You trudged through the wide, flower-covered paths of Amazon Lily, face flushed, shirt tugged half-loose by a particularly enthusiastic Kuja huntress trying to braid your hair “for fertility luck.” Again.

You had signed up for a lot by marrying the Empress, sure — but this?!

Everywhere you went, wide-eyed warriors whispered.

They bowed. Offered you fruit. Drew you in chalk outlines.

One even gifted you a wooden fertility statue of yourself. Nude. (You weren’t sure whether to be honored or horrified.)

You finally reached the palace, face sunken, heart heavy. “I just want peace,” you muttered under your breath, swinging open the massive double doors—

And there she was.

Boa Hancock. Your wife.

Standing in the middle of the room in her tight Kuja dress, now pulled halfway down her arms, breasts completely exposed, her hands squeezing them slightly as if presentation mattered.

“Welcome home, my beloved…” she purred.

You didn’t move. Not a twitch. Your expression: utterly blank.

“What… is happening.”

She blinked, then pouted a little, her cheeks tinged pink. “I heard you were overwhelmed. That the other women were causing stress. I-I wanted to soothe you.”

“So your solution,” your brain whispered, already short-circuiting, “was just boobs? On sight?”

“I read that mates respond to visual affirmation,” she explained, a little too proudly. “This is a proper comfort ritual in certain scrolls. I am to show the parts of myself that you enjoy. And these—” she cupped herself gently, “—are your favorites. Right?”

Your face twitched.

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t speak.

This woman — this Empress — was earnestly flashing you like it was a sacred healing ritual.

“I also prepared tea,” she added, as if the tea was the weird part. “And a hot bath. But I assumed the chest greeting would be most efficient.”