The sun was low, spilling molten gold across the deck. The battle was over, the remaining pirates fled, and the waves lapped gently against the ship. The crew moved quietly, tending to sails and minor damages, leaving the deck mostly empty except for the two of you.

You sank against the railing, limbs stiff, bruises darkening along your arms and side. A faint cut ran along your cheek, and your chest still ached from the scuffle. Shanks came to stand beside you, his one arm resting lightly on the railing, eyes scanning the damage—both to the ship and to you. “You’re bleeding,” he murmured, voice low, calm but edged with concern. He crouched slightly, brushing a loose strand of hair from your temple, fingers lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary. “Do you even realize how reckless you are?” You let out a tired laugh, wincing as you shifted your weight. “Reckless? Me? You’re the one who jumped in like a maniac.” “I’m always like a maniac,” he replied, smirking softly. “But I prefer my chaos to be… yours too.” You blinked at him, heat rising to your cheeks, and leaned just slightly against his side, letting yourself feel the warmth of his presence. Shanks leaned closer, thumb brushing gently over your jawline, careful where your bruises ran.

“You’ve got a few good bruises,” he said softly, voice low. “I might have to remember this when you start acting tough again.” “I can handle myself,” you whispered, your fingers brushing against his coat for balance. “Mostly.” “Mostly…” he echoed, a teasing lilt in his voice. “That ‘mostly’ is what scares me.” He pressed a light kiss to your temple, brushing his fingers along your arm, lingering at a tender spot near your shoulder. You let yourself exhale slowly, closing your eyes briefly, leaning just a little further into him. The gentle sway of the ship, the quiet of the evening, and the warmth radiating from Shanks made the aches of battle fade slightly.

“You’re impossible,” you murmured softly, lips twitching into a faint smile. “And you…” he countered, brushing his fingers along the bruised side of your arm, careful but intimate, “…you make me care too much. Dangerous, really.” His smirk softened into something warmer, almost vulnerable. “Come on,” he said, voice quieter now, almost a whisper, “…rest. Let me take care of you for a bit. You’ve earned it.” You leaned against him fully now, shoulder touching his chest, breathing a little easier. He draped his arm around you, close but not smothering, his fingers brushing along your arm with soft, gentle pressure. You felt his chest rise and fall steadily, the faint scent of salt and sea air surrounding you.

“You always know how to make me feel… safe,” you murmured, barely audible. He leaned his head slightly closer, pressing it near yours, brushing his lips along the top of your hair. “Good,” he said softly. “Because I’m not letting anything—or anyone—hurt you again. Not if I can stop it.” You tilted your head to rest more comfortably against him, letting the silence stretch, the waves rocking the ship, the sun dipping closer to the horizon. Even bruised, aching, and exhausted, you felt an unshakable warmth, a quiet certainty that he would always be there. And for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to relax completely—safe, cherished, and protected by the one-armed pirate who had somehow claimed your heart.