, but footsteps thunder up from below deck.

“Ikkaku!” Penguin says as she appears, out of breath.

“Captain!” she gasps, holding up a tablet “Emergency Marine alert. I just picked it up from the city’s comms.”

“What kind of alert?” Law asks, tone serious.

She flips the screen around “They’re searching for a missing child. Classified level. No name. No photo. Just this—”

She swipes again. A blurry snail-cam image. It’s Mimi. Wearing that same coat.

“…Shit.” Law mutters.

Everyone stares at the screen.

“Why are the Marines looking for a five-year-old?” Shachi asks, stunned.

“Classified level? That’s not normal” Penguin adds.

Ikkaku reads off the report “Orders are to retrieve the child alive. No reason listed. But every local base is on alert. They think pirates might have taken her.”

Mimi stiffens. She presses closer to you.

“…Bad men,” she whispers “Mama said they’d come…”

“Mimi,” you say softly, “do you know who the bad men are?”

She shakes her head quickly “The marines… that I had to run. Mama said… find someone kind. Someone who felt safe.”

She looks up at you then. Big, frightened eyes.

You smile gently “You found me, don’t worry.”

Law steps beside you, staring down at the kid. His hand brushes yours.

“Y/N,” he says quietly, “She can’t stay on deck.”

You nod.

“She stays below, for now” Law says, turning to the crew “And no one talks about her. Not a word. We figure this out before the Marines come knocking.”

Bepo lets out a breath “Thank you, Captain.”

Law glances back at you and Mimi “Don’t thank me yet. This is trouble.”

“She’s just a kid,” you murmur, carrying her gently as you stand “We’ll protect her.”

Law’s voice softens “Yeah. We will.”

The door closes behind you both with a quiet click. The hallway outside Law’s quarters is silent now. You and Law stand inside the dimly lit room, away from the crew, away from Mimi.

He leans against the desk, arms folded, hat on the surface next to him. His jaw is tight. You’re pacing.

“She’s five, Law,” you say “Five. And terrified. You saw her face.”

“I know what I saw,” he replies, coldly calm “But she’s not just any kid, Y/N. She’s being hunted by the Marines. That’s not normal.”

“She didn’t ask to be hunted,” you shoot back “She didn’t choose any of this!”

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice rises slightly.

You stop pacing “Then why are you looking at her like she’s a problem?”

He straightens “Because right now? She is. She’s a risk. For all of us.”

You flinch.

“Oh, great,” you say, sarcasm slipping in “Glad to know your heart’s still functioning.”

His eyes narrow “Don’t twist my words.”

“I’m not twisting anything! You’re acting like she’s a ticking time bomb!”

“I’m being realistic!” he snaps “You always do this—take in strays without thinking!”

You freeze. The words echo. You always do this.

Your chest tightens “Then is that what I am to you?” you whisper “Some stray you took in?”

Law’s expression shifts instantly “What? No—”

You shake your head, stepping back, voice low and bitter “Forget it. I’m done.”

He moves toward you “Y/N, wait—”

“No,” you say, turning for the door “You wanted to be realistic? Fine. Be alone with your logic. I’m going to be with the actual human being we rescued.”

You slam the door on your way out.

You sit cross-legged on the floor of the small guest room, paper and colored pencils spread out between you and Mimi. She holds a red pencil in her small hand, tongue poking out a little as she focuses hard on drawing something.

You force yourself to smile “That’s a very good cat, Mimi.”

“It’s you” she says, showing you proudly.

You laugh gently “Oh! I’m the cat?”

She nods “You were soft when I hugged you.”

You pause “That’s… really sweet, actually.”

She looks up at you “Are you mad?”

Your smile fades “Why would you think that?”

“You left fast. Like Mama did… when she was mad.”

Ouch.

You set your pencil down and reach out, tucking her hair behind her ear “I’m not mad at you, I promise.”

“Then who?”

You sigh “Just… someone I love. We said some things we didn’t mean.”

She nods like she gets it “Mama and Papa did that too. Then they’d be quiet for a while. But after, they hugged a lot.”

You smile faintly “Maybe we’ll get there.”

Mimi turns back to her paper “Do you think my Mama’s okay?”

Your heart aches “I hope so, Mimi. I really do.”

You pick up a blue pencil and draw beside her in silence for a while. The sound of coloring fills the small room. For a little while, it’s peaceful again.

Even if your chest still burns with anger and something else you don’t want to admit yet. Not hurt. Just… disappointed.

The hallway outside the guest room is quiet now.

Right now, it’s just you and Mimi, surrounded by colored pencils and messy drawings. She laughs when your stick figure ends up with five arms. You giggle along, your mood slowly softening.

“Look!” she says proudly, holding up her latest masterpiece. It’s her, you, and what might be Bepo if you squint. You’ve all got huge smiles and stars around your heads.

“That’s amazing,” you say, genuinely impressed “Did you make me taller than Bepo?”

She nods “Because you’re strong.”

Your heart actually hurts a little at that “You’re the strong one, Mimi.”

She looks up at you, eyes wide and happy. It’s the first time she’s looked this light since she came aboard. Something warm blooms in your chest. You don’t say it aloud, but this feels… right.

She deserves moments like this. You both do.

There’s a soft knock at the doorframe. You turn and Law stands there. He doesn’t say anything right away. Just… watches.

You see his eyes flick to Mimi, then back to you. The scene freezes him. Like he’s seeing something he wasn’t ready for. Like he’s seeing you with a child in your lap, laughing, gentle, bright. Like family.

You look away first. Mimi doesn’t notice. She’s too busy coloring in the sky purple.

Law jerks his head toward the hallway, silently asking for a word. You hesitate.

Then slowly stand up, brushing your hands off “I’ll be right back, okay?” you whisper to Mimi.

“Okay.” she says without looking up.

You follow Law out into the hall. The door closes behind you, soft and careful. He runs a hand through his hair. He looks… tired. And guilty.

“I deserved everything you said earlier” he starts.

You don’t speak yet.

“I was angry. Not at you. At the situation. At how helpless it made me feel. It reminds me a lot of when… nevermind.”

Still, you wait.

“I wanted to do something. So I called in favors. Checked restricted comms. Dug deep.”

You lift your eyes to meet his “And?”

“I found out who her mother was,” he says “They were living on the outskirts of a Marine-controlled zone. Poor. Invisible. Perfect targets.”

Your throat tightens.

“She died,” Law continues “A week ago. Protecting Mimi. Marines were already closing in. Her mother fought back alone. Got her daughter away. Then…”

He trails off.

You stare “…Mimi saw that happen?”

He nods “But I think she doesn’t remember it. Or won’t. Trauma like that… it can block memories completely. Especially in kids.”

Your back presses to the wall “She… thinks her mom is still out there.”

“I know,” he says quietly “I was hoping she was. I wanted to go find her. Bring her here. Give Mimi the ending she deserved.”

You press your hands to your face “God…”

Law steps closer “I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure.”

You lower your hands slowly, voice shaking “You thought I’d fall apart?”

“No,” he says “I thought I would.”

That makes you look at him.

“I saw you with her just now,” he says “And I thought… maybe we could give her something close to a family. Not perfect. Not planned. But something.”

Silence hangs heavy for a second.

“I’m sorry,” he says again “For the fight. For what I said.”

You nod slowly “I was mad. But I never stopped trusting you.”

He reaches for your hand. You let him take it.

“She’s all alone now” you whisper.

“Not if we stay” he says.

You squeeze his fingers “I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s been three months since Mimi came aboard. She doesn’t cry at night anymore. She doesn’t flinch when someone raises their voice.

She laughs. Loudly. She steals snacks with Penguin, watches Shachi build models, draws on Bepo’s fur while he naps, and sometimes, when she’s really sleepy, she crawls into your bed without saying a word and snuggles between you and Law.

You and Law never talk about it, and neither does the crew, but everyone sees the way Mimi holds your hand like it’s the most normal thing in the world. The way Law makes sure she eats, takes her medicine, wears a coat when it’s cold, even when he grumbles about it. The way her drawings now always have three people in them.

You, her, and Law.

She knows the truth now. She remembers it all… her mother, the chase, the moment she lost her, the fear. It came back slowly, in pieces, but she never fell apart.

She held on. To you. To him. And now it’s time.

You found a safe place for her, a quiet island far from Marine eyes. A good family who knew her mother once, who wants to care for Mimi like their own. A home with books, and warm food, and other children. It’s the best chance she’ll ever get.

She knows it. She understands.

But even understanding doesn’t make it easy.

On the third-to-last day, you find Mimi sitting with Bepo in the garden space at the top of the sub. She’s holding her sketchbook.

“Hey,” you say gently, sitting down beside her “Can I see what you’re drawing?”

She turns the book around. It’s you and Law again… only this time, she’s drawn herself in the middle, holding both your hands. Above you is a sun with a smiling face.

Your chest aches.

“I like when we’re together.” she says, matter-of-fact.

“I do too.”

She leans against your arm “You’re not mad, right? That I said yes to going?”

You pause “Never. Mimi, we want you to be safe. That’s what matters most.”

She goes quiet for a second “But I’ll still miss you. A lot.”

You stroke her hair softly “I’ll miss you too. Every day.”

She looks up “Do you think Captain Law will miss me?”

You smile “I know he will.”

That night, Law finds you alone in the infirmary, pretending to organize the medical supplies. He leans against the doorway, arms crossed.

“You’re avoiding me” he says.

“No I’m not” you lie instantly.

“Y/N.”

You sigh and sit down on the cot “I just… don’t know how to say goodbye.”

He walks in, quiet, and sits beside you “You don’t have to.”

You glance at him.

“We’ll find a way to see her again,” he says “Even if it’s just from a distance. I promise.”

Your eyes sting “She’s the best thing that ever happened to this ship.”

He nods “She’s one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

You look at him, surprised.

“I didn’t think I could… do this,” he says “Feel like this. But she made me believe in something again. She made me remember if Corazon and even understand him more now.”

You reach out and take his hand “She made us a family, didn’t she?”

Law squeezes your hand gently.

“And we’ll let her go,” he says “Because that’s what family does. We protect them. Even when it hurts.”

The crew stands in a quiet line on the deck.

Bepo is the first to kneel down, huge paws gentle as he hugs Mimi tightly.

“Don’t forget me” he says, voice shaking.

“I could never.” she whispers, burying her face in his fur.

Penguin gives her a pack of candy and awkwardly pats her head “Eat this when you miss us, okay?”

Shachi kneels next “We’ll miss you, shrimp. Stay awesome.”

Ikkaku lifts Mimi’s little hand and presses a friendship bracelet into her palm “For luck” she says, smiling even though her eyes are red.

Everyone says their goodbyes. Everyone hugs her.

You stand back, next to Law, holding your breath. Watching. Trying to stay calm. But your chest feels tight. Your hands shake and Law, quiet and steady beside you, notices. He doesn’t say anything. He just reaches out and takes your hand in his. Warm, grounding. Solid.

You glance down, surprised. He never does this in front of the crew. Your fingers curl around his slowly. It helps. You’re grateful.

Mimi turns at last and walks up to you both. Her steps are slower now. Her smile is gone. And when she reaches you, she breaks.

Her small arms wrap around your waist so hard it knocks the air out of you “I don’t wanna go.” she sobs.

You drop to your knees and hold her, tears falling fast “I know, baby. I know.”

“I wanna stay with you. And Law. And Bepo and everyone. I don’t want a new house.”

“I know. But this is the safest place. It’s what your mama wanted. And we’ll still love you. Always.”

She shakes her head, crying harder. You don’t want to let go. You really, really don’t. And Law… he just stands there, quiet, one hand resting gently on your back as you cry into Mimi’s hair.

He doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s there. Holding you up in the way he always does.

When you finally pull away, your eyes meet his and he gives you the smallest nod. You nod back.

It’s time. Mimi turns to him slowly.

She throws her arms around his legs without a word. Law stiffens.

Then, very awkwardly, he kneels and hugs her back. His movements are a little stiff, unsure, but he doesn’t let go too quickly.

“I’m gonna miss you, Captain Law” she mumbles.

“…I’ll miss you too.” he says, voice low.

You blink. You’ve never heard him say that out loud.

When she lets go, her eyes are red and puffy, but she wipes them on her sleeve like a little soldier. Then she walks with the woman who came to get her, toward the small transport boat.

But just before she steps down the ramp, she stops, turns around, wipes her face and yells, loud as ever “HEY!”

Everyone jumps.

“If you ever give me a little brother or sister,” she says proudly, “I better get to meet them! I’ll be the best big sister in the world!”

Dead silence. Your jaw drops. Law’s eyes widen just slightly.

The crew turns to look at you both and absolutely loses it.

Penguin snorts. Shachi wheezes. Ikkaku starts clapping. Even Bepo chuckles behind a paw.

You and Law look in opposite directions at the same time, completely red-faced, avoiding each other’s eyes like it’s life or death.

“I… what…” you stammer.

“I didn’t…” Law mutters.

Mimi waves from the ramp, beaming “BYEEEE!”

And with that… she’s gone. Leaving behind stunned silence, a warm sea breeze and a very awkward question neither of you has ever asked before.

The door to Law’s studio closes behind you with a soft click. The sound of laughter still echoes faintly down the hall as the crew keeps joking about Mimi’s parting gift.

You and Law don’t say a word.

You wave a hand dismissively toward the corridor like go away, and Law rubs his forehead in quiet frustration as you both walk deeper into the room.

You drop onto the old sofa with a dramatic sigh. Your legs flop over the side “That kid really knows how to drop a bomb” you mumble into a pillow.

Law says nothing. He just walks toward his desk and sits down heavily, glancing at a stack of papers that definitely aren’t important right now.

“…So…” he says.

You raise an eyebrow, still hiding in the couch.

He clears his throat “Have you ever… uh. Thought about… you know.”

You peek at him “About what.”

He doesn’t look at you “A kid. Of your own.”

You squint “Why are you talking like that? You sound like Bepo when he ate spoiled mochi.”

He shoots you a look and you laugh, then immediately groan and hide your face in your hands.

“Oh god, I can’t believe we’re actually talking about this.”

“You didn’t answer” he says.

You peek through your fingers at him “Did you think about it before?”

He shrugs one shoulder “No. Not seriously.”

He stands up and walks over. He kneels in front of you and gently pulls your hands away from your face, exposing your cheeks and all the heat blooming in them.

His voice is soft “But now… I don’t hate the idea.”

Your heart skips. Your mouth opens and for once, no teasing comes out. Just a quiet little truth.

“…Same,” you say “If it’s with you.”

His ears go red. He clears his throat again, standing up abruptly like you just slapped him with a compliment.

“Don’t say stuff like that so easily” he mutters.

You laugh, covering your own red cheeks again “You started it!”

He turns back to his desk, muttering something under his breath.

You’re not sure what he’s thinking. But his shoulders relax a little while his hand lingers on the edge of his chair, like maybe he’s imagining what another little voice in this room might sound like someday.

── .✦ Shanks:

The sun is warm on your shoulders. The smell of grilled fish, sea salt, and cheap beer fills the open-air restaurant. You’re sitting beside Shanks, your legs draped over his lap, one arm around his broad shoulders. He’s laughing loud, one hand resting on your thigh, a bottle in the other.

The Red-Haired Pirates are noisy,talking with full mouths, yelling jokes across the table, getting into friendly fights over who gets the last crab claw.

You’re smiling, head leaning against Shanks’ shoulder, completely relaxed. Then you notice a woman, maybe in her twenties, carrying a small kid, probably two or three years old, on her hip. She’s standing near the entrance, eyes scanning the place fast, like she’s searching for someone. Her brows are drawn tight, lips pressed together.

“Shanks…” you murmur, nudging him with your elbow.

He follows your gaze.

She spots you. Her eyes go wide with something like hope. She walks fast toward your table, clutching the child tighter, muttering “excuse me” as she passes the crew. The little one, a girl, blinks up at everyone with big sleepy eyes. She stops right in front of you.

“Hi,” she says, out of breath “I—Sorry to bother you. I know who you are. You’re Shanks’ crew, right?”

You blink “Uh, yeah. That’s us.”

The woman shifts her weight, bouncing the kid gently “I know this is weird. Really weird. But I—I need help.”

Shanks straightens a little beside you. His arm slides behind your back but he stays quiet, letting you speak first.

“What kind of help?” you ask slowly, looking from the kid to her.

“My babysitter canceled last minute. I’m already late for work—I’ll lose my job if I don’t show up. It’s only for a few hours. Please,” she pleads “I don’t know anyone on this island, and you… well, I’ve seen you in the papers. You’re not bad people.”

You open your mouth to answer, then close it.

The little girl is chewing on her own shirt, blinking at you with big brown eyes. Her cheeks are flushed. Her hair’s tied up in a tiny puff.

You glance at Shanks. He’s watching you with that gentle smile of his. His eyes are soft. He doesn’t say anything, he just squeezes your hip lightly, like he’s telling you, Your choice.

“I don’t know anything about kids.” you say, voice low, nervous.

“You’ll be fine,” the woman says quickly “She’s easy. Doesn’t cry much. Her name’s Emi.”

The little girl makes a tiny sound, like she’s trying to say something but decides against it.

You look at Shanks again. He smiles wider.

“I’ll help you,” you say finally, sighing “Only for a few hours.”

“Thank you, thank you so much.” the woman breathes. She kisses the kid’s forehead and whispers something into her ear. Then she hands her over to you.

The moment Emi’s in your arms, she goes still. Warm and small. A little heavy. She smells like soap and bananas.

The woman gives you her name, a quick “I’ll be back before sunset.” and then she’s gone.

You sit there frozen. Shanks looks down at Emi in your lap. Then back up at you.

“You look terrified.” he says, chuckling.

“I am terrified.” you whisper.

“Want me to hold her?”

You shake your head slowly “No… I think I got this.”

Then Emi sneezes on your chest.

“Okay,” you groan “Maybe not.”

Shanks is already laughing.

At first, Emi just… sits there. On your lap. Quiet, blinking, nose still a little runny. She doesn’t cry. Doesn’t move much either. Just holds a tiny stuffed rabbit in one hand and sucks her thumb with the other.

You’re stiff as a mast. Shanks drapes his arm around your shoulders, whispering in your ear, “You’re holding her like she’s a bomb.”

“I’ve held swords with more confidence...” you mutter back.

He laughs, soft and deep, and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear “Try putting her on the bench next to you. Let her get used to everyone.”

You do. Emi shifts to sit beside you, rabbit clutched to her chest. She peeks around the table. The crew watches her like she’s a sea monster that just learned to smile.

“Hi, Emi!” Lucky Roux waves with a toothy grin “Wanna try some pineapple?”

She buries her face in your side.

Yasopp chuckles “You sure she’s not scared of you, Y/N?”

“She should be.” you say dryly.

But over time, it changes. Slowly. Emi starts pointing at things on the table. A shrimp. A spoon. A shiny gold coin someone dropped. You tell her the names. You offer her a piece of soft bread, and she takes it with two hands like it’s a treasure.

An hour later, you’re wiping jam off her chin with a napkin and helping her clap to Benn’s bad humming of a lullaby tune. She giggles when you make a fish face at her. You giggle back. And Shanks is quiet. He watches.

Not in a smug or teasing way. He’s not smirking. He’s not laughing with the others when Yasopp says, “Look at this! Y/N’s got the mom vibe going strong!”

He just… looks.

You glance at him and find his jaw a little tight. His drink untouched. His gaze heavy on you and the child. Like he’s thinking hard about something he doesn’t want to say out loud.

“Captain?” you ask softly.

He blinks, like he’s been pulled out of somewhere far away “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

He nods. Too fast.

Roux leans over with a grin “Hey, Shanks. You gonna put a ring on it if she starts popping out mini Shank’s?”

Everyone laughs.

You feel your face heat up, heart thudding a little “Oh my God—can you all shut up?”

“I want to marry her.” Shanks says suddenly.

Silence. Everyone stares.

You slowly turn to him “What?”

He meets your eyes. His voice is even, but his expression is… different. Calm on the surface, but his eyes are darker than usual “If she wanted that too. Yeah.”

You feel Emi rest her head on your arm, yawning, rabbit smushed between her face and your side.

You’re not sure what to say. The crew fumbles between teasing and trying not to look too shocked.

Shanks finally looks away, picking up his drink again.

Benn watches him for a long second. Then quietly says, “Alright, alright. Let’s not scare the kid, huh?”

And just like that, the noise starts up again. Jokes. Laughter. Loud plates. Big bites.

But Shanks doesn’t joke anymore, and you don’t miss the way he keeps looking at you like there’s something he’s not saying. Something that makes your heart beat a little faster.

Then everything fall falls apart when Emi gets bored.

One minute she’s snuggled against you, soft and sleepy, her rabbit tucked under her chin. The next she’s on her feet, running full speed down the middle of the open-air tavern, arms flapping like wings.

“EMI!” you shout, scrambling to follow her.

Your drink spills. A spoon clatters to the ground. Shanks laughs under his breath and gets up with you, already moving.

She darts under a table where two drunk fishermen are playing cards, crawls past their feet like some kind of tiny demon, and pops up between a tray of grilled squid and a candle.

“I got her!” Yasopp calls out, lunging, but Emi ducks and keeps running, laughing wildly now, barefoot and fast.

“She’s gone feral!” Lucky Roux howls.

“Shanks!” you bark, spinning around helplessly “Stop laughing and HELP!”

He grins, but there’s warmth in his eyes as he moves quickly, circling the tables “Aye aye, sweetheart.”

You try one side, he takes the other.

“Emi,” he says, crouching low, voice gentle, like he’s speaking to a scared animal “Hey, baby girl. Wanna play a game? It’s called Freeze. Can you freeze?”

She stops. Looks at him. Wobbles on her feet.

You sneak up behind.

“Gotcha!” you grab her mid-spin, lifting her up like a sack of potatoes.

She laughs and squeals, legs kicking.

“She’s a slippery one.” you mutter, holding her close, out of breath.

“I like her spirit,” Shanks says, grinning as he brushes a strand of hair from your face “She reminds me of you.”

You squint at him “You’re not funny.”

The crew starts clapping. Yasopp whistles. Roux raises his mug “Now that’s a team, huh? Look at them. Mom and Dad of the year.”

“Oh, please—” you start, but Shanks just reaches for Emi’s little hand and gives it a squeeze.

“Teamwork, right?” he says softly to her.

She nods. Then sneezes again. Right into his chest.

You burst out laughing this time and say “That’s karma.”

He wipes it off with a napkin like it’s nothing.

You sit back down together, Emi now curled in your lap again, finally tired. Shanks stays close. Not just beside you but with you. Helping. Watching. Smiling softly when Emi dozes off. But he’s still quiet. More quiet than usual.

Your eyes keep drifting to him. The way he’s looking at the girl. The little frown he doesn’t even know he has. The way his hand rests on her back like he’s done it a hundred times before.

He used to be like this with Uta. And Luffy, too. Soft. Present. Gentle.

You haven’t seen that part of him in a long time. You missed it.

“You okay?” you ask under your breath, while the crew starts arguing over dessert.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then finally, “Yeah.”

You stare at him a little longer “Are you lying to me?”

He smiles, but it’s not the usual cocky grin. It’s smaller. Tired.

“I’m not sure what I’m feeling,” he admits “Just… thinking, I guess.”

You squeeze his hand “About what?”

He shrugs, looking down at Emi “About a lot of things.”

And now you are quiet, because something in your chest shifts. Soft. Strange. Familiar.

Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, like you’ve already given him something he thought he’d never have again. Or maybe it’s the way it suddenly feels… real.

You. Him. And this small, chaotic moment that makes everything else disappear.

The sun starts to dip, painting the sky in gold and peach.

You’re still at the tavern, Emi snoring softly on your shoulder, her little fingers tangled in your hair. Shanks sits beside you, quiet. His arm rests behind you, not touching, just there.

And then she returns. The woman bursts through the crowd, her apron flying, face flushed with panic. The moment she sees you, she stops, hands over her heart like she might collapse.

“Oh my god—thank you. Thank you so much,” she breathes, almost crying as she rushes to you “I’m so sorry I took so long. I owe you my life.”

You wave a hand gently “It’s okay. Really. She was good. A little fast—like, sprint-across-the-rooftops fast—but… I had fun.”

Emi stirs and opens her eyes.

“Hi, baby.” the mother coos, arms outstretched. The little girl shifts toward her sleepily, and you pass her over with care. For a second, Emi resists, her hand still reaching for your shirt.

Your heart squeezes a little.

“Thank you again,” the woman says, eyes filled with real gratitude “If you’re ever on this island again, please come find us. I mean it.”

You smile, brushing some crumbs off your lap “Of course. Be safe.”

You watch them go, mother holding daughter close, disappearing into the market crowd. And then it’s just… quiet. Too quiet.

The crew starts packing up, joking softly, but there’s a change in the air. A stillness you don’t like. You look at Shanks.

He’s already looking at you.

Not grinning. Not teasing.

Just watching you with that faraway softness in his eyes, like you’re a slow dream he doesn’t want to wake up from. Like maybe, for a second, he saw something more than just this moment.

You reach for his hand and lace your fingers through his.

He squeezes back but doesn’t say anything.

The walk to the ship is slow. The crew’s laughing again, arguing about who drank the most, but it’s like the volume’s been turned down. You and Shanks trail behind.

Still no words. Not one.

That night, the sea’s calm. The stars are out. You’re both in your cabin, door closed, boots off.

You lie on your shared bed, watching him stand at the window, shirt half unbuttoned, red hair catching the moonlight, and you’ve had enough. You sit up.

“Alright, Red,” you say, crossing your arms “What’s going on in that dumb, beautiful head of yours?”

He looks over his shoulder, startled “What?”

“You’ve been quiet ever since Emi left. You’ve said maybe ten words total. And I know you. That means you’re thinking. Hard.”

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck “Maybe I’m just tired.”

“Nope.” You crawl across the bed toward him, poke his side “Try again.”

He sighs “It’s… complicated.”

“So is your face, and I still look at it every day. Try me.”

That gets a small laugh out of him.

You press your forehead to his back “You don’t have to hold things in with me, Shanks. Not the serious stuff. Not the scary stuff. Especially not the stuff that makes your eyes look like that.”

He turns slowly, leaning against the window. You slide your arms around his waist and rest your head on his chest. He wraps his arms around you too, finally. Breathing in.

“Seeing you with her,” he says softly “With Emi.”

You wait.

“I kept thinking about Uta. About Luffy. About how fast it all went. How I blinked and they weren’t mine to hold anymore.”

You don’t speak. Just hold him tighter.

“And then… I saw you. Just being there. Caring for this tiny stranger like it was nothing. Laughing with her. Holding her. And something in me just… ached.”

You tilt your head up “Ached how?”

He looks down at you, eyes serious now “Like I wanted that with you. And I didn’t even know how much until I saw it.”

The words settle deep inside you.

“You’d be a good father.” you whisper.

“You’d be the best mother.” he says back instantly.

Silence again, but this time it’s full. Of possibilities. Of truths unsaid until now.

“I didn’t say anything,” Shanks adds, brushing a hand through your hair, “because I don’t want you to think I expect that from you. Or that I’m pushing it. I just… couldn’t stop seeing it.”

You lean in and kiss him slow. No rush. No pressure. Just soft and sure.

When you pull away, your voice is warm and quiet “Then keep seeing it. I don’t mind.”

You kiss him. Long, soft, deep.

The kind of kiss that says more than either of you can find the words for. His hands settle on your waist, grounding you, holding you like you might drift away if he lets go. And when you finally break apart, you stay close. Forehead to forehead. Breathing the same air.

Now it’s your turn. You exhale shakily “I always saw you with Uta. And Luffy. The way you held them, talked to them, made them laugh… the way they looked at you.”

Shanks closes his eyes, lips pressed together.

“I used to watch from the deck,” you continue softly, “and I’d think… that. I want that with him. Our own little chaos. Our own quiet moments. Our own family.”

His grip on you tightens just a little. His thumb strokes your hip, slowly.

“I never said anything,” you admit, voice quieter now “Because I thought… maybe you already had your turn. Maybe being a dad again wasn’t something you wanted. Like, maybe Uta and even Luffy were your ‘once in a lifetime’. And I didn’t want to be selfish.”

Shanks pulls back just enough to look at you fully, eyes wide, voice rough “Selfish? Y/N… You have no idea how wrong you are.”

You blink.

He cups your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek “If anything, I was scared you didn’t want that. I never wanted to put that weight on you. My name. My crew. My life.”

You both laugh a little, soft and breathless. And then he says it “I’d love to see a little you run around the ship.”

Your heart does a full spin in your chest. You both collapse back onto the bed, side by side, hands tangled together, staring at the ceiling like it holds the future in its stars.

“I think she’d be loud.” you say, smiling to yourself.

“She?” Shanks grins “You’re already picking sides?”

“I just know. She’d talk back to Benn by the time she could crawl.”

“She’d steal Yasopp’s sake and blame it on Lucky Roux.”

“She’d steal your cape and wear it like a dress.”

“She’d make the whole crew bow to her by age four.”

You laugh. He laughs too. Your fingers tighten around his.

“She’d be soft like you,” he adds suddenly, voice lower now “Kind. But dangerous.”

You glance over at him “She’d be brave like you. Wild, loyal, always smiling.”

He sighs, almost dreamily “I can already hear her little feet running on the deck.”

“And your big voice yelling ‘don’t climb the cannon!’”

You both break into giggles and then silence again, but this time, it’s wrapped in warmth, in hope.

Shanks turns his head to look at you. You’re already looking at him.

“I mean…” he says slowly, raising one eyebrow, “we could start working on that little Y/N… like… right now.”

You gasp “Shanks!”

He smirks wickedly “What? I’m just saying. We’re both here. The ship’s quiet. The moon looks nice. You’re cute. I’m cute. It’s called destiny.”

You snort “You’re impossible—ah!”

He attacks, fingers darting to your sides, tickling, making you laugh and squirm under him.

“Shanks! Stop!”

“Never!” he grins, pinning you lightly with his weight “You’re stuck now. You told me your secrets. I told you mine. That makes us legally married in pirate law.”

You laugh until your cheeks hurt. You wiggle, but he’s strong, gentle, always careful. And then you stop moving. So does he.

Your eyes meet again. Closer now. Breath mingling.

That softness returns. Like a wave pulling you under, not scary. Just deep. Full of something quiet and forever.

You reach up and brush his hair behind his ear.

He leans into your touch.

“Hey,” you whisper “I love you.”

“I know,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your palm “And I love you more than I thought I even could.”

His mouth finds yours again, slower this time. No rush.

The kind of kiss that makes the world outside the cabin disappear and maybe, tonight is the beginning of something new.

── .✦ Ace:

The sun is warm, the breeze is salty, and Ace is doing what he always does when he’s not fighting or eating: walking too close to you with that lazy grin on his face.

“You sure you don’t wanna race?” he asks “You lose, you buy lunch.”

You raise an eyebrow “You’ll cheat with your fire.”

“Not true.” He places a hand on his chest, all dramatic “I only cheat if I’m losing.”

You snort “So always.”

He gasps “Betrayal.”

The two of you walk down the main road of a small island town. It’s quiet, peaceful, one of those places that doesn’t care much for bounties or pirate crews. People nod, wave, smile. Ace stretches, yawns, and puts his arm lazily around your shoulder.

“Maybe we should stay here a few days,” he says “Nice change from all the running.”

Before you can answer, a small voice says “Is that Fire Fist Ace?!”

You both turn. Two kids stand by a fruit stall, one boy, maybe six, and an older girl, probably nine. The boy’s eyes are wide. The girl looks like she’s not impressed yet.

Ace grins “Yeah, that’s me.”

The boy lights up “No way! My dad told me you can burn down a whole ship in one punch!”

Ace shrugs, clearly proud “Depends on the ship.”

The girl, however, is staring at you.

Her eyes narrow “You’re her, aren’t you?”

You blink “…Her?”

She steps closer, pointing at your waist “You’re the swordwoman who beat that Navy officer in Loguetown. The one who fights with two blades and never loses.”

You look down at her, surprised. She’s serious. Ace whistles.

“Wow,” he says “I didn’t know I was walking around with a legend.”

You nudge him “Shut up.”

The girl keeps going “They say you cut a cannonball in half.”

You sigh “It was already cracked.”

Still, her eyes sparkle. The boy joins in, bouncing excitedly.

“She’s so cool! Are you really pirates?!”

“Guilty,” Ace says, holding up his hands “But friendly pirates.”

“You don’t look friendly...” the girl says.

Ace grins “Good. That’s the point.”

Then the boy tugs at your sleeve “Can I see your sword?”

You crouch to his level “They’re sharp. Not safe for kids.”

He frowns “I won’t touch it. Promise!”

You glance at Ace, who’s watching you closely, smiling like he’s waiting for something. You sigh and slowly pull one of your swords just a little from the sheath, just enough to show the edge. Both kids gasp like it’s treasure.

“Can you teach us how to fight?” the girl asks suddenly.

You blink “You’re nine.”

“So? You were probably younger when you started.”

Ace chuckles “She was.”

You give him a side-eye “Stop helping.”

The little girl folds her arms “You could just show us something. Like a move. Just one.”

You sigh again but you’re smiling now “You’re very stubborn.”

She shrugs “You have to be, if you wanna be strong.”

Ace leans against a wooden post, arms crossed, amused “Sounds familiar.”

You glance at him “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“I mean… yeah.” He grins “It’s the first time someone’s asking you for autographs instead of me. I’m letting it sink in.”

The boy tugs your coat again “Please? One move?”

You finally stand, looking at the open space near the dock “Fine. But just one. Then you leave us alone and go home, got it?”

The kids cheer and run to the clearing.

Ace follows, whistling “You’re gonna start a sword school at this rate.”

You roll your shoulders, then pull your blade halfway out, just enough to flash the steel. You drop into a stance, slow and firm. The kids go quiet. Then, with a sharp breath, you move. One swift, elegant slash through the air, so fast the wind shifts. The tip of your sword stops just above the ground, and your coat flutters around you.

The boy’s mouth hangs open. The girl’s eyes are huge.

Ace whistles “Show-off.”

You sheathe the sword in one clean motion.

The girl points “That was awesome! Can you do it again?”

“No,” you say, but you’re laughing now.

The boy runs over and hugs your leg suddenly “You’re my favorite pirate now!”

You blink, surprised. You pat his head awkwardly “Uh. Thanks?”

Ace watches you, your hand gently resting on the boy’s head, your stance still grounded, strong but soft. You’re not trying to impress anyone. You just exist like this. Capable. Calm. Kind. Something shifts in his chest.

You look up at him “What?”

He shrugs “Nothing. Just… didn’t know you were this good with kids.”

“I’m not,” you say “They’re just clingy.”

The girl now grabs your wrist “Can I hold your sword?”

“No.”

“Can I touch it?”

“No.”

“Can you teach me how to fight like that?”

“No—”

Ace walks over, laughing “C’mon, sweetheart. Be nice.”

You glare at him “You help, then.”

He lifts his hands “Nope. I’m just the fire guy. You’re the star today.”

The boy turns to Ace “Do you two live together?”

You and Ace exchange a look.

He grins “Something like that.”

The girl squints “Are you married?”

You cough “No.”

“Are you gonna be?”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Ace just laughs and says, “Wanna help me convince her?”

“YES!” the kids shout in unison.

You groan and walk away “I regret everything.”

Ace follows, hands in his pockets, that lazy smile still on his face, but his eyes stay soft. He watches you gently shoo the kids away, then thank the fruit vendor with a quiet bow. And in that moment, he knows. Clear as day.

“She’s not just strong. She’s not just mine. She’d be the best damn mom the world’s ever seen.”

He doesn’t say it out loud. Not yet. But he’s thinking it. Hard.

You and Ace are sitting under a tree near the edge of the village, sharing a bag of sliced fruit.

“You think they’re gone?” you ask, biting into a juicy piece.

Ace shrugs “Maybe. Or maybe they’re forming a fan club.”

You nudge his leg with your boot “I don’t need a fan club.”

He gives you a lazy grin “No, but you deserve one.”

You roll your eyes, but your ears go a little pink.

Then, a small voice calls from down the road “WE’RE BACK!!”

You groan “No.”

Ace grins “Yes.”

The two kids come running, the boy nearly trips over his own feet and stop in front of you, proudly holding up folded paper sheets.

“Look!!” the girl says, unfolding one “We drew you!”

You blink “…You what?”

They hand you the papers. The drawings are messy, full of wild colors, but so full of heart. One is of you holding two swords, a big smile on your face. Another shows you and Ace together, tiny figures with stars around you. A third shows you with a little kid, sword in hand, standing tall.

You pause at that one. Ace leans over your shoulder to peek. His voice is softer now “Is that supposed to be your kid?”

The girl nods proudly “Yup! We made a story about you! You’re a pirate mom who protects her ship and teaches her kid how to be strong.”

You stare at the page, silent. The boy holds out a few crayons “You can draw too, if you want!”

Before you can say no, he’s already sitting down, opening another paper. The girl joins him. They look up at you, smiling.

“C’mon,” she says “We wanna make a whole crew!”

You glance at Ace. He shrugs, trying to act casual “Up to you.”

You sigh and sit down cross-legged in the grass “Alright. But I’m drawing the captain.”

“That’s YOU!” the boy says.

You raise an eyebrow “I meant me.”

They laugh.

You start sketching. Nothing fancy just simple shapes. You draw yourself with a pirate hat, a tiny sword tucked in your belt. The kids start adding characters around you: themselves, animals, someone with a frying pan who’s probably Ace.

You’re focused, smiling to yourself as you add waves and stars and a sun.

Ace just watches you from where he stands, hands in his pockets, face unreadable. There’s a heat in his chest now that has nothing to do with his powers. It burns deeper. It’s watching your hand gently guide the boy’s when he can’t get the lines straight. It’s hearing you ask, “Want me to draw your pirate flag too?” in that soft, patient voice.

It’s the way you look down at the page like you’re already imagining a future.

“This shouldn’t make me want her more,” he thinks, frustrated “But it does. She’s drawing little pirate stories with them on the grass. She’d be the kind of mom who makes the world feel safe.”

He swallows hard and looks away for a second, like it’ll calm him down... It doesn’t.

You finish your little drawing with a final scribble of wind in the sails.

“There,” you say, holding it up “Captain, crew, and treasure.”

The boy claps “It’s perfect!”

The girl leans over to look “Yours is way cooler than mine.”

“Nah,” you say, nudging her arm “You’ve got better colors.”

They beam like you just handed them gold.

Ace is still standing nearby, arms crossed, pretending to be relaxed, but his jaw is tight.

You glance up at him “You okay?”

“Me? Yeah.” His voice comes out rougher than he means it to. He clears his throat “Just… warm.”

The boy tugs at your sleeve again.

“Hey,” he says, eyes wide with curiosity “Do you have kids?”

You blink. Ace freezes.

The girl adds quickly, “You’d be a really cool mom.”

There’s a beat of silence. Just the wind and the scratching of a crayon. You sit back slowly and shake your head “No. I don’t.”

The boy frowns “Why not?”

You laugh softly “Because I’m still busy being a pirate.”

“But you could be both,” the girl says, very seriously “Like in the drawing.”

You smile at that “Maybe someday.”

Your voice is calm. Light. Like you’re just answering any question. But Ace… Ace is not calm. He watches your face as you say those words “Maybe someday” and his heart lurches. Because now it’s real. Not just a fantasy in his head. Not just a warm thought. You’ve imagined it too now.

He doesn’t say anything. He just walks over slowly and sits down behind you, arms resting over your shoulders as you lean back against his chest.

“You’d be amazing at it.” he murmurs, low so the kids can’t hear.

You glance up “At what?”

He looks down at you, eyes soft and a little wild at the edges, like something’s breaking open inside him “At being a mom. I mean it.”

You pause. Then, quietly, you ask, “You think about that?”

He nods “More than I expected to. More than I ever thought I would.”

The kids are still doodling, totally unaware. You say nothing, but your hand reaches up and rests gently over his. That’s all he needs.

The kids eventually stand up, arms full of drawings and unfinished paper pirate maps.

“We’re gonna go show these to our grandpa!” the girl says.

The boy nods “Thanks for drawing with us!”

You wave, still sitting in the grass “Stay out of trouble.”

The boy grins “Bye, pirate mom!”

You blink “I’m not—”

But they’re already gone.

Ace snorts behind you “Pirate mom, huh?”

You roll your eyes and lean back into him again “Don’t start.”

He rests his chin on your shoulder “Too late. You’ve got the role down already. You give good advice, threaten people just enough, and draw cool flags. What more could a kid want?”

You hum “A dad who doesn’t set the house on fire?”

He grins “I’d try to keep it contained.”

You laugh, light and warm “You’d accidentally roast our laundry.”

“Okay, yeah, but I’d teach them how to blow stuff up responsibly.”

You fake-think “Hmm. Dangerous. But useful.”

He smiles, but then falls quiet. You feel the shift instantly. His arms wrap tighter around your middle.

“You were really sweet with them.” he says softly.

You shrug “They were cute.”

“You were cuter.”

You snort “Gross.”

“No, seriously,” he murmurs “I was watching you and thinking… like, really thinking—”

He breaks off, then tries again “That I wanna see you like that again. With… our own.”

You smirk “You mean with a mini version of me bossing you around?”

He groans “Oh god. A tiny you would be terrifying.”

“Admit it. You’d love it.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

“I would,” he says, suddenly serious “I really would.”

You look up at him. He’s already looking down at you, eyes soft, mouth slightly parted, like he’s realizing it all over again.

You tilt your head, grinning “You’re so obvious, Ace.”

“Am not.”

“You were practically glowing while I helped that kid draw a sword.”

“I was not glowing!”

“You sighed like five times.”

“I didn’t—”

“You had your sappy ‘I’m in love’ face on.”

“I always have my sappy in love face on.”

You laugh, twisting in his arms to face him fully “True.”

He leans in, forehead pressed to yours.

“I’m serious though,” he murmurs “Someday. I’d want that. With you.”

Your voice softens “Yeah. Me too.”

You kiss him slow, sure, and just a little teasing, then pull back with a grin “But if the kid turns out chaotic like you, I’m blaming your genes.”

He laughs against your mouth “Deal. But if they’re scary with a sword by age seven, that’s all you.”

You smirk “We’ll make a terrifying little pirate together.”

Luffy stretches his arms “Alright! Let’s go explore!”

Usopp nods “Let’s split up! We’ll cover more ground!”

You feel warm. Maybe too warm. That third drink… or was it the fourth? Either way, your head is spinning just a little. But your smile won’t leave your face.

Nami pulls out a map “Okay, I’ll go with Sanji, Chopper, Zoro, and Y/N.”

“Eh? Why am I in that group?” Zoro asks, already frowning.

Nami smirks “Because I said so. Try not to get lost this time.”

You giggle and stumble a little “I’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

Zoro looks at you, arms crossed “You can’t even stand straight.”

You step forward and grab his arm “That’s why I need you.” Your voice is soft. Sweet. Maybe a little loud.

Zoro freezes. His cheeks turn the faintest pink. He glances around—people are watching “H-Hey. Don’t cling like that.”

You grin and press your cheek to his shoulder “But you’re warm.”

“Oi, marimo,” Sanji says, cigarette between his lips, “If she wants to hold you, let her. You lucky bastard.”

“Shut it, curly-brow,” Zoro mutters “She’s drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” you mumble “Just happy.”

Chopper runs ahead, excited “Let’s find some cool shops!”

You keep holding onto Zoro’s arm as the group walks. He keeps trying to shake you off, gently. But you won’t let go.

“Y/N,” he says in a low voice “People are staring.”

“So?” You look up at him with a small smile “I like holding you.”

He sighs “You’re impossible.”

“But you love me” you tease.

He looks away, his voice barely a whisper “…Yeah.”

You blink “What?”

“Nothing” he grunts.

Nami glances back and smiles “You guys are so cute.”

Zoro groans “Don’t start.”

You lean even closer “Zoro~”

“What now?”

“Carry me.”

“No.”

“Pleaaase?”

Sanji laughs “I’ll carry you, mademoiselle—”

“No!” Zoro snaps. He sighs again and crouches “Fine. Get on.”

You cheer quietly and hop onto his back. Your arms go around his neck “Zoro’s the best…”

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t puke on me.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, finally closing your eyes.

Zoro walks, steady and strong, even with you on his back.

Behind you, Nami whispers to Sanji, “He’s totally soft for her.”

Sanji shrugs “Still don’t get what she sees in that mosshead.”

Zoro’s ear twitches “I can hear you, idiots.”

The streets are quieter now. Fewer lights. Fewer people.

You’re still on Zoro’s back, half-asleep. Your cheek rests against his shoulder. His body is warm, and his footsteps steady.

Sanji walks ahead with his hands in his pockets. Chopper’s beside him, talking excitedly about a candy shop he saw. Nami looks at the stars.

Then it happens.

“Oi, oi… look at those two up front.”

The voice comes from a shadowed alley. A group of men steps out. Maybe five… no, more. Eight? Ten?

All of them wear smug grins and old, ragged clothes. Drunk or bored, or both.

“Redhead’s got legs for days” one of them whistles.

Another points at you “And that one’s already clinging to her man. What a shame.”

You blink slowly, still a little tipsy, but even you catch that.

Zoro stops walking.

Nami’s eyes narrow “Great.”

Sanji steps forward fast, arm out in front of Nami and Chopper “Let me handle this.”

Zoro lowers you gently to the ground “Can you stand?”

You nod smiling proudly at you don't even know what “Mmhm. I’ll try my best”

He steps away from you, his hand already on one sword.

The men keep talking.

“Hey sweetheart,” one says to Nami, “you and your friend here, ditch the blond twig, the dog and that Grinch. We’ll show you a good time.”

Another laughs “Yeah the drunk one too. Bet she’s easy.”

Everything goes still.

Sanji’s eyes glow with rage “What did you say?”

Zoro doesn’t speak. He just draws his sword with a soft shing.

The leader of the group smirks “Look at these pretty boys. Gonna cry?”

Sanji takes off his jacket slowly “Nami-swan, Chopper—stay back.”

Chopper grabs Nami’s hand and pulls her behind a cart “Be careful!”

Zoro turns his head slightly toward you “Sit down. This’ll be quick.”

You nod and sit near the cart, leaning against it.

The men charge first, loud and sloppy.

Bad idea.

Sanji moves like fire, one man down with a spinning kick.

Zoro is calm and cold. His sword flashes but he doesn’t cut them, just knocks them flat with the dull side. Quick. Clean. Brutal.

But then someone tries to sneak around.

Toward you.

“Hey, maybe I’ll take the quiet one... she cute”

Zoro’s blade is at the man’s neck in a second. His voice is low, dangerous.

“Say another word.”

The man gulps.

“Zoro” you whisper. You’ve never seen his eyes like this. Sharp. Dark.

“I’m fine,” he says “But I don’t like people looking at you like that.”

Sanji grabs another by the collar and slams him into the ground “Next time you look at a lady like that, I’ll rearrange your face.”

The rest scatter fast. Limping, running, one even crawls away.

Silence again.

Chopper peeks out “Is it over?”

Nami sighs “Yeah. Idiots.”

Zoro walks back to you. He crouches “You okay?”

You nod “They were gross.”

He offers his hand. You take it.

“Next time,” he says, “stay close.”

“I was literally on your back.”

He grunts “Still.”

You smirk “Were you jealous?”

He looks away “…No.”

“You were.”

He doesn’t answer, just picks you up again, bridal-style this time.

You blink “What are you doing?”

“You can’t walk, and I’m not letting you fall behind.”

Sanji lights another cigarette, muttering, “Show-off.”

Zoro ignores him. You wrap your arms around his neck again, this time without teasing.

“Thanks” you whisper.

His voice is soft, only for you “Always.”

Zoro still holds you in his arms as the group walks again. You rest against his chest, eyes half-closed, smile lazy.

But after a few more steps, you squirm a little.

“Zoro?”

“Hm?”

“You can put me down. I can walk now.”

He pauses “You sure?”

You nod “Promise. I’m not that drunk anymore.”

He stops and gently lowers you onto your feet. His hands linger on your arms a second longer, just in case you stumble.

You wobble just a little but stay up.

“See?” you say with a proud smile “Told you.”

He nods “Fine. But don’t fall again.”

You start to walk, but then he does something strange.

He reaches down… and takes your hand.

Your eyes widen a little. So do Nami’s.

Even Chopper notices “Whoa… Zoro’s holding hands?!”

Zoro doesn’t let go. He doesn’t look embarrassed, either. Just keeps walking like it’s nothing.

Nami raises an eyebrow “Since when do you hold hands in public?”

Sanji raises both eyebrows “Yeah, mosshead, you sick? Got a fever or something?”

Zoro glances at them “Tch. I just don’t want her tripping.”

Chopper runs up beside him, grinning “But you never do that! That’s so cute!”

Zoro sighs but doesn’t snap “Yeah, well. You’re fine, Chopper. Just don’t push it.”

You look at him. Really look. His face is calm now, jaw relaxed, grip warm around your fingers. Not too tight. Not too loose. Just… right.

You don’t know why you feel shy suddenly.

But you say it anyway.

“I have a crush on you. Do you like me back?”

The group stops walking.

Zoro blinks. His eyes meet yours.

“I’m your husband...” he says, flatly “Literally.”

You freeze. Then blink “Oh yeah.”

And then you squeal.

You start bouncing in place, grinning like crazy “You do like me!”

Zoro doesn’t even try to hide the tiny smile that pulls at his lips.

You drop his hand and throw your arms around his neck “Zoro, I like you so much!”

He catches you easily “Yeah, I know.”

And then you kiss him.

Right there. In the middle of the street.

It’s soft but sure. You lean into him. He lets it happen.

He kisses you back.

Chopper covers his mouth “Oh my god…!”

Nami gasps, then laughs “This is so going in my diary.”

Sanji nearly drops his cigarette “I hate this timeline.”

Zoro pulls back just a little, still holding you “You’re drunk.”

You whisper, “But not that drunk.”

He exhales slowly “Yeah. Sure.”

You rest your forehead against his “I love you.”

He answers without thinking “I love you too.”

Another pause.

“You just said that out loud?” Nami shouts.

Sanji groans loudly “This is a nightmare.”

Chopper claps his hooves “They’re in love! So cute!”

Zoro finally sets you back down, brushing your hair out of your face.

“Come on,” he says “Let’s go back before the idiots behind us explode.”

── .✦ Sanji:

The Thousand Sunny docks at a bright island full of music, shops, and food stalls. The air smells like grilled fish and sweet fruit. It’s the kind of place the crew loves.

“Let’s eat everything!” Luffy cheers.

“You say that on every island” you say, smiling.

“Because it’s always true!”

You walk beside Sanji, your fingers brushing his. He takes your hand without even looking and brings it to his lips.

“My beautiful angel,” he murmurs “Shall we find a feast worthy of your beauty?”

“Just one that won’t kill us,” you joke “Please.”

The crew ends up at a cozy restaurant near the center of town. There’s a band playing outside, and the tables are shaded with bright cloths. People are drinking and laughing everywhere.

“Find a seat,” Sanji says “I’ll handle the food.”

You touch his arm “Don’t take too long.”

“Only death could keep me from you, mon amour.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart does that little flutter. Sanji always talks like that. He means it too, in his own dramatic way.

You sit with Nami, Robin, and the others. Everyone’s talking and laughing. Luffy tries to steal bread from someone else’s plate. Typical.

At the counter, Sanji orders. That’s when two women walk in, locals, dressed in soft, colorful clothes. They spot him instantly.

“Oh no,” Nami mutters “Look who just walked into his life.”

You turn and see them. One’s got curly black hair, the other wears silver earrings that swing when she walks. Both walk straight to Sanji.

You watch calmly.

“Hi, stranger” says the taller girl.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” the short one asks, leaning close.

Sanji smiles politely “Just visiting. I’m with friends.”

“Too bad,” the tall one says “We were hoping you’d say you were alone.”

“Oh? Then I must break your hearts, ladies,” he says, still smiling “I’m already spoken for.”

Your chest warms at that. But still… he doesn’t leave.

Then the shorter one laughs and says, “Just one drink. That’s not cheating.”

Sanji hesitates. He looks toward your table. He meets your eyes.

You shrug with a soft smile “Go ahead.”

He raises an eyebrow “Are you sure?”

You nod “You’re too polite to say no anyway.”

He stands there for a moment longer. Then he sighs dramatically, presses a hand to his heart, and says, “Forgive me, my love. It’s only a drink.”

“Don’t fall in love with anyone” you say.

“Impossible. You already own my heart.”

He walks with them to a small table in the corner. They giggle. One pours him something pink into a glass. He keeps his hands to himself, posture perfect, but he talks, smiles, flatters. You can almost hear the compliments from here.

Zoro leans closer “You’re really letting him do that?”

“Why not?” you say, sipping your drink.

“He’s literally flirting right now.”

“No. He’s just being Sanji.”

Robin chuckles “You trust him.”

You nod “I do.”

Still, your eyes don’t leave him. Even if your heart knows he’s yours, it’s hard to ignore two girls laughing at his jokes.

After ten minutes, he stands up, bows, and walks back. One of them tries to touch his arm, but he gently steps away.

“Thank you, ladies. But my real treasure is waiting for me.”

When he sits beside you again, you hand him a glass of water.

“Done being too polite?” you ask.

He takes the glass “It was torture, I swear.”

“You looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

“I was praying you’d come save me.”

You laugh “Liar.”

He leans closer “I only ever mean it when I talk to you.”

You smile and take a bite of your food.

But you don’t let go of his hand under the table.

The meal is almost done. Luffy’s plates are stacked like a tower. Usopp is bragging about something that never happened. You lean back in your chair, sipping a cold drink. Sanji sits beside you, close but calm.

You feel his warmth next to you. You feel… okay.

Until they show up again.

The same two girls from earlier. The tall one waves. The short one smiles like she’s just so happy to see him again.

“Is this seat taken?” the short one asks, already pulling over a chair next to Sanji.

“You’re back,” Sanji says politely “What a surprise.”

You don’t say anything. You’re watching. Listening.

They sit anyway.

Tall girl rests her arm on the back of Sanji’s chair “You left so fast earlier. We didn’t get to hear more about you.”

Short Girl adds, “We’ve never met someone so… elegant. You must be used to lots of attention.”

Sanji chuckles nervously “Please, you flatter me.”

You raise an eyebrow. He’s not leaning toward them, but he’s not moving away either. He’s being polite. Too polite.

You glance at Zoro. He’s smirking.

Nami mutters under her breath, “I’d slap them.”

Robin sips her drink “This is getting interesting.”

One of the girls tries to feed Sanji something off her plate.

You drop your fork.

Everyone goes silent for a second.

Sanji finally leans back “Ladies, I can’t—”

You stand up slowly. You smile. But not the nice kind.

You walk over and rest your hand gently on his shoulder. He turns to you like the sun just came out. You don’t look at him yet. You look at the girls.

And you say, loud and clear “That’s my husband.”

The words hit the table like thunder.

Both girls freeze. One blinks. The other pulls her hand back like she touched fire.

Sanji turns bright red. His eyes go wide. Then his mouth falls open “Y-your… husband?”

You finally look at him.

“Yes. You’re my husband, aren’t you?”

He starts nodding so fast it’s like his head is going to fall off.

“I’m your husband!” he says, grinning like an idiot, heart eyes in full bloom “Forever and ever! I belong to you, my love!”

He grabs your hands, kisses them one after the other “Your husband. Only yours. Always.”

You smile sweetly at the girls “Thanks for keeping him entertained.”

They stand up awkwardly, mutter something, and walk away quickly.

Sanji’s still holding your hands. Still blushing. Still staring at you like you just saved his life.

“I love when you get possessive” he whispers.

“You just love when I call you ‘husband’” you say.

“…Maybe.”

You lean down and kiss his cheek “Then behave, husband.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

Sanji’s still holding your hands like they’re sacred treasure. The girls are gone, the crew is snickering quietly, and you finally sit back down beside him.

He hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

“You’re incredible” he whispers.

“You’re lucky I am.”

He gives you a dreamy sigh “Marry me again.”

“You’d flirt with the waitress at the wedding.”

He gasps “I would never!”

“You’d compliment her hair while holding my hand.”

“…I would,” he admits “But I’d still only see you.”

You give him a look. That look.

And then you glance down at his hands.

“Hey.”

“Yes, angel?”

“Why didn’t you wear your ring today?”

He blinks “What?”

You raise an eyebrow “It’s usually easier once they see that you’re taken.”

Sanji looks down at his bare left hand like he just noticed it. Then he immediately starts digging in his coat pocket.

“I—I was washing dishes this morning!” he says, panicking “I didn’t want to scratch it! I swear I meant to put it back on!”

“Uh-huh.”

He finally finds it. A simple gold band, a little worn from kitchen life, but still shining.

He grabs your hand and slides it on with dramatic care, like he’s proposing again.

“There. Forgive me?”

You hold up your hand and show him the matching one on your finger.

“I always wear mine.”

He groans “I’m the worst husband ever.”

You lean in close “You really are.”

He tilts his head, eyes hopeful “But I’m your husband.”

You sigh, pretending to be annoyed, but you can’t help the smile creeping across your face.

“Yeah,” you say softly “You are.”

He lights up again.

“You make me crazy” you say.

He kisses your hand “Then let’s be crazy together.”

“Get a room, this is disgusting.” Zoro says while drinking.

“Nooo, no room. I want to see.” Brook replies getting punched by Nami before he can even do his usual laugh.

The crew laugh but you don’t put your eyes away from your husband, blushing and smiling softly and he does the same.

── .✦ Law:

The fire crackles in the middle of the camp. Meat sizzles, drinks pour, and the air is full of laughter and victory.

The war is over. Kaido is down.

Tonight is for celebration.

You're sitting close to Law, sake cup in hand. It’s warm in your chest now. The fourth cup? Maybe fifth? You lost count. Whatever. You’re relaxed. Happy. Tipsy.

You lean back, stretch, and laugh at a joke Usopp just told, even if you didn’t fully hear it.

Shachi blinks “She’s having fun. Someone mark the date.”

“I’m telling her you said that” Ikkaku warns, grinning.

Law glances at you “You good?”

You grin “Mmhmm. Sake’s nice.”

He hums but watches you for a beat longer.

Across the fire, Luffy stands on a barrel “This party needs more energy!”

Sanji spins around at your laugh “Y/N-chwaaaan! You look radiant in firelight! Please, dance with me!”

You shake your head and gesture at Law “Taken.”

That single word makes Penguin choke on his drink.

Kid raises an eyebrow “Taken, huh?”

You smirk and lean into Law’s space, voice teasing, “Don’t worry, Captain. I’ll make it obvious.”

Law narrows his eyes “What does that mean?”

You grab his hat, pluck it off his head, and drop it on your own. It’s too big and slides over your eyes.

Shachi lets out a shriek-laugh “Oh my god, she’s wearing his hat!”

“Y/N, give it back.” Law says flatly, reaching for it.

You tilt your head “No.”

“Give it—”

“Say please.”

He stares at you “You’re drunk.”

“Didn’t say no” you sing.

Zoro makes a low sound that might be a laugh. Sanji, meanwhile, is clenching his wine bottle like it personally betrayed him “She’s flirting with him? With that guy?”

Nami snorts “They’re sitting in each other’s space, Sanji. She’s on him.”

“Tragedy!” Sanji whispers.

You grab Law’s face with both hands “Hey.”

“What.” he says stiffly.

“You know I like you, right?”

The fire quiets. Everyone freezes. Even Luffy stops mid-meat-bite.

Law tenses “What are you doing?”

“Reminding you. In case you forgot.”

Shachi and Penguin look away. Bepo buries his face in his paws. Ikkaku groans “Oh no, it’s happening.”

You poke Law’s cheek “I like your murder face.”

Kid laughs out loud “Murder face?!”

“Shut up” Law growls, glaring across the flames.

You curl up next to him, still wearing his hat “So handsome.”

“Y/N,” he mutters, voice low “Stop.”

You tilt your head “Why? You’re mine, right?”

“…Yes.”

Usopp drops his cup.

“Excuse me?!” Sanji shouts.

“Did we just get a whole relationship reveal during party time?” Nami blinks.

Robin smiles gently “I was wondering how long they’d keep it quiet.”

Kid looks between you and Law “You? With him? Damn.”

“Respect.” Heat adds, raising his drink.

You raise yours too, still leaning into Law “Cheers.”

Law looks like he wants the ground to swallow him.

You wiggle your fingers in Law’s hair, still wearing his oversized hat.

“You know,” you say, voice soft but playful, “you’re kind of impossible to ignore when you blush like that.”

Law tries to pull his face away, but you catch his chin gently “Don’t be shy.”

He groans, but you can tell he’s smiling behind the cup he’s raising to hide his face.

Sanji is practically vibrating with jealousy a few feet away “Oi! Don’t hog the captain! She’s mine too, damn it!”

You laugh “Sanji, you’re sweet, but Law’s got me.”

Law’s eyes flash toward Sanji “Careful.”

You glance back at Law, eyes sparkling “You know you’re the hottest boyfriend I could ask for.”

Law freezes. Then, deadpan but with a tiny smile, he says, “I’m your husband.”

The camp goes silent.

For a split second, your brain glitches—wait, husband?—and then you explode, louder than anyone expected, “OMG YAYYY! I FORGOT YOU MARRIED ME! BEST NEWS EVER!”

You throw your hands up in the air, practically bouncing in your seat like you just won the lottery. Your smile stretches impossibly wide, and your eyes sparkle with giddy excitement.

“Law! We’re married! Can you believe it?!” you gush, nearly knocking over your sake cup “I totally forgot you married me! I’m so lucky! This is the best news ever!”

Law’s eyes widen as he watches you go full-on happy dance mode, his usual calm cracking. He reaches out quickly, steadying you by the shoulders.

“Hey, hey, sit down.” he says with a low chuckle, his voice gentle but firm.

You wobble slightly but don’t stop grinning “Can’t! I’m too excited!”

He sighs, shaking his head fondly, trying again to settle you “You’re going to fall.”

You catch his hands, laughing “Maybe, but it’s worth it!”

Law’s cheeks darken just a bit, but he can’t help the soft smile tugging at his lips “You’re ridiculous.”

You lean closer, eyes bright and teasing “Ridiculous? I prefer when you call me adorable.”

A few of your crew are watching, amused. Penguin smirks “She really lights up when she talks about you.”

“Yeah, I’ve never seen her this happy” Shachi adds.

Law’s hand stays steady on your shoulder, and after a moment, you finally settle back down, still glowing.

“Don’t scare me like that” he mutters quietly.

You squeeze his hand “Never. You’re stuck with me... husband.”

He groans dramatically but the warmth in his eyes says otherwise “I’m already regretting marrying you.”

You laugh “Good.”

Luffy’s mouth is wide open, still holding half a meat leg “Wait… married?!”

Nami drops her drink “You two are married?!”

Kid bursts out laughing “Well, no wonder you’re so attached, freaky doctor!”

Sanji’s jaw drops, completely stunned “Husband?!” He looks like he might faint.

Bepo squeaks and hides behind a tree.

You bounce happily “Yep! Secret’s out! We’re married, but only the crew knew.”

Law sighs, adjusting his hat back onto his head “I wanted to keep it quiet.”

“Too late now! You said that yourself!” You grin.

Robin chuckles “Well, congratulations. I always thought you two were close.

Zoro shrugs, grumbling, “Figures.”

You lean into Law, wrapping your arm around his waist “Guess you can’t escape me.”

Law looks resigned but happy “Good.”

Sanji crosses his arms, muttering, “I need a drink…”

You giggle and whisper to Law, “Worth it.”

Law just shakes his head with a small smile.

The campfire flickers as everyone recovers from the big reveal. You lean against Law, still smiling but your eyes hold something deeper, a shadow behind the joy.

Law notices. His gaze sharpens “You’re quiet now.”

You take a shaky breath “I… I'm drinking to forget, but it's not working.”

His eyebrows knit “Forget what?”

You glance away, voice low “How you almost died in the fight. I saw you, Law. It scared me.”

For a long moment, no one speaks. The warmth from the fire feels heavier.

Law’s usual hard edge softens, and he reaches out slowly to pat his hat on your head.

“Hey” he says quietly, voice gentle.

Law reaches out and pats his hat gently on your head. His voice is low, almost careful.

“You’re important to me.”

You look up at him, surprised but steady “Same here.”

His hand lingers a moment on your shoulder before he pulls back slightly, the usual sharpness softened.

He almost forgets you’re in public, his hand lingering on your shoulder like he wants to pull you close. The tough captain’s guard drops for just a second.

Kid smirks “Whoa, Law getting soft.”

Penguin frowns, eyeing your sake cup “You’ve had enough.”

You reach for it again.

His hand shoots out, stopping you “No more.”

Shachi nods “We need you clear, not drunk.”

You pout “But I’m having fun!”

Bepo hops closer, worried “Captain, she’s too loud already.”

Law stands, arms crossed, watching you “They’re right. No more drinking.”

You frown but lower the cup “Only because you said so.”

Law’s lips twitch into a rare smile “Good.”

Your crew surrounds you protectively.

Ikkaku teases, “Lucky he’s soft with you.”

You lean on Law, feeling safe “I am.”

Sanji mutters, “Unbelievable...”

Law’s hand slides around your waist, pulling you close “Stop worrying now. Stay with me.”

You sigh happily “Always.”

── .✦ Shanks:

The sun is high. The air smells like salt and grilled fish.

The Red Force is docked near a lively island. There's music, laughter, and drunk pirates everywhere. Shanks is somewhere near the tavern, talking too loudly, laughing like nothing in the world is wrong.

You sip your drink under a shaded canopy near the docks, far from him but close enough to hear his stupid laugh.

You haven’t spoken in four days. Not since the fight.

"You're impossible" you’d said.

"You're too stubborn" he'd answered.

Then silence.

Now? You're pretending he doesn't exist. He's pretending the same. Except that you know he sees you. Just like you see him. Always.

“Why are you even mad?” Lucky Roux had asked.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t even know anymore.

“Wanna talk about it?” Yasopp tried.

You glared at him until he walked away.

Suddenly, a shadow falls over your table. You glance up.

It’s a man. Not part of the crew.

Tall. Dark skin. A silver earring. Broad shoulders and a smirk you don’t trust.

“You look lonely” he says, leaning close.

You raise a brow “I’m not.”

“No one should drink alone on a day like this.”

You say nothing. But you don’t tell him to go away either.

From across the street, you feel Shanks before you see him. He’s leaning against a wall, one foot crossed over the other, grinning lazily.

He’s watching.

Of course he is.

The stranger sits down beside you “Name’s Davor” he says, offering a hand.

You shake it, quick “Mm.”

“What’s a beautiful woman like you doing away from the party?”

You smile, small. Still not interested. Still mad.

But then your eyes meet his again... Shanks.

He tips his head slightly, smug as ever. His eyes are saying, Go ahead. Play. You’re still mine.

Your blood heats up.

Fine.

You turn to the stranger, eyes a little softer “You look strong” you say, laying a hand lightly on his arm.

He grins, surprised “I train a lot.”

You let your fingers trace the curve of his bicep “I can tell.”

From the corner of your eye, Shanks pushes off the wall.

Still smiling.

Still calm.

But his jaw is tight now. You know that look. He’s coming.

Davor leans closer “Careful. You keep looking at me like that, and I’ll think I have a chance.”

“Yeah, but careful...” you say, smirking “I bite.”

“I like that.”

You let out a fake little laugh, sweet and mean at the same time.

Shanks steps behind the man without a sound “Hey,” he says, cheerful “Enjoying the view?”

Davor looks up “R...Red-Haired Shanks?”

“Red-Haired Shanks, yes.” He nods at you “That seat’s taken.”

Davor blinks “She didn’t say she was—”

“She didn’t have to” Shanks cuts in, voice low now.

You lean back, sipping your drink, acting bored.

But your heart is racing.

Davor glances between you both “I didn’t mean any disrespec—”

Shanks claps a heavy hand on his shoulder, all teeth “Course not. Just be careful. Some things look unclaimed when they’re not.”

Davor stands quickly “Got it. Sorry, ma’am.”

He walks away fast.

Silence.

You look at Shanks.

He looks back, eyes hot and shining.

Neither of you says anything.

Then, he leans down, his lips near your ear.

"That was cute," he murmurs "Trying to make me jealous."

You roll your eyes “Didn’t try. Just succeeded, or you wouldn't even be here.”

He chuckles “You done being mad?”

You shrug “Maybe.”

He reaches for your drink, takes a sip without asking “Good. 'Cause I’ve missed you.”

You don’t reply.

But you don’t stop him when he sits beside you either.

Not this time.

Shanks stretches his legs out under the table like he owns the world, like he didn’t just interrupt a conversation you were clearly enjoying.

He takes another sip of your drink. Loudly.

You don't look at him.

He waits a second. Two.

Then “So... was that your type?” he asks, too casual “The whole broody and tall thing?”

You blink at the horizon, bored. Still not speaking.

Shanks grins. He thinks this is funny "Should I cut my hair and start lifting barrels just to compete?"

Still nothing.

"Hello?" he singsongs, nudging your knee with his "Cat got your tongue? Or did Davor take that too?"

You sigh. Long. Loud. Then, you stand.

His smile falters just a second.

"Where you goin’, sweetheart?"

You don’t answer.

You walk.

Back toward the bar. Back to the party.

Back to Davor, who’s drinking something bitter and looking around like he wants to vanish into the floor.

You sit next to him again.

He jumps “Uh—didn’t expect to see you again.”

You smile sweetly “Why? Did my Captain scare you?”

“...A little.” He laughs nervously.

You lean in anyway, eyes half-lidded, voice soft “Don’t worry. He’s not gonna do anything. I won't let him.”

Across the square, Shanks is still sitting at the table. Watching.

You meet his eyes.

He raises his cup in a little mock-toast. That damn smirk is back, the one that says, Go ahead. You’ll come crawling back anyway.

So you turn back to Davor.

“I didn’t get to finish admiring these muscles earlier” you say, touching his arm again. Slower this time.

Davor blushes, but tries to play it cool “You really wanna keep poking the dragon?”

You grin “Why not? It’s not like he’s breathing fire yet.”

Behind you, you hear a whistle.

It’s Shanks.

You don’t turn around.

You just smile wider.

Let him feel the burn this time.

Davor laughs awkwardly when you run a finger down his arm “You’re bold...” he says.

You smirk “You’re still here.”

He shrugs “Only because he hasn’t killed me yet.”

You glance sideways. Shanks is still at the same table, drink untouched, elbow on the wood, chin resting on his hand and eyes fixed on you.

His smile is now gone.

He stands.

The chair screeches back. He walks slow, boots steady on the wood. No smirk now.

You brace, but don’t look away.

Davor sees him coming and tenses “Alright, maybe I should leave now—”

“No,” Shanks says, voice sharp “I’ll talk.”

You tilt your head “Oh? Now you want to talk?”

“I’ve always wanted to talk.” His eyes burn into yours “But you were too busy flirting with that guy’s forearms.”

You lift your chin “I wasn’t flirting. I was proving a point.”

“To who?!”

“To you!”

He runs a hand through his red hair, frustrated “Y/N, what do you want from me right now?”

“I love making you jealous” you say, arms folded, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

He steps closer “I’m not jealous” he says, jaw tight. Then softer, “Just… stop.”

His voice lowers even more “You were right. About the fight. I was stubborn. I didn’t listen. I acted like a damn idiot.”

You blink.

You weren’t expecting that.

“I…” You shift your weight “I don’t even remember why we fought.”

He stares at you “Are you serious?”

You nod “No clue.”

For a moment, the two of you just… stand there. Then his lips twitch. A small, surprised smile. It grows. That warm Shanks smile. Real.

You smile too.

“Wanna start over?” you ask, voice lighter now.

He nods, eyes soft “Yeah. I’d like that.”

You hold out your hand “Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N. I think I have a crush on you.”

He laughs, taking your hand, pulling you in close.

“Babe,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back, “I’m your husband.”

You grin, leaning into his chest “God, I love when you talk domestic to me.”

He kisses your forehead.

“Let’s go finish this somewhere more private.” he whispers.

“Lead the way, Captain” you say, arms wrapping around him.

Davor clears his throat in the distance “So uh… I’m just gonna go—”

“Good call” Shanks says without looking at him.

"Oh Devor!" you call making him turn in surprise "For real... nice arms."

You smirk, still tucked against Shanks’ side, while Davor nods awkwardly and shoots a terrified glance his way.

Shanks turns to you and flicks your forehead. You pout, rubbing the spot like it actually hurt, acting confused about why he did it.

He smiles at you before leaving a kiss on the same spot on your forehead "Idiot, I love you. Now if you're done here..."

And just like that the storm ends.

── .✦ Ace:

The sun is high when the ship docks near a strange little island. Green trees, bright flowers, and weird fruit hanging from every branch. It almost looks like a dream.

You lean on the railing, watching as Ace stretches his arms beside you.

“Another island, another chance to explore” he says with that wide grin of his.

You poke his side “Another chance for you to pull dumb pranks?”

He laughs “No promises.”

He always pranks you. Hiding your shoes. Filling your drink with chili powder. That time he pretended to fall overboard just to hear you scream his name.

You still haven’t gotten him back.

Not yet.

As the crew unloads, you stay close to Ace. You already know the plan.

Marco leans in and whispers in your ear, “You sure you wanna do this?”

You nod “He deserves it.”

Thatch tosses a weird purple fruit into your hands “This will do the trick. Looks freaky, but it’s just sweet inside. Take a bite, pretend you lose your memory. He’ll freak.”

Ace is walking ahead, clueless. You smirk. Time for revenge.

The moment comes during lunch.

Everyone is sitting under a big tree. The sun is warm. Laughter fills the air.

You sit beside Ace and hold up the fruit “Hey, look what I found.”

Ace raises an eyebrow “That looks… sketchy.”

You shrug “You afraid of a fruit now?”

He scoffs “No. I just don’t want you turning into a duck or something.”

You grin and take a bite.

Everyone goes quiet.

You chew slowly, then suddenly drop the fruit and grab your head “Ow… what… what’s happening…?”

Ace sits up fast “Babe?”

You look around, eyes wide “Who are all of you?!”

He freezes “Wait, what?”

“I... I don’t remember anything! Why am I here?! Who are you?!” you shout, pointing at Ace.

"Yeah sure... nice prank, now you can stop alreaady." he says rolling his eyes at you.

You try your best to stay serious, confused and scared... and it actually works because one look over at you and Ace scrambles to his knees “It’s me! Ace! We’re pirates! You love me, remember?!”

You stare at him like he’s a stranger “Pirates?! I don’t even like the ocean!”

You hear muffled laughs behind you, Thatch’s hand over his mouth, Marco shaking with silent laughter, Izou biting his lip so hard it might bleed.

Ace grabs your shoulders “You’re joking. Right? Right?!”

You blink at him, dead serious “Please don’t hurt me! Someone help!”

He turns pale “What?! Hurt you?! I would never! I—guys, help! What do I do?! Should we call a doctor?! Is there a doctor fruit?! I don't know!!”

You sniff, faking a tear “I don’t even know your name!”

He holds your face gently, panic all over him “It’s Ace! Portgas D. Ace! We’ve been together for years! You sleep on my chest every night, you steal my food, you… love me.”

You’re so close on giving up already, you hate seeing him like this. But then you look over at the crew and they start silently making gestures to make you continue it.

And you do.

You’re back on the ship.

Ace insisted.

“If she sees our room,” he told the crew, “she’ll remember everything. Right?”

Marco just raised a brow “Maybe.”

Thatch was trying not to burst into laughter again “Yeah, maybe.”

So now you’re walking beside Ace, pretending to be confused but curious.

You glance around the deck, eyes wide “This is… a nice boat.”

He corrects you instantly “Ship.”

“Right. Sorry, bro.”

Ace flinches “Bro?”

You smile sweetly “Yeah. You’re being really nice to me, bro. I appreciate it.”

He narrows his eyes “You called me ‘lovebug’ yesterday.”

You shrug “Guess I was weird before the memory loss.”

He mutters something under his breath.

When you reach your shared room, he pushes the door open with hopeful eyes.

Inside, it’s warm and messy. Blankets kicked half off the bed. His shirt on the floor. Your hairbrush sitting on the dresser.

He points at the pictures stuck to the wall “See? That’s us. Kissing.”

You tilt your head “Wow. Looks like I liked you a lot, bro.”

He looks physically wounded “Please stop calling me that.”

You walk over to the bed and flop down “It’s comfy in here.”

Ace stands there, running a hand through his hair “You really don’t remember any of this?”

You shake your head with wide, fake-innocent eyes “Nope. But you seem chill. Kinda cute, too.”

He perks up “Cute?!”

“Like… for a brother.”

He groans “I’m not your brother!”

You stare at him, unblinking “Sorry. Bro.”

Ace falls to his knees beside the bed and grabs your hands “Okay, no. That’s it. This has gone too far. Bro here. Bro there. Bro??? I’m your husband!”

Your eyes go wide “What?!”

“Yeah?” he shouts “We sleep together, we travel together, we fight together, we’re in love! You kiss me every morning! You steal the blankets! You chew too loud but I still love you! And don’t make me say what we do closed door now!”

The rest of the crew looks annoyed by this last sentence.

“It’s not like you’re quite “closed door” anyway…” Marco says as if he’s scolding you both.

But Ace doesn’t even seem to care. He just stares at you with the sorriest expression you ever seen on him.

You sit up fast, eyes softening at Ace. The prank suddenly doesn’t feel as funny anymore.

“…Ace.”

“I don’t care if you don’t remember me,” he says, voice quiet now “I’ll make you fall for me again. I’ll tell you everything, every story, every stupid moment. I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

Your chest tightens.

You bite your lip, then finally blurt out, “Ace… I’m sorry. It was a prank.”

He blinks “What?”

“I didn’t think you’d fall for it that hard! I thought you were just playing along until a minute ago!” you say, grabbing his hands “It was Thatch’s idea. I just wanted to get you back! I didn’t mean to… Ace, I’m so sorry.”

He stares at you in silence.

Then slowly leans back.

Then throws his hands in the air and screams into the room.

“WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO ME?!”

You’re hugging him, trying not to laugh and cry at the same time.

Then you hear a snort.

Then a muffled cackle.

Thatch is holding his stomach, tears running down his face “OH MY GOD. ‘BRO?!’ BRO?! I’M YOUR HUSBAND?!’ I’m gonna DIE.”

Marco leans against the wall, arms crossed, shaking his head with a small smile “I warned you not to prank someone more dramatic than you.”

Izou is fanning himself “I almost broke character when she said he was ‘kinda cute’... That was brutal.”

Ace whirls on them “You were all in on this uh?”

Thatch throws both hands in the air “Obviously!”

“You could’ve given me a heart attack!” Ace says.

Marco smirks “I was watching to make sure you didn’t set the ship on fire with your emotions.”

Izou snickers “That speech, though. The blankets. The chewing. I was this close to crying.”

You nudge Ace “Aw. They all thought it was sweet.”

Ace glares at you, then at the others “You’re all monsters.”

Thatch shrugs “She warned you. Payback, remember?”

Marco points at you “Honestly, the acting was solid.”

“Thank you,” you say, bowing slightly “I trained for this moment my entire relationship.”

Ace groans and hides his face in your shoulder “I hate all of you.”

You stroke his hair with a grin “Still love me, though.”

He mumbles something like “unfortunately” again.

Thatch high-fives you as he walks out “Legendary. Absolutely legendary. That man almost proposed for a second time out of panic.”

Izou whispers, “I bet if we kept it going for ten more minutes, he’d have built you a wedding altar and remake the whole wedding vows.”

Ace grabs a pillow and throws it at him.

The crew finally clears out after what feels like hours of teasing, laughing, and Ace sulking like a kicked puppy.

You’re lying on the bed now, still in your shared room, staring up at the ceiling.

Ace is standing by the window, arms crossed, his back to you.

You sit up slowly “Okay, how bad is it?”

He turns around, eyebrows furrowed “What?”

“You’re planning something, aren’t you?” you say “You’ve gone quiet. That’s when it’s most dangerous.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just walks over and sits down next to you.

You raise an eyebrow “So? What’s the plan? Fake poison in my tea? Switching out my shampoo with mayonnaise?”

He lets out a breath, like he’s been holding it.

Then, instead of answering, he leans in and gently presses his lips to your forehead.

You blink “…What was that for?”

Ace shrugs “Just felt like it.”

He pulls you close, your head resting against his warm chest, heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

“I really thought I lost you,” he says softly “Even if it was just for a few minutes… it felt real.”

You swallow, guilt creeping back in “I didn’t know it’d hit you that hard.”

“I didn’t know it would, either,” he whispers “But hearing you say you didn’t remember me… it scared me. More than I expected.”

You look up at him, surprised to find his expression completely open. No smirk, no teasing. Just soft eyes and a gentle smile.

“I thought you’d be busy drawing diagrams for your next prank” you murmur.

“Meh,” he says, brushing a hand through your hair “Not tonight.”

You chuckle “Wow. Ace skipping revenge? That’s suspicious.”

He laughs too, but it’s quiet “I’m serious. I just wanna hold you right now.”

He pulls the blanket over both of you, his arms wrapped around your waist, his nose brushing your hair.

You press a small kiss to his collarbone “You’re kinda sweet when you’re not threatening chaos.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he says, smiling “I’m still gonna get you back one day.”

“Sure, sure. But for now?”

“For now,” he says, kissing your temple again, “I just wanna be with my award-winning actress of the Grand Line… Ladies and gentlemen, my wife Y/N.”

You laugh into his chest “I’m the luckiest wife in the world.”

His fingers trace lazy circles on your back “And I’m the happiest ‘bro’ alive.”

You groan and smack his chest lightly “Don’t ruin the moment.”

He kisses your cheek “Okay, okay. No more ‘bro’.”

Just soft smiles. Quiet breathing. Warm skin. No pranks.

T = Toy

Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?

Din’s apprentice journeys took him to many shadowed corners of the Outer Rim. After all, he had to learn how to fight in uncontrolled conditions. But it wasn’t until he ventured out into the galaxy alone, chasing credits and quarry, that he discovered the seedier side of the underworld, and with that came the revelation of sex toys.

Sure, he’d been to red light sectors and leisure zones before. He knew the basics of sex and was aware that many beings throughout the galaxy treated it as a commodity. His teacher had even dragged him through a brothel on a mission, though all Din saw were scantily clad dancers and the polished gleam of a well-stocked bar.

He’d also passed countless shop window displays during his travels – endless rows of imitation genitals, slick lubricants, and bizarre contraptions lit up behind transparisteel. But without context, and with his teacher hurrying him forward... well, you couldn’t fault a naïve kid like him for assuming such places were pleasure droid repair shops. Just another unseemly trade flourishing in those morally bankrupt districts.

It wasn’t until later that he learned most of those items were toys for living beings to use at home on themselves and each other. Mortification crashed through him at his innocent mistake, instantly crystallising into a disdain for sexual aids. Not that anyone ever uncovered his childlike ignorance on the topic, but Din was always his own harshest critic.

He convinced himself such things were superfluous. Vulgar. Pointless. He could bring himself to climax without artificial assistance, and surely, the heat of living flesh would surpass anything synthetic. So why resort to using substitutes? Despite his sexual inexperience, he was adamant that anyone skilled at sex wouldn’t need to augment their performance.

He was still stubbornly clinging to this belief when he met his soulmate on Endor’s forest moon. Once they became intimate, he found subtle ways to convey his opinion to her, one such chance arising after her mid-session plea for him to fill her with anything – even her hairbrush handle. He swallowed his fierce objection and gently dismissed her idea, telling her that whatever she’d used before he came along had no place in their relationship. It delighted him that she instantly backtracked, promising she’d only tried it once, and it found it lacking.

Excellent – his cyar’ika shared his disdain for such artifice.

Or so he believed.

Attitudes shifted when they began exploring anal play. Din knew it was something that intrigued him, having figured out as a teenager that a carefully positioned finger in his own ass could intensify his orgasms. But he’d learned the hard way that saliva was a poor lubricant, hurting himself more than once, so he rarely risked it. When he discovered the self-lubricating miracle of the vagina, he was somewhat envious. However, he remained adamant that he didn’t need artificial assistance. He wasn’t that desperate.

Being with a sexual partner he trusted finally gave him the chance to push boundaries, but he didn’t know how to raise the topic of anal play. Questions were difficult for him anyway, unpractised as he was at courtship, so he found ways to hint at his interest.

He started with brief caresses, testing how slick he could make her back there using her own arousal. Then, when the opportunity arose, he cautiously slipped his thumb partway into her tight little hole. She was clearly shy about it – though so was he – but her willingness to explore further both relieved and delighted him. When she suggested she return the favour, joy blazed through his chest.

He hadn’t realised she’d purchased lube on Tatooine. En route back to Endor, she suggested it was his turn, and he leapt at the chance. He didn’t consider how until he emerged from his shower to find her waiting with the bottle at the ready. She must have ventured into Mos Eisley’s leisure zone and bought it from some sex toy vendor, which he wouldn’t have approved of had he known. But with the prospect of pleasure so close, his appetite outweighed his aversion.

The next half hour shattered his preconceptions. With her fingers working magic in his ass, he shot the biggest wad of cum of his life down her throat and decided that lube was a welcome addition. Okay, so it wasn’t a natural substance, but it wasn’t a toy.

And so, Din adjusted his bias.

But as determined as she was with her fingers, it wasn’t long before he began wondering how something larger might feel. The thought invaded his dreams, where it evolved into a fantasy. Soon, he found himself imagining an impossible alternate reality in which his riduur possessed both the soft warmth of a cunt and the firm length of a cock.

Eventually, after a session where he’d demanded she press deeper despite knowing the limits of her fingers’ reach, she suggested a toy. She prefaced her proposal by addressing his dislike of them, promising to consider his specific needs and tastes when selecting something.

Once again, appetite outweighed aversion. Din agreed, and she visited Glavis Ringworld’s red light sector before they departed. Since his Darksaber injury prevented him from escorting her, he insisted she arm herself to the teeth in case of trouble.

When she unveiled her choice weeks later, he was thunderstruck. He hadn’t thought it possible to love this woman more than he already did, but somehow, she’d plucked his deepest, most outrageous fantasy from his mind and given it perfect form. The realistic dildo strapped to her even matched her skin tone, its synthetic flesh warm and inviting.

Suddenly, his historic contempt for sex toys seemed so ignorant.

And as he climbed over her and slowly lowered himself onto the firm yet silky cock – lubed up and warmed by her body – his baseless prejudice dissolved entirely. Finally, he understood that sex toys weren’t just substitutes for deficient sexual skills but gateways to entirely new realms of pleasure.

He hasn’t looked back since.

H = Hair

How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes?

Personal grooming remained a mystery to Din until tragically late in his adolescence. Once foundlings swear the Creed, they’re encouraged to keep their hair short enough to stay hidden beneath their helmets. For the young boy from Aq Vetina, however, things weren’t that simple.

Most Mandalorian children and adopted foundlings have families they can remove their helmets around, who guide them through proper self-care methods. Din was ten when rescued – already two years beyond the age at which training begins. That meant instant enrolment in the Fighting Corps, bypassing the adoption process that the younger foundlings underwent. All children aged eight to thirteen were trained within the Fighting Corps, spending three nights of the week in the barracks and the remaining two nights with their families. Din was the only foundling raised in the Fighting Corps, spending all five nights of the week in his narrow bunk.

His lessons focused on combat and survival, covering everything from physical prowess to tactical thinking, as well as practical skills and knowledge. But whilst his training emphasised excellent hygiene (since scent could betray one’s position to enemies), personal grooming was not part of the curriculum.

When his dark hair grew long enough to escape his helmet’s confines, he hacked at it with a vibroblade. The concept of facial shaving simply didn’t occur to him, having never witnessed those around him perform such maintenance. But awareness slowly dawned as he went on his journeys with his teacher. Observing human males throughout the galaxy gave him pause, stirring buried memories of his father’s neatly trimmed beard. He soon concluded he ought to do something about the patchy whiskers framing his face.

After badly slicing his chin with his vibroblade, he approached his teacher for guidance. The older man was genuinely surprised to hear a seventeen-year-old ask about shaving. He’d never considered that his apprentice lacked anyone to instruct him in such basic self-care. Their next journey included a market stop, and Din returned to Concordia’s barracks with his very own electric grooming device.

He used the groomer on his scalp for a while, too, having decided that efficiency was the key to good grooming. It only took him a couple of months to realise that he preferred the cushioning effect of more hair inside his helmet. Frustrated, he let it grow out again. On his next market trip, he acquired some proper scissors, then spent weeks working out how to trim what he couldn’t see. Wearing a thick leather glove to protect his fingers worked wonders, and he took genuine pride in this self-taught skill.

He didn’t consider trimming his pubic region until years later, when a cruel comment from Xi’an made him self-conscious enough to wonder if other men maintained their hair down there.

The instant he declined her request for a repeat fuck, she transformed from flirtatious to furious. Hurling every insult she could conjure, her tirade was so loud that it drew the crew’s attention. Once the vindictive Twi’lek realised she had an audience, her attacks turned personal, attempting to ‘expose’ whatever she could about Din’s hidden appearance.

Most of it was patently false – he was pretty sure his cock wasn’t tiny – but when she sneered, “And he doesn’t shave at all – his pubes are like a kriffing Salsola bush!” it struck deep because the first part rang true. He didn’t shave down there. He had no idea what a Salsola bush was, but he was suddenly self-conscious. If Xi’an was able to feel his lack of grooming without even catching a glimpse, things must be bad.

Din needed guidance, but he’d grown distant from his Tribe, only returning when he could sneak away with his cut of the credits Ran’s crew were making from mercenary jobs. His teacher now had a new apprentice, and this wasn’t the sort of topic he could raise with the older man anyway. His options seemed limited to brothels or holoporn, and he reasoned he’d get a more authentic perspective from live observation. So, when the crew next visited the local leisure zone, he tagged along, found a place with live shows, and checked out some dicks.

His quest for answers proved educational. He really needed to utilise his groomer. On the plus side, he also confirmed that he was rather well-endowed, judging by the premium prices charged for performers with cocks of his size. That was a relief, at least.

Since Mandalorians don’t engage prostitutes, while his crewmates chose their preferred performers and got laid, Din returned to the privacy of his ship. With ground security protocols engaged, he fucked his (apparently very lucky) fist to relieve the massive hard-on all his fact-finding had triggered, then located his electric groomer.

Copying what he’d seen, he shaved it all off that first time. Within a day, the itching was worse than a blaster wound, and his balls were on fire. He knew he’d made a mistake. Just like with his beard, it appeared that a close shave was unwise. He wondered how other men achieved smoothly shaven skin without the burning sensation, but since he wouldn’t learn about balms and lotions for another decade, he simply did what worked best for him. A quick pass over his face every few days, and the same for his groin every couple of weeks when he trimmed his hair. It was a simple routine, and once again, he was proud that he solved the problem himself.

After meeting his gorgeous salvager on Endor, it was a while before he felt confident being naked around her. Xi’an’s cruel words still echoed in his mind, and he was nervous. But his cyar’ika looked at him with such unfettered desire and devotion that his fears steadily lessened.

Later, when he tried to adjust his grooming routine to suit what he assumed she’d prefer, she asked him to simply stick to what he wanted. He wondered if she understood how healing that acceptance was. He briefly told her of his slow induction into personal haircare, but he never mentioned Xian’s poisonous comment.

To this day, her steadfast acceptance of the choices Din makes for his physical appearance remains a source of confidence in his heart.

A = Aftercare

What are they like after sex?

Din never had to worry too much about aftercare during his past encounters, perfunctory as they were.

His preference was to pull out and come on his partner’s ass or lower back, though he would always wipe them off with his cloak. They tended to excuse themselves to the refresher at that point. He didn’t like to linger, so he would take his leave then, slipping away to the Razor Crest and tossing his cloak straight into the washer. A simple equation with a predictable outcome.

But when it became clear that things would get intimate with the bright spark of a woman he met on Endor, anxiety suddenly struck.

He wanted to come inside her – the first time he’d ever had such an urge – but that would alter his established routine, and he wasn’t quite sure how to adapt. How was he supposed to clean up his cum if he didn’t have easy access to it? Even he baulked at the idea of wiping her intimate area with the tail end of his cloak, so he would need a more hygienic solution. Should he prepare a cloth in advance?

And was it appropriate to dive right into the cleanup, or was he supposed to dote on her a little first? He didn’t want to seem desperate to erase the evidence of what they’d shared. Plus, the thought of his seed slowly dripping from her was a serious turn-on.

He actually had no idea how fast it would escape, having never climaxed inside anyone before. Sure, he’d caught glimpses in the seedier brothels. A freshly fucked whore with spread legs, scooping cum from her cunt to spread across her breasts or tongue. Although maybe it wasn’t cum… he’d had little time to watch, after all. He rarely visited such places except to hunt, and curiosity wasn’t enough to distract him from his primary means of making credits. He had no clue whether a woman could control how swiftly it exited her.

He realised this was all moot if his cyar’ika didn’t have an implant, a little miffed that those arousing thoughts might not become manifest. Nonetheless, he resolved to buy seals, despite finding them uncomfortable. His curiosity wasn’t worth the risk.

When the moment arrived, he was overjoyed to learn she had an implant after all. She also seemed entirely unconcerned about cleanup, and he was so sated by their coupling that he mostly forgot to worry. Coming inside her felt fucking glorious – and she’d even asked him to.

The atmosphere was so natural and relaxed, and he stayed buried in her warmth longer than planned, revelling in their connection while whispering how much he loved her. It was heady and blissful. Still, he had to withdraw when she squeezed his oversensitive cock, and he felt the wetness escaping as he slid out.

Panic flickered through him, making him sit up sharply, ready to leap up and find a cloth... but the sight before him stopped him in his tracks. There wasn’t much yet, but some of his cum had leaked from her pussy as he’d withdrawn. Small pearls of it glistened on her swollen folds.

It was his first proper look at her down there – his first close-up look at anyone, in fact. Whilst he already considered her utterly beautiful, somehow the sight of her cunt glazed with his seed grabbed at his very soul, stirring something… possessive. Euphoric. Profoundly rewarding.

Din couldn’t help himself. He reached out, running his fingers through the evidence, exploring the possibilities planted in his mind by those brief glimpses in brothels, painting her thighs and pussy with his claim.

She made her reaction to his intrigue clear, spreading her legs wider and smiling beneath her blindfold, so he let himself indulge completely. He soon learned to avoid oversensitive areas, focusing instead on gentle strokes to coax more beads of fluid to escape, which he eagerly collected and spread along her thighs.

He was learning the answer to his question about how much control she had. Clearly some, but not total, and it was time-limited. He suspected it would make its way out regardless of how hard she clenched those exquisite inner muscles. Still, he was thoroughly enjoying helping her relax and let his cum slide out easily – paint for the masterpiece he was creating on the canvas of her thighs. Combined with her own copious fluids, it was thinner than usual, making it all the more likely to escape.

The indulgence almost slipped into loss of control when he scooped up the evidence of their first coupling and brought it to his tongue. It was a split-second decision that unleashed something entirely new deep within him. Kriff, he was learning so much about himself from this single encounter.

He’d tasted himself before. Curiosity had overwhelmed him as a teenager when he’d developed a crush on his sparring partner. He had reasoned he should know what it tasted like in case things ever progressed that far with Orilan, although they never did. When he’d later discovered his preference for women, the idea of eating cum became a vague and infrequent thought – a sporadic fantasy on the few occasions when an attractive man caught his eye.

Until that first fingerful of his own from her cunt. The notion of swallowing the results of their mutual pleasure just felt… special. Worshipful. Devoted.

And forbidden. And that made it even more appealing.

She talked to him after – a carefree conversation while he was wordlessly urging her to relax her muscles and allow his cum to escape. Her placid demeanour and his new intrigue were enough to distract him from his former concerns. In fact, it all felt so natural that a suitable moment to stand and fetch a damp cloth from the refresher presented itself without conscious thought. He had no doubt that it was his duty to clean up the mess he’d created on her thighs. It was the courteous thing to do, and she seemed grateful.

He learned so much that first time with his beautiful salvager, and every time since, he’s done whatever he can to ensure her comfort, never fretting over or rushing the process. He knows she’s content for him to move at a languid pace, and she doesn’t expect his aftercare. But he also knows she’s grateful when it comes, and so he’s happy to provide it.

After all, Din is nothing if not a giver.

N = No

What wouldn’t they do? Any turn-offs?

There’s little Din wouldn’t do for his riduur if she asked. Sometimes, he thinks she could convince him the galaxy spins backwards, and not just because of her uncanny aptitude for logical debate.

She’s never asked for anything extreme – sexual or otherwise. Every request has either fallen well within his comfort zone or proved to be a worthwhile gamble despite any initial misgivings.

There was one occasion, though, when he was forced to confront a scenario that he instantly dismissed as out of the question.

They were on Tatooine, having received a summons to the palace. There was news of a potential lead in Din’s search for his covert. In exchange for using his status as Daimyo and his extensive underworld contact list to track down Mando sightings, they had promised Boba Fett a favour. A small one if those efforts bore no fruit, a large one if they yielded results.

The old man was claiming he’d uncovered a promising clue, which was exciting news and worth the trip halfway across the galaxy. The downside was that the cost would be steep.

Outrage flooded Din’s entire being when Fett calmly requested “a night with your beautiful wife”, and he was instantly reaching for the Darksaber.

He was acutely aware of his jealous streak – it had caused friction early in their relationship – but this was utterly non-negotiable, not to mention a grievous insult to his honour. Mandalorians weren’t supposed to covet what legally belonged to their brothers. Technically, Fett could issue an archaic challenge to initiate shuk’la riduurok, though it required consent from all parties. If that were to happen, he would fight to his dying breath for his riduur, but bargaining to share her for a single night was cowardly and decidedly not the Way.

Darksaber in hand (unlit for now), he explained his position through gritted teeth to the smirking Daimyo lounging on his stolen throne.

But before Fett could respond, Din’s clever wife stepped forward and deployed her logical debate skills to dramatic effect.

She reasoned that a night with her could never constitute payment for what they sought because other cultural mandates took precedence. Din could not agree without Fett issuing a formal challenge and combat occurring. Setting aside her fierce objections to that, it would create an entirely separate set of proceedings beyond the ‘favour-for-info’ deal they were currently brokering. Any victory or defeat would represent the outcome of the challenge, and regardless of the result, they would still need to decide upon the original favour.

Fett looked doubly impressed at her argument, grinning broadly, but Fennec fortunately intervened with another suggestion. It seemed they were in some trouble with the Pyke Syndicate. Despite the high risk and uncertain timeline, if Din was willing, they could use his assistance as extra muscle in what they suspected may be upcoming hostilities.

With the favour agreed, Din left Grogu at the palace’s crèche for the staff’s children, then calmly escorted his riduur to their opulent suite. The second the door slid closed, he fucked her hard against it – a blazingly passionate pounding that had her screaming his name at full volume. She knew exactly what he needed, declaring she belonged to him, that he was the only one to ever satisfy her, that she could never be with anyone else.

He worried afterward that he’d let emotion drive him to act without seeking her perspective first. She was quick to reassure him, though – she had no desire to be shared and was just as keen as he was to broadcast that fact. Double-checking the door’s lock, she lifted his helmet away and kissed him gently, then guided his mouth to her throat, inviting him to mark his claim for all to see.

It was evident at dinner that their hosts had heard their performance. Fett said nothing but offered him an impressed smirk and a respectful nod. Fennec’s lustful gaze was shockingly blatant, not to mention unwelcome, but his riduur glared at her until the former assassin received the message.

Neither Din nor his wife would share with others what they had vowed to share only with one another.

K = Kink

What less-standard acts turn them on?

Din never considered himself kinky until his fateful encounter with destiny on Endor. However, safe within their rapidly forged bond of trust, his cyar’ika opened his eyes to the fact that he did, in fact, have a few fledgling kinks he was eager to explore.

His first discovery was taste – particularly in an exhibitionist context – although it took him a while to figure out why.

It wasn’t until a much later discussion with his riduur that he learned kinks often root themselves in childhood feelings of shame. As a foundling, he’d been taught not to eat or drink in front of others. It was an act he’d brazenly performed in full view of multiple people for ten years on Aq Vetina, the memory of which first became shameful, then later thrilling.

Grateful for his rescue but angry at his losses, during his initial years of training, Din embraced its violence while failing to respect its restrictions. He would constantly commit tiny acts of defiance, such as sneaking food under his training helmet in front of others. Since he hadn’t yet sworn the Creed, his elders lectured rather than punished him, but they warned that unless he observed the Way of the Mand’alor with greater piety, he would never rise from foundling to apprentice. Those who did not respect the Creed were not permitted to take it.

His desire to become the best warrior soon outweighed his defiant impulses, and he committed himself to the Way, coming to believe in its tenets once he did so. But as his body grew stronger and his fighting skills improved, he found himself longing for the thrill those tiny rebellious acts sparked.

Perhaps that explained his choice to support the Tribe by venturing out into the galaxy to earn credits. Away from their scrutiny, he was able to perform his minor acts of defiance. He never went so far as to break his now-beloved creed, but he always found excitement in the risk of slipping food beneath his helmet in another’s presence.

He had no idea that innocent thrill formed the basis of a kink until he began pushing boundaries with his cyar’ika.

From the moment he lifted his helmet to kiss her, he knew that he would become obsessed with using his mouth on her. He revelled in it every chance he got – licking, sucking, and especially tasting. Still, he didn’t understand the full extent of his obsession until he was laid out on the grass of the Anantaparan atoll’s northernmost isle, worshipping her while she rode his tongue.

She was drenching him with copious amounts of her own slick as well as the cum he’d just shot inside her pussy, and he was already in paradise. But if the twin thrills of using his mouth on her and tasting the unique flavour of their combined pleasure weren’t enough, the moment her eyes locked with his, his cock was hard as beskar again – mere minutes after his previous climax.

She was watching him feast on her, and the exhibitionism he’d flirted with as an unruly child was well and truly fulfilled. Din Djarin – forbidden from letting anything pass his lips around others – was not only swallowing their combined cum, but he was doing it in full view of another.

His taste kink had reached its peak.

That wasn’t the only boundary they crossed together that day. It was their first foray into anal play, too, though it certainly wasn’t their last. He didn’t consider it a kinky act, but he was aware some found it taboo, and his cautious approach paid off, earning her trust.

They’ve both since come to enjoy the delights of anal penetration, especially once his opinion on sex toys evolved. Given the size of his dick, she probably wouldn’t have been able to take him back there without the expanding plug he bought for her. That was a truly worthwhile investment.

Another kink that he assumes is fairly standard involves restraint. His binders have always been a welcome addition to their sessions. He’ll often hold her down somehow, too, either through his weight or with a careful hand around her throat or wrists. Though neither of them gets off on pain, they do enjoy it rough, which often involves the idea of pain. He knows she finds pleasure in a little light choking on occasion, and he loves that she enjoys it.

Then there’s their mutual penchant for fucking while one of them is asleep. Right from the start, they both enjoyed the intimacy of cockwarming, and he often remained nestled inside her pussy for as long as possible.

It was during their honeymoon that they stumbled upon the most exquisite discovery. While spooning in bed, exhaustion overtook them both as he slowly fucked her from behind, and they fell fast asleep.

When he awoke, his cock was hard and still buried inside her. He knew several hours had passed, and he couldn’t have maintained an erection that long. Based on the evidence, he concluded that he was just large enough, and her inner muscles were just tight enough to ensure he hadn’t slipped out while they slept.

He suspected it would be painful for them both if he simply started pounding away without preparing her, so he wet his fingers and gently teased her nipples. When that earned him sleepy sighs and gentle flutters along his shaft, he began tentative thrusts. Finally, when he felt she was slick enough, he steadily increased his efforts, wondering if her dreams were reflecting his actions.

Feeling her waking up right as her cunt pulsed a profound climax around his cock… dank farrik. It wasn’t something he could enjoy just once, and she agreed. After that, they attempted to recreate the magic whenever possible, and he was beyond pleased when he was the one waking up mid-orgasm after similar efforts on her part.

Though sex while asleep is not so much a kink as an act of absolute trust and consent, Din suspects few couples have perfected this technique. Because of that, he certainly considers it a less standard fixation, unique to them. Just another thing about his riduur that makes her perfect for him.

And if either of them has any other latent kinks, he looks forward to exploring them together.

S = Stamina

How many rounds can they go for? How long can they last?

For much of his life, Din considered his sex drive to be fairly low. Sure, he had needs, and he took care of them whenever necessary, but a single climax always seemed sufficient. He was also able to attune his focus to whatever tasks he had to perform, and sexual urges rarely distracted him.

All that changed when he met his gorgeous salvager on Endor. Just one speeder ride with her, and suddenly, all manner of sinful thoughts flooded his mind. When he found himself in a storage closet, fucking his fist to those fantasies, he hoped he could expel the urges alongside his cum and get back to his hunt.

By the following day, when he was lying in a ventilation shaft two metres above her, pressing his rigid cock against the metal every time she sighed, he knew he was in serious trouble. For some reason, this woman had ignited something deep inside him. He’d never felt such a profound need for anyone before.

It soon became apparent that his strangely amplified libido was distracting him from the hunt. He couldn’t let that happen, so with extreme effort, he resolved to wait until he’d captured his bounty before indulging his uncommon urges. The challenge seemed insurmountable until he surrendered to the suspicion that lurked in the back of his mind. He was falling in love. Focusing on that helped him contain the desire he felt for her, and it also explained its potency. He’d never been in love before, so he’d never endured the desperate ache that came with it.

Finally getting to fuck her unleashed a compulsion, a constant hunger of such immense magnitude that he struggled to comprehend it. He couldn’t seem to sate it. They would fuck, and then before long, he would crave her again. Thankfully, the restraint he’d taught himself at the beginning let him control it, but his desire burned bright and strong.

He was glad to discover that his cyar’ika was equally hungry for him, always eager for multiple rounds. When they secured themselves several days of complete privacy during their honeymoon, they certainly made the most of that time together. It was then that he discovered his refractory period was far shorter than he thought.

At his age, he’d assumed his dick needed a rest after shooting its load, given that it softened soon after, so their sessions would conclude once he’d climaxed. It wasn’t until he gave into his post-orgasmic urge to taste his new riduur and had her sit on his face that he felt himself growing hard again.

That revelation led to all kinds of others. Multiple sessions without even leaving the warmth of her delicious pussy were now possible. It became a guilty pleasure of his to see how much cum she could contain before it began squelching out around his cock.

His stamina hasn’t diminished with age, but Din has always been wary of overindulgence, mindful that it has a downside. Right from the start, he routinely checked in, ensuring she wasn’t becoming too sore from their frequent fucking. He’d received a complaint about that once – his partner urging him to climax soon or she’d end up chafing – so he understood the need for a careful balance in session length. He didn’t want his own equipment to chafe, either.

Thankfully, though, his riduur has never struggled to reach orgasm with him and tends to encourage his own climax when she needs a rest. They’ve always been able to read each other perfectly, a connection that extends to their carnal pursuits, ensuring each session is the perfect length to satisfy them both.

At least until the next round.

TRANSLATIONS:

cyar’ika – sweetheart/darling (lit. ‘little love’)

riduur – partner/spouse

shuk’la riduurok – divorce (lit. ‘broken bond’)

COMMENTS:

I want to reiterate what I said in the notes for chapter 2 of Be-All, in that I do not consider Din a himbo. He’s incredibly smart. The definition of a himbo is someone who is good-looking but unintelligent. Given his skill set, he doesn’t fit that definition at all. But his sheltered upbringing alongside the factors I described in Be-All (wasn’t adopted, so had no family; was two years older than those he trained with and full of angst and anger, so made no friends) meant that he was socially isolated. That led to him being a combination of whip-smart about things like combat, languages, engineering, calculations, negotiations, etc, but adorably naïve about more personal things like sex and grooming. Din is a complex character, and I love that he can be both well-informed and clueless about different things.

We all like to think of Din as a fair-minded and accepting paragon of virtue, but the reality is, it took him a while to get there. This is the guy who blindly believed lies he was told as a child, because of which, he accused Bo-Katan of stealing her armour and refused to accept she was Mandalorian, huffily flying off without hearing what she had to say. If she hadn’t persevered, he would have abandoned his only lead on finding a Jedi because of his stubbornness and his unfounded prejudice. As mentioned above, he is also adorably naïve about certain aspects of the world (despite his intelligence), and readers of Be-All will be aware that I’ve centred that naïveté around sexual inexperience. I think when you combine those character traits, the idea that he had an unfounded prejudice against sex toys that was rooted in his stubbornness and a childish mistake seems to fit a young Din perfectly.

If you missed the pegging scene that I partially wrote back in February, here it is. I promise I’ll write the smutty part eventually!

Salsola bushes aren’t Canon; I did try to look up a suitable bush for Xi’an to compare Din’s untamed pubes to, but it seems the SWU doesn’t currently feature tumbleweeds (odd, given much of Star Wars is based on the Western genre), so I used the real-world genus of the Russian thistle, which is what most tumbleweeds in the US are – Salsola tragus. Honestly, I think Xi’an was just exaggerating and Din’s situation was never quite that… bushy, but it certainly got him worried enough to trim. I also based it a little on my ex-husband, who had never been intimate with anyone before we met aged 17 and had no concept of pubic grooming at the beginning. It wasn’t so much an overwhelming amount of hair as it was a surprising level of… springiness!

If you recall, in the last chapter of Be-All, I set it up so that Din asked Boba to try to uncover a lead for where he could find his covert. This means I’m playing with the Canon timeline slightly. While Din and Reader go back to Endor to wait for a tip, the covert is regrouping on Glavis (when he would’ve gone there himself in the show). Boba hears from his Ishi Tib contact on Glavis that she’s seen some Mandos there, so he summons Din to Tatooine. The whole business with the Pyke Syndicate goes down, Din gets a scorpenek droid pincer to the leg, and by the time he’s healed up and they get over to Glavis, the covert has moved on. But they left coordinates, so one unnecessary Darksaber injury later, he’s healed up again, and they track them to the new planet. The topic of the Darksaber doesn’t come up straight away because he’s recovered by the time they arrive, so there’s no challenge by Paz until much later, and they get to hang out there a little while before the whole ‘apostate’ shitstorm occurs. That means Reader gets her helmet forged, Grogu gets his chainmail, and Din and Reader’s marriage is formalised.

I genuinely believe Din has had phases of rebelliousness throughout his life, mainly because even when he’s being dutiful, he’s always depicted in the show as slightly different to the rest of the Children of the Watch. He’s the only one who leaves the covert at the beginning – he dutifully brings credits and beskar back to the Tribe, yet Paz and the others are jealous of his new armour and annoyed that he gets to leave and live on his ship while they’re stuck in the sewer “like rats”, so they gang up on him and call him a coward (the worst insult). Plus, Din willingly lifts his helmet to drink his soup next to Grogu, despite telling Bo-Katan later that you have to go somewhere you can safely remove your helmet – he could’ve waited until the kid was asleep! And he’s the only Child of the Watch (that we know of) who has broken the Creed and removed his helmet. We know he hung out with Ran’s crew for a while when he was younger, so I think he’s always been a little troublemaker. It also gives credence to his desperate need to redeem himself in season 3, since it’s often the case that people don’t appreciate their main support structure until they’ve inadvertently sabotaged it.

A little hint in the last section that Din is bordering on demisexual, having only had a passing interest in sex before meeting Reader, and only fucking others out of curiosity, social experimentation, or convenience. It also explains why he wasn’t that fussed about exploring ways he could improve his masturbatory techniques before he met her, and why his fantasies were rare and fleeting. He simply wasn’t that affected by sex before she came into his life. When discussing their sexual histories in chapter 32 of Be-All, he tells her, “But when I met you […] I knew it was different… real.” The original fic depicts them as essentially falling in love at first sight, so he’s immediately faced with an overwhelming desire for her, the likes of which he’s never felt before, and once they cross the line of sexual intimacy, he never looks back. These two are very much in love, and so their sex life is very much alive.

Definitions: We saw a leisure zone in Andor s1e1, featuring various brothels, and in Legends, there are entire red light sectors on certain planets. Canon doesn’t overtly mention pleasure droids, but the BD-3000 is clearly meant to be a sexbot; Legends is a little more blatant, with BD-3000s used as ‘escorts’, a mention of a ‘sex droid’ in the Legends novel, Planet of Twilight, and a sentient hologram in the now defunct MMORPG, Star Wars: The Old Republic, declaring she’s “no mere pleasure droid”… so they exist, we just don’t see much of them. A reminder that Din does indeed say he was raised in the Fighting Corps. A further reminder that a Standard week in the SWU is only five days long. A groomer is a device from Legends for haircare; there is literally no such thing as a shaving razor in the SWU, despite many things being named after it, but fortunately, Legends gives us scissors, at least. Imagine my surprise when I found a nice long article about holoporn on the Wook! 😳

I’m so deliriously grateful to have reached this milestone, I think you all deserve a sexy Din gif to express my appreciation, so here you go – the Dorito-shaped man himself says it best…

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He popped out from behind her, cheeks already pink from excitement or chaos—you couldn’t tell. He was dragging a small suitcase covered in Marvel stickers, holding a juice box in one hand and a plastic dinosaur in the other like he was ready for battle.

“Heyyy,” your sister said, rocking on her heels. “I love you. Just want to say that right away. You’re my favorite. My one and only.”

Your stomach dropped.

“What’s going on?” you asked warily, already stepping aside to let them in.

“Okay, hear me out,” she began, striding inside and crouching down to unzip Ethan’s bag. “The sitter got food poisoning—like, real food poisoning. She sent photos. It’s a crime scene.”

“That’s unnecessary information.”

“We leave in two hours. International flight. Non-refundable.”

You turned slowly to look at Ethan, who had already made himself comfortable on your rug and was pulling things out of his suitcase like he was unpacking for a month. Socks. A stuffed lizard. A Batman mask. Two single shoes that didn’t match.

“Just two nights,” your sister said quickly. “And we packed everything. His tablet, his stuffed lizard—not the green one, he doesn’t like that one anymore—and his bedtime stories. He’s been really good lately. He just… talks a lot. He has questions. He likes facts.”

“Facts?”

“Animal facts. Space facts. Body facts.”

Ethan stood and chirped, “Did you know sharks can have virgin births?”

You blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”

“Parthenogenesis!” he beamed. “It’s like a clone baby. But with fins.”

You turned slowly back to your sister, expression blank. “Are you sure I can’t say no?”

She smiled sweetly, backing toward the door. “Thank you, thank you, thank you—bye!”

The door shut with a soft thump.

Silence fell across the living room. You stood there staring at your nephew, who was now wearing the Batman mask upside down and jumping on one foot. And then Javier’s voice drifted in from the hallway.

“You adopt a kid while I was in the shower?”

You turned toward the voice as Javier walked into the room, towel slung over his shoulder, still slightly wet from the shower. His jeans weren’t fully buttoned, and his bare chest gleamed faintly from the steam. He froze halfway into the room when he spotted Ethan.

There was a very long pause.

Ethan looked up at him like he was sizing up a boss level in a video game. “You’re tall.”

Javier blinked. The silence stretched.

“You’re hairy, too.”

Javier looked at you. “Is he staying?”

You gave him a helpless look. “Just for two nights.”

“Nope. No way. I didn’t sign up for this.”

“It’s my sister’s kid. She begged.”

“I don’t care if it’s the Pope’s kid. That thing’s loud.”

Ethan took off the mask and said cheerfully, “I like dinosaurs and microwaves!”

“What does that even mean?” Javier asked, baffled.

“It means he’s five,” you muttered, walking over to help Ethan with his bag before he dumped it all out again.

Javier crossed his arms, jaw tightening. “I haven’t been near a kid since—Jesus, since my cousin’s quinceañera in ‘88. He peed on the cake.”

Ethan tugged on your sleeve. “Do you have a dog?”

“Nope,” you answered.

“Do you want a dog?”

You glanced at Javier. “Do we want a dog?”

He gave you a hard stare. “We’re not getting a dog.”

“Okay,” Ethan said, unfazed. “Do you have snacks? I had a granola bar but it melted in my pocket. It got squishy and then it exploded.”

“I hate everything that’s happening right now,” Javier muttered.

Still, you watched as he walked over to the kitchen and opened the pantry. Begrudgingly. Like a man accepting his fate. He reached for a box of crackers and tossed it to you.

“Tell him this is all he gets.”

You handed it to Ethan, who took it solemnly and sat on the couch like he was reviewing the day’s mission briefing.

“Do you live here?” he asked Javier.

“For my sins.”

“Do you have a job?”

“Not anymore.”

“What did you used to do?”

Javier opened the fridge, clearly stalling for time. “A lot of things I shouldn’t talk about with a five-year-old.”

“Were you a spy?”

“No.”

“A ninja?”

“No.”

“An DEA agent?”

That made Javier freeze. He closed the fridge door slowly. “Where did you learn that word?”

“My mom watched the news. But I’m not supposed to know.”

You were trying not to laugh, watching Javier glare at you like this was all somehow your fault. You threw your hands up in surrender.

Ethan kicked his legs against the couch, clearly unbothered. “Do you have a gun?”

“No,” Javier said quickly.

“Yes, but it’s locked up,” you corrected, because lying wouldn’t get you anywhere with a kid who liked facts.

Javier walked past you with a deep sigh and collapsed into his recliner like a man preparing for battle. “You better have tequila in the cabinet.”

“Not until he’s asleep.”

Ethan perked up. “Can I stay up till midnight?”

“No,” you both said at once.

He grinned. “Worth a try.”

You looked at Javier, who was rubbing his temple like he already had a headache. “It’s just two nights.”

“You said that like it’s a short amount of time.”

“You’ll survive.”

He narrowed his eyes at Ethan. “We’ll see.”

Ethan leaned over the side of the couch and whispered, “Is he always this grumpy?”

“No,” you said. “Just when he’s not getting laid.”

Javier choked on his own breath.

Ethan tilted his head. “What’s getting laid?”

Javier stood up instantly. “Okay! Time for a walk. Fresh air. Let’s go. Shoes. Now.”

You laughed so hard your side hurt.

Maybe this weekend wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

——

Dinner had been louder than a bar fight.

Between the pot of pasta boiling over, Ethan explaining how velociraptors would win in a fight against lions ("but only if the lions weren’t too hungry"), and the clatter of silverware being turned into imaginary spaceships, you were running dangerously low on patience.

And wine.

You wiped your hands on a towel and sighed as Ethan bounced in place on the kitchen chair, narrowly avoiding knocking over his juice box for the fifth time. His limbs never seemed to stop moving, like someone had wound him up and lost the key.

Javier stood near the counter, watching the chaos with narrowed eyes and a crooked smile that said: You dragged me into this, but I’m staying for the show.

He was in jeans and a soft black button-up with the sleeves pushed up past his elbows. A slight sheen of heat clung to the air from the stove and the late Texas sun filtering through the window, dust motes dancing lazily behind him. He looked comfortable but alert, like a man who'd once lived in places where you didn’t relax—even in someone’s kitchen.

You felt his gaze sweep over you for a second, his mouth twitching. “You okay over there, chef?”

You gave him a wry smile. “Chef is a strong word. I’m surviving.”

Ethan grabbed a fork and began drumming on the table. “Are we eating yet? Because if I don’t eat soon, I might explode.”

“You said that fifteen minutes ago,” you reminded him.

“This time it’s serious,” he insisted.

“Five more minutes.”

Javier shifted closer, grabbed a dishtowel and began drying the salad bowl you had just washed. You tried not to look too shocked. “You doing dishes willingly?”

He shrugged. “Well, I’ve interrogated cartel lieutenants. This feels easier.”

Ethan stopped drumming. “Cartel what?”

You turned around just in time to see him leaning forward, elbows on the table, curiosity practically dripping off him.

Javier froze for a second, then turned slowly toward the boy.

“Cartel guys,” he said, voice a notch lower. “Bad people.”

Ethan's eyes grew wide. “You really did that? Like… fought them?”

You could see the look creeping onto Javier’s face—part caution, part discomfort, like a man being carefully pulled back into a memory he wasn’t sure he wanted to revisit.

“Wait,” Ethan said, sitting up straighter. “Are you really a DEA agent?”

The room stilled.

Your hands paused mid-wipe on the counter. Javier didn’t speak right away. You could hear the hum of the refrigerator and the quiet simmering of the sauce on the stove.

Javier met Ethan’s gaze. “I was.”

Ethan’s jaw dropped like he’d just been told Santa was real and had a rocket ship. “No way. Like… a real one? Like on TV?”

“Not like on TV,” Javier said, shaking his head. “TV leaves out the part where you spend twelve hours in a suit that smells like smoke and blood, and no one tells you thank you.”

His tone was flat, not bitter—but there was something buried beneath it. You saw the way his eyes dipped to the side, how his fingers gripped the edge of the dish towel just a little too tight.

Ethan didn’t notice. He was too dazzled. “Did you have a gun?”

“Yes.”

“Did you shoot people?”

You stepped in then. “Ethan.”

But Javier held up a hand.

“Sometimes,” he said honestly. “If we had to. If it meant protecting people.”

Ethan blinked, quiet for a rare moment. “Did you wear a vest and yell ‘freeze!’ and stuff?”

Now Javier smirked, just a little. “Once or twice.”

Ethan was still buzzing. “Did you drive a car really fast? Like in a chase?”

“That happened.”

“Did you crash?”

“No. I’m good at not dying.”

Ethan practically vibrated in his seat. “That’s so cool.”

You saw it then—the soft tug at the corner of Javier’s mouth. That quiet, reluctant warmth. He wasn’t used to anyone calling him cool. Certainly not wide-eyed kids who didn’t see the dark corners behind the job.

He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and flipped it open. An old, worn DEA badge rested inside. It had clearly been handled a thousand times, the leather creased, the photo of a younger, sterner Javier tucked into the plastic sleeve. He handed it to Ethan without ceremony.

Ethan held it like it was made of gold. “Whoa.”

“Careful,” Javier said, voice low. “That thing’s seen more action than you’ve had birthdays.”

“Can I show it to my friends?”

“No.”

You laughed softly as you set the salad bowl on the table. “Don’t encourage him too much. He’s already decided he’s going to be a paleontologist-spy.”

Ethan looked up seriously. “Actually, I changed my mind. I’m gonna be a DEA agent. Like Javi.”

You saw something flicker in Javier’s eyes—just a flash of something unreadable. Not pride. Not regret. Maybe both.

He nodded once, slow and quiet. “Finish school first, kid.”

“I am in school!”

“Finish all of it.”

Ethan grinned and turned back to examining the badge like he was trying to absorb secrets from it through sheer will.

You leaned closer to Javier while Ethan was distracted. “You didn’t have to tell him all that.”

“I didn’t tell him anything dangerous,” he said. “Besides… he’s not wrong.”

You blinked. “About what?”

He looked down at Ethan. “About the badge. About… me. I did some things I’m not proud of. But not everything was bad. Some of it… was worth it.”

You reached for his hand beneath the table, gave it a small squeeze. His fingers curled around yours.

And for a moment, with the smell of pasta in the air, a sleepy boy rambling about future spy missions, and a former agent holding your hand across the dinner table—you believed him.

It was worth it.

——

The house had finally, blessedly, quieted down.

After a marathon of kid-friendly chaos—dinosaur trivia, spaghetti on the walls, the Great Lego War in the living room, and a bath that ended with more water on the floor than in the tub—you and Javier had miraculously managed to get Ethan tucked in for the night.

You’d read him three bedtime stories (he had rejected Goodnight Moon in favor of a dramatic retelling of Jurassic Park), calmed his nerves about werewolves, promised that if anything tried to bite him in the dark, “Uncle Javi” would bite back harder, and left his door open a crack—per his very specific instructions.

And now? Silence. Glorious silence.

The overhead lights were off. A single low lamp glowed warm in the corner of your bedroom as you stepped inside, still barefoot, dressed in an old t-shirt that fell to mid-thigh. You sighed as you closed the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment like you’d survived a war zone.

Javier was on the bed already, half-reclined against the pillows, wearing only a pair of low-slung sweats and the most exhausted expression you’d ever seen on him. His eyes tracked you lazily, the corner of his mouth lifting in that slow, lazy smirk that still sent heat curling through you even after all this time.

“You look like you’ve been through something,” he said, voice rough with fatigue.

You let out a low groan and crossed the room to collapse onto the bed next to him. “I negotiated with a seven-year-old about the existence of werewolves for thirty straight minutes. I deserve a medal.”

“You deserve something better than a medal,” he murmured, shifting closer, his hand sliding up your bare thigh.

You felt yourself melt toward him, his warmth, the familiar scent of his cologne, the way his touch made your body ache in anticipation. You turned toward him, his lips already grazing yours, and the kiss was slow—soft and full of all the words neither of you were bothering to say aloud.

Your fingers slid over his chest, tracing the slope of his collarbone, the strong muscles under your palm. He moved closer, the heat between you rising fast, slow friction building with each breath. His hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, fingers dragging lightly over your hip. You gasped softly against his mouth.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he muttered against your lips.

“Me too,” you whispered, tugging him closer, “finally, some peace and—”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

You both froze. Your heart dropped into your stomach.

Javier blinked, then slowly pulled his head back and looked toward the door like it had personally betrayed him.

“Tell me that’s the wind,” he murmured.

You closed your eyes, inhaled slowly, then—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“…Or a ghost,” Javi added dryly. “One of those damn werewolves, maybe.”

You sighed and sat up, dragging your fingers through your hair. “Don’t kill the messenger.”

You padded across the room, opening the door to find Ethan standing in the hallway in his pajama pants and dinosaur hoodie, one sock on and the other mysteriously missing. His face was squished in sleepy confusion, but he was clearly not ready to let the night go.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

He held up his plush lizard like it was a badge of authority. “I thought I heard something… like someone crying. Or maybe a… ghost again. Or a sad ghost.”

You blinked, glanced back at Javi, who had flopped dramatically face-first into the pillows, muttering curses in Spanish.

You bent down a little. “Ethan, remember how we said there aren’t ghosts?”

“But what if they’re just… shy?”

Behind you, Javier groaned into the pillow. “Please, just put him in the guest room with a priest and holy water. I’ll call the Pope myself.”

You held in a laugh and glanced back at the boy. “Want to come lie down with us for a little while until you feel okay again?”

He perked up instantly. “Do you have snacks?”

“No,” Javier called flatly. “But we were about to.”

You cleared your throat, ushered Ethan in gently. “No snacks, just quiet time. Come on.”

He crawled onto the bed like he was claiming territory, planting himself between you and Javier with a self-satisfied sigh. You laid back beside him, Javier turning his head toward you with the most mournful look in his eyes.

“This is cruel,” he murmured under his breath.

“It’s temporary,” you whispered, brushing your fingers over the back of his hand.

For a moment, the room was still. The heat between you and Javi had dissolved into something warmer, quieter. Ethan snuggled deeper between you, sighing in contentment.

“Night,” he mumbled, already slipping under again.

You turned your head, facing Javi across the pillows. His eyes found yours in the dim light, and he looked like he wanted to laugh and groan at the same time.

“You were saying something about peace and quiet?” he whispered.

You smiled. “Maybe tomorrow night.”

He reached over, lacing his fingers with yours beneath the blanket. “I’m holding you to that.”

——

The door to the bedroom clicked softly shut, and for the first time in two days, silence settled around you like a warm blanket. The hallway was dark, and the house finally still—Ethan tucked in, lights off, dishes done, cartoons silenced.

It was just you and Javi again. No Paw Patrol theme song. No spilled juice. No “I don’t like this cereal.” Just the two of you, in the low lamplight of your shared bedroom, standing a few feet apart and staring at each other like you’d been holding your breath for hours.

He moved first.

Slow steps brought him closer, and then he was right in front of you, that well-worn softness in his brown eyes folding into something hungrier. He cupped your face, his thumb brushing under your lip, and bent to kiss you like he meant it. Like he’d been waiting all damn day. It started gentle—his lips coaxing, warm—but it didn’t stay that way.

You let out a soft sound against his mouth as he pulled you closer, his hands sliding down your back and around your waist, guiding you to him until your hips met. The warmth of him, the quiet strength in his touch, it made your whole body soften. And then his mouth opened just slightly, deepening the kiss with slow confidence, his tongue brushing lightly against yours.

“I’ve been thinkin’ about this all day,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice rough, low. “You. That little sundress. The way you bent over the fridge…”

Your laugh broke softly in your throat, more breath than sound, as he nudged your head back with his nose and began to kiss down your neck—slow, open-mouthed kisses that lingered a little too long, teeth grazing skin. “You’re the one who said we had to be good.”

His hand slid up under your dress, knuckles grazing your thigh as his mouth moved lower. “Yeah, well, I’ve been good for two days. That’s enough.”

Your dress pooled at your feet in seconds, and he stepped back for a breath to look at you in nothing but your underwear. His eyes traced every inch of you, heat settling low in his gaze. “Fuck, baby.”

You moved toward him and started to tug at his shirt, your fingers working slowly down the buttons, revealing sun-warmed skin, the little amount of soft hair on his chest. Once it was off, you leaned in, kissing your way across his collarbone, your hands sliding down his abdomen to the waistband of his jeans.

His breath hitched when you touched him through the denim, and his hips twitched forward, subtle but telling. You smiled against his skin. “You okay there, Peña?”

“Keep talkin’ like that,” he warned, voice low and dangerous, “and you’re not gonna walk straight tomorrow.”

You snorted softly and stepped back toward the bed, laying down with a slow stretch, your legs bending just slightly at the knee. “Promises, promises.”

He didn’t smile.

He crawled up over you, knees bracketing your hips, his hands planting beside your head as he lowered himself down until you could feel the heat of him, now without the jeans and boxers on, hard and thick against your center through the thin fabric of your underwear.

“Last chance to back out,” he whispered, brushing your hair from your face.

You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Shut up and kiss me.”

His lips met yours again, hungrier now—less patient, more needy. You felt his hand slide down between you, pushing your underwear aside with practiced ease. And when he touched you—bare fingers, slow and knowing—you moaned into his mouth, your hips lifting toward him instinctively.

“Jesus,” he groaned, dragging two fingers through your slick. “You’re soaked.”

“You gonna do something about it?”

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

He pushed inside you with a slow, steady thrust, inch by inch, until he was fully seated, your body stretched to fit him. Your back arched at the fullness, your hands tightening in his hair. He didn’t move at first—just stayed there, buried in you, his forehead against yours, both of you breathing in shallow, shared gasps.

“You feel like fucking heaven,” he whispered, voice rough as gravel.

He started to move then, slow and deep, his hips rolling in a rhythm that left you gasping, legs wrapped tight around him. The way he moved was deliberate—long strokes, pelvis grinding against your clit just right, his mouth never far from yours. Kisses pressed to your throat, your shoulder, your cheek.

Your body tightened beneath him, the pressure building, your moans muffled by his mouth, your nails leaving faint red trails across his back.

And just as you felt yourself spiraling higher—so close—

There was a knock. A tiny, unsure knock at the door.

Both of you froze.

You felt him still inside you, a quiet groan vibrating in his chest as his forehead dropped to your shoulder.

Another knock. And then—

“Um… can I come in? I forgot my dinosaur in here.”

Javi cursed under his breath and rolled slowly off of you, grabbing the blanket and pulling it up over both your bodies. You scrambled to keep your voice steady, your skin flushed and buzzing.

“Uh—hang on, honey! We’ll get it for you!”

“Okay…” came the small, muffled reply.

You pressed your face into Javi’s chest, mortified, and he laughed quietly, brushing a hand down your back. “Two fuckin’ days,” he whispered.

You groaned. “We’re cursed.”

“Think it’s a sign we’re ready for kids?”

Your eyes widened as you looked up at him. “Don’t you dare.”

He grinned.

Still hard under the sheets.

Still very much unfinished.

And still… yours.

——

The door closed behind him with a gentle click, and for the first time that night, Javier exhaled like he meant it.

He stood still for a beat, hand on the knob, listening. Nothing but the quiet hum of the house. No footsteps. No dramatic reenactments of prehistoric battles. Just blessed, golden silence.

He ran a tired hand down his face and dragged it through his hair, muttering, “Goddamn kid acts like he’s on cocaine.”

You looked up from the bed, where you were curled under the blanket in one of his old worn-in t-shirts now. The hem barely covered your thighs. You gave him a crooked smile, the kind that always made his pulse tick a little faster. “You say that like you didn’t just spend ten minutes trying to find that dumb little green dinosaur.”

He gave you a look. “You wanna be the one to explain extinction to a seven-year-old at bedtime?”

You laughed softly, watching him reach for the button of his jeans—which he picked up in a hurry—with a practiced flick. The sound of it made your stomach tighten in anticipation.

“He tucked it under his pillow,” Javier muttered, unzipping with one hand while rubbing the back of his neck with the other. “Told me the dinosaur watches him sleep to make sure the monsters don’t get him.”

You tilted your head. “That’s actually kind of sweet.”

“No, you’re sweet,” he said, voice lower now, that usual hint of heat curling under his words. He stepped out of his jeans and crossed the room slowly, eyes dragging over you like a man who’d been denied too long. “You… were a menace all damn day.

You smirked. “Maybe I didn’t.”

“You’re a goddamn liar,” he said, and suddenly his mouth was on yours—hungry, urgent, full of heat and something close to desperation.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders instantly, tugging him up into the bed as you kissed him back with equal force. His weight settled over you, firm and warm, his hips pinning you to the mattress.

It was clumsy at first—teeth bumping, noses grazing, hands greedy. You hadn’t been alone all day. Not really alone. You hadn’t been able to touch him like this, hadn’t been able to just let go. And now that you had him here, finally, the air buzzed with want.

Javier's lips dragged down your jaw, to the slope of your neck where he sucked gently, tongue flicking over the mark before it even had a chance to bloom. Your breath came faster, hips lifting instinctively, and he groaned against your skin when he felt how warm and ready you already were.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” you whispered, voice barely there as his hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt. “Thinking about you.”

His palm spread wide over your stomach, then down, fingers teasing at the edge of your panties. “Yeah?” he murmured, mouth brushing the curve of your collarbone. “Thinkin’ about me doing what, sweetheart?”

“Touching me.”

He chuckled, low and deep, then dragged his fingers between your legs—slowly, softly—just enough to feel the heat there. You sucked in a breath, hips twitching.

“Like that?” he asked.

You nodded, eyes half-lidded, and he kissed your breast through the cotton of the shirt, letting his fingers dip further. He slipped one finger past the damp fabric, sliding through your slick heat. You gasped and arched into him.

“Christ,” he hissed, rubbing slow circles just the way he knew you liked. “You’re already soaked.”

“Been like that for hours, that kid didn't really help in my case, ” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut.

He dipped lower, dragging the shirt higher with his mouth as he kissed down your stomach. “I’m gonna taste you, baby,” he said against your skin. “Take my time.”

You let your thighs fall open for him, heartbeat in your throat, pleasure beginning to roll in like a tide—

Knock knock knock.

You both froze.

Javier’s face was hovering inches from your thighs. Your hand was still tangled in his hair. The knock came again—soft, but insistent.

“Uncle Javi?”

You whispered, “No fucking way.”

Javier let out a full-body groan and dropped his forehead against your stomach, muttering something dark in Spanish.

“Uncle Javi?” Ethan repeated. “I forgot to ask something!”

“What could you possibly need now?” Javier growled under his breath, reluctantly pushing himself up and tugging the blanket over your legs before standing. His erection was painfully obvious through his boxers, and he adjusted himself with a grimace. “You owe me so fucking bad after this.”

You covered your mouth to muffle your laugh as he stormed to the door, yanking it open a crack.

“What is it, Ethan?” he asked, trying very hard to sound calm.

The little boy stood there rubbing his eyes, clutching the edge of his t-shirt. “Can dinosaurs go to heaven if they die?”

Javi blinked.

“…What?”

“Like, if they were nice. Or if they helped people.”

He sighed and leaned against the doorframe. “Yeah, buddy. The nice ones go to dino heaven. Go back to bed.”

Ethan beamed. “Okay! G’night again!”

“Night.” Javier shut the door firmly this time and turned around, arms slack at his sides.

You were still lying there in bed, flushed and breathless, legs curled up beneath the blanket.

“Well?” you said with a grin.

He gave you a look of absolute defeat. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You laughed so hard you nearly choked. “Dino heaven? That’s what stopped you?”

He started toward the bed again, climbing in beside you with a groan. “This time I’m locking the goddamn door and putting that toy in the microwave.”

You kissed him hard and slow. “We still have the rest of the night.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You better not be lying again.”

——

The scent of frying bacon hung thick in the air, drifting through the open archway from the kitchen into the warm, sun-drenched living room. The early morning light spilled through the window in wide golden beams, catching the dust motes in the air and wrapping the entire house in a sleepy, amber haze.

Your hair was still damp from the shower as you stood barefoot in one of Javier’s old shirts, flipping scrambled eggs in the pan with one hand while holding your coffee mug in the other. Behind you, Javier moved quietly through the kitchen, shirtless and low-voiced, ruffling his hair dry with a towel before he reached for the orange juice in the fridge.

Ethan sat at the small table, legs too short to reach the floor, swinging idly back and forth as he bit into a stack of cinnamon-sugar toast with the kind of joy only a seven-year-old could summon. His dinosaur pajamas were rumpled and his cheeks were sticky with syrup, but he looked so happy and at home that it made something warm settle behind your ribs.

It was an easy, quiet morning.

Too quiet, in hindsight.

“Hey, Uncle Javi?” Ethan said, his voice cutting through the calm like a sudden bell.

Javier, halfway through pouring juice into a small cup, paused. “Yeah, bud?”

Ethan looked up with big eyes and the complete, devastating sincerity of a child about to absolutely ruin your life. “What were you and Auntie doing last night?”

You froze. The spatula paused mid-scramble. Javier turned toward you slowly, brows slightly raised like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard that right.

You turned, heart skipping a beat, and tried your best at an innocent smile. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

Ethan chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. “I heard… noises.”

Javier blinked. “Noises?”

The boy nodded, unconcerned. “Like thumping. A lot of thumping. And groaning. And, like… kinda like when you move a heavy couch? But over and over.” He squinted. “Were you wrestling?”

You nearly dropped the pan. Javier made a noise suspiciously close to a cough and sat down heavily in his chair.

“Uh—well…” you cleared your throat, trying to avoid looking at Javier’s completely amused face across the table. “This is an old house, remember? Makes lots of weird noises.”

Ethan looked skeptical. “It didn’t sound like house noises.”

You slid a plate of eggs onto the table and poured yourself more coffee with trembling hands. “Maybe Javi stubbed his toe.”

“Stubbed it a lot, then,” Ethan said brightly, kicking his feet as he picked up his fork.

Javier choked on his coffee.

Ethan’s brows furrowed with the serious, wide-eyed concern of a child trying to make sense of the world. “Were you guys scared? Should I sleep with a bat next time?”

You sat down beside Javier, reaching under the table to nudge his leg with yours. He gave you a sidelong glance, clearly biting back a grin.

“No monsters,” you promised gently, ruffling Ethan’s hair. “Just the house being silly.”

Ethan leaned in closer over his plate. “It sounded like you were growling.”

You inhaled sharply through your nose. Javier gave up on dignity entirely and ran a hand down his face.

“Well,” Javi said finally, voice thick with fake authority, “sometimes grown-ups make weird noises when they’re… fighting the monsters.”

Ethan gasped. “There was a monster?”

You stared at Javier like you were going to kill him. He just shrugged.

“Yeah. Big one,” he said seriously, leaning back in his chair. “Had, uh… claws.”

Ethan was enthralled. “Was it in the closet?”

You tried not to smile. “Sure. For a minute. Then we kicked its ass.”

Ethan nodded slowly, very impressed. “Next time, can I help?”

“No,” you and Javier said at the same time, a little too quickly.

He accepted that with a shrug and dug back into his eggs.

You relaxed, letting your hand slip onto Javier’s thigh under the table, and he turned to look at you with that small, private smile that never failed to make your stomach flutter.

“Think we’re in the clear?” he whispered.

You tilted your head. “Until he tells my sister you were fighting a monster in bed.”

Javier groaned softly and let his head fall back against the chair. “We’re dead.”

Ethan perked up. “Why are you dead?”

“Nothing!” you said quickly, snatching your coffee.

Javi nudged you with his knee. “You think he’ll forget?”

“He still remembers that time you dropped a taco on your foot and said the f-word.”

“Shit,” he muttered.

“That one too.”

Ethan giggled and took a sip from his juice box like a king in his castle, entirely unaware of the storm he’d just created.

You and Javi just sat there, defeated but smiling, sipping your coffee and juice as the morning sun poured through the window. Despite the awkwardness and the sleep-deprived haze, something about it all made your chest ache in the best way.

A weird little glimpse of what life might look like—chaotic, hilarious, embarrassing—but full of warmth, and laughter, and maybe something even deeper.

You glanced sideways at Javi and found him already looking at you, that little smirk still playing at his lips.

“Next time,” he murmured under his breath, “we wait till he’s back with his parents.”

You raised your mug toward him. “Agreed.”

Ethan looked up from his toast. “Wait till who’s back?”

You and Javier groaned at the same time.

“We are glad to have you here, mandalorian.” Senator Trystan adds brightly. He starts rambling like the politician he is, and you tune him out, especially as your focus remains on the mandalorian.

“Your majesty,” the timbre of his voice is striking like a steady river. “I vow to keep you safe until the assassin is caught.”

Hiding your voice within the composed steady tone the Queen of Naboo is known for, you thank him.

With a final nod, the warrior departs.

You notice a brown satchel slung at his hip half hidden under his cloak. You swear the minute the mandalorian leaves the room, a small tiny green clawed hand crawls out from the bag.

—

“I bet he’s ugly”

“No, I’m sure he’s handsome.” You and your handmaidens have discussed the new mandalorian guard for weeks now.

He’s a rather elusive figure. Silently moving around the castle, he reminds you of a sleek phantom just out of reach. When the mandalorian does accompany you anywhere, he remains silent. You simply amount it to the warrior doing his job diligently, which you greatly appreciate.

His presence alone seems to deter any more attempts. The tension in the palace already has eased greatly. So much you now roam without any supervision along the grand lakeside today.

The glory of Naboo is one you take pride in, from the illustrious buildings, to the underwater depths of the Gungan city. You savor these moments when you can freely walk among the splendor of your planet.

There’s a secluded, normally untouched, lake villa near this area you enjoy visiting from time to time.

Until you discover it’s no longer abandoned.

The sight stops you frozen in your tracks. By the edge of the lake, under the soft shade of the looming trees, stands the mandalorian. But he is not alone.

A wonderfully tiny and precious green creature waddles around through the grass.

Both of them turn towards you. It feels like you’ve just stumbled upon an ancient secret.

“Handmaiden.” The mandalorian greets you steady, cautious.

For a split moment, you had forgotten you’re in these robes.

“Mandalorian.” You greet back, thankful you don’t have to hide your voice.

Being under the guise of a handmaid offers you this freedom.

“And may I ask, who is this little one?” You smile and kneel down to the height of the small creature staring up with starry curious eyes.

A moment passes.

“He…is my son.” His words hit you like a blaster shot.

“Your son?” The monarch mentality leaks out momentarily as your voice jumps. You never would’ve hired this hunter knowing he has a child who could be put in harm's way.

“Yes.” The mandalorian nods.

“I’ve never seen him around before.” His little hand must have been the one you saw that first day in the throne room.

The mandalorian’s son curiously shuffles to you. You don’t miss his father’s fists clenching tense, hesitant and cautious, worried about this interaction.

“I…was not sure the queen would allow him to accompany me. So I keep him hidden.”

The baby is adorable with shimmering eager eyes. He rests his tiny hands against your robes. You can hear all your advisors screaming at you to consider releasing this hunter from your duty.

But you can’t now. Not when you tickle his son’s chin and the little one giggles sweet like a bell.

“Don’t worry,” you tell the mandalorian confidently. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“And besides,” you add casually. “Between you and me…The Queen won’t mind. She has a soft spot for little ones.”

You smile as the baby, now deeming you worthy, starts climbing onto your knee.

“What’s his name?” You ask.

“…Grogu.” The mandalorian answers.

As if on cue, Grogu chirps hearing his name and you laugh.

“Well it’s nice to meet you Grogu.” You nod then gently poke his tiny nose.

Infectious giggles greet you.

You then officially introduce yourself to the youngling, and in turn his father, freely giving your name.

Again you can almost hear all your advisors' horrified screams. Of all the things sacred and needed to be hidden, your name is the most important.

Even though the crown keeps you protected under an alias, it doesn’t mean your true identity is forever safe.

But you believe you can trust this warrior.

Or you hope so.

The University’s belltower rings off in the distance. You didn’t realize how late it got. You’d need to head back soon.

Grogu chirps confused when you softly place him back on the grass. His bright moon eyes almost make you stay longer.

“It was wonderful meeting you Grogu. I hope I can see you again soon.” You truthfully tell the little one.

Then you glance at his father.

You knew enough about mandalorian culture to understand how precious children are to them and how protective they are of their own.

Grateful for this moment, you thank the mandalorian for allowing you to meet his son.

Without another word, the warrior silently nods.

This strong hunter with the most adorable son plagues your mind the rest of the day. So much that you rearrange your calendar so you’re available to walk along the lake again.

You continue sneaking back to the lake home as much as you can.

The moments here away from the palace, from the politics and headache, are a precious respite. Currently Grogu watches enraptured by the butterflies fluttering in the air.

You glance back at the lake house secluded in the lush countryside and how it perfectly fits a mandalorian.

“Is this where you’re staying?” You ask.

“Yes. Unless I’m needed at the palace.” The mandalorian answers.

“Thankfully it’s been rather quiet again since you’ve arrived. So I’m grateful for that.” You speak as both handmaid and queen.

“I…” the warrior begins then stops, as if realizing he shouldn’t be saying much.

“You can talk freely. Trust me, whatever you say the queen probably already knows.” You almost dryly laugh at your own joke.

The hunter nods.

“I believe the threat is still at large. Simply hiding and waiting for the right time.” He admits strained.

You agree. It’s what everyone close to you believes as well.

There have been whispers, rumors, of a darkness looming among the edges of space. Now it seems to be slithering into your home.

But for now, you simply hold onto these glimmers of peace - like watching Grogu chase after the butterflies among the field.

His little claws reach for the soft colored creatures, and you think of your own childhood days where you chased after them too. You remember the trick your old tutor taught you when you were little.

So holding out your finger, you wait. Patience pays off. A lone butterfly flutters to land on your finger believing it to be a branch.

Grogu instantly notices, makes a noise of surprise, and scurries over.

But his fast movement scares the butterfly, and it rapidly flies away. The sad confused noise Grogu gives breaks your heart.

“It’s alright, they just get frightened easily.” You explain.

So again you hold your finger out, a welcoming rest spot. This time you place it closer to the baby.

Another butterfly thankfully floats down on your finger.

“Bweh!” Grogu shrieks giddy.

Very steadily, you move your finger closer to Grogu trying not to scare the bug.

“Here… can I see your hand, little one?” You softly ask.

The mandalorian helps his son out, raising Grogu’s little claw besides yours.

The butterfly gently wanders from your finger to Grogu’s hand, and the sweet baby giggles in pure joy.

The bug of course doesn’t stay long and flutters away. But it brings enough excitement to Grougu. He’s completely taken over by twinkling giggles the rest of the time, eagerly chasing after more butterflies.

“Are you often away from the queen for this long?” The mandalorian’s sudden curious question takes you by surprise.

“As long as one handmaiden is with the queen, no protocol is broken.” You effortlessly recite the mandate.

“Besides, we all deserve a bit of fresh air and some time alone.” You add.

From the corner of your eye, the mandalorian nods.

Then, the belltower rings signaling your return.

Grogu, now in his fathers arms, waves at you goodbye then yawns.

Wishing the little one good night you, you then bid the same goodbye to his father.

“Take care, mandalorian.”

“…Din...”

The phrase stills you.

“My name is Din.” He reveals. “Seems only fair since you gave me yours.”

Din, it fits him beautifully.

“Until next time, Din.” A grateful glow swirls in you knowing his name.

You vow to keep it sealed safe in your heart. You wouldn’t be able to use his name while wearing the crown anyway. Faintly, it reminds you how in the same way the mandalorian, Din, would never know your true name as queen.

That realization digs a hollow hole into your heart.

—

Peace doesn’t last long.

The assassin fires shots from one of the high towers near the capitol. Chaos erupts wild and dizzying, sending everyone into a panic.

Except the mandalorian, Din.

Effortlessly he jumps in front of you blocking the second blaster shot with his armor, a literal shield before you.

Once you’re secured safely, your eyes widen witnessing Din in action, flying up to the tower.

Even with the distance, you catch glimpses of the mandalorian fighting before you’re escorted away.

And he’s marvelous.

There’s a swift deadly power to him, a legend of myth right before your eyes.

Then he’s by your side again.

“Are you alright?” He immediately asks returning to you breathless.

You want to ask if he’s the one alright, if Grogu is with him. Instead all you can do is nod, earnestly thanking him.

“He’s doing his job, m’lady.” Hildegard jokes.

But it’s true.

You’re getting tangled in a web of emotions over a man who will vanish from your life once the threats are eradicated.

Yet it still doesn’t stop you from visiting him again. It takes more convincing this time to sneak away, but you’re thankful you still can.

Worried you’ll miss seeing Din and his son, you rush to the lakeside. But you forget how hot the handmaiden robes can get, and exhaustion hits.

Your heart drops seeing the field vacant.

Guess you were too late.

Exhausted and annoyed at yourself, you rip back the robe’s hood allowing yourself a relief of air before you dejectedly walk back to the palace.

Someone says your name, your true name.

Din steps out from the villa, a sleek beautiful hunter emerging from the shadows.

Soon he stands frozen, his sleek helmet focused on you. A moment passes, an awkward stand off of you and him simply staring at each other.

Petrified, you suddenly realize you’re facing the mandalorian without any cover or protection of the robe’s hood.

“Sorry, you must be busy.” You blurt, ready to turn around and scurry away.

Din again says your name.

“It’s fine. I was just gathering my things.” He explains.

“Oh?” The confusion in your voice or on your face must be embarrassingly blatant for him to explain.

“I’ll be staying at the palace full time after today.”

Oh… so you’ll be seeing him more.

“You were amazing today.” Admiration flows from you.

He thanks you with a hesitant mumble, vaguely shy.

“Are you alright? Is Grogu okay?” You immediately ask, knowing those questions have been bothering you since this morning.

“We’re both fine. You should be worried about the Queen.” Din replies firm.

“The queen’s fine.” You snort, hoping he doesn’t notice your dryly amused tone.

“There was an amazing mandalorian that made sure everyone was safe after all.” You mean those words.

Din stays quiet keeping his helmet directed on you. A dread sets in, worried if you’ve overstepped or said something you shouldn’t have.

The sun has just set over the horizon casting an illuminating glow on the planet. It paints the mandalorian a shining warrior bathed in golden glory.

You wonder if you’re staring at him too much.

A familiar coo arrives, and soon after Grogu waddles out of the villa. Witnessing this armored warrior move to cradle his son, who snuggles into his father’s arms, unfolds a warm wave in you.

“I’ll let you two get back to your evening,” you smile gentle as Grogu yawns adorably in agreement.

“And I guess I’ll be seeing you around more.” You half joke with Din.

He dryly chuckles, and the sound is a gift.

“If you’re heading back to the palace I can return with you. So that you’re not walking alone.” He offers and your eyes go wide.

You immediately accept his offer.

With a nudge of his helmet you follow him inside the cabin. The layout is similar to all the other lake homes, except a cluster of weapons sit on the table. You’re in awe knowing he knows how to handle so many of these.

Grogu now wiggles fussy in Din’s hold.

“Here, I can take him.” You offer.

Hearing your words immediately Grogu lifts his little arms towards you ready to be carried.

“Kid,” Din dully sighs.

You reassure Din and happily scoop the baby up. Feeling him snuggle against your shoulder is a precious thing

Din goes silent and returns to gathering his belongings.

Now the night sky casts a blanket of midnight blue over the lake.

Out of the villa, a gleam of silver draws your attention. You inhale sharp but try staying quiet with Grogu sleeping peacefully in your arms.

“Is that a N-1 Starfighter?” Your voice, even whispering, jumps shocked. The familiar bright yellow coating has been stripped, but you could recognize that ship anywhere.

Din chuckles beside you.

“You know your ships.” He sounds impressed.

You didn’t. You just know that one.

You remember seeing the starfighters in your history lessons. They looked like beautiful sea creatures soaring among the clouds. You were heartbroken finding out they were retired.

You even tell all of this to Din.

A humorous thought emerges. You wonder if one dramatic last act as Queen could be you reinstating the starfighters.

“How does it fly?” You ask Din curiously.

“Like a dream.” His wistful voice lets your mind soar into a daydream wondering what it would be like to witness the N1.

“Maybe one day you’ll see it fly.” Din offers and you turn to him, grinning.

“Now that would be a dream.” You warmly mirror his phrase.

If you manage to make it through your final days as Queen, maybe you could beg the mandalorian to let you see the ship in action.

The walk to the palace is peaceful among the lake. You treasure Grogu snoring soundly in your arms, and you’re thankful Din allows you to hold his son.

But approaching the palace, you return the baby back to his father to hide him, just in case.

Your instincts are right. At the very edge of the palace steps, all your advisors, along with the senator and his aids, wait anxiously.

You stayed out too late.

Immediately they spot you with the mandalorian, and the reactions are mixed. You’re however more worried when Din reacts.

“Seems you were needed.” He comments.

“I stayed out later than planned, that’s all.” You half lie.

“Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” You joke again, and he nods.

Even though you made the joke, you do end up seeing Din much more.

Except as the Queen of Naboo.

He stays in your personal guard close to the head captain. Even when you return to your private study, you’re surprised Din stays, truly acting as a loyal personal guard.

While overlooking legislation orders, a rustling comes. Off to the side, the mandalorian fidgets with his satchel.

Grogu.

“Mandalorian,” you speak in your composed tone. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” He huffs, trying to sound calm himself.

But it’s too late. One of Grogu’s adorable ears pops out from the satchel. And despite his father’s best attempts to settle him, the baby pokes his entire head out.

Two of your handmaidens gasp excited.

“I apologize.” Din quickly stammers.

You don’t even hide the grin on your face seeing the baby.

“No need to apologize. I’m quite fond of little ones.” You assure Din, remembering what you told him previously.

“Mweh.” Grogu squeaks glancing around at the new room with sparkling curious eyes.

Your handmaidens are already smitten, trying not to rush over to him.

“Is it a pet?” One asks eager.

“No.” Din bluntly answers, and you even feel a bit insulted for him.

Ever the trouble maker, Grogu climbs out of the bag and starts waddling around exploring with ease.

“Kid.” Din sighs, a frustrated parent, and your handmaidens giggle amused.

“It’s fine, mandalorian.” You again reassure him.

Grogu turns to blink curiously up at you. Under the thick ceremonial makeup, wearing your ornate headpiece, you understand how strange you must look to a child.

Instantly he scurries towards you, little clawed hands grabbing the air signaling he wants to be picked up.

Panic seizes your breath.

There’s no way Grogu could recognize you. You rationalize that this is simply him finding your Queen persona interesting.

Din moves to snag Grogu, even saying his name sharp and reprimanding.

But you chuckle swooping down to the little creature first. Your gown today weighs heavier, yet you don’t mind knowing Grogu gets to settle in your arms.

His sweet eyes search your face. You smile politely and gentle. Then his tiny hands press against your cheeks, and a bright smile lights up his face.

And you can’t help it, you smile back.

The curious eyes of your handmaidens burn holes into your face. They whisper like a pack of loth cats plotting their next attack. So diverting their attention you place Grogu back down on the ground letting him roam.

Immediately your handmaids rush kneeling at the baby’s level, completely captivated by the new arrival.

“He seems to enjoy the attention.” You tell Din.

The mandalorian simply hums, an agreeing sound.

You wonder if he’s upset or possibly nervous about all of this.

“Please know he is safe here and free to roam.” You say encouraging, hoping to soothe the tension.

“Thank you…m’lady.” Din replies low, and your heart trips over itself.

It’s the first time he’s ever addressed you by the proper title, and his voice sparks a wildfire.

After this introduction, Grogu happily now enjoys being carried in the arms of your handmaidens or resting openly in Din’s satchel. A little wave of jealousy rises when the baby plays with one of your handmaids during a council meeting. You ache to trade places with her more than ever.

Seeing his son giggle freely unhidden relaxed Din more. He starts walking besides the captain of your guard and chatting with her, the two of them now easy comrades.

Now Din steps in pace right behind you, a beskar coated shadow you think of often.

During a particularly rainy day, you accidentally slip among the sleek stair tiles.

Immediately Din grabs you fast, steadying you from falling. His hand, unwavering and strong, holds you. Your heart thrashes furiously hearing his magnetic voice so close asking if you’re alright.

This unfortunate infatuation towards the mandalorian blooms a wicked weed digging its roots into your heart, and it’s become more unbearable.

Thankfully, your final months as Queen help keep your mind mostly occupied.

After meeting with the current Gungan Boss, you sigh exhausted.

Glancing at the wall, the portraits of monarchs past loom watching you, waiting to see what you do next.

“Many of the queens seem… younger than you.” Din suddenly comments observing the previous rulers.

“Are you calling me old, mandalorian?” You tease as much as your steeled composed tone allows.

“I…” he’s stunned, taken off guard for a minute. It’s adorable. For a split moment you smirk, keeping a laugh firmly locked away.

“I jest.” You recover quickly.

You explain how customarily many of the previous rulers were chosen at a young age, some even children. The belief was that those who possessed a child like wonder and wisdom should rule. Of course, that slowly faded away over time.

“And when the empire arrived?” Din asks.

When the Moff assigned to Naboo arrived, dark days followed. Terror seemed to choke your planet. You quietly tell Din of this.

“I…understand. I’ve seen the damage that can be done because of a Moff’s rule.” An ancient sorrow hangs within his voice.

Your eyes flicker to the shining warrior besides you. Din is striking, incredibly so. A selfish desire grows wishing to know him more, to know the face of the man taking residence in your heart.

Until another asassination attempt reminds you danger persistently lurks ready to steal your peace.

One of the food testers in the kitchen has a dangerous reaction to your meal. Thankfully she is tended to in time and will make it. But these threats grow deadlier.

“This might be … when we should start considering you going into hiding, m’lady.” One of your advisors suggests.

Those words hang over you an ominous storm.

After the recent attempt, you hide in handmaiden robes more.

You shouldn’t be wandering around this late in the night among the hallways, but you can’t sleep.

Turning the corner, you stumble upon Din standing by the hallway’s edge. He focuses on his transmitter, reading a holo message.

Ever a warrior, his keen senses notice someone else is here and he looks up. Not wanting to startle him, you pull back the robe’s hood to reveal yourself.

He exhales your name, and it flutters into your heart.

“It’s been a while.” You sleepily grin.

“Indeed.” He nods, and his voice sounds warmer.

“Been a bit busy around here.” You joke, but a somberness hangs.

“It has.” Even his reply mirrors the underlying tension.

“It’s also been difficult trying to figure out which handmaiden you are.” Din says, as if trying to break the thick tense clouds.

You laugh, and it’s freeing.

“That means it’s working.” You snicker. “No one should know who a handmaid is, much less what they look like.”

Each handmaiden was handpicked because of how similarly they fit your height and vaguely your appearance.

Handmaids are the silent heroes of the crown, quiet protectors ready to step in and surround you any given moment. Guilt festers in you knowing their lives are at risk too.

“And yet… you let me see you.” Din curiously notes, and your chest tightens.

“Well, I trust you.” You tell him simply. And you do, completely and irrevocably.

“Besides, if you decide to do anything suspicious the Queen would be the first to know.” You jest, enjoying the double meaning.

“Never.” He shakes his head earnest.

Under the lowlights of the hallway, Din steps closer. Your fingers itch to touch his beskar, to run the cool armor beneath your touch.

You wonder every night what color his eyes are.

The sound of glass shattering erupts, and suddenly the world blurs. You’re in Din’s arms falling to the floor.

His hand cradles your head from colliding on the hard marble floor. But you don’t have time to process that. Instantly you reach for the small blade hidden in your robes.

“Are you alright?” Din rapidly asks, and you nod stunned.

Someone shot at you through the window.

Someone knows who you are.

—

“You must go into hiding,” Hildegard, ever your most trusted and wise advisor, urges begging now.

Stubborn, feeling raw, exposed, you sit in angered silence. No makeup on, no crown, just a simple soul at the mercy of fate.

“Maybe we should keep the queen here?” Senator Trystan suggests.

“Because…to me, it seems like the Mandalorian isn’t quite living up to the legends told of his people.” He adds dangerously untrusting.

A blazing fury bursts in you.

“I’m alive because of him.” You snap glaring at the senator.

“And he is the only one I’ll trust accompanying me if I must go into hiding.” Your declaration rings absolute, the voice of a ruler.

Yet that night you can’t sleep. Neither can your handmaidens, especially with how curious they are.

“So…are you going to tell us what you were doing with Mando in the hallway?” One of them asks curiously.

Partially lying, you say how you couldn’t sleep and simply ran into him.

“Are you having secret rendezvous meetings with the mandalorian and haven’t been telling us?!” Another handmaiden shrieks giddy, and you rapidly deny.

But it’s hard when the fluttering feelings in your stomach now thrash wanting to fully take flight and escape, revealing your truth.

As playfully pestering as they are, this time with your handmaidens lightens your spirits immensely.

Because you know the looming decision.

The spring equinox here on Naboo will be your official final outing as ruler. That day, you’ll give your final address to the planet, sign your final law into action at the gala, then step down in the eyes of the New Republic.

It will be a momentous day.

For one month until then… you’ll be in hiding.

One moon cycle away from Naboo.

But as declared, you’ll be departing alone with the mandalorian.

A war rages in your heart as you clutch your small pack.

You wish to stay and fight, stand your ground. Yet you understand the danger that will come if you stay.

So walking into the darkness alone, you find a gleaming warrior among it.

A curt nod is how he greets you.

Din has been quiet since your identity was revealed. You wonder if he’s disappointed or angry knowing who you are.

But all the emotions get shoved aside when you see your mode of transportation.

The starfighter gleams glorious under the moonlight.

“Will we fit?” You wonder aloud a bit hesitant.

“Might be a tight squeeze, but we’ll make it. The trip is not too far.” Din answers and his voice again does strange things to your heart.

He wasn’t lying about the tight fit.

You’re practically slotted between his legs in the compact pilot’s seat. His arms reach around you effortlessly readying the systems. Your mind goes over boring litigations and mandates trying not to let it wander into dangerous territory.

Then, the ship bolts to life airborne.

Immediately your gaze flickers back to your home planet watching it drift further away in the night sky.

“Don’t worry,” Din suddenly mutters, comforting. “Everyone will be fine.”

You swallow hard and nod.

The atmosphere dissipates all around until you’re among a sea of stars.

“So…you’re Queen of Naboo.” Din speaks first. It feels like a peace offering.

Your lips twitch back a laugh.

“Apparently.” You joke.

His chuckle lightens the ache trying to consume you.

The trip, as promised, isn’t far.

Nevarro resides in the outer rim. Even though Naboo is considered mid-rim, its bordering location is close to the outer rim, so you know of Nevarro. The planet’s growth and evolution has been admirable to witness.

You find it’s easy to settle in and embrace the planet wholeheartedly.

Or… you embrace Din’s world wholeheartedly.

His home sits peaceful at the edge of the lava flats. You begged him to let you stay at an inn in town so you wouldn’t be a bother. He adamantly shut that option down.

“Being here means I can keep you safe.” He explained.

So now you take the spare room in Din’s abode. The spartan walls, bare minimum furniture, they all strangely perfectly reflect Din. But you enjoy spotting the various stuffed toys littering the floors.

Grogu enjoys being back at home, showing you the pond he loves chasing creatures around.

Suddenly he magically lifts a small frog into the air and you gasp. These abilities…

In secret, you briefly had studied the Jedi, the ways of the force, and knew of the strange abilities that came with it.

“He can use the force?!” You squak, turning to Din.

The mandalorian simply tells you it’s complicated. You don’t press the topic. Yet it makes sense now remembering how Grogu was able to notice you single you out even in your makeup.

He really is a special star. His giggles brighten the home, a joyous little light.

Currently he sleeps peacefully in your arms, bully full from the dinner you cooked.

“A queen who knows how to cook?” Din had joked earlier when went into the market to grab supplies.

“I haven’t always been queen.” You huffed back.

You had a life before your crown, but now you wonder how it will look after.

“What was it like before you were queen?” Sitting besides you outside on the porch, you’re surprised Din is this curious.

This spot here is quickly becoming a favorite of yours. The warm Nevarro air floats thicker than Naboo, yet there’s a gentle comfort to it.

You tell Din of your early university days, secretly holding a dream of abandoning everything to become a rebel spy.

“A spy?” His voice curls amused, and you wish you could see his face.

“I read too many adventure romance tales.” You shrug.

You used to dream of meeting a handsome rebel pilot while fighting for your home planet and then falling in love.

Now your dreams only contain a warrior clad in beskar.

“Were you always a bounty hunter?” You now question Din about his life as much as you can.

You treasure all he gives you, telling you about days hunting bounties across the galaxy until he stumbled upon a certain little green creature.

The mudhorn, the empire hunting Grogu, the days they spent apart from each other… It all led to Din gaining a son. And it’s all because of that single bounty.

“Your job led you to a wonderful gift.” You fondly praise while Grogu snores peacefully against your shoulder.

“Yes...” Din agrees, yet his voice seems to trail off.

“After you step down, what will happen to you?” He softly changes the subject, pressing another question.

One that strikes deep.

“There are two recommended options…” you mutter.

The first choice is to marry a noble and stay within the royal sphere.

The other option is becoming a senator.

For some reason, your heart doesn’t feel compelled thinking of either option.

You aren’t attracted to any of the nobles trying to court you. And the role of a senator is demanding. You already feel frustrated with the state of politics and after being around it for this long…you wish for quieter days.

“What if you don’t want either?” Din sounds somber, yet inquisitive.

You suppose you could simply walk away from everything, slip into the galaxy to become another soul simply passing through.

You’ve never given that option much thought.

“You could stay here.” Din says, and a burst of light crashes into your chest.

Here? With him?

“Nevarro has good housing options. You would always be welcomed here.”

Then his second comment, more formal in tone, becomes a splash of water immediately diminishing any hope wanting to ignite you. You weakly grin.

“You just want me nearby for the free babysitting services.” You joke hoping to quell the heartbreak trying to leak in.

He chuckles amused.

You still earnestly thank him for the offer. But now, the future looms more nebulous than ever.

—

Through secret comlinks and encrypted messages, you discover another assassin tried striking the palace.

“You think it’s a group at work?” You ask Din, sounding more like the concerned ruler you are.

“No, it feels too planned, like the culprit is trying to mislead us or lure you back.” And he sounds like the sharp skilled hunter he is.

“May I ask… why does someone want you dead?” He questions hesitant.

You sigh.

The last law you want to sign into action would undo a final decree the Moff put into order. You want all traces of that evil gone.

“It could be an old sympathizer wanting to stop you.” Din immediately concludes.

That doesn’t narrow down any choices. But you suspect the assassin is connected to someone within your circle since they knew when to attack you even as a handmaid.

Paranoia has you restless, on edge. It’s why you return to your blade.

The familiar self defense moves flow through you. Simple, effective, enough to strike before you can try making an escape.

“Your arms need to move faster.”

You swore Din had been working on the starfighter and with Grogu down for the night, you took the alone time to practice among the fading twilight.

Now he saunters to you eased.

“Your arms have the right motion. They just aren’t steady.” He instructs.

“Well it would be different if someone was attacking me.” You scoff.

“Alright then,” something excited sparks in Din’s voice. “Spar with me.”

You think you misheard him. Then Din pulls out a seasoned, rather deadly looking, vibroblade and stands at the ready.

You stammer out excuses. There’s no way you can fight a mandalorian.

Suddenly he strikes first. Din rushes fast, darting forward and swinging his blade to swipe at you.

It becomes a fast dance, evading and dodging as Din attacks unrelentlessly.

“You haven’t tried striking me.” He doesn’t even sound tired while you’re barely hanging on.

“Because I have a mandalorian after me!” You wheeze frantic, and he chuckles.

Din stops his offensive and places his blade away.

“The way I moved is how you should.”

“I’m not a trained warrior.” You huff catching your breath. Even without seeing his eyes, the way his helmet tilts you know he’s rolling his eyes.

Gently, his gloved hands slide to your arms, and you freeze. Your mind momentarily shutting down. He touches you gingerly, delicate. Then he begins maneuvering you into the same stance he was in.

In a steady patient voice, Din explains every move and guides you through them. The close position, feeling his sturdy build pressing against you, the way his voice oozes with a gentle dominance, it overwhelms you.

Din makes you go through the motions repeatedly, a patient teacher.

“Your stance is good. You were taught well.” He admires, and you shakily thank him.

“Had to be ready as both queen and handmaid just in case.” You say lighthearted trying to battle the raging emotions swirling like a dangerous riptide.

“At first I didn’t understand your guard system or the handmaidens.” Din explains.

“Now I see why you go to great lengths to hide your identity. It reminds me of mandalorian tradition and why we hide our faces.” Din’s voice floats out kind and gentle.

The realization unfurls in you quietly that you almost miss it. You and him have run parallel in different ways, wearing masks to protect yourself and your people.

You’re grateful the force brought you to this man, one you will always hold in your heart even when fate decides to take him away.

You and him practice late into the night. He even lets you spar with his blade. Surprisingly, you take to it well, and Din even notices.

“Keep it.”

You gawk, stunned at his words. Immediately panicking, you tell Din you could never take a weapon from a mandalorian.

“I have another. And trust me, it will be useful if…I’m not around.”

His somber words dig into you, another sharpened knife, one you wish he could take back.

—

Your final week on Nevarro approaches and sorrow tangles itself around you constricting. You’ve grown attached to this planet. You’ve made friends with the floral shop keeper. The merchant who sells your favorite dried fruits now jokes with Din wondering how a grumpy mandalorian snagged someone as lovely as you.

You laugh weakly at the jokes, yet Din stays silent.

The silence has multiplied between you and Din, creating a terrifying canyon separating you from him.

Grogu senses it. Whimpering, he stubbornly tries hanging onto both you and Din more.

You shove away tears at night.

This dream, this carved out home you’ve started settling into…you knew it was going to end eventually. You just became so foolish hoping it wouldn’t.

Slowly, you start packing, childishly dragging your feet as if it will prolong your stay.

A knock arrives at your door, and it slides open.

“Can I show you something?” Din’s voice, hesitant and cautious, snaps your spine straight.

You agree without hesitation.

With Grogu currently enjoying a play date with one of the children in town, it’s just you and Din together for the day.

But you regret your choice of not accompanying the baby when you realize you’ll be jumping back into the starfighter.

Having Din’s arms enclosed around you, his strong chest pressing against your back, all the close proximity heats your skin, a reminder of what you’ll be losing in just a few days.

“You said you wanted to one day see how she flies.” Din says soft.

You technically had seen her fly when Din brought you here. Unfortunately your mind was so foggy you honestly couldn’t savor the journey.

“You didn’t get to see much last time. So…Let’s stretch out her legs.” Din’s voice holds a proud smile.

Your eyes widen. He remembered. Before you can say anything else, you become one with the wind.

Din was right. The N1 soars like a dream. She glides gracefully among the craters and canyons, dipping low among the lava flats and zooming with ease past the town.

But you also realize, Din is an amazing pilot. He effortlessly maneuvers the ship with a fluid flow and striking awareness. As if you couldn’t be anymore attracted to him, knowing he’s not just an amazing warrior but an incredible pilot makes your blood hum.

“You’re amazing.” You tell him earnest and true.

You swear his arms curl around you tighter.

“Ready to see the best part.” He purrs, sounding eager.

“Wait, best part?” You can’t imagine what’s next.

He points to a switch and when he hits it, you fly out of your body reaching a speed you never expected.

And it’s dazzling.

You laugh bright and alive. The weightless sensation overflows into your bones.

The atmosphere melts away as Din pushes the ship to the very edges of the planet.

The stars float just out of your reach, twinkling with knowing eyes.

Suddenly, Din lets the ship drop. The N1 plummets into a free fall that has your stomach jumping into your mouth. You almost scream.

In the descent, Din quickly spins the starfighter swiftly, a dramatic turn that sends it flying fast in a new direction. The move is a trick, one he seems to be showing off proudly.

You laugh breathlessly relieved.

“You know I’m still queen. I can punish you for that!” You wheeze.

“I’d like to see you try, m’lady.” He challenges back amused. You grin wild and greedy hearing the title.

The flight, the exhilaration, it dissipates the tension of this week, almost purifying you. Because now you notice… you’ve fully melted against Din’s chest.

Your head even leans back to rest against his helmet.

Yet Din hasn’t moved you.

The silence thickens as he flies the ship back towards town.

“Thank you for showing me this.” You mutter, barely able to get those words out.

Din’s helmet nods moving against the side of your head. One of his hands leaves the control panel and gently rests against your thigh.

You and him remain this close the rest of the flight.

The next time you’re in the N1 -

You’re flying home to Naboo.

The entire flight is silent.

You sit as furthest away from him as physically possible within the cramped space. Din maneuvers the controls and trying to keep yourself steeled, composed, your eyes focus on his movements.

That’s when you catch it.

His gloves shift and a sliver of his skin is exposed.

Sun kissed and beautiful, you think you just imagined it. Until you notice it again when Din steers the ship out of the atmosphere.

Countless nights you thought about what he looked like under his helmet, wondering how his lips would feel against yours. Now you’re allowed this one small peek at the man beneath the armor, and a dangerous greed immediately slithers in.

Your lips ache to kiss that spot, that glimmer of Din unmasked.

Greed morphs into a deadly lust. You imagine yourself, if you were braver, grabbing his wrist and lifting it to your lips to kiss him, taste him, at least once.

How would he react if you did that? Embrace you? Reprimand you?

Punish you in a way that turns filthy…

You wonder how extra tight l this cramped space would be trying to ride him in, to feel the heat between you and him build into a blazing cloud. Even now, if you concentrate hard enough in this terrifyingly quiet flight, you can hear his soft breathing, his gentle exhales modulated through the helmet.

Your mind melts thinking of him whispering deep against your ear as he thrusts up into you-

Instantly your mouth goes dry at the erotic thought and you close your eyes, trying to reset yourself.

When you open your eyes, Naboo approaches fast, a gorgeous gemstone among the stars. Your dreams and lustful wishes shatter like broken titles leaving you feeling empty to pick up the pieces.

—

Your final gown as Queen gleams stitched with a final goodbye. It’s glorious, dripping in grandeur and beauty. Wearing it, clusters of emotions clash with each other. You’ve allowed yourself a minute alone just to compose yourself. Giving one final glance at a mirror, you silently bid farewell to this piece of you.

A knock comes, and one of your handmaid's pops her head into the room.

“Senator Trystan wishes to speak with you.”

Of course you let him in.

The familiar face beams at you proud.

“You look splendid, m’lady.” The senator bows his head, and you thank him.

He updates you on the various monarchs and other planetary senators who have arrived. Your mind unfortunately only thinks of one beskar wearing guest.

Tonight is your last night with Din. Once the grand event finishes and if you remain safe, he would receive his hefty sum. Your paths will seperate.

He hasn’t spoken more than five words to you since you’ve returned. You’ve barely seen Grogu either.

You understand the rush of trying to prepare for everything has kept you busy. But you catch the looks your handmaidens give you of heartbroken understanding as though they can sense the turmoil in you.

Your mind, even now, feels like it could burst holding so many thoughts.

Then footsteps stamped forward.

The senator, blade in hand, lunges at you.

A surprised scream escapes you before you swiftly move, jumping into action.

Pulling out your vibroblade, Din’s blade, you swipe at the traitor.

The moves Din taught, his weapon, they become your saving grace.

You keep the attacker on his toes. But Senator Trystan acts fast stepping on your gown causing you to trip before you can run to the door.

You fall hard onto the floor. Hissing in pain, your eyes close.

Move, a voice in your head sounding intensely like Din, urges you to react.

Then a thundering collision crashes into your chambers, and your eyes snap open.

One moment the senator stands poised above you, blade in hand ready to attack. The next he’s gone.

Scrambling up, you discover Din wrestling Senator Trystan onto the floor.

“The Moff was right!” The traitor screams in anger trying hard to thrash against Din’s hold.

“You’re pathetic!” You snarl back.

“You are ruining our world!” Sentaro Trystan screeches staring you down. “Long live the empire-”

Din aggressively knocks the raging senator unconscious.

Immediately your handmaidens and a few healers rush to your side tending to you, trying to calm you down.

A thick haze swirls in your mind. Senator Trystan was the one behind the assassinations. Why hadn’t you noticed it?

Suddenly a warm gloved hand grabs yours and squeezes. Blinking out of the mental haze, Din now kneels before you. The stark black visor of his helmet stares unwavering.

He whispers your name.

Tiny little hands climb their way up your gown. Glancing down, you find Grogu staring up and whimpering worried. You stroke his soft head and it eases you and him both.

“Are you alright, m’lady?” Din asks cautious, concerned.

You nod still slightly overwhelmed.

“I owe you my life, mandalorian.” You tell him through a shaking voice.

Din doesn't reply, instead squeezes your hand tighter. The exhaustion slowly creeping into your body begs you to lean forward, to rest against Din’s shoulder. But you don’t know how he’ll react.

And even if you did try to lean on him, you noticed your grand headpiece would’ve gotten in the way of you moving closer to Din, a literal barrier reminding you of the truth.

New Republic officers along with the rest of your advisors and guards storm in.

You’re grateful the threat is over, eternally in debt to Din. But the truth settles in cold and bleak. Your time is up. The mandalorian will be leaving you.

“Your reward will be doubled.” Hildegard says grateful through tears patting Din on the shoulder.

“I was just…doing my job.” He nods curt.

A job, that’s all you are.

You eventually hand Grogu to one of your handmaidens. This night will be busy. Din however refuses to leave your side.

“She needs to rest.” Din orders sharp after realizing you’re still attending the gala.

“I can rest once this is all over.” Your monarch's voice, the voice of a queen, slips in.

Din remains silent.

Even though you feel caught in the waves of a turbulent sea, a queen must bottle all those things and store them away.

So wearing your crown proudly, you sign your final law into motion and hold your head high.

The previous queens still alive arrive at your side. You kneel, and their hands lift the weight of a planet from you.

Queen no more.

Among the roar of applause, among the illustrious crowd, your eyes only seek out one guest.

Din leans against a column, hands crossed over his chest sticking out a sore thumb. And he’s beautiful.

“I suppose you want this back.” You hold out his blade waiting for him to take it.

His helmet shakes an adamant no.

“I told you, it’s yours now. Knowing it kept you safe is even more reason for you to keep it.”

A thick sorrow and adoration, the strangest mixture, shred your heart wide open. But under the glimmering lights, along the magnificent marble ballroom, you have to seal everything away tight.

The Gala is a gorgeous celebration, the triumph of Naboo slowly returning to its beauty. The Gungan Boss teases how his nephew would make a fine match now that you’re available for marriage. He isn’t the only one making suggestions.

Many suitors from noble families blatantly make their courting intentions known. You smile with as much grace as you can.

One of the noblemen, a man you vaguely remember from your university days, even gets bold and places a kiss on your hand when he bids you farewell.

“It seems royal marriage is what everyone wants for you.” Din comments stiffly.

You stay quiet, numb.

“What do you want?” He asks.

Your eyes return to him, his glorious helmet, and you wish more than ever to know his eyes.

“What I want doesn’t matter.” You reply just as stiff.

“But it does. You deserve to make that decision.” He argues low, deadly, reminding you of the bounty hunter he is.

“Maybe who I want doesn’t want me back.” Your words strike sharp under your breath.

“Who…who do you want?”

Terror barrels in hearing Din’s question. You didn’t even realize you had said who.

Din’s stare, even without seeing his eyes, is unflinching.

An overwhelming panic overtakes you like a feral rancor.

So you flee, scurrying away fast.

Immediately you tell your advisors and handmaidens you need to be excused, saying how the rush of the night has finally caught up to you.

Understanding, everyone allows you to slip away from the gala’s ballroom towards the palace.

But ever the persistent shadow, Din stays close behind.

“I don’t need your services anymore, mandalorian.” You snap, refusing to turn around to him.

“I’m your guard until the night ends.” He growls back.

“I thought our agreement was fulfilled when the threat was discovered. Besides, my crown is gone. You can leave Din Djarin.” Your voice bounces off the empty hallways like an angered ghost.

Earlier, the new republic officers had scanned his chaincode and when you heard his full name, it felt like a final goodbye.

“Is that what you want? For me to leave?” Din’s tone cuts deadly, stopping you in the middle of the hallway.

You don’t want him to go. You never want to leave him.

Din says your name, pleading.

“It doesn’t matter what I want. Leave.” You robotically order, except your voice cracks, and you regret speaking.

You force yourself to move forward.

He doesn’t follow, and your footsteps echo alone in the hallway.

Arriving at your chambers, your hands shake as you wipe away tears.

Queen no more, now all alone.

A solid knock arrives at your door making you jump out of your skin.

Still worried from earlier, you cautiously open the door, holding Din’s blade at the ready.

Then you slide it open fully and let the weapon drop instantly.

Din stands in the doorway.

“Tell me what you want, who it is you want. And then you will never see me again.” A plea aches in the mandalorian’s voice.

“It’s you, Din…” you sob, unable to hold it in anymore. “I want you, you ridiculously stubborn man-”

His warmth is engulfing. His strong arms wrap around you tight with the promise of never letting go. Beskar presses hard and unyielding, but you welcome it.

Your arms wrap around him just as tight.

“When I thought you were just a handmaid, I searched for you every time and I felt guilty. I knew my loyalty needed to be with the queen, when all I wanted to do was protect you.” His voice whispers soft, tender, soaking into your bones.

“It was only until I realized… I’ve been protecting you this entire time.” He squeezes you tighter.

Gravity shifts. Your orbit now becomes tied to this warrior.

Gently, you lean out of his embrace to stare at him. Placing your hand against his helmet, imagining his cheek below your palm, you reverently stroke the sacred beskar.

“My future is with you, whatever it is. I want it to be with you, Din.” You tell him through watery croaks.

A gloved hand now holds your face. Din exhales your name, delicate and reverent. Then he moves forward.

His helmet leans against your forehead, a holy act that makes your eyes close. The cool beskar against your skin feels like a sealed vow, the promise of a kiss and the hope of many to come.

Now, no crown keeps you from him.

—

Sunlight gently wakes you.

Your mind groggily starts thinking over the things you have to do today. An exasperated sigh escapes you.

The bed is cozy. You don’t want to leave, but you need to. So wearily you wiggle to slip out from the covers.

Until a solid sturdy arm drags you back into the blankets, pulling you against a warm broad bare chest.

“You can’t keep me in bed all day.” You mutter half asleep, half amused.

“We’re on our honeymoon. We’re allowed to stay in bed all day.” Din’s voice, unmodulated and thick with sleep, drips with pure delicious decadence.

Soft kisses pepper your bare shoulder. The soft scrape of his facial hair, the tickle of his mustache, feel glorious.

“We did that yesterday. And the day before that.” You remind him amused.

“Then today should be our final time.” Din smirks, nipping at your shoulder while his hands map out your skin.

“There’s still things I need to do for the coronation.” You try sounding determined, but your voice instead is a dreamy sigh, blissed in pure newlywed reverie.

“A queen’s job is never finished.” He teases letting his lips kiss across your jaw lazyly.

“Not a queen anymore.” You cheekily remind him, and your hand reaches back to run into his soft curls.

You’re a wife now, a title you cherish just as much as Queen.

“Always will be a queen to me… m’lady.” He mutters into your skin.

Immediately his words make you twist in his arms. You take a quick glance at your husband - your incredible husband with the most gorgeous rich soil soulful eyes. Then you lean forward to kiss him fierce.

Din meets your frenzy passion with a steadiness that disarms you. He kisses you slowly, unworried, like he plans to savor every moment, and you become a cloud ready to float into his atmosphere.

Then a small crash comes from the living room. An amused little giggle reveals the culprit.

You and Din now sigh for another reason.

“We should have let your handmaids keep him another day.” Din mumbles.

You laugh swatting at his shoulder.

With a final playful kiss, you grab your robe and slip out of bed.

Grogu squeals excitedly seeing you. Scooping him up into your arms, you kiss his sweet adorable cheeks.

“You adorable little trouble maker.” You snicker ticking his tummy.

You don’t even mind that Grogu knocked over the lovely congratulations bouquet the gungan boss sent. Your son’s giggles are worth it.

The morning sun dances beautifully across the grand Naboo lake. Sitting among the lush grass, you now watch Grogu once again chase after the fluttering butterflies.

Heavy boots crunch approaching. Then Din presses against you. You snuggle closer to lean against his paladin covered shoulder. His arm slides to curl you even closer into his side.

“Always hoped we would get to come back here.” Din admits.

You did too. It’s why when the coronation for the next Queen of Naboo arrived, coincidentally taking place just a month after your wedding, you eagerly convinced Din to take a break from Nevarro to return to this special place.

“Thank you for bringing us back.” You tell him grateful, pressing a kiss to his beskar.

“No, thank you for suggesting this.” You knew Din was kind hearted before. But now, as your husband, he shows you a pure adoration that doesn’t feel real at times.

“They will need you at the palace soon.” Your mandalorian reminds you gently.

He’s right of course. So many events, things to plan, all wait for you.

You weren’t supposed to be out here. Not in these gardens. You were a servant—nothing more—but something about the way the sunlight filtered through the trees, the way it cast golden patches on the stone paths, made you feel as though you could be more, if only for a fleeting moment. You didn’t belong in this world of luxury, yet for now, you indulged in the peace it offered, walking through the lush, green paradise, letting the beauty of the world surrounding you swallow you whole.

Your fingers brushed against the rough stone of the old palace wall as you walked, your thoughts drifting, when you heard the sound of footsteps behind you. Your heart skipped a beat, and you instinctively slowed your pace, glancing over your shoulder.

There, standing just a few paces away, was Oberyn Martell. The Red Viper.

You had heard whispers about him for as long as you could remember—the charming, dangerous man who wielded power like a sharp blade. His reputation was not something easily ignored, and yet, in this moment, there he was, watching you as if you were the only thing that mattered. His gaze locked with yours, intense and unwavering.

He wasn’t smiling, but the corners of his lips lifted ever so slightly as he stepped closer. The way he moved was fluid, purposeful, like a predator circling its prey, but there was no threat in his approach, only an unnerving calmness. The air between you grew thick as he closed the distance, his presence so commanding that you could feel your breath hitching, and your heart beating faster in your chest.

“Enjoying the gardens, are you?” His voice was soft, but it carried and undeniable weight. His words were both a question and a statement, as if he already knew the answer.

You turned slightly, looking up at him. The sunlight made his features sharper, more defined, but it was his eyes—the depth of them—that drew you in. Dark, almost too dark, but not cold. There was a warmth there, something hidden behind the intensity that left you wondering if there was more to this man than the stories told.

“I… I come here sometimes,” you stammered, the words catching in your throat. “It’s quiet. Peaceful.”

Oberyn’s lips quirked upward at the corners, amusement flickering in his gaze. “Peaceful?” he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue. “In a place such as this, one would think there are more… exciting ways to pass the time.” His gaze shifted over you, lingering on your features, before it returned to your eyes. “But then again, I’ve always been drawn to quiet moments myself.”

You swallowed, trying to steady your breathing. He was closer now, just an arm’s length away. His presence felt like a storm gathering, the air charged with an energy you didn’t know how to handle. He wasn’t just looking at you—he was studying you, his dark eyes tracing the curve of your jaw, the way your hands clasped together, the subtle tension in your posture.

For a fleeting moment, you could have sworn his gaze softened, as if he was seeing something that no one else could. And in that moment, your own defences crumbled, just a little. His eyes held a knowing that unsettled you, a strange connection that you couldn’t place but didn’t want to ignore either.

“Do you always roam these halls unnoticed?” He asked, his voice now a low murmur, as if the question was more for himself than for you.

You stiffened slightly, suddenly self-conscious of the unspoken truth in his words. You were, in the grand scheme of things, just another face among many—a servant who would never be seen by those who mattered. But with Oberyn Martell standing before you, the truth felt too stark, too real. “I’m… nothing,” you said quietly, barely above a whisper.

He took a step closer, his gaze still locked with yours. “Nothing?” he repeated softly, almost as if he was tasting the word on his tongue. “I think you’re something.”

You felt a shiver run through you at his proximity. The way he looked at you was unlike anything you had ever experienced—intense, intense enough to make your heartbeat quicken. His eyes darkened slightly, and his voice lowered further. “What’s your name?”

For a moment, you hesitated. A part of you wanted to retreat, to vanish back into the shadows of the palace, but the warmth in his gaze held you in place. “It doesn’t matter,” you said quickly, though you weren’t sure whether you were convincing him—or yourself.

A slow smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I beg to differ.” His voice was rich with amusement. “It matters very much to me.”

Your breath hitched in your throat again. His words were spoken with such conviction that they felt like an invitation, though you couldn’t understand what it was you were being invited into. The tension between you just grew, thick and unyielding, as if the very air around you were charged with some unspoken force, pulling you in.

“I’ve seen you here before,” he continued, his voice soft but carrying an undeniable weight. “Walking alone. You always seem to be searching for something, though I’m not sure you even know what it is yet.”

His gaze deepened as he took another step closer, his presence enveloping you. It was as if the entire garden fell away, leaving just the two of you standing at the edge of something intangible, something dangerous. “Are you searching for peace?” he asked, the question lingering between you like a challenge. “Or something else?”

You stood there, frozen, unsure of how to respond. The words seemed to have left you, your throat tight as if you were choking on the gravity of the moment. But Oberyn was patient, watching you closely, waiting.

Finally, you spoke, though it came out quieter than you intended. “I don’t know what I’m searching for,” you confessed, the truth slipping from your lips before you could hold them back. “I just… I don’t want to be invisible anymore.”

His gaze softened just slightly, and for a moment, there was a quiet understanding between you. “Then you shouldn’t be,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I see you.”

The words sent a wave of heat rushing to your cheeks, and though you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything more, you felt something shift in that moment—a fragile, unspoken bond that neither of you could deny.

You didn’t know how long you stood there, bathed in the golden Dorne light, heart pounding in your chest. Time stretched and twisted around his presence, each second dense and charged, filled with the weight of his gaze. His words clung to your skin—I see you. You wanted to ask what he saw. You wanted to believe it was more than just a whim, more than a passing curiosity. But your throat was tight, and the only sound in the garden was the gently rustling of leaves and the distant call of birds.

“Tell me,” he broke the silence, his voice low, laced with amusement, “do you really wander into the gardens when no one is watching?”

You shrugged, the gesture small. “Only when I need to breath.”

He nodded, as though he understood too well. “Palaces are beautiful… but they can feel like cages. Even here.”

Your eyes lifted to meet his. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve only ever lived in the shadows of one.”

A pause. Something softened in his expression. The tension between you shifted from charged to intimate—like two secrets leaning toward each other.

“I don’t believe you belong in the shadows. You belong in the light,” he said simply.

Your breath caught. His hand reached out, slowly, deliberately, and his fingers brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was light—barely there—but the effect was immediate. Your skin prickled where his fingers had been, as if he’d left heat in his wake. Your heart thundered in your chest, and you knew he felt it. Knew he saw everything.

“I saw you earlier today,” he continued, his voice low, reserved for you alone. “On the edge of the marketplace, near the fountain. You were laughing.”

Your eyes widened.

“I wondered then how someone could be so quiet and still have a laugh like that.”

You weren’t sure what startled you more—that he remembered, or that he’d noticed you at all. You hadn’t seen him that day. You’d been balancing baskets of linens, sharing a joke with the other women before the bell called you back inside.

“You… noticed me?” you asked, and the question sounded too small for the weight behind it.

His smile was slow, wicked, but warm. “I notice many things. But not all of them stay with me.”

A long silence followed. You could still feel where his fingers had brushed against your skin, the ghost of his touch more vivid than it should have been.

“You don’t speak like a prince,” you murmured.

He arched a brow. “And how should a prince speak?”

“Like you’re used to people bowing.”

He grinned, eyes gleaming with something sharp and playful. “I’d rather they look me in the eye.”

You were about to speak, to offer some uncertain reply, when he leaned in just slightly—not touching, not quite—but his closeness made your breath still in your chest. His voice dropped, low and silken, brushing against your skin like silk.

“You’re still looking at me,” he said.

You swallowed. “So are you.”

His smile widened, eyes alight with interest and something deeper—something like hunger. “Then we understand each other.”

You didn't know what came next. You only knew that if he stepped even closer, you wouldn't move away. You would lean into it. Let yourself fall into whatever this was. Even if it was fleeting.

The wind shifted, and he straightened slightly. But his gaze never left yours.

“I'd like to see you again,” he said. It wasn't a question. It wasn't even a suggestion. It was a truth spoken aloud. You didn't answer with words. You didn't need to.

Because in that moment, he smiled, and turned away. And as he walked down the stone path, you knew—without doubt—that this wasn't the last time he'd find you in the gardens.

Not even close.

——

The world felt quieter after he left.

You stood rooted in the garden, your fingers still curled together. The space around you still full of him—his voice, his heat, the scent of sun—warmed spice a d citrus that clung to his skin. Your chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, like your body wasn't sure whether to relax or remain poised for something more.

Oberyn Martell had seen you.

He had looked into your eyes like you were a puzzle he was suddebly very eager to solve, and even now, with him gone, the weight of that gaze lingered on your skin like a mark. Not cruel. Not possessive. But focused. Intent. As if he had taken a pice of you with him.

You sat on the edge of the stone fountain, trying to slow your racing thoughts. Around you, the garden swayed softly in the warm breeze—pale pink blossoms trembling against tangled green, vines creeping along old stone walls that had seen centuries pass. You'd always loved this place, because it made you feel small in a way that didn't hurt. It reminded you that the world was bigger than your daily tasks and your silent life among silk-clad nobility.

But now... now it felt different. Like it had been rewritten in a language only Oberyn knew, and he'd whispered the first words of it against your skin.

Your thoughts spiralled. He'd seen you in the market. You pictured it—what you'd worn, what you'd said, who had made you laugh. It was a small moment, insignificant to you. And yet he remembered it. A laugh. Your laugh.

Why?

And what had he meant, I'd like to see you again?

It shouldn't mean anything. You were a seevant. A common girl whose name he didn't even know. You should have dismissed it as flirtation, as one of those idle distractions men like him pursued between wars and political games.

But your heart told you not to.

Because something in his voice hadn't been light. Something in the was he spoke to you—looked at you—had suggested a different kind of hunger. Not the kind that faded with the next hour or the next face. The kind that lingered in shadows and sunlight alike. You'd never been someone worth lingering over before.

Your fingertips found the edge of your skirt and twisted the fabric in thought. You couldn't pretend you hadn't wanted him to step even closer. You couldn't pretend you hadn't felt that wild, reckless pull in your chest—like something tethered had snapped loose inside you.

He had noticed you. Not just your face. Not just your figure.

You.

The girl who took linens down from balconies and swept dust from corridors and tried not to be seen.

And now you weren't sure if you could return to that kind of silence.

——

Later that night, when the palace had grown still and your tasks were finished, you found yourself wandering again. Not because you meant to see him—surely he had more important places to be—but because your body moved before your thoughts could catch up.

The garden was darker now, bathed in moonlight. The air cooler, scented with crushed herbs and orange blossoms. It should have felt safe. Familiar. But every sound now felt more vivid—every shadow more alive.

You traced the path you had walked earlier, past the stones that held the heat of the day, past the low wall with vines curling over the edge. You paused beneath a blooming tree, the petals pale in the dim light, and tilted your face to the sky.

You stood still beneath the orange tree, your fingers curling gently at your sides, the night air brushing againat your skin like a whispered secret. Moonlight danced across the courtyard in silvery ribbons, pooling at your feet and catching in the folds of your dress. The world is hushed around you—no footsteps, no voices, only the soft rustle of leaves and your breath, slow and uneven, caught somewhere between apprehension and anticipation.

And then—

“You came back.”

His voice didn't startle you. Somehow, you'd already felt his presence, the way the air shifted just moments before he spoke. Like the garden itself had gone still to welcome him.

You didn't turn around right away. The words hang in the space between you, heavy and knowing. A confession. An invitation.

“I didn't think you'd be here,” you said softly, your voice barely carrying across the space.

“But you hoped,” he replied, and when you do finally look over your shoulder, he's already stepping closer.

He was't dressed in finery tonight—no gold-threaded embroidery or jewels, no signs of his title—but there was still something regal about him. Something commanding in the way he moves, slow and sure, like he's never once questioned whether he belongs wherever he walks. He wears deep wine-coloured linen tonight, sleeves rolled to his elbows, throat bare, dark hair kissed by the breeze. And those eyes—deep, dark, burning even in the moonlight—locked onto yours as if you were the only thing worth seeing.

“I said I wanted to see you again, “he said. “And I do not often say things I don't mean.”

You turned to face him fully, the silvery glow of the night wrapping around you both, pulling you closer without a single touch.

“You still don't know my name,” you whispered.

He stopped a few paces away, far enough that you could retreat—but close enough that you feel the pull of him like gravity.

“No,” he murmured, “but I'd like to learn it from your lips.”

Your breath hitched. There's something so unguarded in the way he said it—no teasing, no seduction laced into the syllables—just simple, raw sincerity.

You glanced down at your hands, now clenched in front of you, and then back up at him. “It's not a name that belongs in a prince's mouth.”

He tilted his head to the side, and the expression that crossed his face was unreadable at first. Thoughtful. Sharp. And then it softened into something that almost startled you: gentleness.

“I don't care what name you were given. I care how it sounds when you speak it aloud.”

You gave it to him, hesitant but unashamed, and when he repeated it, his accent wrapped around the vowels like a caress.

He said your name like it was a secret. Like it was a prayer.

It left your lips dry, your throat tight, your chest rising and falling with the weight of the moment. You've never heard your name spoken like that before. You never thought it could sound like something precious.

He stepped closer.

The silence between you stretched again, but this time it hummed. His hand lifted slightly, not touching, just hovering near your arm, as if asking permission without saying a word. Your skin prickled beneath the weight of his attention, your heartbeat a wild, winged thing in your chest.

“You don't speak like a servent,” he said quietly.

You blinked. “And you don't act like a prince.”

He smiled, and it's slower this time. Deeper. There's something in it that unravels you, that sinks into your stomach like warm honey and heat.

“I've never cared for rules,” he said. “Especially the ones written by men who have never looked a woman like you in the eye.”

You should have looked away. You should have stepped back. But instead, you took a step forward.

Now you were close enough to see the few graying strands at his temples, the faint lines around his eyes, to smell the mix of citrus and spiced wine on his skin, to feel the subtle warmth radiating off his body. Your breath mingles with his, and the garden vanishes around you. There is only him. Only this moment.

“Why me?” you asked, because the question's been clawing at your insides since this morning. “You could have anyone.”

“I don't want anyone,” he said without hesitation. “I want the woman who thought no one was watching her, and laughed like the world didn't matter. I want the woman who looked at me like I was just a man—and not a title.”

Your chest tightened, not with fear—but with the aching, terrifying possibility that he means it.

“You still think you're nothing?” he asked again, softer this time.

You shook your head, your voice quiet. “I don't know what to think anymore.”

He reached out, and this time, his fingers graze your jaw—just barely, just a whisper of touch, but enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“Would you like me to show you?” he asked.

You didn't answer. You couldn't. Your body was already speaking for you, inching closer until the tips of his fingers brushed your skin again and stayed there.

He didn't move to kiss you. Not yet. He was waiting—for you.

And in that pause, in the aching silence between breath and desire, you felt the shift.

You weren't just being looked at. You were being seen.

But you had never meant to be seen.

And now, here you were, standing in his garden in the dead of night, your breath shallow in your chest, your pulse loud in your ears as he looked at you again—like he still hadn’t had his fill.

The torchlight flickered over the angles of his face. The strong line of his nose, the shadows beneath those dark eyes that held something deeper than lust. Curiosity, yes. Want, clearly. But something else, too—something that felt like recognition.

You weren’t sure what to do with that.

“My thoughts were filled with you,” he spoke up again.

You blinked, your voice barely audible. “Why would you think of me?”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze travelled slowly down your body and back up, lingering—not in the way of a man surveying something to possess, but in the way someone stares at a mystery they intend to solve.

“Because I couldn’t stop wondering what you looked like up close,” he said. “What you sounded like. What you would taste like if I had the nerve to ask.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Heat rose to your cheeks, a tremor running down your spine as the weight of his attention pressed into you.

He reached for you slowly, as if trying not to startle a bird with its wings half-spread. His fingers brushed yours first—just a touch—and your hand twitched instinctively, but didn’t pull away. His hand turned, palm up, waiting.

You placed yours in it. His grip was warm, strong. Confident without pressure.

“You don’t need to say anything,” he said. “You can leave, and I’ll think of you anyway. I’ll wake with you in my mouth, even if I never get to taste you.”

That did something to you.

You didn’t move for a moment—just stood there, his words like fire licking across your skin. But then you stepped into him, your chest brushing his, your free hand rising to touch his shoulder. You felt the subtle shift in his breath. The way he steadied himself.

And then he leaned in—slow, slow, slower than any men you’d ever known—and pressed his mouth to yours. It was not a princely kiss. It was not rushed or hungry. It was reverent.

His lips moved over yours like a vow. He tasted of wine and warm night air. His thumb stroked the inside of your wrist, grounding you, anchoring you to the present moment as your body lit with quiet fire. You didn’t even realize your other hand had slid to the side of his neck until you felt the heat of his skin, the pulse under your fingers.

He deepened the kiss, carefully, until your breath shuddered against his. Then he pulled back, eyes flicking between yours.

“Come,” he whispered, voice rougher now. “Let me take care of you.”

You nodded once.

You followed him, barefoot over cool stone floors warmed by the heat of late evening. The soft rustle of your dress echoed faintly between walls carved with Dornish patterns—spiralling suns, climbing flowers, ancient sigils etched into polished sandstone. The torches along the hallway burned low, casting golden shadows that danced across your skin and his as he led you towards the place you had never imagined you’d be.

It didn’t feel like being taken somewhere. It felt like being brought home.

His chambers were not gaudy or ostentatious. They smelled of myrrh and citrus, with breezes filtering in through silk-draped arches that opened to a private balcony above the garden. A low fire crackled in the hearth. Candles flickered from high niches. The bed was broad and built low to the ground, draped in layers of woven fabrics and bare skin-toned silks that pooled around the corners like water.

But none of it compared to him.

He stood in the middle of the room, turning slowly as if inviting you to take him in. His mouth was parted, eyes tracing your form not with hunger alone, but wonder. No one had ever looked at you like that before.

“Oberyn…” you started, uncertain what you meant to say—whether it was a question or a warning or a plea.

He crossed the space in two quiet steps. His hand rose to your cheek again, thumb brushing just beneath your lower lip.

“You can say my name as many times as you like,” he murmured. “Or say nothing at all.”

Your lips parted again, but this time for him. He kissed you softly, then with more weight, your bodies pressing closer, melting into one another like the sun into sand. His hands didn’t rush. One slid into your hair, the other curved around your lower back, pulling you closer without urgency. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss as his tongue slid past your lips, coaxing a low sound from your throat you hadn’t known you could make. He responded to it with a quiet hum of pleasure.

When he pulled back, his voice was low and warm. “You feel too far away.”

And with those words, he reached for the sash at your waist. But slowly. Studying your face. Making sure. You didn’t stop him.

The knot loosened beneath his fingers. Your dress gave way, slipping from your shoulders like a sigh. The fabric whispered down your arms, down your hips, until it was puddled at your feet. You stood there, bared to him, the candlelight drawing gold across your skin.

You felt the flutter of nerves—uncertainty and vulnerability threading through the air between you—but he looked at you as if you were something ancient and holy, something long awaited. His hands didn’t go to your breasts, or between your thighs. Not yet. Instead, he traced the curve of your waist, the dip just above your hipbone, the inside of your arm.

It wasn’t lust alone in his eyes. It was reverence. “You are,” he murmured, “the most exquisite thing I’ve ever touched.”

The words should have sounded rehearsed. Prince-like. But they didn’t. They felt raw, spoken from some place below language. They made your heart stutter.

And then he undressed.

He pulled his tunic over his head in one smooth movement. The sight of him—bare-chested, firelight rolling over every muscle, every little scar, the slope of his collarbone, the trail of dark hair down the centre of his stomach—stole the breath from your lungs.

He stepped closer again. “Lie back for me.”

You did.

The sheets beneath your skin were warm, soft, and when he joined you on the bed—his body beside yours, hands roaming with quiet curiosity—it felt like something elemental. Something inevitable. One hand slipped under your knee, guiding your leg to bend, to open, and his mouth followed in the space that was left. But he didn’t go lower. Not yet.

He kissed your throat, your collarbone, the curve of your breast—lips and tongue and breath combining in an intoxicating pattern that made you arch into him, your hips shifting without thought. His hand came up to cradle your ribs, fingers splaying over your side, holding you with that same impossible mix of gentleness and control.

And still, he didn’t rush.

You’d never been touched like this—like a story he meant to read one line at a time, savouring every word, every sound you gave him in return.

He kissed lower.

And lower still.

Until his mouth reached the place between your legs, and your thighs trembled around his shoulders. His breath met the heat of you, his mouth hovering just long enough to make your skin tighten with anticipation. You felt the press of his thumbs spreading you gently apart, opening you to the slow glide of his tongue, the first careful pass of it dragging through your fold like he was mapping you—learning every part of your body with reverent intent.

Your hips jolted, a startled gasp slipping from your lips. But he only murmured against you. “Shh. Let me.”

And you did.

You let your head fall back into the pillow, legs open around him, your fingers fisting the sheets as he began in earnest.

Oberyn was deliberate. Thorough. A man who knew the art of pleasure not as conquest but devotion. His tongue was soft at first, teasing, coaxing your body into response—then firmer, more focused, flicking and curling just right, like he was reading your body’s cues in real time. When he found the spot that made your thighs quiver, he circled it slowly, the again, just a little harder, like he was testing how much you could take.

You whimpered, breath hitching as your spine arched. “Oberyn…”

The sound of his name on your lips made him groan low against you, and the vibration made you see stars.

One hand slipped beneath your thigh, lifting your leg over his shoulder, opening you further. The other rested on your stomach, grounding you. Holding you still. You could feel the calluses on his fingertips where they pressed to your skin, just above your navel—a firm reminder of his strength, of the quiet control beneath the tenderness.

When he sucked your clit into his mouth, gently at first, then with slow, rhythmic pressure, mouth relentless in purpose.

“You taste,” he rasped between strokes, “like the gods made you just for this.”

Your breath came in short, helpless pants. You were soaked, trembling. All the heat in your body had pooled between your legs, every nerve ending alight.

It built fast. Too fast. You didn’t know how to tell him you were close, how to warn him, but he already knew—he felt it in the way you moved, the way your thighs began to quake, the way your voice cracked when you tried to speak.

And he didn’t stop.

He held you in place with hands like silk-wrapped iron, tongue working you with wicked precision until the heat inside you snapped—your back bowed, mouth open in a silent cry as your high tore through you like a wave crashing on sand.

He stayed with you through it, mouth never leaving you, letting you ride it out, drawing every last tremor from your body until you were panting, boneless, shaking under him. When he finally pulled away, his lips were wet, his eyes bright with something between pride and awe. He kissed the inside of your thigh—once, twice—then moved up your body, slow and fluid, like a panther stalking something already his.

He kissed your lips again. You could taste yourself on his tongue, but you didn’t care.

He rested his forehead against yours for a moment, catching his breath. “You are,” he whispered, “everything I hoped you’d be.”

You blinked up at him, dazed. “You’ve… thought about this?”

He smiled against your mouth. “From the moment I first saw you.”

His cock pressed hot and hard against your thigh, and your fingers slid down instinctively, curling around him. He groaned into your neck, hips twitching into your hand.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured. “I’ll give you anything.” You looked into his eyes—dark, molten, full of promise. “Please,” you whispered, spreading your legs again beneath him. “I want you.”

He rose onto his knees between your thighs, gaze dragging slowly down the length of your body as if memorizing you all over again. His chest heaved with every breath, muscles carved in the amber glow of the candlelight. You watched his hand wrap around the thick length of his cock, his thumb smearing the bead of precum over the tip as he stroked himself once—twice—his eyes never leaving yours.

He wanted you to see him. To feel how much he wanted you.

Your thighs fell even wider beneath him, shameless now, your body pulsing with the aftershocks of your first orgasm, already greedy for more. Oberyn leaned over you again, his hips settling low, the heavy heat of him dragging along your slick folds. You both hissed at the contact.

He kissed you—slow, deep, his tongue stroking into your mouth in rhythm with the rock of his hips. You could feel the weight of him sliding through your wetness, teasing your entrance but never pushing in.

Not yet.

He grinned against your lips when you whined softly into his mouth. “So impatient,” he whispered. “I haven’t even given you what you really need.”

His hand slid between your bodies, guiding himself to your entrance, rubbing the thick head against your fluttering hole. Your breath caught, legs tightening around his waist.

“Breathe,” he murmured, mouth at your ear. “It’s going to be slow. You’ll feel every inch of me.”

And you did.

He pushed forward, the broad crown stretching you open in a slow, relentless glide that made your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth fall open around a broken moan. The stretch burned in the best way, just enough to remind you he was bigger than anyone you’d taken before—but you were so wet, so ready, your body welcomed him with trembling need.

“Gods,” he grunted, voice gravel and silk. “You’re so tight. Perfect. Fuck, look at you…”

You forced your eyes open, dizzy with the sensation of being filled, of his body inching deeper with every push of his hips. You looked down between you and saw the way your body took him, saw how far there was still to go. Your breath shuddered.

He stilled once he was fully seated inside you, hips flush with yours, the length of him throbbing deep in your core. His arms braced on either side of your head, his eyes drinking you in.

“You feel like heaven,” he whispered. “And you’re mine now, aren’t you?”

You nodded, unable to speak, your entire world reduced to the way he filled you—aching, stretching, claiming.

He began to move.

Slow, dragging thrusts that pulled almost all the way out before he pushed back in, making your toes curl, your hands claw at his back. He rolled his hips deliberately, angling each stroke to hit that perfect spot inside you, and when he found it, you gasped—hips jerking, nails digging patterns into his skin.

“There,” he rasped. “There it is.”

He set a rhythm that felt like worship, like he wasn’t just fucking you—he was learning you, reading your body with every pass of his hips, every cry and sigh he coaxed from your lips. His name fell from your mouth like a prayer.

The slick sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, obscene and beautiful, and he drank it in with the hunger of a man starved. His hands roamed over you—one tangled in your hair, the other gripping your thigh, pressing your leg up to open even further to him.

“You take me so well,” he groaned. “So deep. So fucking sweet around me.”

You could feel the edge building again—faster this time, hotter, your walls fluttering around him as he kept moving in and out of you with slow, devastating precision. He felt it too.

“Let go for me,” he whispered. “I want to feel you fall apart on my cock.”

Your head fell back with a cry, and then it crashed over you—your second high tearing through you with a force that made your vision go white. You clenched hard around him, your body seizing, helpless under the wave.

He swore under his breath, a litany of desperate, beautiful sounds as your orgasm milked him. His rhythm faltered, hips jerking, and he leaned into you, teeth grazing your neck.

“Do you want me to come inside you?” he asked, voice tight and desperate. “Want me to fill you up, make you mine?”

You nodded, gasping. “Yes—yes, Oberyn—please…”

With a ragged groan, he thrust once—twice more—and then spilled into you, thick and hot, his hips shuddering against yours as he buried himself as deep as he could go. He held there, panting against your neck, one hand fisting the sheet beside your head, the other cradling your thigh like he couldn’t bear to let go.

He stayed inside you for a while, the weight of his body a grounding warmth atop yours. His breath slowed gradually against your neck, the rise and fall of his chest finally settling, his lips soft against your skin. Neither of you spoke. Words would have felt too sharp in that moment.

Eventually, Oberyn moved—but only to shift beside you, his cock slipping out of you with a wet, aching drag that made you shudder. He hissed quietly, cupping your thigh, his palm warm as it slid along your skin. You winced slightly at the emptiness he left behind, the tender pulse between your legs, but he was there—already pulling you into his chest, already reaching for a nearby cloth to clean the mess between your thighs with careful, reverent strokes.

“I didn’t mean to break you,” he said, voice low, laced with amusement but tinged with something gentler. “But gods, you are perfect.”

You buried your face in his shoulder, letting yourself be held. “You didn’t,” you murmured. “Not broken. Just… undone.”

He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. You felt it against your cheek, and it made your heart flutter more than you expected. He leaned down and kissed the top of your head—slow and sweet, a quiet contrast to how fiercely he had just taken you.

“I like you like this,” he said, fingers tracing your spine. “Soft and warm and stretched around me.”

Your face flushed, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you pressed closer, the intimacy of it all sinking deeper into your bones. You hadn’t expected this. Not from him. You’d thought he’d see you—just once—and then vanish like smoke. But here he was, tangled up with you in silken sheets, his hands gentle, his mouth tender, as though your body was something sacred.

“Are you always like this afterward?” you asked quietly, your fingers absently drawing circles on his chest.

He looked down at you, eyes dark but soft. “No,” he said simply. “Only when it matters.”

The answer silenced you.

He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, gaze lingering on your face. “You think I saw you by accident?” he asked. “You were sitting by the fountain with sun on your shoulders like a goddess. You looked back at me and didn’t look away. That was no accident.”

Your throat tightened. You hadn’t known what he saw in you—still weren’t sure—but the way he looked at you now, like he knew you, like he wanted you beyond the thrill of a night—it made something shift in your chest.

Oberyn pulled the blanket over your bodies, wrapping you in silk and warmth, His hand settled low on your stomach, possessive and gentle, as he kissed your temple.

“Sleep, sweet thing,” he murmured into your hair. “I’ll still be here in the morning.”

And you believed him.

Because in that moment—wrapped in his arms, his scent in your lungs, the weight of him still lingering inside you—you were no longer just a woman he’d seen today.

You were his.

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

Gil-galad is a king of immense composure—stoic, regal, and calm under pressure. But even he is not immune to being caught entirely off guard, especially by you his spouse. He had been resting against the smooth headboard of your shared chambers, the moonlight from the open balcony casting silver streaks across his bare chest. His crown had been long abandoned, along with the formal stiffness of the day, and now the great High King of the Noldor was reduced to something far more vulnerable beneath your touch—beneath you.

Your mouth had been working him skillfully, worshipping him in a way no council or battle victory ever could. For all his dignity and restraint, Gil-galad was not above letting his head tip back against the wall, letting soft, breathy groans escape him as you hollowed your cheeks and took him deeper. His large hands, usually so steady when wielding a spear, had found their way to your hair—threading through it but never pushing, just holding. Always the gentleman, even when undone.

He was watching you now, golden eyes darkened with something primal. His chest rose and fell in controlled, measured breaths, though you could feel the way his thighs tensed beneath your hands. And then—you did it. Mid-act, you pulled back, releasing him with a wet, sinful sound, and he opened his mouth to question you—only to watch in utter disbelief as you brought a delicate hand to your lips and let out a deliberately obnoxious, dramatically loud cough.

“Sorry, love,” you said, voice dripping with playful mischief. “It’s a little dusty down here.” Dusty. You had called him—the most immaculate, clean, and composed being in all of Middle-earth—dusty. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the distant crashing of the sea against Lindon’s shores. His face remained perfectly still, utterly unreadable—so much so that you almost wondered if you had gone too far. And then… he laughed.

It was not a quiet chuckle, nor one of his rare soft hums of amusement—it was a full, rich, unrestrained laugh that shook his broad shoulders. A sound that seemed to ripple through the air, bright and free, like a glimpse of the carefree young Elf he must have once been.

“You—” he began, voice catching as he tried to regain his usual regal composure. His head fell back for a moment, exposing the elegant line of his throat as he tried to suppress his amusement. “Dusty?” His golden eyes flashed back to you, glinting like sunlight on polished steel. There was warmth there—affection—but something else too. Something dangerous.

“You dare mock your king in such a way?” His voice had dropped, smooth and commanding, though you could see the corners of his mouth twitching as he fought the smile threatening to return. “I should have you punished for your impudence.”

His fingers tightened slightly in your hair—not harsh, but enough to make your heart skip. Slowly, gracefully, he leaned forward, towering over you even from his seated position. His expression was calm, but there was a gleam of playful menace beneath it.

“And yet,” he mused softly, lifting your chin with two fingers so your eyes met his, “I find myself in awe of your boldness. To say such a thing to me… You must think yourself very brave.” You bit your lip, suppressing the smile threatening to break free. “I thought you liked my boldness, my king.”

“I do,” he admitted, a rare hint of indulgence creeping into his voice. His thumb brushed gently across your bottom lip, his tone growing darker, silkier. “But such audacity cannot go unanswered.”

Without another word, he guided you back down—slowly, deliberately—until your lips hovered once more over the very place you had so brazenly mocked. “Now,” he commanded softly, the regal weight of his voice settling over you like a velvet shroud, “be a good little thing… and finish what you started.”

And as you obeyed—lips and tongue working to draw out every sound you loved to hear—he let out a quiet, breathless laugh, the warmth of it brushing against the air. Dusty, indeed. You would pay for that.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

Thranduil, the proud and dignified King of the Woodland Realm, is not a man easily shaken. He has faced down dragons, orcs, and the endless burdens of ruling for centuries—but this… this is new in what you pulled upon him tonight.

The soft golden glow of candlelight bathes the royal chambers, flickering across the elegant lines of his body. His long, silver-blond hair spills over his shoulders as he reclines against the silken sheets, all smooth muscle and effortless grace. His crown—usually worn like a barrier between himself and the world—is absent. Here, with you, he allows himself to be unguarded. For once, he isn’t a king—just a man, completely at your mercy. And what mercy you give him.

Your mouth works over him with a skill that makes even Thranduil, with his centuries of composure, lose himself. His breath hitches—quiet but audible—as your tongue drags along the sensitive underside of his length. One of his hands rests in your hair, long fingers splayed over your scalp, while the other lazily strokes the curve of your jaw, guiding you but never forcing. He is indulgent—until you push him too far.

And you do. Right when he’s on the cusp of letting a rare, pleased sound escape his lips, you stop—his eyes, half-lidded with pleasure, snap open to find you staring at him with a glimmer that immediately puts him on edge. He knows that look.

Then, with all the audacity of someone who clearly values danger, you dramatically cough into your hand. Fake cough. “Sorry, love—” you murmur, your voice dripping with playful innocence, “It’s a little dusty down here.” The room falls into stunned silence.

For a moment—just a moment—Thranduil does not react. His expression is perfectly blank, as though he is trying to process the sheer disrespect you’ve just committed against his very clean, very regal self. And then—his jaw clenches.The hand tangled in your hair tightens—not painfully, but firmly—tipping your head back so you’re forced to look directly into those impossibly sharp, icy-blue eyes. His gaze burns with a dangerous glint, one that promises retribution.

“…Dusty?” His voice is smooth, silk over steel, but there’s an edge lurking beneath it. A dangerous calm. “You dare.” There is no dust—you both know it. This is Thranduil—everything about him is immaculate, from the gleaming marble of his palace to his flawless body. Yet, here you are, mocking the Elvenking while on your knees, no less.

He tilts his head slightly, a slow, elegant motion that makes the long strands of his silver hair shift over his shoulders. His lips curve into the faintest of smirks—dangerous, calculating. “I invite you to repeat that,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into something lower, silkier, and entirely too calm. Oh, you’re in trouble now.

He releases your hair—only to trail his fingers lightly down the side of your neck, brushing over the sensitive skin with deceptive gentleness. His nails scrape lightly in their wake, sending a shiver down your spine. “It seems,” he continues in that dangerous purr, “you have mistaken my patience for leniency.”

His gaze drifts lower—slow, deliberate—before meeting yours again. His voice is velvet-dipped authority when he speaks next. “Since you find the air here… unsatisfactory, perhaps I should remind you precisely who you kneel before.” Without another word, he shifts forward—a graceful, fluid motion that leaves no doubt as to who is in control. You barely have time to breathe before his hand is on your chin, tipping your face up, his thumb brushing along your lower lip.

His expression is calm—too calm—but his eyes? His eyes burn with the promise of vengeance. “Let us see,” he muses quietly, “how much of your cheek remains… when I’m through with you.” And oh—he means it.

Play with fire, melleth nîn, and you will burn. “If it is too dusty for you, my love… perhaps I should have you remain down there a while longer. Until you have adjusted.” His smirk is infuriatingly elegant. And you— you know exactly what you’ve done.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

Elrond, ever composed and regal, had been thoroughly immersed in the intimate pleasure of your touch—his body tense beneath your hands, his breath controlled but growing heavier with each passing moment. His long fingers, usually so steady in their grace, now tangled gently in your hair as you worked him with deliberate care, your mouth a warm haven against the cool air of his chamber.

The Elf-lord rarely allowed himself to be undone, but with you—oh, with you—he did not resist. He savored every sensation you offered him, his head tilting back slightly, yet black -threaded hair cascading down his back as a soft sigh slipped from his lips. You knew precisely how to unravel him, slow and patient, until the weight of his centuries-old control began to fray beneath your affection. And then—you struck.

Pausing mid-act, you released him from your mouth, sat back just enough to meet his gaze with a glint of wicked mischief in your eyes. With all the audacity in the world, you raised a hand delicately to your lips and coughed—an exaggerated, melodramatic sound, as if you had spent hours breathing in the dust of ancient scrolls in his study. “Sorry, love,” you said, your voice rich with playful teasing, “it’s a little dusty down here.” The room fell utterly silent.

For a breathless moment, Elrond simply stared at you—his expression unreadable, but his lips parted slightly as if he could not quite believe the words that had left your mouth. His keen, discerning eyes, bright and sharp as starlight, held yours in a gaze so intense it sent a shiver down your spine.

It was true—he was immaculate. Always. From the polished leather of his boots to the silk of his robes, though right now he just in silky open robe and certainly in the more intimate areas you now so boldly teased. The very idea that you would dare to call that dusty—when he took the utmost care of himself—was nothing short of blasphemous.

A flicker of something dangerous—amused, yet wholly unyielding—crossed his face. His brows arched ever so slightly, his lips curving into the barest hint of a smile, though his voice, when he spoke, was low and measured.

“Dusty?” he repeated, each syllable laced with an elegant disbelief. “You are bold indeed, meleth nín…” His hand, still resting in your hair, shifted subtly—fingers curling just a fraction tighter, as if to remind you precisely who you were teasing. “And here I thought your tongue could be put to far better use than… mockery.”

That soft, velvety voice sent heat pooling low in your stomach. You knew you were playing a dangerous game—a game where Elrond, with all his patience and centuries of restraint, would let you win only so much before he decided to turn the tide. He leaned forward then, the warmth of his body brushing yours as he tilted your chin up with the back of his knuckles, forcing you to hold his gaze. His face was serene—too serene—but the heat in his eyes betrayed him.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, voice like silk and steel entwined, “you require a more thorough… demonstration to remind you how well I tend to what is mine.” Oh, you had awakened something now. And judging by the way his grip firmed against you—possessive, yet achingly tender—you would be learning that lesson very soon.

💍𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓻

Your mouth, warm and eager, had been working him into a state of breathless bliss. His hands, always so steady in the forge, were tangled in your hair, his chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths. For all his grace and composure in public, in private, he was putty in your hands—shivering under every slow, deliberate movement of your mouth. And then—you did it. You stopped. Dramatically.

Pulling back just enough to lock eyes with him, your face the picture of pure mischief. You brought a hand delicately to your mouth and let out the most exaggerated, theatrical cough you could muster. “Sorry, love,” you said, voice dripping with mock concern. “It’s a little dusty down here.” The room hung in silence.

Celebrimbor blinked once. Twice. His lips parted slightly, as if his brain was trying and failing to process the sheer cheek of your words. His usually sharp, calculating mind—capable of crafting the most intricate designs in Middle-earth—had utterly stalled.

“…Dusty?” he repeated, his voice uncharacteristically high, disbelief etched into every syllable. His brow furrowed, and for a moment, it was as if you had spoken to him in some foreign, incomprehensible tongue. “I—It’s not—I am not—”

His hands fell away from your hair as he glanced down at himself, as if to confirm that, no, there was absolutely nothing remotely dusty about him—least of all there. His skin was smooth, immaculate, and had he not just bathed less than an hour ago? He was an Elf, for Eru’s sake, and Elves did not get dusty.

And yet… here you were. Calling him dusty. His ears, those delicately pointed tips, flushed a pale pink—an unintentional betrayal of how flustered you had made him. He inhaled sharply, a sound caught between indignation and disbelief. “I—this—that’s impossible.”

You bit your lip to hold back a snicker, but the corners of your mouth betrayed you. You weren’t sorry. Not even a little bit.

His mouth opened again as if he intended to present an impassioned, logical defense of his cleanliness, but no words came out. For once in his long life, the Lord of Eregion was utterly speechless.

And then—you saw it. That spark in his silver-gray eyes. The slow shift from shock to something else. Something far more dangerous. “Oh…” His voice dropped an octave, smooth as polished mithril. “Dusty, is it?” Your stomach flipped at the sudden change in his tone.

Without another word, he reached forward and grasped your chin, tilting your face upward. There was no trace of his earlier fluster—only the slow, deliberate curve of his mouth as he considered you with a heated, wicked gleam in his eyes.

“You’re awfully bold for someone on their knees,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your lower lip. “Perhaps I should give you a better reason to lose your breath, since you seem so… easily distracted.”

And oh—he did. By the time he was through with you, there wasn’t a breath left in your lungs. Dusty or not, he was going to make sure you never forgot just how clean and thorough he could be.

You step onto the dimly lit stage, the sound of your heels clicking against the floor drowned out by the music. The bass pulses around you, vibrating through every inch of your body. You've danced to this song countless times, yet each performance feels like the first. Every dip and spin comes instinctively to your body.

As you start to move, hips swaying and arms reaching above your head to grip the pole, you scan the crowd. The faces blur together in the haze of cigarette smoke and bright lights. But then your eyes lock onto one figure that stands out.

He's tall and broad-shouldered, his skin is sun-kissed–the kind of tan that speaks of years on the open sea–and his red hair almost seems to glow underneath the club's lights. He leans back casually against the wall, but his gaze never leaves you.

You’re used to being ogled. It’s part of the job, the way men’s eyes linger on your curves, their gazes hungry. But this stranger doesn’t look at you like that. His eyes sweep over you, taking you in, but there’s no leer, no crude appraisal. It’s almost respectful. And yet, there’s something in that look that feels undeniably dangerous, like he’s already undressing you in his mind.

"Hey, baby!" one of your regulars shouts as he holds out another wad of Berries. He’s been shoving bills into your thong all night, but now, he feels like a distraction. You turn toward him, leaning down so he can stuff the bills into your bra, but quickly move back towards the pole at center stage.

You spin around it, your body moving gracefully as you flip upside down. Your hair cascades down towards the floor, and for a moment, you feel weightless and free. When you come down, you land smoothly in a split, arching your back to show off every curve of your body.

As the music winds down and you gather up the scattered bills on stage, you catch sight of the redhead again out of the corner of your eye. He’s still watching you.

Once offstage and in the dressing room, you quickly pull on a dress over your stage outfit before making a beeline for the bar, keeping one eye on the crimson-haired man as he makes his way through the crowd. He's drawing attention, but he doesn’t seem to care.

As you reach the bar, you take a seat on a stool next to another dancer and lean in, whispering, "Who's the guy with the red hair?" while nodding subtly in his direction.

Your coworker follows your gaze and whistles lowly. "Damn, he's hot," she says before her eyes widen. "Oh shit, I think I know who he is."

She leans in closer, lowering her voice even more. "That's Shanks... as in the Red-Haired Shanks. You know–Red Hair Pirates? He's one of the Four Emperors!"

You stare at him in disbelief as he approaches the bar and orders a drink. Shanks turns towards you as if sensing your gaze. His eyes lock with yours and he grins.

"Mind if I join you?" He asks, his voice deep and a bit rough.

You're taken aback by the request but quickly compose yourself.

"Not at all," you reply, motioning towards the stool to your left.

“You don’t look like the type to frequent places like this,” you hum, leaning casually against the bar and signaling the batender for a drink. Your voice is teasing, but there’s an edge to it, a challenge.

He turns to look at you, and there it is again–that gaze. It’s intense, but you don’t look away. “And what type is that?” he questions thoughtfully.

“The desperate type,” you explain, tilting your head slightly. “The kind who walks in here looking for something they can’t find anywhere else.”

He chuckles, it’s a sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “Maybe I’m not looking for anything. Maybe I’m just here to enjoy the view.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued by his response. "The view?" You repeat, your voice laced with amusement. You've heard it all before, but something about how he says it makes you curious.

You take a sip of your drink, your eyes never leaving his. He's got a way of making you feel like you're the only person in the room, like the music, laughter, and shouting are all just background noise.

"Oh, come on," you tease, "you can do better than that." You're trying to get a rise out of him, to see if there's something more to him. But instead of getting defensive, he just smiles.

"I meant it," he laughs. "You're captivating. Like a stormy sea on a moonless night."

You blink, surprised by his poetic comparison. It's not the kind of thing you usually hear in a place like this. Most men are more direct in their compliments–if they give any at all. You laugh, a little breathlessly. "You're quite the charmer," you respond, taking another sip of your drink while keeping your eyes on him.

As the conversation continues between you and Shanks, you can't help but notice how he listens intently to everything you say. His eyes never leave yours, and his smile is genuine and warm. You find yourself opening up more than usual, sharing stories about your life that you don't typically share with customers.

"Tell me," Shanks asks, voice laced with curiosity, "why do you dance here?"

You pause for a moment, considering your response. It's not a question many people ask. Most men who come through these doors aren't interested in why you're here; they're just interested in what they see on stage.

"It's fun," you reply finally. "And it pays well."

As you finish speaking, Shanks leans in closer. His eyes sparkle with interest, and he nods thoughtfully. "Fun," he muses softly, "I can understand that."

You tilt your head slightly, curious about his response. "What about you?" you ask, genuinely interested now. "What brings an emperor of the sea to a place like this?"

Shanks' eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins. "Just passing through," he shrugs. "Thought I'd see what the local nightlife had to offer." His gaze flickers over you briefly, and you feel heat rushing to your cheeks.

"Find anything interesting?" you ask, raising an eyebrow teasingly.

"Oh, definitely," he smirks. His eyes meet yours again, holding your gaze steadily.

You laugh at his response, the sound coming out lighter and more carefree than you expected. "Glad I could hold your interest," you tease.

Shanks chuckles, sipping his drink before setting it down on the bar again.

"So," he says slowly, "do private dances happen often here?"

Your breath catches for a moment before you realize what he's asking. You've had plenty of requests for private dances before, but something about this feels different. Maybe it's the way Shanks looks at you, or perhaps it's just because it's him asking.

"You want a private dance?" you ask nonchalantly, but inside, your heart is already racing at the request.

Shanks nods, his eyes glinting mischievously. "If you're up for it, of course," he hums.

You feel a shiver run down your spine at his tone, but you nod before you can second-guess yourself. 

"Follow me."

You lead him towards the back of the club, away from the pulsing lights and pounding music. The kights in the hallway are dim, and you can hear the muffled sounds of other private dances behind closed doors. You stop in front of one door and turn to look at Shanks.

"Private dances are five thousand Berries," you say softly, your eyes meeting his.

Shanks reaches into his pocket, pulls out a 5000 Berry note, and hands it to you without comment.

As soon as the money changes hands, you open the door and step inside, motioning for Shanks to follow. The room is small, dominated by a single pole in the center of the floor. Plush couches in deep jewel tones line the walls, and there's a small table in the corner with two chairs tucked underneath it.

"Make yourself comfortable," you say as you close the door behind him.

Shanks moves towards one of the couches, sprawling across it casually..

"So," he says, observing the room, "what exactly does this private dance entail?"

You smile sweetly as you move closer to him. "Whatever I want it to," you reply.

Shanks chuckles at your response. “Is that so?” he murmurs, leaning back further into the couch. “I’m all yours, then.”

You take a moment to let your eyes roam over him, admiring how he looks underneath the dim red lights of the room. You step forward until you’re standing right in front of him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.

“Let’s start simple,” you start, your voice soft but confident. “Keep your hand to yourself. For now.” You reach out and run a hand along the bare skin where Shanks’ shirt is open teasingly. He tenses slightly under your touch but doesn't move away.

"You're very obedient," you tease. "Most men can't resist trying to touch."

Shanks smiles lazily. "Maybe they don't know what they're doing," he replies.

"Maybe," you agree, chuckling softly. You lean in closer, your face just inches from his. "But you seem to know exactly what you're doing."

Shanks' eyes follow your every move. "I've had my fair share of experience," he admits.

"Oh?" you murmur, trailing your hand down his chest to rest on his thigh. His muscles flex under your touch. "And what kind of experience is that?"

"The fun kind," Shanks smiles.

You laugh airily. "The fun kind?" you repeat, tilting your head to the side. "Is that a pirate thing?"

You're not sure where the question came from, but as soon as you ask it, Shanks' eyes light up with amusement. "Could be," he replies with a hum.

"Could be?" You echo, raising an eyebrow. Your hand is still on his thigh, and you can feel the heat of his skin through his pants.

"Definitely is," Shanks corrects.

You're enjoying the banter with Shanks, and the conversation with him flows easily. There's an undeniable charisma to him that has you swooning.

Deciding to up the ante, you take your hands off of him and start swaying your hips slowly, keeping eye contact with him. His gaze flickers down briefly before meeting yours again, and you can see lust building in his eyes.

You slide onto Shanks' lap smoothly, straddling him with your legs on either side of his thighs. He's firm beneath you, solid muscle that flexes as he adjusts his position to accommodate you. It surprises you how easily you fit there, how natural it feels to be so close to him.

"Comfy?" you question, lips quirking up into a smile as you look down at him.

Shanks laughs softly, the sound rumbling through his chest where your body is pressed against his. "Getting there," he replies with a lopsided grin.

You start to move slowly, grinding down against him in small circles. Your hands come up to rest on his shoulders, fingers digging into the hard planes of muscle there just a little bit. Shanks' hand twitches slightly at his sides, like he wants to reach for you but remembers not to touch.

"How long do these dances usually last?" he muses, eyes fixed on your body.

"Depends on how much the customer pays," you reply. “Sometimes just for one song, sometimes for fifteen minutes…” You lean forward slowly until your face is inches from his once again. Your lips brush against his as you speak next. "But I’ll dance for you as long as you want..."

Your hips continue their slow grind against Shanks', moving in time with the muted beat of music that filters through the walls from the main club area outside this room. You can feel him growing harder beneath you with every roll of your hips.

Shanks' breath catches audibly when your lips press against the column of his neck. "Fuck," he mutters under his breath.

You smile against his skin but say nothing in response. Instead, you start moving faster now, grinding more firmly against him with each roll of your hips. You can feel how hard he is now through those ugly pants he’s wearing and it makes heat pool low in your belly.

"You're really enjoying this," Shanks observes after a few minutes more of the relentless motion of your hips. His voice sounds strained despite its attempt at nonchalance.

"Mhmm…," you agree without breaking rhythm for even a second.

You've lost track of time completely, but judging by Shanks' current state, this private dance has probably gone on longer than usual.

And yet, it still doesn't feel quite enough.

"Touch me," you say abruptly, grabbing his hand and bringing it to rest on your thigh where your dress has ridden up.

You guide Shanks' hand up your thigh slowly, pushing your dress up even further. You shiver slightly at the contact, and he notices, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

"Like that?" he murmurs, his thumb brushing back and forth across the soft skin of your inner thigh.

"Yeah," you reply breathlessly, your hips moving faster against him now. "Higher."

Shanks obliges without hesitation, sliding his hand further up under the skirt of your dress until his fingers brush against the lacy edge of your panties. You gasp softly at the touch, your body tensing with anticipation.

"Fuck," Shanks groans as he feels how wet you are through the thin fabric. "You're soaked..."

He starts to rub your pussy through your panties with his fingertips, sending pleasure shooting through your body. You moan softly against him and arch into his touch.

Suddenly remembering where you are and what you're doing here in this room with him–dancing for money–you make a quick decision.

"Watch closely," you breathe hotly against Shanks' ear before standing abruptly from his lap. The sudden loss of contact leaves both of you panting softly.

Without taking your eyes off him, you reach for the straps of your dress and slide them off your shoulders slowly. The dress falls down your body to pool around your feet on the floor.

Shanks watches you with rapt attention, his dark eyes hungrily roaming over every inch of newly revealed skin. You can already see how affected he is by your body, his breaths come faster now, and a flush rises high on his cheekbones.

You step out of your fallen dress and kick it aside carelessly before turning to face away from Shanks. Reaching back with one hand, you slowly unhook the clasps of your bra before sliding the straps down your arms and dropping it to join your dress on the floor.

Your back is still turned away from him as you look over your shoulder at Shanks with a teasing grin. You can feel his eyes burning into your skin, and you know that right now, he's imagining what he'd do if you let him touch.

You turn fully to face him again after a moment, hands coming up to cup and lift the weight of your breasts slightly. Your nipples are stiff peaks begging for attention and Shanks' eyes zero in on them immediately.

"Shit," he groans again before running a hand down his own body and over the prominent bulge in his pants.

You giggle at this reaction before moving to straddle him once more. Shanks' hand comes up immediately, this time without prompting, cupping one of your breasts fully in its palm. He groans appreciatively at feeling all that soft weight in one hand.

"So fucking perfect..." He mumbles before leaning forward just enough to take one peaked nipple into his hot mouth.

The sensation of wet heat surrounding the sensitive flesh has you crying out sharply against him before burying both hands in his messy red hair to hold him closer.

Your hips continue moving steadily against Shanks as he works your nipple with lips and tongue, suckling and nipping gently until you're squirming with need against him.

When Shanks finally pulls back with a gasp, both of your nipples are glistening wetly in the dim light of the room.

You shudder slightly as cool air hits the wet peaks of your nipples, and you let out a small moan. Shanks looks up at you with darkened eyes, smirking cockily.

"Sensitive?" he teases.

You nod breathlessly in response.

Shanks’ smirk grows wider, and he leans in suddenly, capturing your lips with his own in a sloppy kiss. His tongue slides against yours, and you moan softly into his mouth.

His hand moves from your breast down your body to slide beneath the edge of your panties. You gasp as his fingers find your clit, rubbing the swollen nub gently.

You break the kiss after a moment to look down at him with heavy-lidded eyes. "That feel good?" Shanks asks breathlessly.

You nod in response, barely able to form words right now. Your hips are moving on their own accord now as you grind yourself down onto his skilled fingers.

Shanks chuckles lowly at your reaction before leaning forward again to take your mouth in another kiss. This time, when he pulls back, he nips gently at your bottom lip with his teeth.

The combination of his fingers playing with you and his lips on yours has you squirming against him within minutes. You're panting heavily now as pleasure starts knotting in your stomach.

Suddenly feeling too confined by what little clothing remains between you two, you reach down between both of your bodies to start fumbling with his waistband.

"Need these off," you breathe against his lips.

Shanks helps quickly in removing both your panties and his pants before settling you back onto his lap once more.

This time when your bodies meet, nothing separates Shanks’ hard cock from the wet warmth of your cunt. You both moan loudly as he rubs against you teasingly, the head of his cock catching against your clit.

You gasp sharply as you feel Shanks' hard cock rubbing against your slick folds. The sensation of him so close to being inside you has your hips moving restlessly, trying to bring him closer.

Shanks groans at your movement, his hips flexing up slightly to meet yours. "So eager," he murmurs against your skin before nipping gently at your neck.

The small sting from his teeth sends sparks of pleasure shooting through your body and you shudder against him.

"Need you inside me," you whine.

Shanks chuckles lowly against your skin before pulling away slightly to look you in the eyes. "Not yet, doll," he replies teasingly.

His hand slides down once more to cup your pussy and rub over your clit with his thumb. Your hips move faster now as you grind yourself down onto Shanks' skilled fingers.

He leans forward again, lips closing around one of your nipples and suckling firmly while he works two fingers into your tight cunt slowly. The combination has you crying out above him.

"Fuck- yes, that’s it, sweetheart..." Shanks groans around your nipple before switching sides–licking and nipping at your other breast.

Your body is starting to tremble now from the overwhelming sensation of Shanks’ touch. You can feel yourself getting wetter by the second from his fingers working in and out of you in a slow, deep rhythm.

Suddenly Shanks curls his fingers inside you just right and rubs over that spongy spot deep in your cunt that has you fluttering around him. You scream sharply above him at the feeling.

"Yes, ngh! Shit- Just like that-" You cry out desperately, hips moving frantically now against his hand as he continues rubbing over that spot relentlessly.

Shanks groans lowly at the wet squelch your pussy makes as his fingers plunge into it over and over. He can feel your cunt clenching tightly around him, chuckling out a breathy, “Yeah? Is this pretty pussy gonna make a mess all over my fingers, hm?”

“Cumming- m’cumming! Fuck- fuck fuck fuck!” You babble, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you cum loudly on Shanks' hand, hips jerking erratically as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you.

You collapse forward against him as you come down, panting heavily as aftershocks continue rocking through your trembling body. When you can finally breathe again, you lift your head from Shanks' shoulder and look down at him with hazy eyes.

"S’good..." You pant breathlessly before pressing your lips to his in a passionate kiss. Your tongue slides into his mouth, tangling with his. Shanks groans lowly and reaches down with his hand to cup one of your ass cheeks fully, fingers digging into the soft flesh there as he kneads it. You shudder softly at the sensation before breaking the kiss.

"Wan’ your cock," you whine, grinding down onto Shanks’ lap.

Shanks laughs and his hand moves from your ass to guide his hard cock towards your entrance.

The head catches against you as he rubs it teasingly along your slit, collecting wetness before easing you down onto him. You gasp sharply at the initial stretch from him entering you so suddenly, and Shanks stops after only a few inches inside.

"Too much?" He breathes against your skin.

"No," you gasp. "Jus' need a minute."

Shanks nods and stays still as he holds you close, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. After a few moments, once the initial stretch from Shanks’ size subsides, you start to move slowly above him. His hand moves to grip one side of your hips tightly, helping you ride him as he starts to match your pace from below.

You can feel Shanks' eyes on you as he watches you move above him. The feeling of his heated gaze has you bouncing on his cock harder.

"So fucking tight," Shanks groans, fingers digging into the fat of your hip. "Fuck, doll- this little cunt was made for my cock."

Shanks' voice is rough as he talks, sending pleasure coursing through your veins. "I knew from the moment I saw you up on that stage that this tight little pussy was meant for me. Knew it."

He punctuates his words with hard thrusts of his hips, fingers digging into your hip almost painfully tight now.

You gasp at the filthy words falling from his mouth, your cunt clenching around him.

"Y-yes- I was made for you," you whimper above him, your hips moving faster and faster. "I knew when I saw you too...this pussy belongs to you now."

Shanks groans deeply at your declaration, sucking one nipple into his mouth once more–suckling hard while he fucks up into you with deep thrusts from below.

"Fuck- yeah?" Shanks pants against your skin before switching sides and lavishing attention on the other neglected breast. "Gonna mark up these pretty tits so everyone knows who this sweet little cunt belongs to-"

Your breathing picks up as Shanks works your nipples with lips and tongue while his cock pounds into your cunt and you feel yourself starting to build towards another orgasm already.

"Gonna fill this tight pussy with my cum," Shanks mumbles drunkenly against your tits before nipping sharply at the soft flesh there.

His thumb rubs firm circles over your clit as he fucks into you harder now, hips snapping up to meet yours.

"Fuck yes- cum inside me," you gasp desperately above him, hips moving frantically against Shanks' hand as he works your clit while filling you up so perfectly with his cock.

You can feel yourself getting closer by the second, a knot of pleasure building in your lower belly.

"Shit- fuck- m’close-" You cry, head falling backwards.

"Close?" Shanks repeats against your skin, nipping at your collarbone.

You nod frantically above him, hands fisted in his hair as you grind yourself down onto his cock harder. "Yeah- fuck I'm so close..."

Shanks groans lowly before leaning back to look up at you. "Gonna cum on my cock?" He asks huskily, his voice strained by the effort of fucking you.

You whimper needily, eyes hazy and glazed over. "Yes- wanna cum- wan’ you to fill me up..."

"Gonna make a mess all over my cock? Gonna cum for me like the dirty little slut you are..." He purrs filthily against your neck as he works your sensitive bud.

His words have you keening, cunt fluttering around his cock.

"Yes- fuck yes!" You cry out sharply, his words pushing you over the edge. "Cummin’! Oh god- ‘m cumming!"

Your cunt clenches down around Shanks' thick cock as you cum loudly above him. Shanks groans deeply at the feeling of your pussy squeezing him so tightly.

"Good fucking girl," he breathes heavily against your body as his hips stutter inside you with each clench of your cunt. "Cum on my fucking cock like a good little slut."

His filthy words have you clenching even harder around him, pleasure wracking your body.

Shanks suddenly slams up into you, cock pressing tightly against your cervix, his fingers digging into the meat of your ass. You yelp at the sudden roughness, and then he's cumming too. You feel his thick cock pulsing inside you as he spills himself deep in your cunt.

"Take it," Shanks pants breathlessly against your ear. "Take my fucking cum- fuck this tight little cunt is milking me..."

You can feel him twitching inside you still as he rides out the last waves of pleasure. He pulls back to look at you after a moment, dark eyes hazy with lust.

"Fucking perfect," Shanks murmurs, pressing his lips to yours in a passionate kiss–tongue sliding into your mouth sloppily.

When Shanks finally breaks the kiss after a few seconds, you're both panting softly against each other's lips. He reaches down to slowly pull himself from your swollen cunt, cum dripping out to coat his spent cock.

"Fuck," Shanks groans lowly, watching as more of his cum drips from your well-used hole to pool beneath you on the couch cushions. "Look at this sweet little pussy...so full of my cum."

He runs two fingers through it teasingly, collecting some on them before bringing them up to push back inside you gently. You shudder at the sensation, still sensitive from cumming just moments ago.

"Ahh! Ngh-" You cry out sharply, eyes fluttering closed.

"Mm? Sensitive?" Shanks teases, fingers plunging back inside once more.

You nod frantically above him, hands grabbing his wrist weakly.

"T-too much-" You whimper, hips trying to shift away from his touch.

But there's nowhere for you to go in this position straddling his lap with thighs spread wide open for him.

"Shit- too much- m'really sensitive," you pant above him.

Shanks chuckles mischievously before pulling his fingers from you slowly. You shudder at the sensation of them sliding back out of your swollen cunt. He brings his cum-coated fingers up to your mouth suddenly, smearing them across your lips teasingly.

"Taste yourself," Shanks purrs, watching your reaction intently. "Taste how fucking sweet this tight little pussy is."

You moan softly at the words falling from his mouth, and your tongue darts out instinctively to taste yourself on his fingers, licking them clean of your combined fluids.

"Fuck- you're so good for me, sweetheart..." Shanks groans, a smirk pulling at his lips.

You feel a flutter in your chest at the praise, and you smile down at him.

"I'm just glad you enjoyed yourself," you say softly, gently reaching out to run your fingers through his hair. "I have to say, I had a pretty good time myself."

Shanks chuckles lowly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looks up at you. "Oh yeah?" he teases, reaching up to cup your cheek in his large hand.

You lean into his touch, savoring the warmth of his skin against yours. "Definitely," you murmur, your eyes never leaving his. "I don't think I've ever had such a good time with a customer before."

Shanks grins up at you. "Well then," he says. "I guess that makes me a pretty special guy, huh?"

You can't help but laugh at that, continuing to run your fingers through his hair playfully. "I suppose it does," you tease back before leaning down to press a sweet kiss against his lips.

You break the kiss, smiling down at Shanks with flushed cheeks. "I should probably get back to work," you say softly, reluctantly shifting off his lap.

Shanks nods in understanding, reaching out to help steady you as you stand on wobbly legs.

You start to gather up your discarded clothing from the floor, pulling your panties and bra back on before reaching for your dress. Shanks watches you with hooded eyes as you shimmy into it, his gaze roaming over your body appreciatively.

"Looking at me like that won't get us out of here any faster," you tease over your shoulder as you smooth the dress over your hips.

"Can't help it," Shanks laughs. "You're a fucking work of art."

You roll your eyes, but you can't stop the small smile tugging at your lips.

"Well, thank you," you say with a playful wink. "But like I said, I should probably get back to work."

Shanks nods again, standing up from the couch and stretching his arms above his head, and you let your eyes roam over his body appreciatively as he does so.

"Thanks for a fun night," Shanks says with a grin as he pulls on those ugly pants of his.

"No problem," you reply with a smile of your own. "It was definitely more interesting than my usual nights here."

Shanks laughs at that before pressing one last kiss against your lips. "I'm glad I could spice things up for you," he murmurs against your mouth.

You're left feeling dizzy from its intensity when he breaks away after a moment.

"I hope we can do this again sometime," Shanks says, his eyes meeting yours.

You nod eagerly. "I'd like that."

"Until next time then," Shanks says with a wink before heading for the door. He pauses after a few steps though, looking back over his shoulder at you.

"Hey, doll?" he says softly.

"Yeah?"

"I really am glad I met you tonight." Shanks' voice is low, and he’s sincere as he speaks.

You feel your heart flutter in your chest at his words, touched by the sincerity behind them. "I'm glad too," you reply just as quietly. 

Shanks nods, giving you one last smile before heading into the hallway. Your shoukders slump in disappointment as Shanks walks out of the room, already missing the feeling of his body against yours. But even with that disappointment, there's no denying the contented smile playing at your lips as you think about just how good he made you feel.

And really, who wouldn't be smiling after a night like this? You've had plenty of customers come through here looking for a good time before, but never has anyone left you feeling quite as satisfied as Shanks did.

You can only hope that it won't be too long until he comes by again…