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s3thwrit3sstuff · 9 months

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❝ YOU ALREADY HAVE A PIECE OF MY HEART (WHICH I HAVE NEVER GIVEN TO YOU) ❞

warnings: burn scars, battle scars, grief, derealization, trauma (so much trauma), major character deaths (Satoru, Suguru, Tsumiki, Nanako, Mimiko, Principal Yaga, (Y/N)'s mom), Fushiguro Megumi angst, Junpei mentioned (surprisingly without angst), Itadori Yuji angst (minor), NSFW content for Sukuna's section, implied cannibalism

masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's

authors note: NOT PROOFREAD AT ALL! The formatting is a bit all over the place but these are straight-up taken from Discord chats I had with Elias, pls. I hope they're not too hard to understand. These are all basically "what ifs" and alternate universes + one section for Heian Period Ryomen Sukuna with a (L/N)'s ancestor! " " = means straight-up copy-pasted so I guess they kinda act as a foreword for each drabble

starting off with some HCs of (Y/N)’s high school years!

(Y/N) thinks Satoru must understand the pain of being the next head of the clan, get trained vigorously, and deal with aching bones and sores. Nope! Satoru’s never dealt with that much less dealt with (Y/N)’s father.

Shoko has a dark sense of humour so she laughs at his dark jokes but (Y/N) does notice the three of them end up pampering him more often.

Satoru buys him food most of the time. Drinks and snacks and ice cream, if (Y/N) gazes at something too long Satoru just tosses it into his cart.

Suguru tends to help him stretch or massage him. He’d even fix (Y/N)’s hair, almost motherly in his actions. He makes sure (Y/N) is presentable, makes sure he doesn’t have to worry because; “Su-Su will fix it~”.

Shoko makes sure (Y/N) is always wound-free. From buying antiseptics to burn relief gels (they all have a travel-sized bottle on their person to be fair). She buys him cigarettes when he needs them and always pokes him in his sides or the back of his head, she made it a habit to use RCT on him just in case he’s in pain but can’t feel it.

"You'd come back to me"

"What if Nanami Kento and (Y/N) survived the Shibuya arc?"

Kento stroked your bangs away and then pressed kisses with every compliment he gave. Your chuckles give him this feeling that if you ever told him "please" he'd give up everything just to hear it again. Kento lightly pushes you away but slips a hand underneath you, tugging his (Y/N) closer. “Kennnnnny."

Usually, Kento doesn’t enjoy nicknames but every time you say it, the world seems bright and sweet. So he noses at your jaw and relishes in the giggles.

“You’re beautiful,” he says with so much sincerity.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” Kento grins and presses a searing kiss to your lips.

You are both covered in scars. Nanami’s still pinkish and healing even with the help of socerery and yours still aching and bruised. But nothing about you could be wrong. Because that wasn’t possible. The ring on your hand is cool on his neck as you tilt his head to deepen the kiss. Kento turns and chuckles as you yelp, straddling him now.

“Kento!”

“Yes, my (Y/N)?”

Your eyes soften, and he kisses you again.

"The beach will be more cloudy. We can sit on the porch and I'll make you that milky tea again." He thinks it's a shame the two of you are stuck inside the house. It cannot be helped; his skin was far too sensitive for Malaysia's unapologetic sunny rays and dry heat and although you comfort him by saying your scars are still healing too, he wants nothing more than to pick you up and wash away all the remnants of Shibuya in seawater. "I can make it," he says. "Kento," you press your finger onto his lips, tracing it until you're cupping his face and stroking over his cheekbones. "Let me take care of you." Kento frowns and places his hand over yours, tracing the shape of your healing knuckles and raised scars. "Only if you'll let me do the same, my (Y/N)."

Kento who survived the Shibuya arc is left with a very sensitive wound all over the left side of his body. His hearing is unbalanced and his depth perception is fucked but (Y/N) helps him through all the transitions he goes through.

(Y/N) feels guilty for using his curse technique when it’d been fire that hurt Kento. Who doesn’t use it around Kento or if he does use it, he makes sure the smell is gone and washes his hands, and makes sure Kento can hold him without fear. But Kento doesn’t fear him! Kento figured it out and he just tells (Y/N); “My love, you never need to hide yourself from me…”

Yuji helps Kento with physical therapy. Kento grunts but allows Yuji to hug him when he regains consciousness. Kento who asks Yuji if he’d like to be his ringbearer during their wedding.

(Y/N) who is so nervous to meet Kento’s parents. He knows non-sorcerers and sorcerers don’t have many differences in their daily lives outside of exorcising curses but worries nonetheless. Kento’s mom is bright and jovial, and his father is even more so! (Y/N) is honestly taken aback by how soft-hearted they are and how they thank him for saving Kento. He finds himself loving them so much because they remind him of his mother and how gentle and kind she was.

When he asks for their blessing? He bows but is surprised when Kento’s father blocks his forehead from meeting the floor, blinking away tears when his mother holds his face.

“We’ll gladly take you in as your son, (Y/N),” and they all start crying because (Y/N) is crying, LMAO.

Kento tells (Y/N) he asked for his parent's blessing and he's confused because Kento should never do that - he doesn’t need to ask his father for his blessing but Kento simply says:

“I visited your mom’s grave. I asked for her blessing. I talked to her about how much I love you.”

At their wedding, there are empty seats in the crowd. Seats for their fallen comrades, their loved ones, seats for Tsumiki, Principal Yaga, Yū, Satoru, Suguru, (Y/N)'s mom… (blame Elias for this one)

In regards to (Y/N) seeing Geto Suguru's "body" as he descended into madness: Kento who spots him muttering to himself or staring into space. (Y/N), who after surviving the Shibuya arc, still sees Suguru and now Satoru as well. At times, he even sees Yū, Kento, Megumi, Tsumiki, Yuji, Nobara, Maki, or -His brain constantly makes it hard for him to decipher reality or fiction.

A HC based on Katniss and Peeta: (Y/N) asking Kento, “Real or not real?” when he can't tell reality from fiction.

“You’re alive, real or not real?” “Real.”

“Megumi is still breathing. Real or not real?” “Real, my love. He’s just healing. He’ll wake up soon.”

"...You love me, real or not real?" "Real, my love."

When Fushiguro Megumi wakes up:

When Megumi recovers he cries. Openly cries, sobs, and wails as he begs for forgiveness from everyone around him. (Y/N) literally rushed into the room which made Megumi flinch, yelling at him to stay away because he killed his father (Satoru), his sister, and everyone else Ryomen Sukuna had killed. But (Y/N) just holds him and holds him and holds him. Megumi finds it hard to piece his brain together after what Sukuna has done so Yuji helps. Yuji asks Kento for advice because Megumi and (Y/N) are lowkey in the same boat-ish.

Megumi who begs for forgiveness because Sukuna had done unspeakable things to (Y/N) just to make him his concubine and (Y/N) just comforts his son.

When Megumi is strong enough they go to Suguru and Satoru’s graves. There are no bodies but they buried the things that they treasured. Their wedding ring rests where Satoru would have along with Megumi and Tsumiki’s childhood drawings, pictures, and Suguru’s hairband and button. The flip phone was full of memories and high school photographs - his wedding picture too. He rests beside Geto Suguru, whose grave is filled with his daughter's belongings and the flip phone he kept too, the creased photograph of himself with Satoru, (Y/N) and Shoko. Tsumiki, Nanko and Mimiko are next to their fathers. Megumi cries as his knees give out, his only family left, his dad; (Y/N), just comforts him as much as he can. His precious boy, his beautiful son... They visit as often as they can, telling tales of their days, their weeks, and their months. Soon enough, it will be less painful for them to visit that hill. It'll be scenic and they'll no longer curse at the heavens for all this loss. They'll hate that they're no longer the same person their loved ones had seen, hate the wrinkles and the greying hair and the way they couldn't grow old together. Hate that they've been alive longer than them when they feel like they don't deserve to be. But one day it'll stop and they'll take it as a blessing to grow this old, knowing they'll see their family soon enough with so many stories to tell.

"And isn't it just so pretty to think? All along there was some invisible string, tying to you me?"

"You know - in every universe, Satoru falls in love with Suguru and (Y/N). In a few universes, their love is not tragic. In this special few, Satoru does not use (Y/N) for honor. Suguru comes back after his betrayal,l and (Y/N) and Kento defend his rights as a human. Satoru has (Y/N) help him with Suguru’s rehabilitation, and Kento helps Suguru with his clashing ideology. In the special few, Megumi is still beloved by YN but he doesn’t fear betrayal, and love just needs love to be perfect. Uncle (Y/N) cherishes Tsumiki and Megumi and Uncle Kento who teaches them how to be kind and responsible. Mimiko and Nanako learn how to befriend Tsumiki and Megumi!”

(Y/N) would've become a teacher like Satoru! Kento sends him to and from. He pouted so much when Kento knew Yuji was alive but forgave him. (Y/N) invited Yuji to eat homemade lunch and dinners in their home, and Yuji pretended not to feel himself tremble; a homemade meal was eaten around a dining table.

Yuji, who never had such an experience before; and who craves familial bonds; can’t stop shoveling food in his mouth because he keeps grinning too hard -

And when Junpei is brought back alive? (Y/N) takes to him like a moth to a flame. He volunteers to help Junpei, to house him, and bares his teeth at the higher-ups who dare take the boy from him.

Junpei wakes up to Kento cooking breakfast and (Y/N) who makes tea. Junpei gasps as (Y/N) opens up a movie and invites him to watch with him. Junpei relishes Kento’s words of advice for his newfound curse technique.

Junpei cries into the pillows and gets surprised when (Y/N) comforts him, telling him he misses his mother too, and lets (Y/N) hug him.

Junpei stares at himself in the mirror when Shoko heals his cigarette scars, brushing back his bangs confidently for the first time.

Junpei who bonds with Megumi about having shikigamis! Who Nobara (affectionately) bullies and toughens up! Maki is reminded of Yuta every time, and Inumaki chuckles at her face. Panda just loves being his senpai but keeps pushing Junpei away from him when Junpei tries to touch his fur -

Satoru and Suguru come over with Mimiko, Nanako, Tsumiki, and Megumi to their home. Yuji and Junpei picked out the movie (it’s obviously Human Earthworm - all 4 movies). The Gojo-Geto’s brought snacks and drinks, and the Nanami’s made their home so cozy and warm.

"Tell me you belong to me"

Heian Era Sukuna and the ancestor of the (L/N) clan, his only male concubine which he adored so much it caused his unending.

As a foreword (just a fan theory I adored not canon at all): "The theory that Sukuna keeps CTs within his Malovent Shrine (hence, in my fic, it’s why the (L/N) clan never flourished. Sukuna took their innate technique and left them with a CT so strong none of them had enough will-power to master). It’s not confirmed but in the Jogo fight, he says “open” and all of a sudden he can use a flame CT???" "This is basically an AU of (Y/N)'s ancestor, lmao."

They sacrificed (Y/N) to Ryomen Sukuna and gave him their prince who came to him with a sharp glare and dirtied with bruises and cuts.

“You wrap my gift so carelessly?” Sukuna drawls out.

(Y/N) is bound and gagged. His hair must have been in an impressed top knot, now a mess that spills from his shoulders.

Uruame shifts next to him and they grip (Y/N)'s cheeks to inspect him.

What a beautiful man, they think with mild surprise, it was no wonder he was chosen as a sacrifice.

But, Sukuna wants him. So, he adds his first male concubine to his harem. (Y/N) is scrubbed clean, dressed to the nines, and made to look like a doll. His face was painted, his hair brushed, his nails trimmed, and his skin moisturized.

Ryomen Sukuna is a monster with a picky tongue. Despite his greed, he only eats refined meats and fights the strongest sorcerers.

Sukuna doesn’t “love” his concubine but he favors him. That much, (Y/N) can tell. When he plays the biwa or recites sutras and haikus, Sukuna is ever so attentive. When (Y/N) bows and sits next to Lord Sukuna to feed him his meals, he finds those big hands holding him in one way or another.

When he takes (Y/N) as a “woman”, he is not gentle. Uruame is the one to prepare him. They provided him with oils and aromatic smoke to ease him, not out of the kindness of their hearts but for their Lord’s pleasure. (Y/N) swears he nearly rips taking his size but Sukuna spreads his legs and pushes in deeper and (Y/N) gasps, his tears like diamonds as he pleads for his Lord to grant him mercy.

Sukuna does. It surprises himself. But he does.

Maybe Sukuna will never understand the word love because he tells himself he’s never loved. Or maybe, he confuses it with ownership and cruelty - because it’s obvious he loves (Y/N).

He’s unfair to all but him.

He is still the King of Curses, a cruel tyrant, but (Y/N) is someone who calms his wrath with ease.

When they made that Binding Vow for (Y/N)'s curse technique to be given to Sukuna in exchange for Sukuna not being able to kill off his clan. He had thought to give YN another curse technique. But then, after (Y/N) learns Sukuna murdered a huge chunk of his clan, (Y/N) plans for his betrayal.

(Y/N) seeing the shock on Sukuna’s face as he gets sealed away, feeling the God's disdain weigh on his bones as he breaks the Binding Vow - he weeps for Sukuna despite knowing how horrible he is.

(Y/N) marries and his bloodline continues on, but there’s this terrible desire to be loved. It persists in every one of them. This ache that the King of Curses had left. This magnetism that power holds over the (L/N) clan.

In another universe, where (Y/N) finds no love in Satoru nor Kento, but Sukuna?

How delighted would the King of Curses be to see his concubine so willing for him? The King of Curses would have a harem of women. But the one man? Oh, he’s beloved. His room is closest to Sukuna’s, his appetite always filled and his bookshelves overflowing. Uruame enjoys his presence, tending to him personally and making him food as well.

(Y/N) who takes a liking to human flesh. Who finds himself ignoring the screams of tortured men and women, and only curls his nose in distaste when Sukuna wants to consume “soft” flesh.

Who grins so serenely in his King’s lap, who can’t decide which mouth he prefers on him or which hand is his favourite. Sukuna loves to be fed by (Y/N) and does the same to him.

Who learns how to please Sukuna’s cocks all by himself. Who has servants prep him open only to be killed right after - but what a privilege they had, to have Sukuna’s concubine mewl around their fingers.

Sukuna loves watching him ride, loves seeing the bulge in his stomach, the twinge of pain on his face. He loves sticking his tongue out (the one on his stomach) to lick at (Y/N)’s cock and (Y/N) yelps every time.

At times, you’ll find his precious concubine so stunning after a night of pleasure you’d stare. Each time, Uruame is there to gauge their eyes out.

Their master's toy is his alone after all.

"What must it be like to grow up that beautiful? With your hair falling into place like dominoes"

polycule of satosugu x yn!

Satoru thinks he’s selfish. He knows that marrying (Y/N) fulfills duty and honour but in doing so it would be cruel for the boy. On the other hand, marrying Suguru was completely out of the realm of possibilities no matter how hard he insists.

His personal feelings about them both confuse him too.

Satoru loves Suguru. Satoru loves (Y/N).

You could imagine the relief 16-year-old Gojo Satoru felt when (Y/N) blushed at Suguru’s soft-spoken voice or when Suguru caught himself staring at (Y/N)’s lips for too long in a conversation.

In this AU - Satoru never dated Suguru, he instead gathered the two of you and just announced his feelings.

It was choppy waters to navigate through, among the political aspects of a marriage and teenage emotions and deadly missions.

But the three of you made it work. This relationship was among three men who fulfilled honour, duty, and love. Who only needed each other to feel filled.

A polyamorous marriage wasn’t taboo, it was just outdated, still with Gojo Satoru and Gojo (Y/N) both insisting that Geto Suguru would be their husband after Satoru became the head of the Gojo clan. It wasn’t as though they could be refused now.

In this AU, Suguru would not betray his husbands though not without thinking of it. He simply tightened his hold on the rings before he brought the twins back home and his heart softened as he saw them tend to the girls.

What a rowdy household. The children are so loved that they cannot fathom love doesn’t exist.

Satoru who will sigh and embrace his husbands out of the blue.

“You’re beautiful,” he’ll tell (Y/N) as he cups his face while the poor man is simply reading some document at the dining table. “Our husband is beautiful, Suguru!”

Suguru immediately gets drowsy whenever your fingers thread through his hair, and chuckles when you trace his features as he’s about to wake.

Gods, seeing you and Satoru hold onto your children’s hands as all of you walk together in a park makes thoughts of those dark summers dissipate into nothing.

Satoru sleeps in the center of your California king-sized bed. He simply refuses any other spot.

The Tokyo School has its hands full of the Gojo’s. From the husbands to their 3 children with rambunctious abilities.

When Tsumiki got cursed...it was an emotional day for everyone. Suguru swore he’d do anything to break it while Nanako and Mimiko yelled and yelled, Megumi just sobbing into your chest.

The girls visit her often, talking to her as they fix her hair and ensure she’s comfortable. Megumi appreciates their care as he silently stares from the corner.

Oh, breakfasts are always bustling.

The children are spoiled just as much as Satoru’s husbands are.

What a terrifying trio you are - abilities powerful beyond the curve!

Shoko always takes a few shots before heading over to celebrate holiday dinners, lmao.

She understands that you three enjoy asking about her love life though all three of you were made to kneel in apology as she glared after Satoru and you “accidentally” found the woman she’d been seeing.

Suguru rolls his eyes every time Satoru and you stroke the dragon spirit's snout or compliment the spear-wielding spirit.

While they bring burn-relief medication for you, Satoru and you ensure to bring snacks to wash away the foul taste of curses for Suguru and Suguru and you always have extra blindfolds and painkillers for Satoru.

Yuta grew flustered as he found out the three of you were together. He had honestly thought Suguru was cheating on Satoru with you but Maki’s scoff of “disgust” and her brief explanation made his face bloom into fifty shades of red.

Yuji would honestly not care - he’d be surprised at first but bounce back rather quickly (although Ryomen Sukuna would certainly have his comments).

ANGST TIME!

The Shibuya arc would be very different of course, though wouldn’t it just be delightful if Kenjaku managed to grab (Y/N) and force his husband to see Ryomen Sukuna not only take over their son’s body but see their husband get claimed by another?

Delicious angst, me thinks.

"But I just wanna stop right next to you, if I could my dream? I just wanna stop right next to you."

polygamous marriage (?) of Satosugu and kentoYN!

In this AU, (Y/N) and Satoru would feel so guilty for letting their eyes wander to their significant future husbands.

It’s not as though they don’t love each other but there’s this societal norm of monogamy and despite never getting physical with Suguru/Kento the emotional aspect still makes them feel like they’re doing something dirty.

It wasn’t fair to anyone.

Shoko dryly mumbling about polygamy had Satoru and you instantly perking up.

You loved Suguru and Satoru liked Kento - but neither of them wanted to be in a relationship with each other. So this arrangement of Satoru’s boyfriend and (Y/N)’s boyfriend honestly worked. It was confusing at first but it worked.

When Satoru married Suguru and you married Kento, it was a joyous event. A double wedding!

A rowdy household once again, Satoru insisted on living on the same land just with multiple “sections”. Even if this was a polycule, I’d imagine solitude from one another is still appreciated after all. The house was built from the ground up and it was a labour of love to ensure all four of you (and your kids) would have their own slice of heaven.

Kento adores you, the rings on your fingers, and the home you share.

Satoru adores you as well, never once making you feel as though this is a competition.

Both Satoru and you are fair to each other and your respective husbands. Never favouring the other or anything that would make them feel like a “glorified side chick.”

The kids aren’t confused at all.

Although they did have to adjust to call which father what.

They settled with Dad (you), Papa (Suguru), Pa (Kento), and Father (Satoru - only to annoy him.) Sometimes the four of you will have to play it by ear since they just use “daddd!” interchangeably.

Shoko still takes shots before she heads over to go to holiday dinners.

The students are also not confused. Yuta got a bit flustered but Suguru just informed him about it and Yuta felt less anxious - he genuinely thought Satoru was cheating on (Y/N) when he walked in on Satoru and Suguru making out in an empty classroom.

You’d honestly just giggle at Yuta’s face when he told you this which made him more confused while Suguru gave him the mercy to pat his head.

Yuji would think it’d be so cool that such a dynamic worked.

Nanako and Mimiko as Tokyo High students make my heart soar - Megumi has his older sisters tease him relentlessly whenever their schedules overlap (they always do).

#s3thwrit3sstuff #gojo satoru x male reader #geto suguru x male reader #nanami kento x male reader #ryomen sukuna x male reader #jjk x you #jjk x yn #jjk x reader #jjk x male reader #reader insert #male reader #male reader insert #gay reader #male!reader

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as-is-above-so-below · 2 years

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The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

Part 4: Visitors

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes call sign: Freyja warning: implied child loss Note: Thank you for all of your support! I'm starting to run low on ideas for the Rileys. If y'all would like more, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments or my DMs! I will say, my BIG Ghost headcanon is that he has a tongue piercing, so do with that what you will *side eye* Enjoy and blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

John cracked the door to the hospital room and poked his head in. “I heard you kids are ready for visitors?”

“You’re in your forties, Price. You’re hardly older.”

“And yet, here I am, honorary granddad.”

Simon was too focused on the small bundle in his arm, gently tracing a tiny button nose before laying his open palm on her belly. He had shed his balaclava hours ago but still sported a skull-printed facemask. He recently left his hair longer than usual on the top but kept it tight on the sides. It was thick and almost shaggy, blonde locks starting to wave and curl at the ends.

The group entered the room, a massive barrage of foil and latex balloons squeezing through the door frame behind them. The sergeants wore beaming smiles as they rushed to Freyja, laid back in bed, and each thrust huge, full bouquets of flowers. “Oh dear Jesus,” she laughed tiredly, taking them both and resting them on the table at her bedside. She would ask the nurses to take care of them later. Surely they would have some vases she could borrow until they went home.

Most of her labor was spent on her feet, unable to bring herself to get in bed for hours. She took to either hunching over it, Simon’s calloused hands gripping hers and dragging up and down her spine, or practically hanging from his shoulders, her forehead pressed against his chest. In a state of pure exhaustion, Price convinced her to give her feet rest, even if only for a little bit.

Not wanting to overwhelm her as the boys fussed over her, John calmly approached with a soft smile and placed a hand on her head. “You broken?” he asked, petting her hair as the boys tied off the balloons to the rails of the bed.

“I’m good,” she smiled back, leaning into the touch. She motioned for a hand, and Price and Soap helped her adjust to sitting up straighter. Johnny bent down and pressed a loud, wet kiss to her cheek, which she batted away with a scrunched nose. “Si, bring her here. Price first.”

“Aww, not fair! ‘M the best lookin’ uncle! I should go first!”

“Johnny,” Simon warned, giving the Scot a warning look. “Keep it down before I revoke your godfather privileges.” It was an empty threat, but he piped down anyway.

Soap was a human battering ram leaving the base, plowing through any soldier and recruit that got in the way as Gaz, Ghost, and Freyja followed closely behind. John saw a small smile on her flushed face when Gaz and Soap squeezed into the front seat together, chanting We’re having a baby over and over, to which she retorted, I didn’t realize the 141 was a military polycule.

John nestled the infant into the crook of his elbow, her swaddle shifting to leave her arms free. She squirmed, moving from Simon’s arms to John’s, her pink little face scrunching up in irritation. He gently brushed a finger along her sternum, which her tiny hand wrapped around, and she settled again. “She’s beautiful, Y/N.”

Johnny leaned over the Captain’s shoulder, Kyle doing the same on the other side. “God help her if she gets your ugly mug, Lieutenant,” Gaz teased, wiggling one of her feet within the blanket.

Ghost decided to let that one pass. “This is your granddad, lovie,” Simon said, his quiet voice rumbling. “Price, this is Joan.”

John’s eyes flickered between the man in front of him and the woman in the bed behind him. “Joan?”

“Mmm,” Simon nodded, his mask shifting as his cheeks rose underneath. He wasn’t usually so expressive but was exhausted and feeling particularly sappy.

John’s eyes watered, and he blinked back at the newborn. He had spent five long, sleepless days in that same hospital, forever yet not so long ago. John didn’t have a wife or children of his own. His team was the closest thing he had to family. He felt a fatherly responsibility to all four of them. Even then, it shouldn’t have been John Price cradling her face, whispering words of helpless encouragement, countless hours desperately pleading with command to pull Ghost out of his mission, to no avail.

Simon didn’t return until four months later.

He couldn’t remember a time before that when he had felt his heart break cleanly in two. Notifying next of kin was difficult but quick; drop the news and move on to the next. But the pain and, for lack of a better for, agony Freyja suffered during Simon’s access was unlike anything he’d witnessed.

Now the warm, healthy baby in his arms was his namesake.

“I’m honored, Simon. Thank you, both of you.”

“We were thinking ‘Joanie’ for a nickname.”

Soap whipped around, wide eyes meeting Freyja’s. “Like…Johnny? Me?” he whispered, his skin suddenly hot and his ears turning a bright shade of red. At the slightest sign of confirmation from her, he tackled his Lieutenant with his entire body weight, arms thrown around his neck. Simon grunted at the sudden contact and stumbled just a step. He awkwardly patted the man’s back with one hand.

“Johnny.”

Sniff.

“Get off of me.”

“You named yer daughter after me!”

“I named my daughter after my Captain.”

“Sure, Ghost. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

~*~

Simon was pulled from his slumber by the soft rustling and whines from the foot of their bed. Soft morning rays peeked through the gap in the curtains. Before her cries grew to high-pitched shrills and woke Freyja from her much-needed sleep, he rolled out from the covers and shuffled to pick her up. “Mornin’, lovie,” he hummed, unwrapping the tight bundle and freeing her limbs. Simon chuckled at her long stretch, carrying her out of their bedroom and quietly closing the door behind him. She deserved a little extra sleep.

He puttered around the house with Joanie in one arm, softly chatting about their plans for the day. Simon spent a lot of time talking to her, eyes resembling his gazing up at him, smiling or gurgling occasionally when she gummed her hands. He would tell her about any messages or videos her uncles had sent, funny stories from base, tales of his and Freyja’s travels during their time in the service. He had yet to talk about his parents or her Uncle Tommy, and anything related to missions was absolutely off the table.

A tiny, soft palm smacked his chest, grabbing his attention. His lip tugged at the corner, and he playfully tapped her nose. “What’re ya doin’, there? I’ve got nothin’, unfortunately. ‘M not your mum.” Freyja would tell him his accent got thicker the more tired he was if she were awake. He never really noticed a difference.

The bottle warmer on the counter pinged, indicating that it was ready.

He settled in the deep corner of the couch as she ate, staring up at his like she always did. “Pretty girl,” he muttered while thumbing her cheek, which was starting to get that chunky plushness with every pound she gained. He stared and stared until she shoved at the empty bottle. It was placed on the coffee table, and Simon slid down until he was on his back, with her small body perched on top of him.

“I’m not sure what I did to deserve you and your mum.” She lifted her head at the sound of his voice, another skill she had been approving. “Your granddad’s always tellin’ me I’m too hard on myself. ‘You’re a hero, Simon, you save thousands of lives every day’,” he said, mimicking John’s posh accent. “Certainly don’t feel like a hero. It’s our job to protect people. ‘We get dirty and the world stays clean’.” Simon snorted, and the baby cooed at him, stretching to palm at his face.

“How’s that work? I’m supposed to keep the public safe but I couldn’t protect my family. I was gone. Your mum almost died.” He blinked away the hot tears in his eyes. He cleared his throat to chase away the burning ache forming. His fingers rubbed her back to ground himself, taking deep, steady breaths. When Simon turned his eyes from the ceiling back to his daughter, he saw her fighting sleep, eyes fluttering.

He could stay like that forever.

“But then we might not have you. Funny, that.”

Snoozing soundly against his warm skin, his hand firm enough to keep her in place so she couldn’t slip off. Simon got as comfy as he could without jostling the baby too much, wedging a throw pillow under his neck.

He had never considered leaving his profession before seeing an empty nursery, dismantled and stripped to not look at it for another moment. They had both lost small pieces of themselves then. Simon had to learn to cope with the guilt of not being present for his wife during her darkest times, and Frey struggled to grasp her new reality, one that went against all of her plans at the time.

But she was stubborn and determined to work, knowing he wouldn’t leave the force without her.

At the time, he was furious at her American pig-headedness and inability to listen to reason.

Now, with new photos littering their shelves, new toys and clothes strewn about, and his phone relentlessly ringing with desperate pleas for FaceTime calls and pictures, he was grateful.

~*~

Where the fuck is he?

Freyja moved through their house with brows furrowed together as she searched the rooms for her husband. Panic briefly overtook her when she woke and found an empty bassinet until she realized the bed next to her was as well and figured Simon had taken their daughter to another room.

But which one?

Eventually, she found him sprawled out on the couch, one leg dangling off the chaise and an arm thrown over his eyes. He looked peaceful with their newborn against his bare, scarred chest, slowly rising and falling with each breath. Her heart swooned, and she snapped a quick picture of the scene. Simon lifted his arm at the shutter click, his eyes half-lidded. A sleepy grin tugged at his lips, and he beckoned her over. “Hi, sweetheart,” he whispered as she bent down, securing a lazy kiss with a soft groan.

Their first few weeks as parents were blissful, even with the lack of sleep and drastic change in routine. Joanie was sleeping well, but Freyja and Simon struggled to get used to her sleep schedule. Anxiety and PTSD flared when she dreamt, and she often shot awake at any little noise, immediately going to the bassinet. He had nightmares but had gotten used to them since childhood, whereas her night terrors only started in the last couple of years.

Even at her young age, it was clear that she was already a daddy’s girl. Little Joan recognized his voice from across the house and sought him out, refusing to settle until she was in his arms or strapped to his torso. She preferred sleeping on their chests, listening to their heartbeats. She especially loved skin-on-skin contact.

Simon took to fatherhood immediately, fussing over her every need and want and happily chatting away, although they were one-sided conversations. His dad jokes were almost unbearable. If you had told her a few weeks ago that there was room in her to love Simon even more, she would have told you you were crazy. But watching him with his daughter proved her wrong. Her heart grew impossibly with every passing day.

On top of that, the sight of him with their daughter snuggled up with him, his tattooed sleeve, blonde hair mussed with sleep? God damn.

“You should know I’m dying to jump your bones right now.”

He rolled his eyes but smiled wider. “Yeah?”

“Mhm, the daddy energy’s really doin’ somethin’ for me.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, love. I’ll take ya to bed as soon as you’re able. It’s only been two months.”

Small hands grasped at his skin, alerting him to her stirring. Simon gently shushed her as he sat up, shifting her to his shoulder; she somehow looked even tinier in his hold. Something fluttered in her chest again as he nuzzled Joanie’s shoulder, and she beamed at him. He shifted under her gaze, looking amused.

“Staring’s kind of my thing, Frey. It’s unsettling.”

“I told you, fatherhood looks good on you.”

BANG BANG BANG

“Good mornin’ Mexico!” Soap’s voice cried through the door, followed by Gaz’s chesty cackles.

Only Freyja jumped when the door shook, but they both looked towards it, Simon’s brow raised. “Bloody hell, are they daft? It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday!”

“Which means it’s their only free time, and they want to see us,” she scolded and nudged him to the kitchen. He acted tough, but she knew her husband well enough to know how much the team’s affection meant to him. Neither of them had any family to speak of, whether in England or America. It takes a village to raise a baby, as they say, and what a town they had.

With a wicked smile on her face, as Simon passed her, she wound up and slapped his ass with a sharp crack, earning a hiss.

“The fuck, Frey!”

“Your fault for walking around like that! It’s scandalous!”

He was wearing grey sweatpants.

“You’re pushin’ it, love. Don’t be a cheeky brat.” (Translation, ‘I love it, please do that again’).

He disappeared into the kitchen, and Freyja tied her robe in front as someone banged on the door again. “Jesus Christ, hold your horses!”

The second the lock turned, Gaz busted the door open (it bounced off the coat rack behind it), ready to pounce. “Where’s the babe?” he cried, hands on her shoulders as he physically moved her out of his way.

“Hello to you too, Kyle. Lovely weather we’re having.”

He pecked her cheek with a quick Hello, then immediately flipped her off, storming past her towards the kitchen where soft baby noises came from. From the other room, she heard the sergeant practically squeal, “There’s my girl! Give her here!”

“Sergeant—”

“Kindly get fucked, mate!”

“I’m warning you, Garrick!”

A scuffle and light cursing rang through the house, and Soap’s laugh shook the walls as he hugged her tightly, squishing her. “Pure mental about that baby, he is,” he said, then kissed her forehead. “Oof, ya look like shite, hen.”

“Thank you, Soap. It’s truly a marvel that you’re still single.”

They joined Ghost and Gaz in the kitchen, Johnny carrying two large paper bags. The warm smell of butter, grease, and onions wafted through the air, and Freyja deeply inhaled, savoring it. “We brought breakfast as payment for your troubles.”

She snatched one from him, pulled one of the takeout boxes out, and threw herself at the table.

“Did you put the kettle on?” Kyle asked, smiling down at Joan and tickling her belly. She kicked her legs furiously, grabbing at his fingers with both hands in a tight baby grip. “Holy shit, the bloody grip on you!”

Simon huffed and muttered some choice words under his breath. “I was workin’ on it when you nearly broke my door in and kidnapped my child.”

“Sweet, I’m dyin’ for a cuppa.”

As if reading each other’s minds, Soap and Freyja groaned, in sync, “Fuckin’ Brits.”

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turtletaubwrites · 9 days

Text

Numbers Game ~ Chapter 33

Keep Me Warm

Pairings: Cross Guild Polycule x Shanks x Fem!Reader x ???

Numbers Game Masterlist

Word Count: 10,625

Ao3 Link

Ongoing Series Playlist: Youtube Music Link | Youtube Link

Chapter Tunes: Tainted Love ~ Holy Wars | Hatef--k ~ The Bravery

Summary: You're finding ways to cope, Shanks is finding ways to win, and the truth is finding its way out.

Recap: Emperor Shanks won the first hunt, and the first private date. The Cross Guild learned how you feel about about your red haired suitor, and the swordsman declared his plan to leave.

Author's Note: Hi friends! Just want to say that sharing this story with you means so much to me. I wish I had some Cross Guild backup in my life right now, but having y'all reading my obsession makes me so grateful! I'm trying to get back to interacting, I'm just having a hard time doing anything that's not writing this right now, but all of your words make me so happy, thank you!! 💜🙏🏼✨

Dark Content Warning: It's not the reader, but within this chapter there are references to suicide through engaging in dangerous and destructive behavior. The violent activities are mentioned within canon, but the emotional motivations are added. The situation ends well, but I'll bracket those sections with ~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~ in case that topic is triggering. Please, take care of yourselves, and know that you are not alone! 💜

Alternate POV Symbols:

!!! SPOILER WARNING !!! Fic currently contains spoilers for the end of the Wano arc. As we get further into Egghead Arc where our lovely boys are showing up more, there will be more spoilers as time goes on. Sorry y'all, I'm trying to keep most spoilers small details, but Cross Guild is endgame, lol.

Rating/Warnings: Author May Choose to Exclude some Warnings to Avoid Spoilers for Certain Chapters, Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Use of Y/N, Dark Content, Blood & Violence, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Dissociation, Mental Illness, Grief, Toxic Family, Swearing, Alcohol, Cigars, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Guilt, Drama, Jealousy, Manipulation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Pain Kink, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Threats, Hate Sex, Rough Sex, Relationship Drama, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers, Shameless Shameless Smut, Uncle Cedrick Has Become His Own Warning, Splinters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

~~~🗡️🗡️🗡️~~~

“That’s one creepy ass boat.”

“Excuse me?”

Mihawk couldn’t be annoyed with his clown when that observation had their much taller lover nearly buckling beside him. Those large fingers dug into his shoulder while Crocodile laughed at his expense, his voice even rougher than usual at the early hour.

“Hitsugibune is a fine ship, and has carried me across the Grand Line for years,” Mihawk countered.

Crocodile took the luggage from his hands to toss onto the one-man vessel.

“It does have a certain flare,” Crocodile hummed, leaving a quick kiss to his temple.

“It’s just your aesthetic, though, right,” Buggy shook as he prowled closer. “It’s not a real coffin?”

“Not yet,” Mihawk teased. It earned him an adorable frown that made him laugh, and the movement reminded him of all the delightful things they’d done to him last night.

“Sure you’re gonna be alright all cooped up in your coffin so soon,” Buggy taunted with a few prods and pokes along the swordsman’s healing chest.

Moans left those cruel lips, and he tried to back away, but ran into a wall made of muscle and heat, and wrapped in a purple, velvet smoking jacket.

“Promise you’ll be a good boy for me?”

Mihawk almost buckled then, loving the satisfied noise Crocodile made when he reacted to him. The three lovers kissed goodbye, until he was alone again.

The World’s Greatest Swordsman drifted alone on his one-man boat, and wondered how long it would take for Crocodile to realize that he hadn’t answered his question.

~~~🗡️🗡️🗡️~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

“King of Diamonds,” Shanks beamed at her, mesmerized by her every move, and getting caught on the gentle sway of her locket while she laid out the trick for him again and again.

It was Buggy’s trick. Buggy’s locket.

The Emperor of the Sea didn’t realize how much he‘d needed this. Seeing Y/N’s enduring love for their lovely clown gave him a burst of hope that clouded his mind, but he kept up the front.

Maybe playing the villain won’t be so bad.

“I’m afraid you missed this one, Shanks,” she breathed, eyes fluttering a bit as they darted back to her hands. Her movements had to be practiced in front of a crowd like this, but he found himself drawn into her orbit, yet again.

“That’s alright,” he teased, snatching the card from her. He huffed a laugh as he dropped the Ace of Hearts before taking her hand in his. Y/N’s lips parted in a soft exhale, and he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from them.

“I always win when it counts.”

The sound of bells filled the air.

“Do I count,” she teased, pressing those lips into a subtle, biteable pout for him.

Hope and greed brought his lips to her skin, just a press against her wrist while he fought the urge to throw her over his shoulder and run.

“I think she likes you, Chief.”

“What can I say,” Shanks smirked as he plopped down beside his first mate. Y/N’s eyes were following him so clearly on the huge screen that he didn’t need to glance back to check. “I think I might just win this little game.”

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🗡️🔴⏰~~~

“I hear you’re the best there is!”

“That’s correct,” Dracule Mihawk deadpanned. He was only twenty-two years old, but the brightness shining off of the boy that had invaded his corner table made him feel aged and weary.

Shanks didn’t think his eyes could get any wider. This dangerous, infamous man was so… pretty!

“Run along now.”

“No way,” Shanks laughed, leaning over the table. He froze for a moment under the glare of the strangest eyes he’d ever seen. “Come on, Hawk Eyes, I’m challenging you to a duel!”

The Marine Hunter didn’t spare him another glance, just returned to his book as though Shanks didn’t exist.

“Come ooon, I bet you’re bored on this little island. I’m only here so my sniper can visit his wife, and they’re not open for company right now. Plus, my first mate already left me for the barmaid so I’m...”

Rambling. Why am I rambling?

Shanks didn't know why he couldn’t let it go, but he had to try. The young captain saw the chance to test himself sitting before him with a beautifully bored look on his face.

“I wanna fight you.”

“I’m afraid I’m not in the mood for slaughtering children today.”

“I’m eighteen, and my sword is ready, so let’s—“

“Let me see your sword,” Mihawk ordered. He had to stifle a smirk when the redhead obeyed him instantly.

The saber was longer than was typical for that type, with an extended, green hilt that showed a subtle, but elegant artistry in its craftsmanship. Mihawk was tracing his fingers around the pommel before he remembered that he should have killed the idiot for handing his blade to an enemy.

“Where did you get this,” he asked instead of stabbing the rookie, letting the young man take the exquisite weapon back.

“Oh, uh…” Shanks’ cheeks almost matched his hair while he decided what to say. The image of this man laughing him off made sharing the full truth unappealing. “I’ve always had it. My mentor taught me how to use it. So, will you fight me?”

“You’ve piqued my interest. That’s often a fatal mistake, so if you choose to walk away now, I’ll let you go.”

“No one gets away from Red Haired Shanks that easily,” he winked, holding out his hand.

Mihawk offered his own, and Shanks grinned as they clasped each other’s forearms for a moment.

“I like your jacket.”

The swordsman narrowed his eyes at the compliment, but followed the young captain out of the tavern, and into the lightly wooded area outside of town.

He could have sworn he’d seen that ugly, straw hat somewhere before.

~~~⏰🗡️🔴⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

You weren’t supposed to think about him.

How could you hold up that perfect, doll face in front of all the leeches if they smelled any hint of weakness?

How could you keep yourself from crying when you remembered Buggy’s laugh that made you laugh, his touch that made you his, or his pain that broke your heart?

Yet you kept surrounding yourself with every tiny piece you had left, a masochistic challenge to spice up this auction for your life.

And here was the man that had hurt Buggy. The asshole that had left him wounded for decades. You had to convince him to apologize to the man he claimed to love, only for the traitor to abandon him when he needed him most.

I hope they take care of him…

You didn’t have room for too much hope. Not when you could end up trapped with this viper, especially if Uncle caught a whiff of your disdain.

He’s staring at my lips like he did that first day. Like I’m just something sweet for him to taste.

“I always win when it counts.”

The sound of the ending bells felt like applause, and another smiling face filled your mind. Blood had dripped onto that stage like scattered petals, all for you.

Pouting for the Emperor gave you a thrill of pride over how easy it was to make his eyes flash with heat. He pressed a kiss to the inside of your wrist, and you didn’t have to fake the shivers it caused.

The red headed pirate sauntered off, but your eyes were drawn to him again and again.

The prey had its own target now.

I’d rather die than marry that traitor, but if he traps me…

I’ll fucking kill him.

I’ll kill him for you, Buggy.

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🔴🗡️⏰~~~

“Holy shit,” Shanks panted as he narrowly avoided being cleaved in two by that tiny fucking dagger.

“Ha, already lost your confidence, boy?”

Mihawk hadn’t lied. He hadn’t planned on killing anyone on this boring, little island, but fresh blood on his blade had him losing himself. He’d had a few moments of hope for a real challenge, but the building disappointment was about to quicken his opponent’s death.

“Nope! Just– fuck!”

The red haired youth dodged too late, collapsing to the dirt. He clutched at his side, hardly doing a thing to staunch the blood that was slowly staining the forest floor.

I can’t die yet. He didn’t even draw his sword…

“You’re the strongest fighter I’ve met in awhile, yet you’re still such a pitiful creature,” Mihawk scowled, kicking the saber from the rookie’s weak grasp. “And here, I was almost having fun. What a waste of time…”

“W-wait, Hawk Eyes,” Shanks coughed, spreading more blood around. “You’re bored, aren’t you? You like fighting?”

“People can be so perceptive in their final moments,” he drawled. Mihawk brought Kogatana to the boy’s throat, the small blade poised to cease his blubbering.

“You said you almost had f-fun,” Shanks bargained, his eyes wider than ever while beautiful death loomed over him. “I'll make you a deal, alright?”

Golden eyes seemed to sharpen, just as the blade pressed into his neck a bit more.

“Don’t waste any more of my time,” came his vicious, yet waiting voice.

“I won’t,” Shanks panicked, smiling under that cold glare. “It's too early for me to die, friend. There's so much for me to learn. I promise that if you give me a chance, I'll get stronger! Let me live, and I'll get strong enough to give you a real fun fight, I swear!”

One of the longest moments Shanks had ever experienced dragged on, while the unreadable swordsman above him hardly moved at all, until his head cocked to the side.

“Intriguing,” Mihawk frowned, still holding steel against that young throat. “I suppose I can hold off on killing you for now.”

“You can– ow!”

Mihawk removed the blade that Shanks had leaned into in excitement, and rolled his eyes with instant regret.

“Don’t challenge me again until you’re ready. I’ll kill you slowly for making me wait.”

“No problem,” Shanks waved to the man’s back. Dracule Mihawk had already left him bleeding in the dirt. “I’ll get you back, Hawk Eyes.”

~~~⏰🔴🗡️⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🤡🐊🤡~~~

It felt so quiet with just the two of them, even with all the hustle and bustle of the guild getting to work.

He’s like a big, scary teddy bear.

“You alright little clown,” Crocodile soothed, rubbing softly between Buggy’s shoulder blades while he had a coughing fit.

The clown gave a thumbs up, grateful that he hadn’t spoken the thought out loud.

Mihawk had been gone for hours, and the afternoon was aging fast, but neither of the men on the couch had cared about dressing for the day. That soft smoking jacket made Crocodile’s warm body almost too soothing to lean against, especially while the clown listened to his star do their card trick again and again.

When the coughing stopped, Crocodile’s large hand pulled gently, guiding the clown back into that comfortable position.

Buggy didn’t fight it. He knew he might be an idiot for getting used to this strange reality where Sir Crocodile cuddled with him, but he needed it right now.

Maybe he needs it too.

~~~🐊🤡🐊🤡~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

I’ll skin him. Boil him alive.

“You look amazing,” Kat muttered, avoiding your death-filled gaze in the mirror.

“Tell me,” you growled at the nearest staff, “why the fuck do I need to wear a swimsuit on a first date?”

They’d given you a variety of options, all of which were as red as that stupid hair. You’d chosen the one that came with a tiny bit of cloth to wrap around your hips, so you could at least pretend you were wearing some fucking clothes.

“I’m so sorry you weren’t given more notice, Miss Sylvad,” she hurried, her empty words already draining your resolve.

It’s not their fault. It’s his.

“As you know, the hun– suitors, excuse me,” she coughed nervously, and you saw Kat’s eyes widen over her shoulder while you shoved down the manic laughter in your gut. “The suitors get to choose the themes of the first dates, and the Emperor stated that he enjoys long walks on the beach, so–”

“I can walk fine without–”

“There’s my lovely nieces,” Cedrick beamed, nearly hitting one of the staff with the door when he barged in. “Everyone out, even you, sweetheart.”

Kat stepped back from his touch on her shoulder, but you told her it was fine before her fruitless argument could leave her lips.

He was going to get what he wanted, so she might as well save the energy, though she scowled at him all the way out the door.

“Nice pick,” he taunted, gesturing at your swimsuit. “I preferred the little, frilly one, but I’m sure the pirate can tear into this one just fine, even one handed.”

Nothing. Give him nothing.

“Did you have something to tell me, Uncle? I have a date to prepare for.”

“Atta girl,” your uncle laughed, lounging in the nearest chair. “Just wanted to check in on who your favorites are.”

“It’s too early to tell,” you reported, fighting to keep your voice even.

“Well, be sure to keep me posted,” he ordered with a smirk. “Unfortunately there’s already one name that needs to be crossed off the list. I want him to have his little date though, and we should send someone else home before him. The last thing the family needs are accusations of racism if we boot the only Fishman first. Inclusivity bullshit is always a fucking headache.”

“Why…”

Fukaboshi was overwhelming. He was two stories tall, and you couldn’t imagine leaving your whole world behind, or how any of that would even work.

Yet, he’d seemed truly kind. The prince had almost put himself, and his people, in danger with his earnest questions about your captivity.

He’d come to this land of leeches looking for allies, but only cruelty lived here. Only gluttonous, selfish, hateful—

“Who would you like to send home first,” Uncle Cedrick asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. “I’ll be rigging tomorrow's game so the Fishman should win the next date, then we can send him off with no worries. So who’s your least favorite?”

“I really don’t know, Uncle. I haven’t spent enough time with them to be sure.”

A little movement around his eyes, a little smirk. You weren’t going to fall for it.

“Let’s remedy that, dear niece,” he declared as he moved toward you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. He turned you toward the mirror, and his reflection was frightening.

He was gleeful.

“I have put quite a bit of berry on your red haired date becoming the next King of the Pirates. Make sure you treat him like royalty tonight.” He left you there to wince while he called over his shoulder. “I know how much you enjoyed whoring for those pirates, Y/N. Now you could be their little whore queen!”

~~~

You were carted around like royalty in your uncle’s obnoxious carriage, already feeling the cool, gentle breeze through the wood paneling as you neared one of the only sandy beaches on the small island. The rest of the coastlines were rimmed with craggy cliffs at the edge of forests, and perching on those rocks was your preferred way to enjoy the ocean.

Not shivering in a swimsuit at dusk, with sand already creeping up your legs.

“Wow, you look…”

All the staff scurried to the little trailers nearby, leaving you face to face with him while he scanned over your mostly bare skin.

Shanks looked right at home on the beach.

He’d managed to find a dark green version of his hardly-buttoned shirts that looked unfairly good against his skin, but his loose fitting pants were still covered in a headache inducing pattern. They were gathered below the knees, presumably to make his long walks on the beach in those lame sandals that much easier.

And his cape. How could you forget the cape?

He was still gawking at you while you tried not to fume at how fucking stunning he looked in his stupid clothes.

“Why are you dressed like this?”

“You don’t like it, Emperor,” you pouted, playing pretend with a wobble of hurt in your voice. “I heard you wanted a beach date.”

“I like it very much,” he purred, bringing a gasp to your lips when he was suddenly inches from you. He trailed his fingers down your neck and chest, following the chain of your locket until he smiled. “I just don’t want my little bunny getting cold tonight.”

Shivering under the weight of his warm cape, you thanked the charming villain while he led you to a little table by the fire. Staff rushed up to serve you, but Shanks snagged the open bottle, and waved them off while you tried not to let your mouth water at the platter of hors d’oeuvres between you.

He poured the sake, but said nothing while you toasted. Just stared at you, his little half-smile growing deeper when you accepted a bite of food from his hand.

At least you didn’t have to worry about your food with Shanks tasting everything along with you. No one would dare spike the Emperor’s drink.

I might. If I have to.

You faded in and out of daydreaming his murder, and nearly forgetting.

Shanks was the perfect predator, luring in his prey with such playful joy and power. He was pure light, drawing in the moths until they burned to a crisp in his cruel, selfish flames.

You knew this, yet there were moments when he made you truly laugh, and you clutched at your locket, silently vowing again and again that you would destroy this man.

If he didn’t kill you while you made him pay, then his crew surely would. It was a last resort.

You didn’t want to die, and it felt nice knowing that.

Yet if the only options you had left were being owned by this monster, or dying while you took him down, then you’d get him drunk and happy on your honeymoon, and gut him like a pig.

Until then though…

“You feeling alright, gorgeous,” your prey checked in, guiding you to a trailer to wash up. The staff disappeared again, scattering like cockroaches, but the illusion of privacy never fooled you.

“I feel good.” Your hum made his eyes glint for you, and he pulled you down the shore, away from the staff, and their snail-covered equipment.

“Wanna dip your toes in,” Shanks ginned, wrapping his arm around your waist. It felt like he wouldn’t give you a choice either way. His strong fingers curled around your hip, teasing along the edge of your swimsuit, and your body ached when you remembered what they could do to you.

You wanted to forget for a while. You wanted to pretend.

Might as well enjoy myself before I kill him.

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

He’d almost forgotten where they were.

It doesn’t matter. I’ve got her, Buggy. Your shining star.

When she laughed, the Emperor of the Sea forgot everything.

It was a perfect sound, a beautiful movement of her body, her head thrown back just a bit, as though he’d shocked the laughter out of her.

She didn’t look like a wounded star tonight. There was fire beneath all of her flirting, and he had to feel it.

Greed crept back into his heart the longer he spent by her side, and he couldn’t help but reach for her, pulling her toward the gentle sea.

He wanted her. He wanted all of them.

Shanks wanted everything, and that sweet, little pout of hers seemed to promise it.

“It’s too cold,” Y/N shivered, avoiding the soft waves that lapped along the shore.

“I’ll keep you warm.”

She snorted, clamping a hand over her lips when he cocked a brow at her. His lovely date dipped her toes in, then took off up the beach, her laughter filling every bit of his mind until he joined in, chasing after her.

“How are you going to— oh,” she panted, gasping when she turned to find him so close.

“Bunny,” he laughed as she tripped on his cloak trying to run backwards. He caught her just in time to fall with her, bracing with his elbow to keep his full weight from pressing her beneath him.

Shanks forgot.

That shining star was still gasping as she laid on his cloak, a perfect blanket spread out to watch the night sky she must have fallen from. The soft tint of the night made her skin seem unreal, intoxicating.

He had to touch her.

She touched him first.

Y/N’s hands wrapped around his shoulders, fingers curling into his hair when she pulled him in for a kiss. He couldn’t hold in a low growl that grew when she drank it hungrily from his lips.

Nothing else existed when she pulled him closer, tugging at his shirt to tease her nails along his back. She moaned so sweetly around his tongue when he grinded himself against her, barely any cloth to keep them apart.

He almost forgot.

“Mmm… Hey, bunny,” Shanks purred, his eyes heavy lidded to match the lovely ones beneath him. “Are you sure—“

“Aren’t you going to keep me warm?”

Y/N was pouting, teasing, begging, her fingers still trailing over his skin.

Everything about her was giving heat.

Everything was perfect.

Everything except for a flash in her eyes that plunged Shanks’ heart into the icy depths of the ocean at his back.

“Is something wrong,” beautiful death asked softly, her mask so exquisitely crafted.

“No, not at all,” Shanks cleared his throat, pushing himself away. “I just… It would be a shame to have my first time with such a beauty in front of an audience.”

The sound of bells saved him.

She tilted her head back, sighing when she saw the vehicles approaching.

“Bunny, I—“

“Thank you for the lovely date, Emperor. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He helped her up, brushing the sand from her skin while he tried to figure out what to say.

He didn’t think fast enough, and soon the staff had swarmed her, wrapping her in a fluffy robe before whisking her away.

The red haired pirate declined a ride back to the estate, waving the people, and their watching snails away.

It was a long walk.

There would never be enough distance for Shanks to cross to get away from the sickness that had seeped into his bones, into his every organ.

Y/N’s empty eyes had branded guilt onto his heart before, and he couldn’t stand his arrogance. He thought he’d already made it all better, that his greedy heart was going to take everything it wanted.

I wanted to own her, just like the leeches.

Tonight, Y/N’s eyes hadn’t been empty, but she was so good at hiding.

Or I just saw what I wanted to see. Until she…

What Shanks had seen in that flash, in that glimpse beneath her mask, was evil. It was frightening, sick, manic.

It was hate.

I did that. I filled that lovely girl’s heart with hatred.

The walk wasn’t long enough to shake off his self loathing, but Shanks knew what he needed if he was going to make things right.

He needed one more chance.

One more private date.

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

“Look, I’ll taste it,” your mother sighed before taking a drink from the steaming mug she kept brandishing at you. “Now please, drink it, sweetie. You look…”

“I look like death,” you drawled, wishing the coffee would cool down so you could chug it.

“Not at all, Miss Sylvad, you just need some brightening up! We’ll take good care of you,” chirped your mom’s favorite makeup artist. You couldn’t remember his name this early in the morning, but you were fighting not to throw the hot coffee at him so he’d stop being so fucking cheerful.

You hadn’t been able to fall asleep last night.

The scent of him had lingered around you, even after you’d tried to scrub him off of you in the shower.

The whole night had replayed in your mind, making you dizzy with guilt over every moment when you relaxed, when you forgot.

Then it would cycle through again, rage building until you chewed your tongue to keep from snarling to the empty air around you.

But your body…

Frustration nearly clawed itself out of you, and you’d had to hold your breath to fight the screams and tears it would have left in its wake. You’d been so fucking close to having something to turn your brain off for a minute, even if it was him.

All of your attempts to take care of that need on your own left you defeated, your guilty hunger twisting every image you tried to cling to.

You couldn’t imagine his fingers without picturing the gloved ones you missed so much.

Couldn’t picture Shanks fucking you without remembering him making love to Buggy. You were trapped in silence on the edge of that bed again, but there was no one to rescue you this time.

Last night, you’d fallen apart. It had to be it. You couldn’t afford these emotions.

You’d bitten your pillow to stifle the wracking sobs while your mind tore you down, forcing you to mourn more than just Buggy.

It felt like you were choking on their names, all the men you’d left behind.

If loneliness alone could kill, you would have died there in that luxurious bed, aching to be smothered in the heat of bodies you’d never feel again.

Shanks was torturing you. His very presence was a reminder of the daydream you had fooled yourself into thinking you could keep.

“Are you alright, Miss Sylvad?”

“What? Oh, I’m… I’m fine.”

The sound of tears in your voice was enough to drag you back.

You let yourself fall away.

Empty.

Empty’s good.

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

Benn literally kicked his ass out of bed this morning, ripping the expensive bedding off of his captain while he scolded him out of the dream world.

“Quit complaining,” his first mate commanded him, rolling his eyes at the pathetic groans. “You’ve got a beautiful girl to win, Chief. You can sleep when she’s yours.”

Shanks’ morning mind was still soaked in last night's attempt to drown it in sake, so he couldn’t tell if he’d thanked or cussed out the older man for his help. Regardless, the red haired pirate was dressed for breakfast, luckily remembering his appointment.

After the first dates, the suitors got to have breakfast with the Sylvads.

Maybe I’ll get a moment alone with her.

“There’s our favorite Emperor,” Cedrick called through the door, gesturing for Shanks to join them. “Make yourself at home!”

“Home” was strangely sterile, more of a conference room than a dining area. Cedrick sat at the head of the table, offering the empty seat beside him, opposite Y/N, and her practiced smile.

I can do this. I can convince her I’m on her side.

I have to.

“I thought this was gonna be a family breakfast. You’ve got a little sister out there, don’t you, gorgeous?”

“I—“

“Don’t worry, Shanks,” Cedrick waved off the question. “There will be plenty of time for family get-togethers. Since you joined our game at the last minute, I figured we should have a little business talk before you get back to all the pleasure.”

Shanks almost shoved his fork through the man’s throat.

The taunting glance he’d given his niece at the last word tested Shanks’ self control, and he couldn’t believe how calm she seemed.

“Of course. I understand it’s not just love we’re fighting for.”

“Not love. Family,” Cedrick vowed. He emphasized his words with a firm grip on Shanks’ shoulder, and the pirate had to hold his breath to keep from shaking him off.

How does she do this all day?

“Whoever marries my dear niece will be family, and Sylvads take care of their own. I know there’s a lot we could do for each other.”

“It’s an honor to be considered,” Shanks toasted them both, aching to see anything real behind her polite mask.

“You know, Shanks, it’s a real shame you went to the wrong brother all those years ago,” Cedrick mused, shifting his tone just enough to suck all the air from the room. “You might have been King of the Pirates by now if you’d asked me instead.”

“What do you mean?”

Shanks mumbled those loathsome words while the ground disappeared beneath him. The question in her eyes sparked his panic, but it was too late.

“Please, Arbo loved to brag about drinking with Roger’s apprentice. I could never understand how he let a little girl spook him out of the deal of a lifetime.”

“What are you talking about?”

Her eyes were wide when she asked, but Y/N wasn’t looking at either of them. She was slipping further and further away with every word her uncle spewed, and Shanks had no idea how to stop it.

“You know the family stories, niece, and you’re smart enough to figure out which ones are true,” he chided.

Cedrick would have lost his hand when he tapped the tip of her nose, but Shanks was frozen.

“Your daddy turned down the chance to help the Pirate King’s apprentice build the next ship to conquer the Grand Line. Arbo could have made history, but he decided not to because his ‘widdle numbers girl’ cried about some gods damned tree.”

…

“Wha-what?”

She was so good at hiding, so it felt like his soul cracked when her voice did. Horror and shame filled the Emperor of the Sea when a daughter’s grief shone in those beautiful eyes.

“It had to be fifteen, nearly twenty years ago now, wasn’t it?”

He sounded fucking jolly while he ripped both of their hearts out.

“Yeah, I think so,” Shanks coughed, caving when the man gripped his shoulder a bit harder.

“Well, I don’t have the same qualms as my dear brother, so I might be willing to butcher an Adam Tree. Only for family, of course.”

Unshed tears were balanced in her eyes, and she seemed to be turning herself into a statue before she’d let them fall.

There had been time to tell her. Shanks’ mind flew through a list of excuses for why he hadn’t, why it wasn’t a good time, how she’d been going through too much to tell her a story about her dead father. Yet this whirlwind of a woman had cleared away his old disguises, so he could no longer believe his own lies.

I didn’t even think about telling her. All I cared about was getting what I wanted.

I’m no hero.

“I was wondering if that’s why you joined the game,” Cedrick smirked. He squeezed Shanks’ shoulder one last time before releasing him, but the relief was lost when the next words spilled from that evil mouth.

Shanks watched every bit of movement on her face now. He watched his selfishness curdle around her, poisoning any slim chance he still had to gain her trust.

“All the players are going for the One Piece, so Red Haired Shanks is back to get his miracle ship,” Cedrick taunted, his eyes glued on his niece. “And now he can finally teach the little brat that cost him his boat a lesson. I wonder if my sentimental brother would have chopped down that tree if he knew his favorite daughter would have to spread her—“

“What about you?”

“Excuse me,” Cedrick turned toward the growl, his brows raised a bit.

He’s not nearly fucking scared enough.

Shanks paused too long, but the second the asshole started to tilt back toward her, the pirate started talking. He had no idea what to say, but he knew he had to keep that piece of shit from looking at her again.

“Families help each other out,” Shanks flirted, feeling like he was swallowing venom with every moment he smiled at this monster. “So, what about you? How could I help out my new family, if I were so lucky?”

“I have a few ideas,” Cedrick purred as he leaned back in his chair. His eyes were relaxed, and slow while they scanned over him, as though he had all the time in the world to make an Emperor of the Sea wait on his every word. “I think that’s enough business for today, though. Let’s get back to pleasure.”

Cedrick Sylvad forced them to toast at that, and Shanks couldn’t understand how his niece had kept all of those tears from falling. Y/N’s cheeks were dry, and she smiled at him when their glasses touched. It was a perfect smile, welcoming, alluring, and sweet.

It was a death trap.

~~~🔴🔴🔴~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🗡️🔴⏰~~~

~~~

~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~

Every time Shanks walked into a tavern, he knew he might meet his death. Would it be with his weight in alcohol, or with the slim hope for a golden eyed grim reaper tucked into a corner booth?

Shanks had gotten stronger before, but since a few stupid words had taken all the joy from his life last year, he couldn’t focus on anything else.

Beautiful death sounded pretty good, but all he kept finding was booze.

Until tonight.

“Hey, Hawk Eyes.”

“Hmm? Here to interrupt my lunch,” Mihawk noted, boredom radiating from him. “How delightful.”

The new Warlord of the Sea could feel the difference in power in his former opponent. He could see the muscles born of years of holding a sword in the redhead’s forearms while he carried two heaping mugs, invading his table again after four years.

Mihawk could see the dim light of this sticky tavern glinting off of that lovely sword.

“I prefer wine,” he drawled, returning his gaze to his book while he tried to catch the man’s heartbeat over the noise. He’d have to get closer for that, but it was an unnecessary risk.

That sword deserved a true fight.

“More for me then,” Shanks shrugged, gulping down one of the beers while his enemy sighed.

“If you’re not serious about challenging me, then kindly leave me to my reading.”

Shanks reached for the hand that held the book, but it withdrew so fast, danger in those golden eyes now as they narrowed on him.

“There’s the monster I remember," Shanks raised his mug, drinking in the sight before him.

Dracule Mihawk pulled his feet down from the table, and set his book aside, never taking his eyes off the pirate. Adjusting his jacket looked like an instinctual habit, the maroon fabric and floral patterns seeming out of place on a killer’s skin.

“Do you shave your sideburns all pointy like that, or–”

“Are you suicidal, rookie?”

“What do you care,” Shanks scoffed. He couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t want to. “You’ve been looking forward to killing me, haven’t you? And I don’t see any blood on that big sword of yours, so you must be bored here.”

Mihawk wanted to stay bored, but this pretty pirate, and his ugly hat were getting on his nerves.

“I’m sure one of the local drunkards could grant your death wish in a back alley brawl. I don’t need to dirty my blade on weak blood like yours.”

Oh, but he wanted to.

And the red haired captain could see it. Just the slightest curve of those cruel lips, a faint intake of breath when he stretched his arms above his head, that dangerous gaze caught on every mark of training on his body.

Shanks was fucking high on it, and he wasn’t going to let it end so soon.

“I’m here to challenge you, Hawk Eye Mihawk,” he smirked, finally free of thoughts as thrills shot through him. “I’m here to end you.”

“You’re here to try.”

~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~

~~~

~~~⏰🗡️🔴⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

It’s okay. You’re okay.

Soothing words were bad.

Not real. It’s all pretend.

Uncle Cedrick was talking again, lording over the lunch that had been laid out along the beach today.

The beach where you’d begged him to touch you last night.

Not real.

Nothing matters.

Fake is fine.

Not real. Can’t feel.

“Come now, niece, don’t keep the hunters waiting!”

He handed you bit of cloth, and you had no idea what the fuck to do with it. Reality reformed around you, and you found your suitors lined up on the sand, watching your every movement.

You held up the flag and dropped it down, grateful that you’d guessed right when most of the men started running toward the waves.

“Good afternoon, Y/N,” came a deep, deep voice that almost pulled you free.

“Hi, uh… Hello, Katakuri,” you shook beneath his gaze.

Oh yeah. Maybe this gentle giant will crush me to death tonight. That might make things easier.

“I was hoping that since it’s our night tonight, I might be able to sit with you today?”

“There’s no rule against it,” your uncle shrugged, snagging his drink to raise it toward the crimson haired man above. “Don’t ignore your other suitors though, niece. They’re putting in a lot of work to win you today.”

The portable screen that had been set up between some of the larger vehicles caught your eye. It showed Giberson lounging with a cocktail, sticking his pasty toes in the sand while he waved at the younger men running past.

Thankfully, the cam snails shifted their focus to your other suitors, their powerful bodies gleaming while most of them tore their shirts off before diving into the waves.

It was hard to enjoy the view with that glaring, red hair always hogging the screen.

I bet he’s a fan favorite, that fucking—“

“Do you like sweets, Y/N?”

“I’m sorry,” you choked, head twisting to meet those stunning eyes.

“I’ve noticed that you don’t seem to like the food they’ve been serving here, and since I was hoping to make something with you during our date tonight, I want to be sure you’ll enjoy it.”

Katakuri was shielding his eyes from the sun to look down at you, and you felt a stupid bit of guilt for ignoring this seemingly sweet man that came here to own you.

“I love sweets, I’ve just been so nervous,” came another lie that was true. “It’s hard to eat when I’m nervous, but if you promise to share with me, then I can’t wait to—”

“Well, Emperor, that’s not quite what we were looking for,” Uncle Cedrick teased as he followed Shanks back to your table.

“I found what I was looking for,” he rasped, going to a knee beside you. Your image on the screen held you prisoner, just as he planned to do.

Shanks’ title had never suited him so well. The Emperor of the Sea was drenched, his red hair gone dark, clinging to his face and neck. Drops of the ocean fell from the ends to pour down his body in hypnotizing lines. His chest was almost always bare, but the way his skin glowed under all that salt and sun turned his body into a work of art, something to gaze upon and enjoy, and you fucking hated him for it.

Monsters should look as ugly as their souls.

“I realized I didn’t bring you a gift last night, and I had to make it right.”

You heard the sand shifting as Katakuri moved closer, but Shanks held your gaze.

Those soft, brown eyes held nothing but lies.

“A beautiful shell for a beautiful girl,” he breathed, wincing slightly when your uncle joked for the crowd, lamenting how “lovey dovey” things might get if all the hunters tried to spoil you.

You had to accept his gift.

It was a large conch shell, and it was beautiful, with spirals and spikes laid out in gentle colors.

“Listen to it, Y/N. Can you hear the ocean?”

“I… Yeah, I can,” you nodded, holding the shell up to your ear. Distant music filled your mind, and you shoved the memories down. Luckily, a trail of dripping suitors was headed toward you, and you were grateful for any excuse to stop looking at him.

You were so fucking close to smashing that spiky shell into his face.

“The deep, blue sea loves its creatures so much that it sends its ears along with them.”

“Uh, thank you? I–“

“And the winner of today’s hunt is Prince Fukaboshi!”

Shanks had no choice but to move when Uncle Cedrick grabbed your elbow to guide you to another small stage, riding it into the air beside you.

The merman prince looked like the God of the Sea.

His spotted tail made giant patterns in the sand as he floated toward you, shaking out his light blue hair before you came close to his glinting smile. His teeth.

Shark. He’s like a shark.

“For you, Miss Sylvad. I hope that whatever this treasure is brings you as much pleasure as your company brings me.”

So very carefully, Fukaboshi’s massive fingers placed an ornate wooden chest on the platform in front of you, and a look from your uncle sent you to your knees to open it up.

Salt water and seaweed poured out, sending chills over your skin before you reached inside. The treasure was hard to identify in the soggy container, but soon you held it up for everyone to see.

Everyone could see you while you stared at the intricate ship in a bottle, your dad’s signature redwood still painted on one of the sails.

“Thank you for finding this for me, Prince Fukaboshi,” you praised, teetering on the edge of tears again. “I… I haven’t seen it in a long time.”

You hadn’t seen one of his little ships since you’d smashed a few of them to pieces ten years ago. The rest had been hidden away before the spoiled heiress could destroy them all during another tantrum.

More of dad’s perfect creations that he’d lovingly stuffed into a pretty cage.

The world swerved, and by some miracle, your shaky hands placed the bottle back into the chest, closing the lid with a soft thud.

“Are you feeling well, niece,” Unce Cedrick crooned as he laid his hand on your back, painting the picture of a loving family.

“Yes, uncle, thank you,” came your soft, gracious voice. Your Sylvad smile was the only armor you had against the onslaught of eyes.

“I feel perfect.”

~~~🌲🌲🌲~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🗡️🔴⏰~~~

~~~

~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~

It was the perfect fight. The perfect dance.

“Where was this fire back then, Red Hair? This rage?”

“You trying to distract me, Hawk Eyes?”

Shanks pressed all of his weight against that powerful blade, their swords scraping against each other like deadly instruments. Mihawk had that huge weapon tilted down for an attack he couldn’t finish, and the younger pirate laughed as he caged him in against a tree.

“There’s no need,” Mihawk growled, his body singing with the first true challenge he’d faced in years. “You’re still an overconfident, little boy.”

“Well, this— gods damn it, really,” Shanks groaned, unable to rub the pain off of his face with all of his strength holding his sword against the other. “Aren’t you a fucking swordsman? Head butts don’t seem that honorable.”

“A true fighter knows when to be flexible,” Mihawk taunted, finally slipping from Shanks’ hold.

Perfect.

Any of his previous opponents would have been sliced in half by his quick recovery, Yoru gliding through the air like a bird of prey.

Yet this man parried the attack with hardly a second to shift after Mihawk’s escape.

And he was smiling.

“I told you we’d be having fun.”

“That’s what you’ve been training for all this time, Red Hair? You’re willing to die for a bit of fun?”

“Aren’t you?”

Their taunts grew breathier as the clash of blades went on, but soon they both carried feral grins, laughing at every near miss. They didn’t notice all the trees they knocked down, or the creatures of the forest that fled into the golden glow of the coming sunset.

This perfect dance had lasted for hours, but it could have been seconds or days to them.

The dancers lost themselves in the sounds of bodies and blades, in the strength and will of their beautiful enemy, and in the sweat, blood, and dirt that only made them seem more like beasts, hungry for more.

Until the end.

“Do it.”

Mihawk couldn’t believe it.

He’d slipped. Hours and hours of sweat and blood dripping through his fingers made him slip just enough for his enemy to slip through.

I should have wrapped the handle better.

The swordsman huffed a laugh at his own arrogance. He hadn’t had to worry about sweating through that fabric in years.

“Laughing in the face of death, huh,” Shanks asked, holding Gryphon to the Warlord’s throat. He’d pinned the man down, his weight pressing his enemy into the rough ground.

“I’m waiting for death, Red Hair,” he sneered, stretching his neck to give the man a clearer target. “Get on with it.”

“Now why would I wanna do that,” Shanks rasped. The chaos in those pretty eyes was hypnotizing.

Shame and fury almost broke the man loose, but all he could do was seethe while blood started to trickle down his throat from his movements.

“If you don’t finish this I’ll—“

“Make a deal with me,” Shanks purred, leaning close to breathe his bargain over those snarling lips. “I want you to live, and get stronger, so we can have even more fun next time.”

“If you don’t end this now, I will kill you sl—“

“Slowly, right? Sounds like fun to me.”

He freed the monster, collapsing onto the ground beside him to laugh, and wince with the pain of their dance.

This feels good.

“Tomorrow. You die tomorrow, Red Hair.”

The Warlord felt pathetic spitting the threat from his back, but he tilted his head to find that shiny, bloody smile again.

“Tomorrow it is,” Shanks agreed, before diving into even more dangerous distractions. “What about tonight, Hawk Eyes? You got any plans?”

“You are truly magnificent, you suicidal fool,” Mihawk laughed, a lovely sound from those cruel lips. The redhead wouldn’t stop beaming at him, and something in him snapped.

Mihawk couldn’t stop laughing, even through the soreness, even when his ridiculous enemy joined in.

“What do you say, swordsman, wanna go grab a beer?”

“I prefer wine.”

“Whatever you want, loser—mmnf.”

“I will kill you tomorrow,” Mihawk sneered, rolling to hold Kogatana to that pretty throat.

“Let’s go celebrate your victory then,” Shanks winked, his jaw shifting in playful challenge. “Do you prefer red or— It’s red, isn’t it?”

“So perceptive in your final moments,” Mihawk drawled after too long a pause, but he helped his enemy off the ground.

He walked beside the man that could have killed him. That should have killed him.

This isn’t safe.

Mihawk tried to listen to his instincts, every muscle in his body screaming for him to take down the smiling threat at his side.

Yet all he could do was follow that red, unable to look at anything else.

~~~

“What are you doing,” Mihawk growled, shrugging off Shanks’ touch when they entered the tavern.

“Don’t you wanna clean your pretty clothes first,” he teased, before nodding his head toward the hallway he’d tried to pull his enemy down. “My room’s this way, and it’s got a nice bathroom we can use. We look pretty fucked up, Hawk Eyes.”

Shanks leaned in again, his lip scraping through his teeth just a bit. Just enough.

Fuck being safe.

“Getting cleaned up is going to take awhile,” Mihawk gave in, returning that heated stare. “How many bottles can you carry?”

~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~

~~~

~~~⏰🗡️🔴⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🐊🤡🐊🤡~~~

Shanks had finally figured it out, but the weight of nausea wouldn’t leave. Buggy knew she’d wanted him, he knew that breathing, but listening to Shanks touch her when he didn’t know how she felt was…

“You need to get some sleep, little clown. Do you… Did you wanna sleep somewhere else?”

Crocodile tried to sound light, as though he’d be fine with an empty bed knowing that his clown would be whimpering in his sleep like he had every night since she left. There was a growing awkwardness in the air since that private date started, and he didn’t know how to quash it, or if he had any right to.

“No, I don't,” Buggy admitted. That scarred face seemed so careful, as though the man were holding still so he wouldn’t spook him. With a sigh, Buggy knew it was probably true. He let himself be swallowed by that comfortable, deadly warmth again.

Holding him close, Crocodile fell through his own mind.

At some point, he had lost sight of his goals. The greed of how to reach them made him lose the vision, and ultimately lose it all. How many other things should he have protected instead of destroyed? How could he ever balance the scales with those he wanted to keep?

“Hey, boss,” Buggy cleared his throat, lips twitching nervously when he turned to look at that frightening face, unreadable as stone. The tension in his body was pretty readable though, and it didn’t seem like either of them would be falling asleep anytime soon.

“I know it’s late, but do you, uh… wanna call him?”

~~~🤡🐊🤡🐊~~~

~~~~~~

~~~⏰🗡️🔴⏰~~~

~~~

~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~

They set their swords down.

Mihawk had almost walked away, but Shanks tossed his sword out of reach first before backing into the bathroom with a crooked grin, and an open bottle of wine in each hand.

“You comin’?”

The Warlord followed, not knowing if he could see the other man as anything but an enemy, even for a night.

The bottle of red helped.

“Here, let me help you with that.”

“It’s fine, I’ve— fu-uck!”

An absurdly large splinter had pierced into Mihawk’s lower back sometime during the fight, and although the two men had been staring at each other while they showered, they hadn’t touched until Shanks saw him struggling with that invasive bit of wood.

“This little thing hurt that bad, huh,” Shanks teased as he tossed the splinter, reaching for the first aid supplies the bartender had shoved at them when they walked in dripping with blood.

He soaked a swab in alcohol, and pressed it to the small wound before the swordsman could dodge him, and the desperate noise he let out made Shanks’ jaw drop.

Mihawk turned away, grabbing a towel to tie down his body's reaction before leaving the redhead in the bathroom with his mouth still hanging wide.

“I’ve got some extra pants you can—“

“I’m not wearing your ugly pants. They look like an old lady’s couch.”

Shanks snorted, admiring the sulking Warlord that was cleaning his already clean blade.

“No pants then. I can live with that.”

“Is this what you wanted all along, Red Hair? I would have have fucked you on the tavern table if you’d just asked nicely.”

Shanks had left his towel in the bathroom, and his body’s reaction to those words was on full display while he leaned against the doorframe.

“I don’t think losers get to be on top, Hawk Eyes.”

Rage was back.

“And I don’t think I can wait until tomorrow to kill you.”

“Come on, friend,” Shanks dared, taking another swig while the hissing monster held that tiny blade to his throat again. “Let’s have some more fun.”

Who moved first? Neither could tell, but however it started, nothing in the world could stop them now.

That kiss between rivals sparked another dance that would last for hours.

Another fight that left them snarling and breathless, throwing taunts back and forth while they tore each other apart.

Another battle of strength and will to see which man would fall to the other.

“You truly believe you can take me,” Mihawk laughed, shoving his opponent against the wall hard enough for the wood to groan, and the dust to shake loose from the shelves beside them.

“I believe you want me to,” the redhead taunted. It felt so good to be lost. “You keep hunting for someone who can. I bet you’re just dying to get fucked into the ground, aren’t you? Want me to hurt you?”

He fisted into that soft, black hair, yanking the man’s head back. That pathetic moan was music to his ears, and his cock was dripping with the need to shove it into the swordsman already.

“And what about you,” Mihawk growled. He grabbed onto Shanks’ pulsing cock, and laughed when his knees nearly buckled. “You’re so obsessed with fighting me, trying so hard to fuck me. Willing to die for some fun? I’ve never met such a desperate whore.”

And they were kissing again, with Mihawk laughing into Shanks’ mouth while his cruel fingers made his enemy whine.

“Gods, if you’re gonna be such a sore loser, I guess you can take the win,” caved the redhead, breathless and aching to let this man clear his mind for as long as he could. He stumbled over to his bag, and tossed his rival a bottle of lube.

“Knew this was what you wanted,” Mihawk purred, already fisting the cool liquid over his swollen cock before bringing the bottle to his opponent’s waiting body. “You even came prepared.”

“Never know who you might run into at a— ooh, f-fuck. Mm, you’re so good at that.”

Mihawk smirked while his fingers tore so many noises from this gorgeous man, adding and stretching while he taunted him.

“I’ve never fucked someone I planned to kill the next day,” he threatened. That tiny smirk on the redhead’s lips was a challenge, and he needed to make this smug, little pirate beg.

Gods, he’s so pretty. He—

Shanks’ eyes rolled back, whatever he’d planned to say disappearing when the swordsman pierced him. Rough, angry, owning. Exactly what he needed.

“Hawk Eye— Hawk. Fuuck, you feel so fucking good, baby.”

“This it, huh,” he snarled, shoving Shanks’ thigh toward him with one hand, and grabbing that whining throat with the other. “Are you a little toy made just for me? Following me around until I sink my blade in you?”

Oh, those golden eyes. Shanks could have died right then, letting this man have him, but he didn’t want it to end. Didn’t want him to leave.

And he just couldn’t help himself.

Mihawk had never made that sound before. He had his prey beneath him, flushed and desperate, those soft, brown eyes almost broken.

Then there was pain.

He didn’t know what was happening until he saw that fucking smirk, but it was too late.

Shanks had found that little wound on his back, and dug his nails in.

He looked so fucking smug before he followed his lover, arching his back while he came across his chest and stomach. It didn’t stop him from making Mihawk twitch and moan with sharp pleasure from the pain he kept twisting into his skin.

They both whimpered and gasped while Mihawk kept fucking his come even deeper. Shanks’ nails in his skin were the strings of a marionette, controlling him, owning him.

It felt unreal.

The Warlord wanted to be angry, wanted to punish the grinning lover he still pierced, but he couldn’t think.

Just a little while. A little while longer without thinking, until the enemies were taunting and teasing again, another round of showers to clean a different kind of mess away.

It felt…

It wasn’t safe.

“Where ya going, loser?”

Shanks’ high dropped fast, almost as fast as Mihawk climbed back into his fancy clothes.

He didn’t want it to end.

“Sleep well, rookie. Tomorrow’s your last day.”

~~~⚫⚫⚫~~~

~~~

~~~⏰🗡️🔴⏰~~~

~~~~~~

~~~🗡️🗡️🗡️~~~

“Can’t sleep without me, clown?”

“No, shithead,” Buggy sneered, and Crocodile’s deep laughter poured through the transponder snail until Mihawk felt an almost smile touch his lips. “You’re an agent now, and we’d like an update.”

“Of course, Mr. President,” he teased, though he felt heavier with every breath. “This very late night update is that I’m floating on the sea.”

“Where did you end up heading first,” Crocodile interrupted Buggy’s grumbles, and his lovely voice sent guilt coursing through Mihawk’s veins.

“With these conditions, I should make it to Majiatsuka by this time tomorrow.”

“That’s the, uh,” Buggy groaned in thought, with the sound of rustling paper accompanying his noises.

“That’s one of the island kingdoms around Dress Rosa, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Buggy answered Crocodile’s question, while Mihawk stared into nothing. “It’s right here, but that’s– You’re not gonna check out Whole Cake first? And Germa’s creepy boats are parked to the east. Which suitor lives–”

“Mihawk.”

He couldn’t speak.

“What’s wrong,” Buggy asked, quiet after Crocodile’s rage.

Until he found his own.

“Are you fucking STUPID? We don’t have a plan! I can’t believe you, you BATSHIT CRAZY fucking asshole. I’m gonna–”

“Explain,” Crocodile ordered, that dangerous purr ending Buggy’s rant. “Why are you going to the estate?”

“I’m going near the estate,” the swordsman cleared his throat, grateful that there was just enough room on his boat to pace. “I’m sorry I wasn’t truthful, but I didn’t quite lie. I’ll still try to gather intel to thin the crowd, bloodlessly if possible.”

“You do realize the sheer amount of manpower between you, right? The fucking surveillance?” Crocodile’s voice was edged with that dangerous disappointment, that waiting rage. “Hells, he probably already knows where you are with how much the Marines–”

“I can’t take it! I can’t take another fucking second of this!”

Nothing but the wind in the sails.

Nothing but his ragged breathing, and his heart that was too fucking loud.

“Mihawk,” Buggy asked softly. True softness for the man that had tortured him, tormented him, taken and used his lover like a fucking whore. Mihawk couldn’t understand the forgiveness he’d been given.

He didn’t need it anymore.

“I’ll try, I will, I swear,” the swordsman vowed, not sure if he was telling the truth. “But I need her!”

“Little prince–”

“I don’t want to force her. I don't ever want to force her again. I want to respect her wishes, and wait until we know what she needs, what she wants… but I don’t want that. Not really.”

Mihawk gave a hateful laugh, nearly choking on his self loathing, but his rage would stop spilling out.

“I want to go in there, and grab her, and slaughter everyone on that island! I want to kill everyone that’s ever fucking looked at her! I want–”

“Hey, crybaby, you think I don’t fucking want that,” Buggy fumed, death in his voice.

“That’s why I’m doing this,” Mihawk slumped, not knowing when the tears began. “You deserve her. I’ll try not to go in there unless there’s no other way, but I need to be close.”

“What are you talking about,” Crocodile breathed.

There wasn’t enough room on this boat to have these emotions, and Mihawk had to clench his fists to keep from tearing it to pieces.

“I need her, but I’d rather she hate me than… I’ll be the monster, so you don’t have to. I think I can live with her hate if I know she’s with you. With someone she loves.”

Nothing but the waves.

“The security is still fucking vicious,” Crocodile rasped, anger draining from his voice. “And with the suitors’ people, and Sylvad’s pet Marines… That’s a lot of armies to fight.”

“I’ll be fine, and she already hates Shanks, so he can do whatever he has to,” Mihawk sighed as visions of violence soothed him. “The two of us should be able to tear the place asunder. The Cross Guild will need to relocate if it comes to that though. Probably disband, and go into hiding. You can take her somewhere. You can take care of her.”

“Shut the fuck up, you’re not doing this! She wouldn’t want—“

“Buggy, I’ll try to wait,” Mihawk pleaded, surprised that he still wanted permission. “Please, let me be the last resort. Call me if something happens, and I’ll bring her back to you. I’ll be the monster. Let me… please.”

The swordsman could hear his silent clown, those desperate breaths echoing through the night air.

That silence dragged on too long, and he couldn’t get her broken laughter out of his mind. Her uncle’s threats that Buggy had scrawled and crumpled in his rage and despair. The wound she had dealt him when she left. How perfectly cold her eyes had been.

Until she wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“I think she was telling the truth,” Buggy whispered, hardly breaking the silence. “She wanted to go, even though... I don’t think she’ll forgive you.”

“I know. She shouldn’t.”

“Are you trying to be selfish, or selfless, little prince? Because either way, you’re fucking doing it wrong.”

The swordsman let out his own broken laughter, ducking into the small cabin to find a bottle of red.

“Listen to me, bright eyes,” his business partner urged. “If you need to be out there, then do it, but don’t do this.”

“Don’t drink and sail,” Mihawk asked, popping the cork to pour the fine wine down his throat.

He didn’t want to taste it. To observe the colors. He didn't want to notice the hint of plums, or the lack of his little bloodhound that he had wanted to taste the world with.

“No, don’t be a fucking idiot,” Crocodile sighed. “Don’t act like you’ve already lost her. You don’t know what you’ll be able to do yet, or how she’s gonna feel. Our sweet girl is fierce.”

“Of course she is,” Buggy agreed, a steady faith in his voice that Mihawk envied.

He had changed too late.

“Don’t throw your heart away because you don’t think you deserve it.”

His scarred lover had touched the truth too close, as though the grief in those words wasn’t just for him.

“You’re not gonna find a way if you think you’ve already lost, so if you’re gonna do this, then quit fucking around. Find out what our girl wants. Get her back. Convince her to stay.”

“But—“

“And you’re gonna work with us,” Buggy cut in, sounding brighter, his rage shifted back to annoyance. “We’re getting my star back, and I’m not gonna let you take all the credit, asshole.”

The World’s Greatest Swordsman was drifting alone on his one-man boat again.

Not so alone.

“You’ll call me if…”

“If we need a monster, you’ll be the first one I’ll call,” his clown promised, bringing a wave of sick relief at the thought. “But this whole sacrificing yourself for our happiness shit is fucking lame. Can you try not to be so dramatic?”

Silence. Nothing but the water.

Nothing until the laughter started. Warm, deep laughter at their tearful swordsman, and their dramatic clown that joined in with a snort before they all forgot what they were laughing about.

“I’m sorry I lied, daddy,” Mihawk breathed, suddenly cold at the thought of sleeping.

“You’ll get your punishment. Just fly back home, little bird.”

“And stop being such a dumbass, please,” Buggy groaned, sounding squished as though a massive arm had curled around him.

“No promises,” Mihawk laughed, “but I will try… Thank you.”

The Cross Guild said their slow goodnights, leaving the swordsman on that quiet sea.

He drifted alone on his one-man boat, but this time he floated between his distant lovers, knowing that he had always been right. Love isn’t safe.

Fuck being safe.

~~~🗡️🗡️🗡️~~~

Likes, comments, and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you!!

Author's Note: So I went a little wild here. Writing Mishanks' backstory felt like utter self indulgence, so I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did! I love all of our fucked up boys so very much 😭 Who's ready to make some sweets with Katakuri though? 🍩😏

Fic Updates & Extras:

Special thanks to the commenter who referred to Shanks' pants as "grandma couch patterned" a few months ago, it has lived in my brain rent free. I can't find the comment on tumblr or Ao3, but you have my eternal gratitude for making me snort every time I see him and his stupid fucking pants now 😅🙏🏼

I've included a timeline below with OP Canon and Numbers Game events in case y'all would like to see where all the flashbacks line up. I left out any events that gave away the Reader's age for those that don't want to see that, but I'll make a separate post with more details for those that do.

You have no idea how much I reduced this timeline, lol. My actual timeline is full of a ton of canon details since I plan to reuse it for other fics, and I of course left out the Numbers Game spoilers. I only brought this version up to six years before the current time because I'm still cleaning up the rest of my notes, but I'm happy to share more later if you're interested.

I apologize that I don't have the timeline in text format yet. I will be adding that soon since images aren't accessible for everyone. Please let me know if you'd like that so that my adhd brain doesn't forget!!

The vast majority of the canon details were compiled by the sweet, glorious, super heroes at the One Piece Wiki, and The Library of Ohara. I would be lost without them!!!! 🙌😭🙏🏼

I'm basing the Numbers Game geography off of This Map by xads181 on Reddit. It is absolutely stunning, holy wowzers! 😍

Do you know how little fucking time it takes to get between most of these islands? I thought my timeline was going too fast, but Oda really just had them speedrun their adventure while we take 25+ years to watch it. I love him so much 😅💜

Numbers Game Abbreviated Timeline ~ 6-52ish years ago:

I made this timeline using Miro if you're interested. It's got a free or paid version, and it's been helping me so much. (I completely ignore the AI (🤢) and collaborative features, but the mindmapping and such is just so good!) Writing this long of a fic with so much to keep track of was wild in my messy, poorly titled google docs list 😅

Part 34

Operation Olive Branch has compiled a working spreadsheet of ways to help families fleeing from the genocide in Palestine. If you enjoyed this fic, and are able, please click the link to find a list of GoFundMe's, as well as other ways to help.

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kneelingshadowsalome · 9 months

Note

Double trouble: fun little au about hot sex and cute spats between König and his younger self

My terrible diseased brain: I wonder how young König felt when he realized his older self has a wife. Did he feel relief? That there is a light at the end of the tunnel, that there is someone who will love him, flaws and scars and all? Did he feel bitter that he doesn’t get that love until he’s older, more tired? Did Colonel König ever think about the fact that his wife would even have loved him as the young, stupid asshole he used to be? Do you think that the recuit and the colonel ever have a quiet moment of just existing next to each other, having a mutual realization that he was worthy of love all along?

Me: good grief

Bucca my sister in crime!! Ily 🩷🩷🩷

I'm sorry that you had to wait so long and on top of everything, all I have for you is angst 😭❤️‍🩹❤️

Young König is surprised (to say the least) when he sees his older self as a married man. He’s stunned to see he’s even alive. He thought he would die before reaching his 30s, in a way he had aspired to be dead before growing too old: that was the goal goddammit.

Who would want to live long enough to see how they turn even more lonely, fucked up and cold?

So his whole worldview is in turmoil now. This is what happens instead? He grows old and happy and gets to marry this hot chick? He gets to be a colonel?? He gets to be loved???

Young König is in love with reader too before even a month has passed, he’s torn between wanting her all to himself and settling for the bone he’s given. Even if he’s a horny menace full of red flags, he adores her. In a way I think he’s the most tragic character in this love triangle/polycule because he seems to be ok with it and has this nonchalant ‘no strings attached’ attitude while clearly, he’s madly in love (and needs therapy).

The attempted mating procedure of young König goes something like this: he sees a hot girl -> he opens his mouth -> she leaves. So now that he is the one who was approached, the dynamic is a bit different. The presence of Colonel means that his bad behaviour flares up like a bad old wound that’s poked. The saddest thing is that the older version has learned to love himself, he loves his wife boundlessly, he even loves his silly young self.

I mean what else can he do but love this beaten dog who’s trying his best and is still a mess?

Colonel’s secret hope is that he could somehow help the young pup to reach destination self-acceptance a little faster through this experiment. But like all of König’s tries to help himself and others, it backfires a bit…

Because young König doesn’t fool himself for one second with daydreams of love. He knows reader doesn’t love him like she loves the Colonel: he’s just a fucktoy in this sick scenario. So no, he isn’t mature enough to co-exist with his older self without bringing good old competition in. Reader can tell him she loves him all she wants, he’s not going to fall for that. Her and Colonel’s love life and marriage only remind him of what he doesn't have, what he can’t get. It’s just scraps for him, like always.

(When will it be his turn???)

#double trouble au #2 königs 1 reader #könig angst #character study stuff

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solar-net · 4 months

Text

gonna be working on the poke polycule, gonna be pretty simple, and i'll try to tag all the ships but no promises!!

#lucs text tag #poke polycule

0 notes

poppy-metal · 3 months

Note

So I’ve sent a few asks about this since i'm not a challengers blog lmao but i feel like ive got this sorted now. This is a polycule au where reader enters via Tashi.

Reader is Tashi’s childhood best friend. They met at a day camp for kids in the neighborhood, and you were excited to let her babble on about tennis and sports and everything else. You traded hair ties and discovered you have the same favorite movie and that was that.

You were interested in tennis for a bit, an eager little kid, really just excited to have a best friend. Your parents were a bit concerned - don't you want other friends? She seems a little... overbearing... - but you didn’t care. This wasn’t just another kid - this was Tashi. Fire and ice, determination and grit, strength and beauty... You didn’t realize you were falling in love, you were just a kid. But that first love - when given the opportunity - can grow into its own beast. Spin the bottle might have been the first kiss you two share (and your first kiss ever), and it probably should have hurt your feelings more when she told you you were a terrible kisser later that night, but she offered to teach you and you tried to ignore the way your mouth went dry at the thought of tasting her again.

But despite your best efforts, as you drift away from tennis and into the pageant circuit, you and Tashi drift apart too. She still drags you out to do doubles for fun, but you can tell it bothers her that you aren’t as passionate about it as she is. It was her idea to write letters in college - she was flopped out on your bed, looking like a goddess in her tiny pajama shorts. She said it was convenient, you couldn’t help the way your heart skipped a beat. You’d been scared that she might just leave you - find a friend with a passion and drive that matched hers. But she wanted you around. Even tried to set you up with Art one time, the four of you crammed in a booth at some shitty diner. You decided then that you hated both boys - you’d heard their names in her letters, tried to ignore the way jealousy coiled in your chest every time they looked at her.

After her injury though... she just drifted away. By the time Lily was born, she rarely wrote back, to your texts or emails. It was too hard - you understood tennis as a game, but not in the way she did. Besides, you were solidly from before. Before the injury, before the marriage, before any of it. In her mind, you were pure. She couldn’t taint that with her pain and loss. You tried reaching out to Art, but he brushed you off. You ran into Patrick a few years later, at a shitty hotel. You’d almost kissed him - the heat of the moment and the history making desire twist with guilt in your stomach and you’d practically ran from the bar.

But that didn’t mean you stopped writing. And that made everything worse - why couldn’t you be more like Patrick, take a hint, let her go, let her slip fully into her after. But you never forgot a birthday - an ever growing collection of cards and letters in a box under her bed. You’d wondered, sometimes, if she read them. The letters got shorter and shorter as your own life drifted away from you. Empty friendships, empty relationships... it should have alarmed you, the way your life became grey without her.

After the Challenger, when Patrick was back in their life, he was looking for something of Art’s when he found that shoebox under her bed. The last few letters are unopened - you’d stopped including any details of interest by now, and she couldn’t bear to read the nothingness. You used to fill pages - now you barely covered the front of one.

But despite late night conversations while Tashi was getting ready for bed, neither Patrick nor Art ever felt like it was their place to say anything. Patrick would poke and prod, but never actually did anything.

It would be another year of radio silence before fate intervened. At this point in your life, you were working as a personal assistant for some big-wig sports sponsor, an overbearing man with wandering hands - but he pays you well, and your contract has a year or so left in it anyways.

The party had barely started when someone taps you on your shoulder. You’d been flitting around in a blush gown, debriefing the staff and restocking tables. You spin, expecting another waiter with a question, but Art’s blue eyes widened as they met yours. He hadn’t recognized you from behind - looking for answers about where to put their coats, but now you were both staring, brains whirring, trying to think of what to say. And you can’t stop yourself from scanning the room, a million questions swirling in your mind. Is she here? Did she know I was here? Eventually, you and Art are able to get through the awkward conversation, as you try to keep your eyes from traveling the entirety of his form - older, but still muscled, and the crows feet around his eyes only served to increase his attractiveness.

You’d flit away again, your heart pounding in your chest. You still hadn’t seen Tashi - was she even here? It would be a few hours before Patrick would confront you at the bar. You’d finally gotten away from your boss, throwing back a shot surreptitiously.

“Is he always like that?” He asked, leaning back against the bar, up in your space the way he’d been all those years ago.

“Hmm?” Was all you could manage, the shock and the alcohol making your mind move slower than normal.

“Your boss. Is he always so touchy?” You don’t answer that, putting your shot glass back on the bar and flitting away again.You’d hosted a thousand parties with your boss - why are they here now?

It was almost midnight by the time you finally see Tashi - you’d been washing your hands in the women's bathroom when she came out of the stall behind you and you both froze. Your brain was running a mile a minute, you weren’t even sure if you were breathing, all those feelings from decades ago coming up your throat.

“It’s good to see you.” Was all she said before slipping out of the bathroom. You find yourself leaning heavily against the sink, just trying to catch your breath.

Tashi would say that it was seeing you with your boss that pushed her over the edge into bringing you back into her life. But both Patrick and Art know that it wouldn’t have mattered if she had seen you with your shitty boss, happily married with kids, or in the height of your career. One look at you was enough.

aw, this one HURT what the hell ☹️☹️☹️☹️ the continued letters :((((( them slowly getting more and more lifeless the more that times passes and the more listless she becomes :(((( i imagine she stops hoping for tashi's reply, probably stops thinking tashi reads them at all - just vents like its a diary - she could buy an actual diary but something about the letters and knowing where they'll end up gives you comfort. you talk about failed dates and how you dont feel like you're built for love, dont think its meant for you. think you're probably always meant to doll it out and not receive it and how its okay and you accept it and you dont resent her for leaving - especially after her injury, you get it - except sometimes you get angry and your letters have tear stains on them with blurred ink lines and you write about how you understand how hurt and devastated tashi must have been and still must be, but why couldn't she let you be there for her? why weren't you enough? why did she accept love from art years later but never sends a letter back to you? why does he get grace from that time in your life, but you dont? what did you do to deserve it?

those are the letters tashi almost replies to - the angry ones - she gets as far as putting a pen to paper but can never find the words to explain how the reminder of you, after her injury, was just too much to bear - all her passion and ferocity and girlish zeal were wrapped up tightly and bound to you - even though you didn't play tennis - you reminded her of everything playing tennis used to make her feel. euphoric. how can she explain thinking of you made her sick to her stomach and by the time she'd gotten to a place where she could stand on her own two feet again. allow love back into her life through art - that she'd simply felt the weight of her cruelty too intensely. she couldn't apologize. she couldn't bear seeing the betrayal in your eyes, the hurt, the wound she'd caused. tashi was tough - but not when it came to you. you'd rip her right open. so she never replied. and eventually, it became too much to read them too.

and art probably knows about you - it's kind of hard not to notice his wife getting letters continuously. he asks about them, and tashi tells them they're from you and arts thinks 'oh.' he feels bad for you, he remembers you - remembers that time tashi tried to set you on a double date and it went miserably because art was too much of a loser back then to know how to treat a woman - and he'd still been very much in love with tashi. you'd been sweet, though. down to earth, kind, funny. he could tell you and tashi adored eachother. he doesn't read any of your letters, but he sees the expression on tashi's face kind of - shrink whenever she gets one - and he recommends only once, "why dont you return it?" but the glare she'd sent him had been enough that he'd never brought it up again. he wanted to ask more about you. had an inkling there was something more there under the surface - something romantic even, but he never knew how to go about asking. you were a touchy subject. it made him endlessly curious, despite himself.

and patrick - patrick probably hurt the worst. tashi marrying art - not being invited to the wedding - it'd hurt, badly. you'd written her many letters about just how much it hurt - but with patrick. it felt like a slap to the face. you and patrick - you felt a kinship with him. you hadn't bonded until well after college, not until years later, when you ran into him one night at a local bar. but catching up with him felt as easy as breathing, and like you'd known him all your life. he was self-deprecating and annoyingly flirtatious and haunted. he asked you about a tattoo you had on your wrist with a finger skimming the mark there and you'd breathed in. and that was it. you spent hours talking about tashi, spooling your guts out - and he did the same. you realized you had a connection there - you'd never been around patrick much when he dated tashi but you could tell he still loved her. just like you did. art too, though you didn't know the man well enough to mourn his absence from your life, other than to be stung that he apparently was more deserving of tashi than you were.

you'd almost went home with him - you could tell he wanted to. and the shared pain you felt drew you to him, you couldn't lie. patrick zweig was attractive and and you knew a night with him would treat you well. he'd make you cum - many times, probably. but the thing that stopped you was the very reason you were called to do it in the first place. god, was everything in your life about tashi? every goddamn thing? even your hookups? patrick wanted you, he definitely thought you were hot, but the peak of his desire came from wanting to have something of tashi's. to be closer to her - or to back at her. he'd make you cum, but it wouldn't be about you, or even for you. you couldn’t even be mad at him for wanting it - because for a moment, you wanted it too. to have something of tashi's - both to be closer to her and to spite her. but that's not who you were, at the end of the day.

you just didn't have it in you to play games.

patrick didn't take it hard. just gave you a half crooked smile and gave you his number if you ever changed your mind. the paper sat folded up in a pocket in your wallet for years to come. never used, but never tossed out.

it would be a few years later - working on an event for your gross boss that you saw the match on screen. catching snatches of it between your rounds of attending to guests, before tuning in fully on your break. breathless and nearly nose pressed to the screen as you watched all three of them come together in the most beautiful match of tennis you'd ever seen in your life. watching art and patrick embrace across the net made your eyes burn. when you saw tashi smile you turned the TV off.

a week later patrick was in the news, pictures of him seen with tashi and art on every article online. you couldn’t escape from their image - pictures of the three of them at a dinner - coming out of the movies. one of tashi and patrick seen laughing at a premiere. another of art and patrick relaxing on beach chairs.

it felt like being stabbed in the chest. the connection you felt with patrick severed. you didn't share anything. he was still chosen, in the end, when you weren't. you threw his number out. crumpled and barely eligible anyway.

you stop writing tashi after that. you doubt she'd notice. it was time you stopped being pathetic and let go. she probably threw the letters away the second she got them. art probably thought you were a nuisance. patrick probably thought you were a joke.

you move through life on autopilot for some time. you tune out news about anything related to tennis. you throw yourself into your job - that you hate. but what can you do? it puts food on the table and a roof over your head and yeah your boss gets handsy and makes inappropriate comments but its worth it kind of because he pays you extra and that means you get to buy the fancy ramen. the kind with actual beef tips in it.

its just any other night, refilling guests drinks - managing the bar when it's unattended - flitting around to see if anyone needed anything. your outfit was bordering on inappropriate - akin to that of a maid - black and white and shorter than necessary, especially for a high brow event such as this. but it was what your boss made all the women wear, so you couldn't complain. and yeah, maybe your skirt was shorter than anyone elses but if you just were conscious enough of your surroundings and keeping the hem from raising, it was manageable.

seeing art is like a bucket of ice being dumped on your head. turning around to see his startled expression feels almost comical. his suit and tie in comparison to your near slutty get up is humiliating beyond belief but you simply paste a smile on your face and pretend like seeing him and what it means that hes here hasn't just made your brain short circuit - you act like he's any other guest. pluck his coat from his arm and tell him if he needs anything to please let you know. you hope he doesn't. you hope he leaves you the hell alone.

if seeing art was ice seeing patrick at the bar feels like being tossed into a fireplace. you feel your skin heat just from him being close. your nose twitches at his comment - patrick was always more perceptive than people gave him credit for - but you didn't want to linger around to entertain him. if he thought he could just talk to you like he did the last time you two talked - like he hadn't spit in your face - he was wrong.

and if seeing patrick was like being thrown in a pit of fire seeing tashi in the bathroom was like being shot through the heart. a bullet entering your sternum. breaking all your bones that'd been paper thin anyway and tearing apart all your lungs and viens and cartilage. beautiful as the day you'd last seen her. somehow even more gorgeous with time and in the flesh. her beauty could never be captured completely by a camera or on a screen, though. it was the kind that shone best in person. because she glowed. she was effervescent. you wanted to die.

"its good to see you."

its good to see you.

over and over again in your head long after the door swings shut behind her. its good to see you like there wasn't a decade of unaccounted time between you. its good to see you like there weren't a thousand unanswered letters between you. its good to see you like you were passing acquaintances. nothing more.

you wash your hands in the sink three times. you fix your skirt, though it does absolutely nothing to do so. you go back outside and you deliberately avoid their table and when your boss pulls you to the side and slides a hand down your arm and tells you, you look like you need a break - you look at him and you know you can do what you usually do, which is act stupid and say no thank you or simply act like you dont know what he wants from you until he gets bored. but then you feel the empty pit in your chest that the bullet left ravaged, and you know you need something to fill it. even if that something will make you hate yourself.

you dont beat around the bush.

"can you take me home after work?"

your boss grins. you smile back, it feels wooden on your face.

"sure i can, sweetheart."

#ask #i LOOOOOOVE when y'all send me asks like this like yesssss i wanna read your concepts ur own au ideas #just yapping ur thoughts and im listening ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️#and i love angst i love broken hearted reader i love polycule i love drama #best friend!au

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thehobbitwithstickyuppyhair · 4 months

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I am pulling yet another of my friends into Critical Role via TLOVM, and they sent me this meme, saying it reminded them of VM despite them not specifically a polycule:

And I was immediately possessed by perfectly picturing this scene:

they're poking around somewhere and it's like "oh hello who are you and why are you at this private event"

Scanlan would immediately be like "I am your entertainer for the evening, good sir! It was supposed to be a surprise, but I suppose I can tell you. I am Scanlan Shorthalt, the greatest musician in all the realm!"

And then his charisma bonus is so dang high he gets away with it

Person: "oh, of course! Thank you so much for coming. And are these your band?"

Scanlan: "oh, no, I'm a solo act. These are my retinue. One simply cannot travel without one's retinue."

Vax, deadpan: "We're his lovers."

Person: "... all six of you?"

Scanlan, without missing a beat: "do you have a problem with that?? Are you being a judgemental bigot right now?? Unbelievable!! I'm leaving!! You can explain to the guests that you singlehandedly ruined what would have been the best night of their lives by throwing out THE Scanlan Shorthalt--"

Person, flustered and panicked: "no no no no, I'm so sorry, of course it's absolutely fine-- I was just surprised-- it's no problem, I'm so sorry--"

Scanlan: *sniffs disdainfully* "Well. As far as apologies go, I've heard better. But thankfully for you, Scanlan Shorthalt is nothing if not forgiving and merciful. Now begone from my sight lest you upset me further."

Person to someone else as the entire Vox Machina troop files in behind Scanlan: *whispers* I'm so afraid to ask about the bear

#critical role #vox machina #tlovm #scanlan shorthalt #the legend of vox machina #cr vox machina

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shakesthewizard · 5 months

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Hi please explain about fabianxadaine???

Okay since you asked so nicely here's the fucking thing about Fabadaine

First, some background info

Before we dive in, you should know a couple things. For one, I'm a firm bad kid polycule truther. You could truly pitch me any pairing/grouping of those kiddos and I could find a really ineresting and/or sweet dynamic to eat the drywall about

You should also know that I'm gonna most likely remember some details during this analysis - if you spot them, please let me know by putting them in a bottle and throwing them into the ocean.

Second, some character meta

Adaine O'Shaughnessey is a girl with a lot of courage. It's sort of her defining character trait. The idea of "a wizard with an anxiety disorder" brings to mind someone pretty timid, who's afraid of speaking their mind. But from her first appearance, we see clearly that to Adaine, her disorder is pretty explicitly medical. On her first day of freshman year, she's already talking back to her horrible parents and trying to stand up for herself. Long before she gets access to medication, her disorder hinders her the way an asthma attack might; it has no bearing on her willingness to do the courageous thing.

Relatedly, Adaine thrives under adversity. Not abuse or mistreatment, mind - what I mean is that she likes it when people push back at her a little, so that she has opportunities to test her ideas and opinions against dissent. Look at her dynamic with Aelwyn in season three. Those two bicker and banter; they poke at each other, but it's how they're expressing things like concern or pride.

You could argue, probably well, that this is a product of sisterhood, and a product of their history in particular. But I think there's more to it than that. We see throughout the show that Adaine is a person who cares about exceeding; about learning and growing and achieving great things. It's classic wizard.

Adaine is the child of the wealthy and the important, and that shapes everything about her. It influences her struggles; her abandonment issues in particular. But it also shapes her goals, her values, and her attitudes. She seeks recognition for her skills and her labor, and she wants the people she loves to challenge her so that she can grow and make them proud.

Fabian Seacaster is the son of a famous man and a natural talent. His showmanship is clear and evident from the first moments we see him, and it's reflected in his character build from the start. He's a Champion Fighter, after all.

This showmanship is, frankly, a testament to Lou Wilson's masterful understanding of characters. That single trait can be picked apart to help us understand everything about him.

Fabian is a showman because he was raised as the scion of an up-and-coming house; given every tool he needed to learn his parents' skills, and to prepare him to take the Seacaster name when the time comes.

Fabian is a showman because he believes wholeheartedly in his own greatness. His whole life, he's been surrounded by tutors whose whole job it has been to mold him into the perfect son, and they were paid enough to care about doing it right.

Fabian is a showman because he knows he's earned his own arrogance; wealth or not, pampered lifestyle or not, we see him scold his fencing teacher when he goes easy on him. Fabian isn't blinded by his privilege (or at least not entirely) - he genuinely cares about being the best, and he'll give up the luxury if it means greatness.

Fabian is a showman because he's deeply anxious. Bill and Hallariel clearly love their son, but being the only child of a world-famous pirate, tasked with being their emissary to Solace for future generations, is an unbelievable amount of pressure. Fabian has to be perfect to the world outside. He can't just be good; he can't just be great; he has to be Fabian Aramais Seacaster, Son of the Famous Bill Seacaster!

Fabian is a showman because he has to figure out who he is, somehow. Who is he, outside of his father? He certainly doesn't know, but suddenly he realizes he has to know, for his own sake. So he does what any kid does when they're trying to figure out their identity - they act out.

Finally, what I understand about Fabadaine that nobody else does

Fabian Seacaster and Adaine O'Shaughnessey are the children of the wealthy; the important. They're both second generation Solesians, sent out to represent their families. They're both ambitious people who are trying to achieve great things outside the expectations of their parents. They're both proud and straightforward, prioritizing their values over social niceties.

Adaine and Fabian both carry the swords of their dead fathers.

To put it simply - Fabian and Adaine are really good foils for each other, and I dislike when their dynamic is reduced to classic highschool boyfriend/girlfriend tropes.

As an example, a number of fics I've read have Fabian pursuing Adaine, and that simply doesn't hold up. Let's be honest here - Fabian has terrible taste in women, and has a bad track record of making the more self-destructive choice whenever romance is on the table. I have no doubt he likes Adaine, but he would also know that she'd hold him accountable and challenge him when he makes stupid choices. No, Adaine is the one initiating here.

The thing that really draws me to this pair is because both of them need and want to be challenged, but each of them has a different attitude towards challenging others, and it makes for an active dynamic that can evolve in a lot of interesting ways.

You know what, check back later. I need to write fic about this.

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #adaine o'shaughnessey #fabian seacaster #fabadine

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thetickleeraven · 1 month

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Ticklish Tank

BG3 - Tav x Halsin x Astarion polycule

Summary: Tav is a strong, almost stoic leader and the tank of the party. Halsin, Tav, and Astarion are relaxing in a clearing in the forest when the two discover that Tav is ticklish. Tav is they/them, class and race unspecified but said to be a tank. [THIS IS A TICKLE FIC]

its literally been 11 months from my last fic and they may very well be my last tickle fic. idk we'll see how i feel. REMINDER THAT THIS BLOG WILL BE DELETED WITHIN THIS YEAR AND ALL MY FICS WILL BE ON AO3 FOREVER.

>>>BOOKMARK MY AO3 HERE<<<

---

The forest clearing is cool and quiet. In it stand three lovers: A druid, Halsin, admiring the beauty of nature at night; Astarion, a vampire basking in the moonlight; and Tav, a strong tank of a leader admiring the images of both their partners.

As Tav eyes the pale elf, Halsin approaches them from behind to wrap them in a hug.

The hug is a welcome surprise, as usual. However, not as usual, Halsin lays his hands on Tav's sides and notices them tense. He moves his hands down a bit and Tav begins squirming, cringes, and eventually jerks out of his hold with a smile giving away the reason.

Halsin is amused by Tav’s reaction. "Are you truly so sensitive that you couldn’t stand it?"

"What can’t they stand?" Astarion turns his attention to the two, curiosity piqued at the mention of their stoic leader presumably having some sort of weakness.

Tav's eyes widens knowing the last person who should know is Star.

"Our partner is just ticklish. That is all."

"Oh. That’s ‘all’ is it?" Astarion is suddenly predatory. Grinning like a wolf who happened on its prey. "I think we've just discovered our entertainment for the night."

"I-I'm not really ticklish." Tav curses inwardly for the stammer. "I'm just a little sensitive there, is all.

"Beloved, you and I both know that smile of yours gives it away. There is no need to be shy. Being ticklish is natural for you."

"No, I was smiling because you were hugging me, nothing more." They hold their hands up to defend theirself. They frustratingly couldn't wipe the smile off their face and a flurry of butterflies in their stomach, knowing what was probably coming.

"Oh, really now? is that why you're smiling still? With those pretty eyes of yours wide as saucers?" Astarion is stalking closer like an owlbear about to pounce.

Tav tries to suppress their smile as they slowly back away, and it almost works, until they see Astarion's fingers curl into claws. The knowledge that those swift thieving fingers would soon be prodding and poking all over Tav's (unfortunately) severely ticklish body was enough to swarm their belly with butterflies, almost tickling them from the inside out.

"I, myself, would love to hear you laugh. Throughout all our travels I don't think we've heard so much as a chuckle of you." Halsin muses.

"Yeah, you can keep dreaming." Tav turns to run, Astarion quick to follow. They dash through the clearing, Tav occasionally jumping over bushes or weaving through tress in order to get Astarion off their tail, though the elf is much too agile to be deterred that easily.. Halsin smiles, watching his lovers chase and play in the vast harmony of nature. It fills his heart, but he can't resist the thought of Tav laughing and beaming in the moonlight. With a wave of his hand, vines grow from the ground, tripping Tav in the middle of their chase, sending them flailing to the ground. Astarion leaps over the vines and skids to a stop, quickly dropping down to the ground and straddling their partner. Halsin quickly approaches the two, knowing the vampire, while capable, has no chance of holding down Tav on their own. He kneels next to the crown of Tav's head and wrestles their arms to the ground, holding them with his bear-like strength.

"This is ridiculous! I'm not even ticklish so this is a waste of time!" Tav protests, hoping somehow, against all odds, they can talk their way out of this.

"No amount of time spent touching your body is ever a waste of time." Halsin says.

"I must agree with our druid, darling. If you're not ticklish, well, you just get to enjoy having your lovers' hands all over you." Astarion raises his hands above Tav, fingers twitching as if they had a mind of their own just begging to make Tav squeal.

Tav feels their heart pumping and face heating up.

Their panic is interrupted by Halsin's low rumbling chuckle. "Red is a wonderful color on you, love."

"Oh, look. Our little pet is blushing, how disgustingly adorable."

"If you're just gonna compliment me, there's much more fun things we could be doing together." Tav tries to sound suave, hoping some flirtation and faux confidence could change their partners' minds to something else that doesn't involve them laughing their ass off.

"I agree. There is something fun we could be doing." Astarion smirks, a familiar flirty smirk that makes Tav think that maybe they've successfully deflected to that something else. Just as they're about to sigh in relief, Astarion's fingers dive towards their exposed ribs and start dancing and skittering across them, Tav's thin night shirt barely doing anything to dull the sensations.

Tav jolts violently and immediately chomps down on the inside of their cheek to keep from smiling or, gods forbid, giggling.

The scowl they planned to keep stays for about 2 seconds before morphing into a bright smile despite their best efforts.

Astarion has a look of unmatched glee at the strong reaction, knowing this is just the very beginning.

"Tav, it is alright to laugh. Don't fight your instincts. Just let it out." Halsin says with the fondest of smiles.

"It's like you don't know them at all. They're so focused on being a strong and great leader. They'd never give up so easily. Especially to something as silly and juvenile as tickling, am I correct?" Astarion says in that infuriatingly teasy tone only he can muster while his fingers continue to torment Tav's upper body.

"You are right, Astarion. They are notoriously stubborn."

"Remember how they said they weren't ticklish? So sure of theirself?"

"I do remember, yes." Halsin chuckles.

"Well..." Astarion coos in a sing-song voice as he puts more pressure in his pokes and prods. Tav's body instantly starts jerking and jolting side-to-side despite Tav trying to keep still and smooth their expression to nonchalance. However much they try, their eyes still crinkle, their smile still beam, their laugh lines still show.

"I suspect they might have been lying." Halsin raises an eyebrow with a radiant smile of his own as he gazes down at one of his loves.

"It's almost as if..." Astarion's fingers skitter up and down Tav's body, searching, hungry, for a good spot. "...they'll start laughing any second now."

Tav can't help it, when his fingers venture a little too high they let out a few very quick high-pitched giggles before chomping down on their lip.

The two ticklers expressions brighten victoriously.

"What's this? Is thiiiiiiis a good spot?" The vampire circles his index fingers around the hollows of Tav's armpits. Tav's eyes practically bug out of their skull and their frame begins shaking with barely contained laughter.

"I'd say so." Halsin says.

"Well then... I'd better not do this then!" Astarion, the evil EVIL bastard, begins scribbling his fingers across each armpit and poor poor Tav can't resist any longer. They explode into loud laughter interspersed with little fits of giggles before descending right back into helpless cackling. They yank on their arms and kick their feet, but nothing can stop those two.

Astarion grins a sadistic... yet somehow fond grin. Halsin's expression meanwhile melts into the sappiest and most endearing lovestruck look an elf could possibly muster.

"OHOHOHO MY GOHOHOHAHAHAHADS!" Tav fights hard, bucking, jerking, yanking, everything they can, but their partners didn't seem to care.

"What a lovely laugh you have there darling, though I could do with a lower volume." Astarion teases whilst his digits continue their mirthful torment.

"I have another idea." Halsin says with a smirk of his own.

"Oh, do tell." The rogue lifts his hands, mercifully giving Tav time to breathe.

"Y-You guys..." Tav takes a breath. "...are the worst."

"Careful what you say, darling. You might not like what comes next."

Tav bites their lip and resigns theirself to just catching their breath.

"Now, what was your idea?"

Halsin wordlessly waves his hand and lets the vines hold down Tav's wrists so he's handsfree.

"Oh hells, I can't take both of you." Tav whines.

"Oh, our poor leader, completely helpless. And they admit to not being able to take it? Now this is a side of you I could get used to."

Tav turns their face away, feeling it heat up again, though they're sure it was already red enough from the torture they just endured.

Halsin's form suddenly shifted and changed... he was using wildshape.

And the shape he chose?

The dire raven.

At first Tav didn't know where this was going. A bird? Why would a bird be the form to torture them?

"Oh, you are brilliant at this." Astarion giggles and reaches to the bird's wings who stretched them out for him. He then plucks...

Oh no.

The vampire now holds two long feathers, one in each hand.

Dread pools in Tav's gut along with another storm of butterflies.

Halsin shifts back to his elf form and lightly slides his fingertips across Tav's ribs. Tav can't hope to hold back, they're already broken. Tired helpless giggles spill from their mouth, causing both their tormentors to chuckle at the sight.

"You're a beautiful sight, indeed." Halsin continues gently sliding his fingers across Tav's body, lighting up their nerves like a cantrip.

"I wonder how you'll fare against these two little feathers? Surely the great Tav can take it, can't they?" The bastard slowly lowers the feathers... inching them closer to their underarms.

"No... no no noho nohoho-" Tav is positively giddy with anticipation, eyes glued to those damn things as they came closer... and closer...

"Tickle tickle, little pet." He begins fluttering the feathers agonizingly quick all across those two tickle spots.

Tav doesn't explode into laughter this time, rather bursts into a hysterical fit of unstoppable giggling. They shake, wiggle, and squirm as much as they can with a vampire straddling them and vines tight around their wrists.

"Gohohohods NOhohoho! Ihi- Ihihihi cahahahahan't!"

"Can't what, beautiful?"

Tav elects not to respond, instead succumbing to the giggle fit completely, almost sinking into the ground as they accept their mirthful fate.

It's almost relaxing. Despite the instinctive fighting their body does of its own accord, laughing uncontrollably is... soothing in some sort of way.

That is until Tav feels Halsin taking off their boots.

"NO! Nohoho no no NO! Hahahalsin Ihi swehehear on all Gohods in this realm ihihif you do thihihis Ihi wihihil kihihihick you!"

Astarion full on laughs at that, still not letting up on those godsdamned feathers. "Is this really all it takes? To get you to beg? To fall completely under our mercy?"

"I'll start soft. If you truly cannot take this, I think we'll know." Halsin laughs, knowing Tav has much more fight in them than what's being observed on this night.

All Halsin does is drag one fingertip from the heel to the toes.

"FUHUCK nohohohohahahaha! Hahahalsin!" Tav screeches, kicking as much as they can muster given the circumstances.

Astarion laughs hard, dropping the feathers to hold his stomach in sadistic cackling. "Yohohou're soho dead."

Halsin picks up one of the feathers and twirls it in his fingers. Tav had no idea the peaceful druid could be so cruel to his lover.

"Nohohoho-"

"Do it." Astarion snickers.

They truly were the metaphorical angel and devil on Halsin's shoulders. Torture Tav at their worst spot? Or let them go?

"Let's see if you can hold on a little more, then we'll let you go." Halsin says with a villainous smirk.

"Yes!"

"No!"

Devil it is.

All he does... all this elf does is start fluttering the feather over the arch of Tav's bare foot.

And in turn Tav begins thrashing uncontrollably, cackling and screeching helplessly. Tears of mirth are flying off their red hot face as its whipped from side to side and hiccups and wheezes litter their forceful laughs. The vines nearly snap from the tension. "STOHOHOHAHAHAP PLEHEHEHEASE!"

At that, the feather is dropped and Astarion, partially having been bucked off, is sitting on the grass to the side. After a few moments the vines are released and Tav curls into a ball, frantically rubbing the sensations on their soles away.

"Apologies, Tav. I believe... I believe I went too far." Halsin bows his head, regret evident.

"Oh, come off it. Sure it got a little extreme in the end but they were obviously enjoying it up until then." Astarion scoffs, though not without a sly smirk decorating his features.

"I... I was not-" Tav starts to object but is cut off with a quick fit of giggles as Astarion flutters his fingers just under their arm.

"Oh, you absolutely were. Don't even try to deny it."

Tav lays on their back, utterly exhausted. "...Was it that obvious?"

The two ticklers laugh.

"You could've made it clear in the beginning that it would make you uncomfortable. You know as well as we do that we would've listened."

"Plus those vines? With enough effort you could've snapped those before we brought out the feathers." Astarion snarks.

Tav shivers at the mention of those feathers. Gods they could practically still feel them.

Astarion snorts at their reaction.

"I believe we've disproved your lie." Halsin says smugly.

"Do it say it aloud, darling. You know we'd love to hear it."

Tav feels the return of those butterflies.

"Fine. I'm extremely ticklish. Happy?"

"Quite." Astarion pokes Tav's underarm, causing even more giggles. "I do hope you're aware this will become a regular occurrence now."

"I'd have to agree. This was most enjoyable... for everyone involved." Halsin nods.

"No more tonight." Tav yawns. "I'm more tired than when we fought that entire goblin camp in one day." They say groggily, eyes slowly falling.

Halsin chuckles and wildshapes into his bear form, laying on his side so his two lovers could lay on his warm furry body and fall asleep.

"Night night, Tav. Who knows what will await you come morning." Astarion sings.

Tav doesn't even respond, already out for the night.

And so the polycule slumbers for whatever awaits them tomorrow. (Probably more tickling)

#bg3 tickle fic #tickle fic #ticklish!tav #ler!astarion #ler!halsin #tickling #lee!tav #tav #halsin #astarion #bg3 #fic

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