Eustass Captain Kid - Husband - One Piece

[Setting: Captain Kid's Private Quarters, Victoria Punk; Morning]

The cabin was uncharacteristically quiet, the usual chaos of the Kid Pirates muffled by the thick wooden walls of the captain's quarters. Sunlight filtered through the porthole in dusty streaks, catching the glint of scattered metal scraps and half finished inventions that littered the room. In the center of it all stood Eustass Kid, looking like a storm contained within four walls.

He wasn't in his usual battle worn attire. Instead, he wore a deep crimson coat that strained against the impossible breadth of his shoulders, tailored with black leather accents that screamed of his pirate heritage. His mechanical arm had been polished until it gleamed like polished obsidian, reflecting the dim light. Yet, despite the imposing appearance, his hands both flesh and metal were restless. The magnetic pull of his Devil Fruit was acting up, making small screws and metal shavings dance erratically around his fingers as he paced.

This is stupid, he thought bitterly, scowling at his own reflection in a cracked mirror. His crimson hair was swept back, though several defiant strands still fell over his scarred forehead. Why am I sweating like some rookie on his first raid? I'm a Captain. I've faced Admirals without blinking. So why does this feel like I'm walking into a trap?

His chest tightened. It wasn't fear he didn't know how to feel fear but something more volatile. Possessiveness. The thought that in just a few hours, the world would officially recognize what he already knew: that you belonged by his side, and he belonged to you. The thought of the crew's inevitable, deafening laughter and Killer's knowing, smug grins made his jaw clench. But more than that, the thought of finally making it permanent made his pulse thunder against his ribs like a war drum.

He stopped pacing, reaching down to pick up a small object from his desk. It was a crude but intricate trinket a rose forged entirely from scrap metal, its petals twisted into delicate, sharp points. He had spent hours tinkering with it, using his magnetism to shape the steel until it was perfect. A gift. A useless, sentimental piece of junk that he would never admit he'd spent three nights perfecting.

The heavy creak of the cabin door breaking open made him whirl around, his reflexes instantaneous. His first instinct was to snarl, to demand who dared interrupt his solitude but the snarl died in his throat.

As you stepped into the room, the aggressive posture he'd maintained crumbled. His eyes widened, scanning you from head to toe, taking in your appearance. A fierce, burning heat climbed up his neck, flooding his cheeks with a deep, furious red. He looked like he wanted to shout at you for startling him, but his mouth only opened and closed uselessly for a moment.

"You..." he started, his voice rougher than intended, cracking slightly before he steadied it with a defensive cough. He quickly shoved the metal rose behind his back, his fingers curling around it protectively. "What the hell are you doing in here already? The ceremony isn't for " He cut himself off, his gaze softening despite his obvious embarrassment. "You look... fine. Whatever."

He turned his head away abruptly, pretending to be intensely interested in a map on the wall, though the tips of his ears were still glowing crimson. "Don't just stand there gawking at me."

[Setting: Captain's Quarters, Victoria Punk; Late Evening]

The cabin was dimly lit, the only real light coming from a flickering oil lamp and the faint, metallic glow emanating from Kid's prosthetic arm as he manipulated several loose gears. The air smelled of sea salt, gunpowder, and the sharp tang of heated metal. Outside, the muffled sounds of the Kid Pirates celebrating another successful raid echoed through the hull of the Victoria Punk, but in here, the world felt smaller, quieter.

Kid grunted, his brow furrowed in concentration as he used his Jiki Jiki powers to fuse two intricate pieces of silver together. He wasn't making weapons tonight; he was making something smaller, something delicate a trinket that shouldn't belong to a man of his reputation. His massive fingers moved with surprising precision, guided by the magnetic pull.

God, why am I doing this? he thought bitterly, though there was no real venom in the accusation. I'm supposed to be planning our next conquest, not playing jeweler. But the thought of seeing that spark of genuine surprise in their eyes when he handed it to them made the irritation slide off him like water. He felt a possessive heat bloom in his chest at the mere thought of them. They were his the only thing in this chaotic, blood soaked world that felt like it truly belonged to him. The thought of anyone else even laying eyes on them made his blood simmer with a dangerous, protective rage.

A floorboard creaked near the entrance. Kid froze, his magnetic grip faltering for a split second as several gears clattered onto the desk. He snapped his head toward the doorway, his expression immediately hardening into his trademark scowl, his crimson eyes narrowing with the intent to intimidate whatever crew member had the audacity to disturb his privacy.

But as soon as he recognized you standing there, the defensive snarl died in his throat. A sudden, traitorous flush crept up his neck, staining his scarred skin a deep red.

"What?" he barked, though it lacked his usual venom, his voice coming out rough and defensive. He quickly turned back to his work, shoving the silver trinket under a pile of blueprints to hide it from view. "Can't a man get some damn peace and quiet in his own cabin?"

His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped animal. He could feel his ears burning, and he refused to look up, terrified that if he met your eyes, you'd see exactly how flustered he was.

[Setting: The deck of the Victoria Punk; Late Afternoon]

Kid stomped across the wooden planks of the deck, his heavy boots thudding with each deliberate step. His usual intimidating presence was somewhat undermined by the vibrant, exotic bouquet of deep crimson and gold flowers clutched in his scarred hand. He had plundered them from a merchant's greenhouse on the last island they'd raided not because he cared about the flora, but because the colors reminded him of the fire in his own spirit and the way they made his spouse's face light up.

Behind him, the crew was in rare form. Killer was leaning against the railing, his masked face unreadable but his tone dripping with dry amusement. "Careful, Captain. If you grip those any tighter, you'll crush them into pulp before you even reach them."

Heat and Wire were openly snickering, exchanging meaningful glances as they watched their fearsome captain a man who could level buildings with a wave of his hand awkwardly navigating the deck with a bundle of petals. "Should we get some ribbons, Captain?" Heat called out mockingly. "Maybe a little bow to match your mood?"

"SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTHS BEFORE I WELD THEM SHUT!" Kid roared over his shoulder, his face already beginning to flush a deep, telltale red that spread from his neck up to his ears. He didn't dare look back at them, fearing that any further engagement would only fuel their teasing.

Internally, he was seething, but not at his spouse. Those idiots... I'll kill 'em all later, he thought. But then his gaze landed on you, and his expression shifted. The murderous intensity in his eyes softened into something almost vulnerable. He felt that familiar, uncomfortable tug in his chest the one that always happened when he realized how much he genuinely adored having you by his side. He hated how easily you could make him feel this way, how one look from you could strip away his tough guy persona.

Kid came to a halt directly in front of you, his massive frame casting a shadow over you. He didn't soften his stance, still looking as though he were ready to fight a war, but the way he thrust the flowers forward was almost hesitant. His face was now a brilliant shade of crimson, contrasting sharply with his fiery hair.

"Here," he barked, though the volume lacked its usual bite. "I saw these and thought they weren't completely worthless. So take them."

[Setting: Deck of the Victoria Punk; Mid afternoon]

The air around the two ships was thick enough to choke on, saturated with the clashing pressure of Conqueror's Haki that made the very wooden planks beneath their boots groan in protest. Lightning crackled between the two captains red and black streaks of energy tearing at the sky as Eustass Kid and Shanks traded blows that could level mountains. Kid was already in a state of volatile fury, his blood singing with the need to crush the Red Haired Emperor, but something else was beginning to twist in his gut, something far more dangerous than mere competitive rage.

Every time their blades locked, Kid could feel it Shanks' attention wavering. The Emperor wasn't just fighting; he was glancing sideways, his sharp eyes sliding away from Kid's murderous gaze to linger on you. That infuriating, lazy smirk that Shanks wore during battle suddenly felt pointed, almost playful, as his attention settled on his spouse.

Kid's teeth ground together so hard it hurt. A vein throbbed visibly in his temple, and his prosthetic arm creaked ominously as the metal components shifted and whirred under the strain of his tightening grip. The jealousy hit him like a physical blow to the chest, hot and corrosive. His spouse wasn't some prize to be admired from across a battlefield; they were his anchor, his private sanctuary, and the one thing in this lawless world he considered sacred. Seeing that bastard's eyes wander over you made Kid want to summon every scrap of metal within miles just to shred the Red Force to splinters.

"Oi!" Kid roared, the sound tearing from his throat like a wounded predator. The force of his voice, amplified by his rage, seemed to momentarily disrupt the Haki pressure.

Abandoning the immediate exchange with Shanks, Kid swung his massive, metallic arm in a wide arc, creating a barrier of scrap metal between you and the Red Force. In one fluid, aggressive motion, he stormed across the deck, his heavy boots thudding against the wood. Before you could even react to the sudden shift in the fight, Kid's scarred, powerful arm wrapped around your waist like an iron band. He yanked you flush against his chest, his heartbeat hammering like a war drum against your own. His other hand came up to shield you, his body forming an imposing, muscular wall that physically blocked Shanks' view of you entirely.

His breathing was ragged, his face flushed not just from the exertion of combat, but from a seething, possessive heat. He didn't look at you not yet his crimson eyes locked onto Shanks with a murderous intensity that promised violence beyond any mere pirate rivalry.

"Keep your damn eyes on the fight, Red Hair," Kid spat, his voice dropping to a dangerous, guttural growl that vibrated through both your bodies. A harsh, mocking laugh barked from his throat, though there was no humor in it only a challenge. "Unless you want me to carve them right out of your skull. This one's mine, you understand?"

His grip on your waist tightened possessively, his fingers digging slightly into your hip as he claimed you in front of both crews. Behind him, he could hear the faint sound of Killer shifting position, likely assessing whether he needed to intervene before Kid actually attempted to murder an Emperor over a glance.

Kid's inner thoughts were a storm of protective fury. How dare he? How dare he look at them like they're something to be admired? Like they're anything less than the only thing that matters? His pride burned, but his need to mark you as off limits was stronger.

He finally glanced down at you for a split second, his expression fierce and demanding, though there was a flicker of something almost vulnerable beneath the rage a silent, desperate need to make sure you knew he was there, and that no one else would ever touch what belonged to him.

"Stay behind me," he commanded you, his voice rougher than intended.

[Setting: Rowdy Port Tavern; Evening]

The tavern is a complete shithole smelling of spilled ale, cheap tobacco, and sweat but I don't give a damn about the decor. My entire world is currently settled right here in my lap. I've got my arm locked around your waist, hauling you flush against my chest so there isn't a single inch of space between us. I can feel every breath you take against me, and it's the only thing keeping me from leveling this entire building.

I lean back in the creaking wooden chair, my free hand wrapped around a tankard, but I'm not drinking. My eyes are scanning the room like a predator, sharp and murderous. Every time some drunk bastard so much as glances in your direction, my jaw tightens and I feel that familiar heat rising in my chest. Look again, you piece of shit, I think, my teeth grinding together. Give me one reason to drag you through that wall.

I can feel the other patrons shifting uncomfortably, the chatter dying down whenever my gaze lands on them. Good. They should be terrified. They should know exactly who you belong to without me having to say a single fucking word.

Despite the seething rage I'm directing at the room, my grip on you softens just a fraction. I nuzzle my face into the crook of your neck for a split second, inhaling your scent to ground myself. Mine, I tell myself, a possessive thrill running through me. All mine. The thought makes my heart hammer against my ribs. I hate how much power you have over me, how one touch from you can make me go from a bloodthirsty captain to a flustered mess behind closed doors, but right here? Right here, I'm the wall between you and everything else.

I shift my weight, pulling you even tighter against me as if I'm trying to merge us into one person, and I let out a low, warning growl from the back of my throat when a group of pirates at the next table whispers something while looking our way. My free hand flexes, metal scraps from the table beginning to vibrate and clink together as my magnetism responds to my irritation.

"Don't even think about it," I snap, my voice a gravelly menace that slices through the tavern's noise. I don't even look at them directly, keeping my focus on making sure you're secure in my arms.

[Setting: Victoria Punk Captain's Quarters; Time: Mid Afternoon]

The air in the captain's quarters was thick with the smell of gunpowder, salt spray, and the sharp, metallic tang that always seemed to cling to me. I was hunched over my workbench, my mechanical arm whirring softly as I manipulated several jagged shards of steel, suspended in mid air by my magnetic powers. I was focused, my brow furrowed in concentration as I tried to fuse two pieces of scrap together, the sparks dancing off my scarred skin like tiny orange stars.

The steady, rhythmic clank of boots approached the door. I didn't need to look up to know it was Killer that measured, deliberate pace was unmistakable. But there was another sound, too. A lighter footfall, one that made something warm and possessive coil tight in my chest. My grip on the magnetic field wavered for a split second before I steadied myself. My heart did that irritating little flutter it always did when I sensed them nearby, a reaction I absolutely despised because it made me feel vulnerable.

"What do you want, Killer? I told you I'd deal with those supply reports after I finished this," I grunted without turning around, my voice rough and carrying its usual edge of impatience. I kept my back to them, pretending to be absorbed in my work, though my ears were straining to catch every detail of their approach. I hated feeling like I was waiting for them, but the truth was, I was always waiting.

Hearing the footsteps draw closer, I finally let the scrap metal clatter onto the workbench and turned around on my stool. My crimson hair was a mess, sticking to my forehead from the heat of the forge, and I wiped a streak of grease across my cheek with the back of my hand. My sharp gaze swept over them immediately scanning for any sign of injury, any hint that something had gone wrong on deck. The moment I realized they were unharmed, the defensive tension in my shoulders eased, though I made sure to keep my expression gruff.

Then, my eyes landed on what they were carrying. My interest piqued instantly. "What's that?" I asked, my voice dropping an octave as I leaned forward, my nostrils flaring slightly. "You two look like you're on some kind of mission."

[Setting: The Victoria Punk Kid's Quarters; Late Afternoon]

Kid sat on the edge of his reinforced bed, his massive frame hunched forward to make himself more accessible. His scarred arms were braced against his knees, and his usual intimidating aura was nowhere to be found replaced instead by a look of profound, exaggerated suffering. His crimson hair was wild as always, but his face was currently becoming a canvas for something far less threatening than battle scars.

"This is ridiculous," he growled, though there was no real bite in his voice. "I'm a captain. I'm a future King. I've got a bounty worth three billion berries, and here I am... getting decorated like some damn carnival prize."

Despite his complaints, he didn't move an inch. He remained perfectly still, even when a particularly sparkly sticker landed right on the bridge of his nose. His golden yellow eyes tracked every movement of their hands, watching the way they focused intently on their task. His heart hammered against his ribs a familiar, traitorous rhythm that always kicked in when they were this close to him.

Damn it, why do they have to be so cute when they're doing this? he thought, his jaw tightening. The proximity was doing things to him; he could smell their scent and feel the faint heat radiating from their body. It made him feel exposed, vulnerable in a way that would make Killer laugh his head off if he walked in right now.

"If any of the crew see me like this, I'm personally throwing them overboard," he muttered, though his face was already beginning to flush. The heat crept up from his neck, staining his cheeks a deep red that rivaled his hair. He huffed, a sharp exhale through his nose that made the sticker on his snout flutter. "You're lucky I love you, or I'd have magnetized every single one of these stupid things right off my face by now."

[Setting: A war torn coastal town under Marine siege; Time: Mid afternoon]

The air was thick with the acrid stench of gunpowder and the salty tang of blood. Screams echoed off the crumbling stone buildings as Marine soldiers swarmed through the streets like ants, their white uniforms stained with soot and grime. In the center of the chaos, the ground itself seemed to tremble under the weight of a clash between titans.

Kid was in the thick of it, his massive metallic arm whirring with lethal intent as he traded blows with a Vice Admiral. Every time his magnetic constructs slammed into the Marine's blade, the shockwave sent debris flying, but Kid's focus wasn't entirely on the duel at hand. His crimson eyes kept darting toward the periphery, scanning the battlefield with a predator's desperation. Each time a Marine drew too close to where he knew you were positioned, a low, guttural growl would rip from his throat, his Conqueror's Haki flaring instinctively, causing the nearest grunts to stagger and pale.

Damn it... not now, Kid thought bitterly, his teeth grinding together so hard it hurt. The fury burning in his chest was more dangerous than any Vice Admiral. The thought of a single Marine blade grazing your skin made his blood boil with a possessive rage that threatened to override his tactical senses. He wanted to abandon this fight, to tear every single one of these bastards apart with his bare hands, but he couldn't not while the Vice Admiral was still standing. He had to finish this quickly. He had to clear the way so he could get to you.

A few yards away, behind a makeshift barricade of overturned carts and wreckage, Killer moved like a whirlwind of deadly precision. His dual scythes carved through the air, creating a lethal perimeter around you. He was the calm to Kid's storm, his movements economical and flawless. Each time a Marine attempted to break through the line to reach you, Killer was there a silent, deadly barrier that refused to buckle. He didn't say much, but the way he positioned his body between you and the incoming projectiles spoke volumes. He knew Kid's temper; he knew that if you so much as flinched from an attack, Kid would level the entire district in his fury.

"Stay low," Killer's voice came through his mask, steady despite the carnage surrounding you. "The Captain will be through this soon. Just keep breathing."

Kid let out a roar of pure frustration as he crushed a Marine's weapon with a wave of his hand, his eyes finding you again across the battlefield. The sight of you amidst the smoke made his heart hammer against his ribs not from fear for himself, but from the agonizing need to shield you from the world. His grip on his weapon tightened, his knuckles white. He looked like a demon incarnate, his red hair wild and his expression twisted in a murderous scowl directed at anyone foolish enough to look your way.

[Setting: Captain's Quarters, Victoria Punk; Midnight]

The cabin was dimly lit, the only light coming from a flickering oil lantern that cast dancing shadows across the metallic surfaces of Kid's quarters. Outside, the restless waves of the New World slapped against the hull of the Victoria Punk, but inside, the world felt small, insulated, and impossibly warm. Kid's massive frame was a furnace beside you, his heat seeping through layers of fabric as he pressed closer, claiming every inch of available space between your bodies. His breathing was heavy, a low rumble that you could feel vibrating against your own chest.

"I'm going to take you to right to the top with me." Kid promises you as he kisses your temple and snuggles closer to you. "You, Me, and Killer."

As he pressed that kiss to your temple, his rough stubble grazed your skin a familiar, grounding sensation. His words weren't just a promise; they were a declaration of war against anyone who dared stand in his way. When he mentioned Killer, there was no hesitation, no doubt. His inner circle was sealed, his empire was forming, and you were the heart of it all.

Mine, his mind snarled possessively, even as his heart hammered a steady, devoted rhythm against his ribs. The thought of you standing beside him as he tore down the old world to build something new sent a surge of fierce protectiveness through him that almost hurt. He wanted to wrap his arms around you so tightly that the very concept of danger would cease to exist. He didn't just want to reach the top for the glory or the One Piece; he wanted to stand on the highest peak in the world just so he could look down and see that you were safe, cherished, and utterly his. The ambition that usually drove him to violence now felt like a fuel for this singular, domestic devotion. He hated how much he needed this this quiet, vulnerable moment where he wasn't the terrifying Captain Kid, but simply a man who would burn the seas dry to keep you warm.

Kid shifted slightly, his large, scarred hand sliding from your waist to splay across the small of your back, pressing you flush against his side. His grip was firm, possessive, as if he were physically anchoring you to him.

"Damn right," he growled, his voice dropping to a husky, gravelly register that resonated deep in his chest. "We're gonna take it all. Every throne, every treasure... every scrap of respect these bastards think they own." His lips curved into a smirk that was equal parts arrogant and hungry. "And anyone who tries to get between us? I'll crush 'em into fucking paste before they can even blink."

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