#reader input

A pirate takes what they want, whether it’s legal or not.

It wouldn’t matter. Laws were chains to most men of the sea. Rules were a joke, whispered warnings, and the taste of freedom was far too sweet to surrender. Most pirates were selfish, self-serving, greedy, chasing power, wealth, or notoriety.

Shanks was not most pirates.

Selfish, perhaps. Self-serving, maybe. Greedy? Never. He was a different breed entirely. He was adventurous. Free. Freedom was the treasure he lived for and the same freedom he offered to those he cared about. His crew, his friends, his allies and even you.

You had been nothing special at first. A girl stuck in a small East Blue village, a life of predictable routines and unfulfilled dreams. But Shanks saw something others never did. A spark hidden behind your quiet demeanor, a fire in your eyes when they met the horizon. You stared at the sea as if it were a challenge, a promise, and perhaps a question: Would anyone dare follow?

Shanks did.

He approached you one evening as the sun dipped below the waves, painting the sky in streaks of gold and crimson. Your hair caught the wind, your eyes shimmering with the reflection of the open sea. “ Ever thought of sailing? ” he asked, casually, as though it were the simplest thing in the world. Not as a command, not as an obligation but as a possibility.

You laughed, thinking he was joking. “ Me? Sail? I- ”

He smiled, the kind of smile that made the world pause for a heartbeat. “ I’m serious. You can choose. Stay here, live as you’ve always lived…or come with me. See the world, and meet its wonders. ”

The fire in your heart answered before your lips could. That was the moment you became a part of his story, and he a part of yours.

Life aboard his ship was nothing like you imagined. It was messy, chaotic, and beautiful. You learned to climb the rigging, navigate by the stars, and laugh, because Shanks would laugh louder than anyone else, proving that nothing could ever be taken too seriously. He celebrated life in its purest form, and he made sure you did too.

Yet, amid all the adventures, he never lost sight of you. Not in the way that suffocates or confines, but in the way that sees and cherishes. He respected your freedom as fiercely as he did his own. Every choice was yours to make, every path your own to take. But he was always there steady, unwavering, a touchstone amid the storm of life at sea.

Months turned into years, and the bond between you deepened like the sea itself, vast, unpredictable, and enduring. You laughed at the same jokes, braved storms together, and shared quiet moments beneath the stars. And slowly, unspoken but inevitable, a promise took root.. a love not bound by land, not confined by chains, but forged in trust, and freedom.

It had been unexpected. Neither of you planned it. You thought yourselves too wild, too unmoored to settle. But here you were: two hearts intertwined, two souls daring to carve a life from adventure, laughter, and loyalty.

You had each other, and that, Shanks believed, was the greatest freedom of all.

The sea had a rhythm of its own, a pulse that seemed to sync with your heartbeat over time. Days blurred into nights and nights into days, but the ocean never felt the same twice. Waves whispered secrets against the hull, gulls cried overhead, and the wind carried the scent of salt and freedom. And through it all, Shanks was there.

He wasn’t the type to hover or fuss. That wasn’t him. But if danger ever crept close, his presence was immediate, sharp, and unyielding, like a sudden gust cutting across the deck. You could feel it even before your eyes met his, an instinct, honed over years of life on the edge of lawlessness.

One morning, the sun had barely begun to warm the horizon, and you were leaning against the rail, the chill biting your cheeks. A smaller ship appeared in the distance, sails taut, approaching fast. Your first instinct was excitement; the thought of a potential raid or trade made your pulse race. Shanks, however, moved differently.

“ Stay close, ” he said, his voice low but carrying over the wind. He didn’t sound alarmed, just alert. Protective. His eyes scanned the approaching vessel like a hawk watching prey, calculating, measuring. And in that moment, you realized it wasn’t ownership you felt from him, not control but a fierce, almost instinctual care that made your heart swell.

The crew scrambled as the ship drew nearer, weapons readied, orders barked, but you noticed something odd. Shanks didn’t shout. He simply moved among his men, guiding, redirecting, subtly positioning everyone, and yet always aware of you. One of the crew caught your sleeve, worried about the approaching pirates, and you felt Shanks’ hand brush your back, a small touch, grounding, saying silently, I’ve got you.

The enemy ship’s flag was raised, black with a red emblem. Shanks squinted, tilted his head, then laughed, a rich, unrestrained sound that cut through the tension. “ Well, well…looks like they’re in a hurry for trouble. ” He drew his sword slowly, spinning it in a way that seemed more casual than threatening. But you saw the precision in his movements, the promise that no harm would come near you if he could prevent it.

The skirmish that followed was chaos, but also beauty in its rawest form. Shouts, the clash of metal, the spray of sea, all of it interwoven with moments of quiet. Amid it, Shanks’ attention flicked to you more than once. He wanted you safe, free, and unscathed, even as he thrived in the danger around you.

After the fight, when the other ship fled, you found yourself leaning against the mast, heart racing, hands trembling. Shanks approached, brushing water and sweat from his hair, eyes glinting with both amusement and concern.

“ You’re shaking, ” he said softly. Not a reprimand, not a question that demanded explanation, just a statement of fact. His hand hovered near yours for a moment, almost like a shield, and when you didn’t move, he gave a small shrug and smiled. “ Good. That means you’re alive. And alive is better than…well, anything else. ”

You laughed weakly, trying to steady your breathing. “ You make it sound so simple. ”

He crouched slightly, tilting his head as he studied you. “ It is simple. Life’s simple. Survive, laugh, and don’t get yourself killed. ” Then, leaning closer, he whispered, almost conspiratorially, “ Though I won’t forgive you if you try. ” His grin widened, teeth flashing in the morning light.

And yet, even as he teased, you sensed the edge beneath his words, the same edge that kept you safe. That edge, sharp as a blade, was tempered with care, and it thrilled and comforted you all at once.

Days later, under the vast night sky, you found yourself atop the crow’s nest, gazing at constellations while Shanks worked the sails below. The wind tugged at your hair, the stars reflected in your eyes, and the sea stretched endlessly before you. Then, a shout from below: “ Captain! Someone’s approaching! ”

You felt a familiar stir of anticipation, and somewhere in the pit of your stomach, a flicker of unease. But before panic could set in, a hand, warm, confident, steady rested on your shoulder. 

“ I see it, ” Shanks said, calm, controlled. “ And it’s nothing we can’t handle. ”

You turned to him, meeting his gaze. In the darkness, his eyes shone like polished amber, fierce and untouchable. “ You always know, ” you murmured. 

“ I’ve learned a thing or two from the sea, ” he replied, voice low, almost secretive. “ And one of them is: you never let someone you care about walk into danger alone. Not unless they choose to. And even then… ” He let the sentence hang, unspoken but heavy with meaning.

As the ship sailed under the moon’s silver glow, you realized the truth of what life with Shanks meant. Freedom wasn’t just running wild, laughing at the law, or chasing treasure. Freedom was knowing that someone would stand beside you, sword in hand, heart tethered to yours, not to possess, but to protect.

The days at sea were usually predictable in their unpredictability, storms, squalls, or the occasional merchant ship but today, a different tension hovered over the ship, subtle but undeniable.

You noticed it first when one of the newer crewmates, a wiry man named Mammon, lingered too long near the deck where you were repairing sails. His glances were sharp, assessing, like he was measuring something he wasn’t supposed to care about. Shanks noticed too, of course but not in the way you might think.

He didn’t scowl. He didn’t confront Mammon immediately. He simply watched. From across the deck, leaning casually against the rigging, his eyes followed every movement, subtle but unwavering. The weight of his gaze was enough to make Mammon shift uncomfortably under it, though he didn’t leave.

“ You’re staring again, ” you whispered, brushing your hands on your trousers as if to hide your unease.

Shanks didn’t smile, not yet. “ I’m watching, ” he said simply, and the calmness in his tone carried a quiet authority that needed no explanation. “ He’s testing boundaries. I don’t like it. ”

You felt a pang of worry. Is it jealousy? you wondered, a small twinge twisting in your chest. But the way Shanks stood there, quiet, controlled wasn’t jealousy. It was something sharper, more refined: protectiveness. He wasn’t trying to claim you; he was making sure no one else could take advantage of your trust or safety.

By evening, the tension came to a head. Mammon approached the railing where you were standing, pretending to inspect the horizon, but his words were careless.

“ Ever think about leaving the captain behind? ” he asked, leaning just a little too close. “ Life’s bigger than this ship. ”

You bristled. “ I think my life is exactly where I want it, ” you said firmly, your voice stronger than you felt.

Before Mammon could reply, Shanks’ shadow fell over him. One hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword, the other tucked casually in his coat pocket, but the presence was enough.

“ Life’s bigger than this ship? ” Shanks repeated, tilting his head with that easy smile of his, but there was ice under the charm. “ And yet you seem to forget that freedom isn’t just about leaving, it’s about choosing. And she chose this life. ”

Mammon’s eyes flicked to yours, and then back to Shanks, understanding in a flash that the pirate before him was not to be trifled with. He muttered something about fresh air and moved away, finally leaving you alone.

Shanks turned to you then, his hand brushing yours lightly. Not a possessive gesture, just a touch that said, I'm with you.

“ You okay? ” he asked.

You nodded, but your chest still felt tight. “ I am…thanks to you. ”

“ Good, ” he said, voice softening. “ Because you don’t need anyone else to fight your battles. But I’ll always be here if someone tries to make it harder. ”

The subtle difference between what he felt and what Mammon had mistaken for jealousy struck you. Shanks’ concern wasn’t about ownership; it was about care, about safety, about ensuring your freedom stayed intact. The line between love and possession had never been clearer.

The two of you sat atop the mast, legs dangling over the edge, the stars spread out like scattered diamonds across the ink-black sky. Shanks hummed quietly, the tune almost lost to the sound of the waves, and his arm rested lightly against your shoulder.

“ You know, ” he said after a moment, “ I could’ve handled that differently. Made him fear me, or said things he’d never forget. ”

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “ But you didn’t? ”

“ No, ” he said, smiling faintly. “ Because he wasn’t the threat. The threat would have been someone thinking they could decide your life for you. And that…that I can’t allow. ”

You leaned against him, breathing in the salty night air. “ I like how you do it. Quiet. Not angry. Just…watching. ”

“ Because that’s how you stay free, ” he murmured. “ And I like knowing you’re free. More than anything else. ”

For a long while, neither of you spoke. The ship rocked gently and the ocean whispering against the hull.

With Shanks, you could fly anywhere, face anything, and still feel safe, loved, and utterly unbound. In that knowledge, your heart was at ease. For the first time in your life, the vastness of the sea didn’t feel daunting. It felt like home.

The moon hung low over the Red-Haired Pirates’ ship, its silver glow bouncing off the waves. Below deck, the ship was quiet, mostly. You were curled up under a blanket, fast asleep, completely unaware of the disaster brewing above.

Above, the deck was anything but calm. Shanks, bottle in hand and flushed from both rum and emotion, teetered like a majestic, unsteady king on the edge of the railing. His hair was a mess, a few strands plastered to his sweaty forehead, and tears glimmered like tiny lanterns in his eyes.

“ SHE’S….SHE’S THE BEST! ” he bellowed, voice echoing across the deck and probably scaring the nearby fish. “ THE ENTIRE SEA…THE SKY…THE STARS….THEY DON’T HOLD A CANDLE TO HER! ”

Benn Beckman groaned, rubbing his temples. “ Oh gods above…here we go again. ”

“ Yeah, I think I’m gonna be sick from the love, ” Yassop muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Hongo leaned lazily on the mast, shaking his head. “ Or from the rum. Or both. ”

Building Snake didn’t bother hiding the small smirk tugging at his lips. “ This is….something.”

Shanks stumbled forward, nearly tipping into the ocean, and flung his arms wide like he was giving the world a very heartfelt, very drunk TED Talk. “ AND SHE-..SHE LETS ME SAIL WITH HER! ME! OF ALL PEOPLE! SHE... SHE TRUSTS ME! I—I.. ”

He hiccupped violently, wiping at his tears, which did nothing but smear across his cheeks. “ HELL, I’LL MARRY HER!”

Benn froze, blinking. “ …Shanks. You already married her. ”

Shanks’ head snapped up, eyes wide and shimmering like twin lanterns. “ I DID?! I… I—oh gods—even better! I—hic!—I would marry her again! A thousand times! I would—hic!—fight the sea itself, wrestle every storm, and then propose with cannonballs if I had to! ”

Lucky Roo snorted, barely keeping it in. “ Wrestle storms and propose with cannonballs…classic Boss. ”

Shanks waved his arms dramatically, nearly toppling again. “ AND HER LAUGH! OH GODS, HER LAUGH! IT’S.. IT’S—like cannon fire… but in the best possible way! I… I… I CAN’T EVEN! SHE MAKES ME WANT TO SING LIKE A DRUNK SEAGULL, AND I… I- ”

He fell face-first onto the deck, hiccupping and rolling slightly, bottle sliding away. “ SHE’S SLEEPING RIGHT NOW! ASLEEP! SAFE! AND I… I.. I LOVE HER SO MUCH! ”

Benn muttered under his breath, exasperated, “ Someone…someone tie him to the mast before he starts declaring war on the ocean itself. ”

“ Or before he starts crying in all of our ears, ” Yassop added, shaking his head.

Hongo shrugged. “ I’m done. Let him be a disaster. ”

Building Snake smirked. “ I mean… it’s entertaining. A legendary pirate reduced to puddle-level simping.”

Lucky Roo leaned against the railing, chuckling so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes. “ Look at him! He’s actually trying to out-love the ocean. I can’t even. ”

Shanks rolled dramatically onto his back, gazing at the stars with one hand clutching his chest. “ EVERY STAR… EVERY WAVE… EVERY PIRATE—hic!—EVERYTHING… IT’S… NOTHING.. COMPARED TO HER! ”

“ And yet, ” Benn muttered dryly, “ he thinks shouting at the sky will convince her of that. ”

“ SHUT UP, BENN! ” Shanks roared, sitting upright, eyes sparkling with drunken determination. “ I… I LOVE HER! I LOVE HER! I LOVE HER! ”

He flopped onto his stomach again, sobbing softly, hiccupping between every tearful declaration. “ AND SHE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVE HER! SHE DOESN’T KNOW… SHE DESERVES… SHE DESERVES THE ENTIRE WORLD! ”

Lucky Roo, barely containing his laughter, nudged one of the younger deckhands. “ I’ve never seen a pirate this melodramatic before. It’s…beautiful. ”

Benn, Yassop, Hongo, and Snake all groaned in various degrees of exasperation, but even they had to admit, it was kind of adorable.

Shanks rolled to his back again, arms wide like a victorious general, hiccupping, tears streaming down his face. “ AND I’LL MARRY HER AGAIN! YES! A THOUSAND TIMES! I WOULD—hic!—I WOULD FIGHT EVERY—EVERYTHING FOR HER! ”

Lucky Roo collapsed into laughter. “ I can’t… I just can’t… ”

And there he stayed, the Red-Haired Pirate of legend, sprawled across the deck, loudly, dramatically, and hilariously simping for his asleep wife, while the crew alternated between exasperation and amusement, the moonlight catching the glint of tears on his flushed face.

Below deck, you slept peacefully, unaware that the loudest, goofiest, and most hopelessly in-love pirate in the world was proclaiming his undying devotion in a very, very public and very, very drunk-way.

The ship was quiet, but not perfectly so. The remnants of last night’s revelry lingered in every corner. Empty bottles rolled lazily across the deck, the smell of spilled rum mixed with sea salt, and the creak of the wooden ship sounded unusually loud in the stillness.

The crew were scattered across the deck, passed out in improbable positions. Benn’s hat had fallen over his face. Yassop was draped over a barrel like a human hammock. Hongo snored softly on a coil of rope. Even Snake was snoring, head resting on Lucky Roo’s shoulder. It was a scene of total chaos, the aftermath of too much celebration, and yet it was peaceful.

Shanks stirred first. His eyes cracked open, still bleary and red from sleep or maybe from last night’s emotions and he yawned loudly, hiccupping mid-yawn. The bottle in his hand had rolled away, but he didn’t care. His mind was already elsewhere.

He stumbled, barely upright then steadied himself against the railing. The sun was just beginning to stretch its fingers across the horizon, painting the sea in soft gold and pink. He took a shaky breath, still feeling the lingering warmth of rum in his chest, and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

His gaze shifted below deck, where he had left you sleeping.

There you were, curled up in a blanket, hair spread over the pillow, breathing soft and steady. Even half-asleep, your presence seemed to fill the entire room with warmth. Shanks’ chest tightened in a way only you could do to him, and he let out a hiccupping chuckle.

Careful not to wake the crew or you, if he could help it, he stumbled down the steps, each step a wobbly negotiation with gravity.

When he finally reached you, his smile softened into something entirely different: gentle, reverent, full of adoration. He paused for a moment, just watching you breathe, memorizing the curve of your face, the rise and fall of your chest, the way your hair caught the faint morning light.

Without thinking too much, he crawled slowly, deliberately, over to you, careful not to jostle you awake.

“ Morning… my love… ” he murmured softly, hiccupping. His voice was low, intimate, uncharacteristically quiet for the Red-Haired Pirate, who had spent most of the night shouting at the stars about how wonderful you were.

He reached out, draping an arm over you, tugging you close. You stirred slightly, shifting in your sleep, but didn’t wake. Shanks’ cheek rested against your hair, warm, rum-scented, and entirely devoted.

“ You…you’re safe and I’m here…Always… always here, ” he whispered, closing his eyes against your hair. “ No storm, no pirate, no ocean..nothing could touch you while I’m around. Not today. Not ever. ”

A quiet breath, a hiccup, then a soft sigh. He hugged you closer, just holding you, the way someone holds something precious they never want to let go of. He could feel your warmth against him, the rhythm of your breathing, and it settled him more than any sea or adventure ever could.

For a while, the world outside, the sleeping, snoring crew, the gentle sway of the ship, the faint pink of morning sunlight didn’t matter. There was only this: you, him, and the soft, quiet sanctuary of a hug that said more than words ever could.

Even drunk, even loud, even chaotic Shanks had never felt more at peace.

And in that moment, wrapped around you, he knew exactly what freedom meant: not the open sea, not adventure, not treasure but this. You.

The world could wait.

The warmth of Shanks’ embrace pulled you gently from sleep. At first, your eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the soft morning light that filtered below deck. The ship swayed lightly, a gentle rhythm that usually made you feel at peace. Today, though it was interrupted by the faint, unmistakable scent of alcohol lingering in the air.

“ Shanks… ” you murmured softly, trying not to startle him. His face was nuzzled into your hair, still flushed from sleep or last night’s rum and he gave a contented, sleepy sigh.

“ Mmm… morning, my love, ” he mumbled, voice rough and thick with sleep. His arm tightened around you instinctively, as if even in slumber he feared letting go.

You wrinkled your nose. “ Shanks….you smell like a tavern, ” you said, half-amused, half-exasperated. “ I told you not to drink so much… ”

He was mumbling incoherently, then buried his face deeper in your hair. You sighed, a small smile tugging at your lips. “ One of these days, I’m going to have to give you a proper scolding for this, ” you teased, gently adjusting your body so you were more comfortable.

Shanks shifted slightly in his sleep, letting you take the lead. Your arms curled around him, guiding him into a more snug, protective position. The warmth of his body pressed against yours, slow breaths syncing together. You chuckled softly at how utterly unbothered he seemed by last night’s antics.

“ Better? ” you whispered, resting your cheek against his shoulder.

He groaned softly, hugging you closer without even opening his eyes. “ Mm… better… you’re…… perfect… ” he mumbled, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he could somehow hold onto the feeling forever.

Your heart swelled. You stroked his hair gently, careful not to wake him too abruptly. “ I love you, ” you murmured, voice barely louder than a sigh.

“ Love…you too, ” he muttered in response, sleepy, his voice muffled against your hair. His hold tightened just slightly, and you could feel the slow, steady beat of his heart relax.

You let yourself settle into the quiet comfort of him, the sway of the ship, and the lingering warmth of his embrace. The scent of rum and the faint traces of last night’s chaos faded against the safety of this moment.

Shanks, still half-drunk, half-asleep, fully content, let out a satisfied sigh and melted further into your arms. You felt him drift back into sleep, murmuring incoherent but unmistakably affectionate words in the quiet of the morning.

You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, and let him rest. For now, there was nothing else in the world that mattered but the two of you, tangled in warmth, love, and the slow, comforting rhythm of the sea.

Shanks slept satisfied, and you stayed there, holding him close, knowing that this.. this simple, quiet moment was more precious than any treasure in the world.

The first rays of sun spilled across the deck, lighting up the aftermath of the previous night’s chaos. Empty bottles, spilled rum, and snoring crew members were scattered in every direction, creating what could only be described as organized chaos.

Shanks, blissfully unaware of the world outside, was still curled around you below deck. His arm was draped over your waist, and his face was buried in your hair. You stirred slightly, savoring the warmth and security of his hold, but let him sleep, still half-drunk, half-sleeping, and completely smitten.

Above deck, the groans of the waking crew began.

“ Ugh… my head… ” Yassop muttered, rubbing his temple as he rolled off a barrel.

“ Never. Again, ” Hongo added, collapsing onto the deck with a dramatic groan.

Lucky Roo peeked around a stack of crates, snickering. “ I think Boss went full melt last night. ”

“ Full what? ” Benn asked, lifting his hat from his face to reveal a very unimpressed expression.

Snake, standing nearby and barely able to contain his laughter, muttered, “ He’s gonna get in trouble if he wakes her up like that. ”

Curiosity or perhaps mischief got the better of Benn, Yassop, and Hongo. They crept down the stairs, trying to see what their captain had been babbling about all night.

And then they saw it.

Shanks sleeping like a content, drunken teddy bear with his arm around his wife, who was now fully awake and adjusting herself to curl closer to him. His face was flushed, lips slightly parted, murmuring soft, incoherent words. His hand occasionally twitched as if emphasizing a point, probably about how amazing you were.

Benn snorted, shaking his head. “ Of course he does this. Who else would melt like a puddle over his wife while half-drunk? ”

Yassop groaned loudly. “ I’m going to regret living on this ship. ”

Hongo simply shook his head, muttering, “ I give up. ”

Lucky Roo, however, doubled over in laughter, pointing a finger. “ Look at him! Boss’ a disaster. And a cute disaster! ”

“ Disaster is one word for it, ” Benn muttered dryly, “ melted puddle of goo is another. ”

Shanks stirred slightly, mumbling in his sleep, “ Don’t.. leave her…” His voice was muffled against your hair, completely oblivious to the audience.

You giggled softly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “ Shhh… he’s asleep. Let him be. ”

Yassop shook his head, chuckling. “ You really are the only one who can handle this. Anyone else would have run screaming. ”

Benn sighed, half-amused, half-exasperated. “ I think I’m going to need another drink just to recover from watching this. ”

As the crew slowly dispersed, some snickering, some grumbling, you adjusted yourself closer to Shanks, wrapping your arms around him. He pulled you in tighter instinctively, murmuring in his sleep, “ Love you… ”

“ I love you too, ” you whispered softly, pressing your cheek to his.

Shanks sighed contentedly, finally letting the chaos of the world fade completely. The Red-Haired Pirate, drunk, dramatic, and completely hopeless in love, slept satisfied in your arms, while the crew outside shook their heads, muttered complaints, and secretly smiled at the ridiculous, beautiful mess that was their captain.

And in that quiet, chaotic, sunlit moment below deck, there was nothing else in the world but the two of you, perfect, happy, and utterly in love.

It was dusk, the moon was just beginning to wake up from her slumber to adorn the sky with her starry pearls and natural glow, when the ball began. A dance in honor of the Crown Prince of the Roan Kingdom, future king of this land. It has been hosted each year ever since the prince was crowned.

In other words, it was a show of power and wealth; a political move from the imperial family.

One that Cale wished not to be part of.

With a big sigh, he drank the remaining red liquid from the glass he had in his hand. The taste of alcohol made interacting with the crowds tolerable.

“Master Cale?” A sickeningly sweet voice called to him.

Cale turned and greeted a young noblewoman that was approaching him. “Good evening,” he slightly vowed.

“So it is you!” She got closer to him, practically in front of his face. “It’s such an honor to meet the infamous Cale of the Henituse Territory!” Her eyes sparkled. He leaned back out of instinct, feeling the uncomfortableness of the situation.

“Haha…the honor is all mine,” he said back with his diplomatic smile.

“Master Cale, I was hoping to discuss something with you,” she began.

“Business related? If so, we can go have a seat in of those tables over there—”

“That won’t be necessary!” She laughed nervously. Her eyes wandered to the side, her cheeks turning rosy by the second. Oh Cale could smell the trouble brewing trouble. “I was wondering…might you perhaps be seeing someone?” There it is.

“I’m sorry, but…why the sudden question?” He asked–though he didn’t really care what she had to say, it was to stall for a good response to come to his mind.

“Oh I was just curious, that's all!”

As if he’d believe that. He knew why the topic of his relationship status had been garnering attention. Ever since his grand heroic act, saving the royal family and the other territory’s leaders during the banquet a few months ago, his father had been receiving marriage offerings from all sorts of people; given how low his reputation was, they thought his father would have accepted to marry off his useless son, and in the process they would have gained his reputation. More political nonsense.

Unfortunately for them, he is already seeing someone.

Should he tell her? His relationship with you wasn’t known to the public. And although he would not want to involve you in politics for now, he did not want to lie about you either. Why do the gods like to shove him into annoying situations like this?

“Human…” His eyes glanced up discreetly to his right. A small-sized dragon floated close to his shoulder. “[Name] is giving you the sticky eyes again,” he pointed to the other side of the room, unamused by this.

Oh-uh.

His eyes slowly follow the trajectory of Raun’s long nail. There, in all the magnificent glory, was you.

The red fabric was adorning your frame nicely, not too tight to show the world whatever your body had to offer, and not too loose to look baggy. Your expensive heels clacked loudly as you tapped your left feet against the palace floors like a rabbit. You were glaring at his direction. Your attention wasn’t on him in particular. It was rather at the noblewoman that was with him at the moment. If looks could kill, he’d probably be witness to a bloody murder.

He better go to you while you are still in control of that demon. He shuddered at the thought of you snapping. 

“Master Cale?” the noblewomen called to him, concerned from his silence.

“Please excuse my manners, but I have to go. I have other business to attend to,” he smiled apologetically. He vowed slightly, “It was a pleasure meeting you. I hope to meet again someday,” that hope would only happen if the gods wished for her death by the hands of his lovely lady. He left before she could dig a greater grave.

He walked up to you, who was still glaring daggers at the confused noblewomen. “[Name]?” he called out. No response was given. “[Name]...” he called again. “[Name] please…” You gave him no mind and moved your face to the side, your brows still furrowed in annoyance. Cale could only frow.

Did that woman truly get under your skin, love? His eyes widened at an idea that crossed his mind.

“*sigh*... And here I was thinking of fetching some food my lady...” Your attention perked from the mention of food. Yet you still refuse to acknowledge him. “...I guess I’ll go with my lonesome since you don’t want anything…tis a shame, ” Cale said with a very sad voice and over dramatized expression. He turned to go to the food station.

3…2… Cale counted down. aaaand… he dragged as you stepped in front of him, 1. He smirked. Predictable as always. Your face still possessed the frown from before but with less bitterness and more pouty into it.

“...”

“...”

“...Can I come get food with you?” you asked, not bothering to look at him. You knew him. Well enough to know he had a smug expression splashed all over his eyes and mouth.

“Of course,” he extended his arm he knew you would take. As you made your way to the delicious temptations he leaned down and hovered right above your ear. “You know, you look cute when you're jealous.”

“Say another word and you're sleeping outside the manor.” He straightened, giving you a cheeky smile, and motioned his hand across his mouth like a zip to gesture you won’t hear anymore teasing from him for the rest of the night.

The ball faded into music, food, and a pouty lover.

The End

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You kept walking, tightening your grip on your bag, praying that they would lose interest. But they didn’t.

The group of them — four, maybe five — started closing in, surrounding you with their leering grins and foul remarks. You could feel their eyes on you, like vultures circling prey. Your stomach twisted in fear as one of them stepped directly into your path, forcing you to stop.

“C’mon, don’t be shy, darlin’,” he said, his grin spreading wider. He reached out as if to touch you, but before his hand could make contact, a voice rang out.

“I’m sorry I’m late, sweetheart. I was looking everywhere for you; got caught up in the shops.”

The voice was deep, smooth, with a commanding presence that seemed to stop the world around you. You blinked, your body stiff with tension as you turned towards the source.

Bucky Barnes.

You’d heard whispers about him — about the mobster who controlled most of the city’s underworld with an iron grip. He was feared by everyone, respected by those who knew better, and completely untouchable. His name alone sent shivers down most people’s spines, but the way he approached now, so casually, so effortlessly, it was like the situation was already under his control before he even spoke.

Bucky’s steely blue eyes met yours, and there was a flicker of something softer behind them as he played along with the act. He reached for your hand, gently tugging you toward him as though you’d been waiting for him all along.

The men around you hesitated, confusion flickering across their faces as they sized him up. They might not have known who he was yet, but something about him — the way he carried himself, the dangerous glint in his eyes — put them on edge.

“Who the hell are you?” one of the men sneered, stepping forward as if challenging Bucky.

Bucky didn’t even blink, his arm sliding around your shoulders protectively. He didn’t need to answer. The way he looked at the man, with an amused smirk tugging at his lips, said everything.

From across the street, Bucky’s most trusted men — Sam and Steve — lingered in the shadows, watching the scene unfold. Sam, always quick to react, saw the way the situation was escalating. Without hesitation, he stalked over, his hand slipping inside his coat to grip the gun hidden within.

Sam approached one of the men from behind, pressing the cold steel of the gun to his back, careful to keep it hidden beneath his sleeve so as not to alarm you. His face was hard, his eyes locked on Bucky, waiting for the signal.

He raised an eyebrow, the unspoken question clear. Do we take them out?

Bucky glanced down at you, still holding you close to his side. His fingers brushed lightly over your arm, a silent reassurance that you were safe with him. Then, with a barely perceptible nod, he gave Sam the permission he needed.

“Let’s go,” Bucky said softly to you, guiding you a few meters away from the group, towards the safety of your car parked just down the street.

You followed him, your mind still racing, trying to process what had just happened. Who was this man? Why was he helping you? Your heart was still pounding, but something about his calm demeanor, the way he seemed completely unfazed by the danger, made you trust him, even if you didn’t fully understand why.

Bucky’s voice was low and soothing as he opened the car door for you, his hand lingering on your back for just a moment before he pulled away.

“You’re safe now,” he murmured, his eyes scanning the street behind him. He wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot.

As you slid into the driver's seat, the sound of a gunshot cracked through the night air. You gasped, your hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as your pulse skyrocketed.

Bucky was already moving, his expression hardening as he turned back toward the scene. He didn’t need to look to know what had happened — Sam had done exactly what was necessary.

When Bucky returned to where Sam stood, the man who had dared to challenge him was sprawled out on the ground, blood pooling around him as he gasped for breath. The others — the rest of the gang — were already gone, running in fear for their lives, disappearing into the shadows.

Sam stood over the dying man, his gun still drawn, though it was tucked discreetly into his coat sleeve. He didn’t need to say anything; the message had been sent loud and clear.

“I have her safe,” Bucky said, his voice cold now, all traces of the charm he’d shown you earlier gone. He nodded toward Steve, who had come up to stand beside Sam. “You and Steve find them. They looked like new recruits from Zemo’s gang of misfits.”

Steve’s jaw tightened at the mention of Zemo. It wasn’t the first time they’d crossed paths with his gang, and it wouldn’t be the last. With a sharp nod, Steve and Sam set off in pursuit of the remaining thugs, their figures disappearing into the night like shadows.

Bucky remained where he was for a moment, his eyes locked on the body at his feet. The man coughed, choking on his own blood as he tried to speak, but Bucky didn’t care to listen. He was already done with him.

Turning on his heel, Bucky headed back to your car. You were still inside, wide-eyed and shaken, but otherwise unharmed. He opened the door once again, leaning down slightly to meet your gaze.

“Go home,” he said softly, though the steel in his voice was unmistakable. “You won’t have to worry about them anymore.”

You swallowed hard, your mind still reeling, but you nodded. Something about the way he spoke — the authority in his tone, the way he seemed so sure of himself — made you believe him.

Bucky stepped back, watching as you started the engine and pulled away, the taillights disappearing into the distance. He stood there for a while, his hands slipping into his coat pockets as he gazed down the empty street.

It was just another night in Brooklyn. Just another problem handled.

But something about the way you had looked at him, the way you had clung to his side without knowing who he was, had stirred something in him. Something unfamiliar.

With a low sigh, Bucky turned and headed into the darkness, his mind already back on the job at hand.