How long had you been pacing the living room? A glance at the clock only served to deepen the frown stuck on your face. Too long…
Your sock-clad feet were silent as you circled the kitchen island. Given enough times around, you might tread a visible path on the wood floor. And yet still your steps continued. It was the only outlet you felt could help get rid of all of this nervous energy.
Shanks was late. You didn’t like when he was late. Of course, it didn’t explicitly mean anything. Bad traffic, unexpected heavy snowfall, perhaps an impromptu stop at the grocery store on the way home, or maybe the guys had invited him out for drinks after a long shift at work. All were possibilities. All were things that had happened once or twice in the past. There were times he forgot to inform you of his plans before jumping head-first into whatever it was.
You tried not to worry. Shanks was seasoned, had seen much in his years on the job. He knew the risks that came with each and every call. He’d seen more than a few mistakes and was trained in all the ways to handle bad situations. Of all of the men in the department, he was the most experienced.
None of that made you feel any better.
The sound of the garage door’s mechanical, grinding whir as it opened nearly made you jump. But underneath the tiny moment of panic was an immense relief. He was home. He was safe. You hurried to the door to greet him.
You heard the truck’s door close, and the sound of Shanks’s footsteps approaching the door. You see the knob turn, before he’s pushing his way through.
He sees you there waiting and gives a smile. “Y/N, I’m-oof!”
He’s nearly pushed back through the door as you meet him with a tight embrace, squeezing tightly with a deep breath. He smelled like smoke, and sweat, but also like Shanks. And that’s what you needed then and there.
He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close, his other holding a plastic bag from the nearby gas station. “Hey, I’m alright. No bad calls today.” He says, knowing the reason you had greeted him this particular way. He’d grown used to your worry. “Just had to stop and get some gas, and then I got talking to the attendant about the playoffs coming up, and you know how I get about that-”
“I’m just glad you’re home.” You say against his shirt. He gives a low chuckle, perhaps because he found your behavior endearing, and yet just a little amusing at the same time. You didn’t rightly care, though you knew he didn’t mean it maliciously.
You stared at the stitching on his shirt’s breast, the fire station’s designation and cross-hatchet pattern a stark red against the gray of the rest of the shirt. He was so proud to be a firefighter…
You finally pull away, giving him space to actually come inside your home, and he closes the door behind him with his foot. He holds up the bag with an excited smile. “I got you your favorite candy, too. I figured we could have a night in and watch a movie?”
“Ok.”
Leaning in, he places a quick kiss against your lips before pulling away with a smile. “Great. Let me get settled and showered, and we’ll put something on.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
With the lights off and the curtains drawn in your living room, you were curled up beside Shanks on your large, comfy couch. The cold winter air had given your home a chill throughout the day, but you didn’t feel it at all right now. You were warm, wrapped in blankets and tucked into Shanks’s side as you lay close together. He’d changed into his comfiest pajamas, you in your nightwear.
You’d powered through two movies already, and nothing was stopping you as the third one of the night began. Your snacks long ago eaten, the wrappers laying on the ground beside the couch, you felt full and at ease.
His hand trailed inconsistent, gentle trails up and down your arm, focus mostly on the movie. But the tender touch was enough for you, the silence you shared comfortable and heavy.
You were nearly on the edge of sleep, eyelids weighted down with fatigue and the peace between you.
You felt more than heard Shanks’ chuckle as he gave your forearm a gentle squeeze. “Is the movie boring you?”
“No.” You say, stifling a yawn as best you can. It doesn’t really work. “Just comfortable.”
“Well, don’t fall asleep yet. The best part is coming up soon.”
“Mmm.”
“C'mon, Y/N,” you can practically hear the smile in his voice, “you’re gonna miss the princess giving the pirate her most heartfelt thanks, if you know what I mean.”
“Really.” You mutter, phrased in a monotone question. Somehow you didn’t believe him.
“Oh yeah, she gives him the most erotic blowjob I’ve ever seen-”
You smack him on the chest, but he only laughs underneath you. “That does not happen.”
“Well, who are you to know, unless you watch and find out?”
You give a sigh, unable to stop the small smile from lifting the corner of your lips. With a shimmy, you adjust yourself on him, angling so you can see the tv a little better. You lay your head on his chest, hearing the gentle and steady breathing, and the rhythmic beat of his heart.
Fight all you might, you fall asleep to such a comforting sound.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He can tell you’re upset. You’ve never been great at hiding things like that, but this time you weren’t even trying. The disappointment is visible in every crease on your face as you frown and look away.
“Why does it have to be you?” You ask, knowing how pathetic is sounded as you said it. Still wrapped in your towel, fresh out of the shower, you think even more so. “There are others at the station. Why can’t Ben take the shift?”
Shanks gives you a patient sigh. “He’s out of town until next week, visiting family.”
“And Yasopp?”
“His wife is due anytime now. He has to be there for her when she goes into labor.” He says with a shrug. It’s infuriating how nonchalant he was about all of this. “You know that, Y/N.”
Those are valid reasons, but really it didn’t stop you from being upset. Still, you could recognize your petulance when you displayed it. “I get it. I do. But I still can’t help but be…just…mad. This sucks. It feels like every time we plan something, work or something gets in the way. What is this…the fourth time I’ve tried to set up a night for just you and me?”
You give a sigh, rubbing at your forehead with one hand. “Fuck, this just makes me sound even more like an uncaring bitch-”
“Y/N, you’re not a bitch.” Shanks steps forward, brushing some of your wet hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry, I know you were looking forward to the dinner downtown tomorrow.”
“We’ve been planning it for three weeks…” You mumble sadly, some of the anger fading, only to be replaced with pity. This really just wasn’t fair. “Our first fancy date since we got together.”
The place you’d reserved had a wait list almost a month out, and who knew how long it would take you to get another table now? You’d been checking their website to arrange your date night for weeks even before that.
“I know…” He says in response, expression clearly displaying the guilt he felt for being the reason your plans were now ruined. His hand comes back up to brush a thumb against your cheek. “I can’t leave the station understaffed, especially on Christmas Day. It’s one of the worst holidays of the year for house fires. The department needs all the firefighters they can get into working those hours.”
“Stop…making sense.” You say with a sigh, which drags a sad smile from him. “I just…wanted this to go right for us.”
“And it will.” He says, leaning forward to kiss at your wet hairline. “I’ll call and tell them that I’ve let a beautiful woman with a heart of gold down, and ask to get a table as soon as possible. I’ll beg and plead if I have to.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
You cock your head to the side and gaze up at him, doing your best to shake off the last of your disappointment. There was no helping it. Shanks had an obligation to his job–it was one of the things he’d told you may interfere with home life–and nothing you said would convince him to miss that shift. He was a dedicated man, to you and to his duty.
It was one of the reasons you loved him so much.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He was late again.
As usual, the worry began to set in after 20 minutes. No call, no text, and the snow was coming down harder than it had in the past two weeks. It was nigh-on a blizzard, and he was out there somewhere in the city, or perhaps still at the station. As if the job wasn’t already dangerous enough, he’d need to drive home in unfavorable road conditions.
You resisted the urge to contact him. His work required focus, and the last thing you wanted to do was draw his away from the task at hand. You could be patient. After all, he always came back to you. He’d come back this time too. He had to.
And he did. An hour after his shift had been scheduled to end, you heard the blessedly grating sound of the garage door opening. You immediately stood from your perch on the couch, tossing aside the remote you’d been idly clicking at for the past half hour or so. Nothing had sounded interesting in the slightest.
You made your way towards the door to the garage, already smiling before he’d walked in. You’d been looking forward to exchanging presents with him–you’d both agreed to save it for after his shift when you could relax together and not have to worry about hurrying things along for the sake of him leaving soon after.
The door opened with its typical creak, and Shanks pushed through.
Your smile disappeared at the sight of him.
Disheveled, ragged, and soot staining his face. His clothes were a mess, blackened and sweat-stained all over. Clearly Shanks hadn’t bothered cleaning himself up after the last fire they’d been called to take care of. But worse yet was the haunted look he sported as he came inside.
It…had not been a good day. No words were needed to figure that out.
The moment he saw you, his dirtied state of being be damned, he dropped the duffle bag at his feet and pulled you into a crushing hug. It was almost painful, but you dared not say a word, letting him hold you as close as he needed to.
He took a deep, shaking breath, nose pressed into your hair. He said nothing, his silence speaking for him. And when you think you feel him begin to shake minutes later, you slowly pull away.
You stare up at his distress, feeling a pain in your heart at the way he’d come home to you. It hurt so much to see him in so much grief. Whatever had happened had affected him more than you’d ever seen. You didn’t dare ask, though. Something told you to keep quiet, to let him just…take in the fact that he was home now.
But he needed to clean. He was filthy, and perhaps a hot shower would help more towards shifting his state of mind from work back to the comfort and safety of home. So with a gentle tug of his hands, you draw him backwards towards your master bathroom. He goes without resistance.
You run the shower as hot as you think the both of you can handle it, stripping you both of your soiled clothing. Shanks’ gaze is far away, but always on you, eyes never leaving your figure. It’s a bit disconcerting, if you’re being honest, but you still don’t ask.
You step into the shower with him, turning him towards the spray first. He needs it more than you, both because he’s covered in dried sweat and soot, but the warmth and water, with luck, would begin to soothe his agonizing soul.
He draws you into another hug, never letting you stray far, and you take the opportunity to wash away the dirt on his back as he holds you.
And when the shaking begins again, you hear the choked sobs follow suit. They reverberated between the shower walls, loud and bouncing. The tears he shed were lost to the shower spray, but you knew they were falling.
“There was a woman.” He muttered brokenly, trying and failing to compose himself. “Trapped inside. I could see her…but I couldn’t…get to her. She…she looked so much like you…”
“Shanks…” You whisper, the sound of his grief proved too much for you to resist against, and you knew your eyes leaked tears alongside his own, heart torn apart. You hated seeing him this way. “I’m so sorry.”
“I couldn’t help but…see you. I couldn’t…save her and, I…I couldn’t stop thinking about how I could lose you-”
“I’m right here.” You reassure into his ear, pressing him closer to you. “I’m still here. Not going anywhere.”
He only continues to sob after that, letting out all of the grief you knew he had held back from his fellow firefighters. They looked up to him, depended on his strength and level head. For as much as he took on, for as much as he could deal with and compartmentalize, he didn’t want them worrying about him. But the cracks this time were too wide and the floodgates spilled out as he shook and cried and broke down in your arms.
You didn’t bother with shampoo and conditioner on yourself, slowly going through the process of soaping and scrubbing at his body, washing away the last vestiges of the terrible fire. If this was the only way you could help him move past that day, by god, you would do it thoroughly.
Once he was cleaned as best you could get him, you shampooed his hair to get any of the remaining soot out. He seemed to begin to calm a bit as you massaged it through his hair, breathing still funny but lacking the stuttering of when he’d been crying. It was a start.
You stayed in the shower far longer than either of you normally would, taking your time to bring him back to you, to the safety of home and the comfort of peace.
You help him towel off after you finally step out with him. He’s stopped crying at this point, but the redness in his eyes, and the way he keeps glancing at you, it’s clear he is still thinking about the fire.
And so, figuring that the best thing you could do for him was stay close, you don’t bother to redress, and guide him to the bed once you’d both dried off as best you could, laying naked beside him under the covers.
“Come here.” You encourage. He allows you to maneuver him as you wish, until his head is pressed just above your breast, ear against your skin. With several deep and measured breaths, you glance down at your redheaded lover. “Can you hear it?”
He pauses, eyes closing, but does nod. Your heart beat, clear and loud in your chest, is a lifeline. The proof that you’re alive. The evidence he needs to ground himself back in reality, rather than the dismal and downward spiraling thoughts that had plagued him since the fire.
You breathe, in and out, over and over, for who knows how long. A half hour? Hours, even? You don’t rightly care. If he needed to lay there until morning or even tomorrow night, his ear pressed to your chest listening to your heart beat with life, you’d do it. You’d do anything you could to bring him back to you. He mattered so much.
“I’m sorry.” Shanks suddenly whispers, his breath fanning your exposed breast.
“Don’t be.” You say, tracing along his neck with one hand. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“It hit me all at once, when I got home-”
“It’s ok. We’re both safe, we’re both here with each other, which is all that matters.”
“Yeah…” His deep breath in is no longer stuttered, filled with his grief. He was of course still raw with emotion, but the worst had passed. The flood of sorrow had reduced to a manageable trickle. Perhaps he’d cried out all the tears that his body had it in him to give.
And when he looks back up at you, the sadness is undertones by a his pleading expression. You have an idea of what he’s going to ask before he asks it, feeling his hand move under the covers.
“Y/N, can we…please, I just want to feel you close. As close as I can.” You feel the brush of his fingers against your nipple, and the sensation makes you hum. “I want to remind myself that I still have you.”
“You can always have me, whenever you need me.” You say in just as soft a whisper, helping him shift so that he’s hovering above you. He must be exhausted, you think. A little loving attention was definitely in order. “I can do the work if you-”
“No, I want to feel you myself.” He says, insistently. His lips descend to your collarbone, the kisses light and soft, and yet full of so much. “Let me do it with my own hands. I need to.”
“Ok.” You say, giving him full reign of whatever he needed. If this is what would help him best, you would comply.
His mouth trails up along your neck, then your jaw, before he presses it against your own. It’s nowhere near as hungry and passionate as you’ve shared before. It’s…more of a question. And your responding kiss is the answer that soothes his heart and soul.
Your fingers card up through his wet hair. You don’t mind the water that drips down your hands and to the sheets below. Your own has created a damp spot on your pillow beneath your head.
He’s thorough, loving and doting, his hands touching and squeezing the parts of you he needs to feel most. Your wrist, his thumb brushing over your pulse point. Your waist, fingers kneading the flesh they find with tender circles.
You jolt when he circles your nipple, pinching gently and pressing into the pillowy flesh. He groans when you gasp, savoring every noise and little sound you make in response to his ministrations. Every breath you draw, every hitch in it, he lets wash over his heart like a balm.
“Beautiful…” He mutters against your lips. “So beautiful.”
Your legs come up to wrap around his waist. With a bit of awkward shifting and maneuvering, his hips slot against your core. This new position lets him hold you even closer, your chests pressed together. His lips lower to your jaw, then towards your ear. You shiver when his teeth scrape against the spot just below your ear on your neck. It isn’t painful, but promises so much more than what he’s currently giving.
You feel smothered underneath him, but in such a wonderful way. It may be difficult to breathe, but if every inhalation is him, it’s a blessing. Simply being with him so close was life itself. Each and every touch, you’re glowing. You’re hot and in need of more. It’s a slow build, but insistent.
“I’ll never get enough of you.” He says, voice so thick with emotion you barely hear the words spoken into your neck. “Don’t stop breathing, ok? Please.”
“I won’t.” You promise, eyes closing as he presses his erection against your core. The pressure is delicious, but the angle isn’t right for him to actually enter you. It makes your toes curl.
“So alive, always so alive and…Y/N, I want to be inside of you.”
You smile, lifting your hips to bring him just that little bit closer to where you both were connected below. “I want that too.”
He sighs in relief, dragging the length of his cock along your wet entrance with slow thrusts, coating himself in your body’s natural lubrication. “You’re more than I deserve.”
“You deserve all of me.” You say. He smiles against your skin, peppering tiny kisses that send your heart aflutter.
“I can only hope.” He replies, sliding one last time before he angles himself properly to push through your waiting entrance. There’s a moment where you both hold your breath, savoring the way he fills you with his thick member, fitting inside you in a way only he could.
“Shanks…” You gasp, legs tightening around him as his hips meet yours, bottoming out inside of you. Biting your lip, your head falls back to the damp pillow. “Fuck, you’re so…”
“Stay just like that.” He pleads in a husky breath, shifting his head to lay against your chest again. “I can feel all of you this way.”
You try your best to stay still, breathing shaky and stilted at times because he just filled you up so well. No doubt your heart beat at a faster pace through your chest. Shanks hums in satisfaction at the sound, his hot breath ghosting trails on your breasts. Hands caress your sides slowly, as he savors the sound inside of you.
And then he begins to move, so slowly at first, his first thrust barely more than a lazy rocking of his hips back and then forward again when he was almost pulled out of you entirely.
You fail to recall a single time sex with Shanks had ever felt quite so intimate. So…human. It’s like you’re breathing as one, in tandem, bodies interconnected in ways never thought possible.
“Love you…so much.” He pants, unable to keep the slow pace up for long. The shaking in his arms this time isn’t from grief, but from the overwhelming desire to take more of you for himself. “You’re everything…don’t know what I’d do without you.”
The covers slip from his back as he goes faster, the bed beginning to rock underneath you with the force. Your breathy gasps morph into longing moans from deep in your chest. The coiling in your chest now buzzed and had you tensing your muscles around his waist.
His lips seek out yours again, and he kisses you. Like you’re the light of his life and even more. You do your best to return the intensity, but Shanks is overwhelming and strong, and he doesn’t let you. Here and now, this was about his love for you.
Shanks groans, forehead dropping to the crook of your neck as he fucks into you with commanding force. It’s too much, too much. Your fingers scramble to find purchase and nails drag into his shoulders. You’re caught off guard by the sudden franticness of his thrusts, and it’s enough to plunge you over into a wracking orgasm.
“Y/N, you’re…oh, you’re so good…” He mumbles, fucking you through the waves of pleasure. The squeeze of your walls on his cock causes a hitch in his voice. “God, I love you…”
You’re gasping for air as he finally follows after you, hips pressed as close as they can be into your body down below. Everything he has to give is pumped inside, and he’s smiling down at the way you’re flushed and boneless and even dazed underneath him.
His trembling body lowers down onto yours, unwilling to even separate to roll to the side. Sticky again, you don’t mind in the slightest. It’ll be uncomfortably hot soon enough, but that was alright.
He says nothing as he gazes deeply into your face, memorizing every little line and each and every twitch of your mouth and eyes and nose.
And you lay like that for a long time, eventually falling asleep beside one another. You’re alive. He’s alive. And you’re both safe, hearts beating with so much love for one another.
ns 15.158.61.55da2
