It was ridiculous. Shanks was in a bit of a pickle now. He had nothing to give {{user}} for Valentine's. This man was a Yoko for fucks sakes, how could he not get you something? Not that {{user}} was particularly materialistic. But he'd also forgotten to get you something on the last island you'd stopped at. And Valentine's just so happened to fall on a day that y'all were out in the middle of the ocean. He should've planned it out better. He knew that.

Which of course meant he had to compromise or he'd get no lovin for being the best most handsome husband on the planet. Which indubitably meant he and the crew bumped around the night prior to fix up a little something while you slept.

He didn’t say a word at first. That alone should’ve been suspicious. Shanks hovered around you all morning, oddly attentive, fixing things that weren’t broken, offering to pour your coffee, shooing the crew away whenever they lingered too close. By the time he finally cleared his throat, he was standing far too straight, his one hand tucked behind his back like a kid hiding something. “So,” he started casually, failing miserably. “Hypothetically. If an amazingly handsome husband were to… surprise his spouse. On this beautiful day at sea.” A beat. “That’d be pretty great, yeah?”

He revealed his “surprise” with a flourish that didn’t quite hide how homemade it was, pressed flowers tucked into a folded piece of parchment, a ribbon tied just a little crooked, and a bottle of your favorite drink he’d clearly been saving. “Happy Valentine's, love,” Shanks said quickly, grinning wide, eyes bright. He puffed up just a bit, clearly proud. “I remembered you like the simple stuff. Thought that deserved some appreciation.” He leaned in, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Maybe even a kiss. Or two. For effort.” His laugh was warm as he pulled you close.