first dates with the one piece boys
☆ characters: shanks, crocodile
☆ up next: taking an aphrodisiac w/ one piece boys ft. ace, kidd, and law
☆ summary: first dates with shanks and crocodile, crocodile is kind of as asshole but he's whipped so like it's cute..., suggestive content
☆ a/n: i'm back! i'll try to post something else this week but uni is kicking my ass :p requests are open!
☆ 18+, mdni
shanks:
“Ready, sweetheart?”
You blushed, nodding as you tried to ignore the cheers and whoops that erupted from the rest of the crew on board.
Shanks shot a look over his shoulder and you were rewarded with immediate silence.
He placed a hand on the small of your back and gently guided you alongside him onto the island.
“Use protection!” someone called out. Definitely Yasopp.
“Ignore ‘em,” Shanks said.
“So you don’t wanna use protection?”
Shanks shot you a look, surprised at your quip, “No! Yes! I mean- well, no… We don’t have to y’know- Whatever you want to do ....”
“Very smooth, Captain.”
He laughed, bringing you toward him, and placed a rough kiss on the top of your head.
“Ya make me nervous, what can I say?”
Your chest contracted at this confession. You felt an embarrassing amount of pride watching him rendered so uncharacteristically bashful from your words.
You slipped your hand into his, giving him a soft squeeze, “Just cause this is a date doesn’t mean anything changes between us.”
“Well, we might kiss. And according to you we might fu-”
“Shanks.”
He laughed, louder this time, “Sorry, sorry. I think you’ll like where I’m taking you.”
There was a cool breeze making its way over both of you, giving you temporary reprieve from the summertime warmth the city was buzzing with. Overgrown trees and flower bushes poured into the lamp-lit streets.
You talked with each other, never a dull moment between the two of you, as you walked toward wherever Shanks was planning on taking you.
By the time you stopped walking, you’d made it to a much more empty part of town.
Shanks pointed to a sign on the corner, ‘Happy Hour 8 p.m. - 10 p.m.’
“A bar,” you mused, playfully rolling your eyes at him, “How surprising.”
He smiled and tugged at the strap of your dress, “Tsk, tsk. So impatient.”
He led you into the dinghy building, the wooden door damaged from what you imagined was years of drunk patrons spilling their drinks over themselves and their surroundings. The inside was dusty and it looked as though no one had used it for years.
“Your usual, honey?” Shanks asked, approaching the bar.
“Please.”
He smiled at you, “Yes, captain.”
God, he was handsome.
You watched Shanks ordering your drinks from where you stood, looking at his face through the mirror behind the bartender. You pressed your thighs together as a familiar pulsing sensation began coursing through your lower half. You accepted long before this date that it was beyond your control- he was just so handsome. He ran a hand through his hair, winking at you in the mirror. You blew him a kiss and though you couldn’t be sure in the dim light a pale blush seemed to spread over his features.
“One martini please, with three olives. And a Gin and Glamour.”
You shot him a look, Gin? You?
“Follow me this way,” the bartender said.
A smirk settled onto your captain’s face and he beckoned you toward him.
The bartender opened a tall door that seemed to lead to darkness.
“Enjoy,” he said. Curiosity had completely taken over and you led the way through the dark hallway, the faint sound of a bass being plucked echoing through, until you reached the end which was covered with a thick velvet curtain.
You pushed through, Shanks’ hand once again finding itself on your back, though much lower this time.
Soft, warm light lit up the room. Your eyes immediately jumped to the jazz band in the center illuminated by a red light. “… and in July, a lemonade, to cool you…,” the singer was halfway through "I Wish You Love". There were booths stationed around, with dark mahogany tables and wine-red velvet couches. Several other couples were spread through the bar, the soft buzz of background conversation filling the room.
“Shanks,” you gasped.
“You didn’t really think I’d take you to a shitty bar for our first date did ‘ja?”
“I’m going to choose not to answer,” you smiled, taking his hand in yours. For a split second your attention was taken away from the room you were in and you could only focus on the feeling of your hand in his- his strength apparent even without him trying.
“Must suck having to be the guy up front, huh?”
You giggled and pulled him toward an empty booth with a good view of the band, “I’ll say. Though I would like that martini.”
“How ‘bout you go sit and I’ll grab it for you, sweetheart,” he said, gently patting your ass as you turned.
With your drinks in hand, Shanks sat next to you, pulling you in closer to him. “Looks like we’re the only new couple in here,” he whispered in your ear, gesturing over toward a couple in the middle of a heated makeout session. You smiled at him, your eyes glimmering with mischief, “Hm, wanna try blending in?”
Shanks smiled, catching on to your request. You sipped your martini and bit an olive off of the toothpick that rested in the glass.
“We’ve kissed before, y’know.”
“We have!? I think I’d remember if we had,” he returned.
“No, no, we did,” you said, and he gave you a look that begged you to elaborate, “It was a few months back- when we did that stupid drinking contest. We were both pretty drunk, but I’d drank a lot less than you. Anyways, um, everyone had gone to bed or, I dunno, gone to find something else to do and we were left alone on deck. Unsupervised.”
You wiggled your eyebrows at him earning a laugh.
“I don’t remember it well, but I remember we laughed after. A lot.”
Shanks was smiling, resting his head on his hand as he gazed up on you. You averted your gaze.
He moved quickly and by the time you realized what was happening you were already sinking into the kiss, bringing a hand up to grab the collar of his shirt, anything to stabilize yourself.
Your heart was crawling up your throat, Shanks’ eyes were closed tight and he was clearly trying to savor every moment of the indulgent feeling of your lips against his. It warmed your heart that a man so feared on the open sea was reduced to a gentle, eager mess the moment he kissed you.
You leaned further into him and his arms wrapped around your waist, his hands palming at your hips. His facial hair tickled and poked your face earning a head-spinning giggle from you. Shanks pulled away, his breaths short and
“I want to tell you how long I’ve been wanting to do that but apparently this isn’t my first time kissing you,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
The jazz band had started a new tune, longer notes and the steady strum of the bass playing a rendition of Waltz for Debby, further amplifying the intimacy between the two of you.
“Hopefully you remember this one,” you said smirking at him, “Or do you need a more memorable one?”
“Are you asking to kiss me again? Or do you just want confirmation that you’re a good kisser?”
“I am a good kisser. Better than you, anyway.”
“HA! You don’t even come close!”
“So arrogant, Captain. But I’d love to prove you wrong,” you took another sip of your drink.
Pinching his cheeks between your fingers you pulled him toward you, this time savoring how he tasted. The bitterness of the whiskey on his lips coated your mouth as you slipped your tongue past his. Shanks’ breathing deepened and his fingertips sunk further into your hips- you could feel where you’d find bruises tomorrow morning. You brought a hand up to softly hold his throat and he moaned-
Oh god, he moaned!
You pulled away pupils blown and lips puffy.
Shanks’ cheeks were deep red, a sight that had your ego swelling.
“You know,” he started, breathless, “I think you may be right.”
You smiled and finished the rest of your drink, “Need more evidence?”
He smiled and pressed a kiss to your forehead, running a hand through your hair.
“As a matter of fact, Y/n, I do.”
It was late when you finally found your way back to the ship. Shanks’ face was covered in red blotches of your smeared lipstick and your lips were equally messy. Your dress strap was falling off of your shoulder and Shanks’ shirt was plenty unbuttoned.
“Well,” he said, placing a kiss on the back of your hand, “Now you get to choose.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“My bed or yours?”
You laughed and wrapped your hands around his neck to bring him down for another kiss.
“Yours.”
(whipped!)Crocodile:
“You owe me money, Croc.”
“Let me take you to dinner.”
He reached for your hand, which you let him take.
He pressed his lips to it and started to trail kisses up your arm until you stopped him by pushing him off you and taking a seat on his lap.
“If I go to dinner with you will you give me my money?”
“You’ll get it either way, sweetheart. A job well done is a job well done. I just want to take you out.”
Liar, you thought.
But still, you took a second to think about it, letting him wrap his arms around your waist and rest his head on your shoulder, kissing your collarbone.
You were intoxicating to him, completely overwhelming all of his senses. He knew how unprofessional it was to involve himself with the assassins for hire he dealt with but this was now his eighth time working with you and though you always did a fantastic and clean job, the quality of your work wasn’t really the reason he was hiring you anymore.
“Where would you take me?”
“Desert Point. Or anywhere you wanted, really. I’ll cook for you if you’d like.”
You shifted in his lap, letting your thighs straddle his hips, and looked up at him.
He pulled out a cigar from his breast-pocket, which you quickly snatched from his hand, “I hate the smell.”
He put a hand up in surrender and placed the cigar back in his pocket.
Your eyes were focused on him, looking at his lips and trailing a finger up his neck. Your lips pouted as you considered his offer and the smell of your perfume filling every nook and cranny of his office and still, it wasn’t enough for him. He wanted all of you.
The two of you had, of course, had a handsy encounter or two and you were more than familiar with how he tasted after a long night of office work and whiskey. But, greedy and selfish as ever, the warlord wanted more. He wanted you. In the mornings in his bed, and at night by his side.
“Alright. You can cook for me, I suppose.”
He smiled, not even trying to fight the rare display of happiness.
“Any requests?”
You got up from his lap, batting away his hands which tried to grab you and hold you.
“Don’t burn anything. I’ll bring a bottle of that whiskey you like,” you said heading open the door to his office, “Tomorrow night at 7.”
Crocodile leaned back in his chair, savoring the lingering smell of you that had been making it difficult to concentrate for the past week, and waited until the click on your heels was far enough away to call Miss All Sunday and ask that she, “Please cancel all my appointments tomorrow.”
You knew Crocodile’s apartment well, having paid a few unknown visits and a few known ones. The last time you visited was after Crocodile had begged you to stop by for a glass of wine. You ended up drinking closer to five and neither of you could remember anything the morning after. You did, however, take note of the safe in his office where, if Baroque Works intel was anything to go off of, he kept the cash he used to pay black market hires such as yourself. Tonight would be a perfect opportunity to get your money, which you suspected he had no real intention of giving you.
Dinner had gone well and you found yourself in his office, lounging on his couch.
A jazz record played softly in the background and you’d both taken off a few layers of clothing. The only lighting was provided by a few candles he’d lit and you sat facing each other, each several glasses of wine in.
“Stay here for a while,” he said, softly rubbing up and down your leg which you had draped over his lap, “With me.”
“I have work, Croc.”
“I’ll hire you, full-time.”
“No offense to your…. staff, but their work is a bit beneath me.” He laughed, “Then I’ll fund your stay here. You won’t pay for anything.”
This interested you. Staying a week in the nicest apartment on the continent with Crocodile wasn’t such a terrible deal. You swished your wine around in your cup.
“Will you cook?”
“For you? Of course.”
You stared at him and pretended to pass the thought over as he kissed your neck and palmed at your ass.
“Give me a chance to convince you to stay.”
“How do you plan on doing that?”
A smirk settled on his face and he pulled you in for a kiss.
You indulged him and deepened the kiss, letting your tongue slip past his lips.
You giggled and sunk into his hold on you, his big hands holding you steady.
“I’ll stay, I’ll stay,” you buried your face into his chest, trying to fight the warmth in your cheeks.
The warlord squeezed you even tighter, earning a bout of laughter from you that placed a smile on his face.
“This is bad for your image you know. You’re getting soft,” you mused, pressing a kiss to his lips.
“I promise you I am anything but soft right now.”
“Ha. Ha.”
He wrapped a hand up into your hair, gently pulling back at the base of your neck so he had full access to your neck, and sunk his teeth in biting gently so as not to draw blood but not gently enough to avoid leaving a mark.
Your back arched into him and you mewled at the feeling, your nails digging into his shoulder.
He brought your head back up and kissed you.
You brought your hands up to his collar and began undoing his tie, leaving it hanging on his shoulders.
Slowly and without interrupting the kiss, you began undoing the buttons on his shirt. Crocodile leaned back into the couch to make your job easier and began undoing his belt, which you took from him.
Crocodile went to bring his hands back up to your neck but- they didn’t move.
He looked down and his belt was fastened around his wrists. He tried to tear it but you’d done a damn good job and he was rendered rather helpless.
You got up and, after placing a soft kiss on his forehead, made your way to the safe behind the painting on the wall.
“You said you’d stay!”
Not that it was much of a problem for him but Crocodile preferred when things went over smoothly.
“Did I? Hmmm,” you said, ear to the safe as you turned the dial listening for the telltale click that let you know you unlocked it, “I lied.”
Click!
“And if I make you stay? This makeshift restraint isn’t sea prism stone.”
You laughed and turned to look at him.
“Go ahead.”
He scoffed. You both knew well you were the last person on earth he’d ever harm.
“I’m gonna take my money and then some as a tip, alright? I will miss you though,” you said, making sure his arms were still tied in his lap.
He couldn’t help but smile as you turned back around to the very empty safe.
Your stomach dropped.
“Where is the money-”
“Like I’d keep it here, sweetheart. Especially not with you coming over.”
“You’re a thief. And a dirty one at that.”
“I’d take more offense if it wasn’t coming from you.”
You huffed and turned to his desk where you were quickly opening and closing drawers looking for where he’d moved the money.
“Come and finish your wine, Y/n.”
“It isn’t here, is it? You’re a liar and a thief,”
He stayed silent and gestured toward your spot on the couch, a satisfied smirk settled on his infuriatingly handsome face.
“Crocodile…” you warned, “I think you know better than to not pay me.”
He smiled, as though daring you to continue. Or what? the expression on his face begged.
“Stay the week with me,” he said as you approached, “Please.”
You took your seat next to him and looking down at his hands noted the very significant absence of a belt tied around them. Your heartbeat picked up as he used a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.
“You’re good, sweetness, but I’m better.”
You sighed and let him kiss you, reluctantly leaning into his touch.
“You’ll stay the week.”
You nodded and were upset at yourself for feeling excited at the thought. You felt like a schoolgirl holding her crush’s hand.
“Shall we go to bed then?”
He smiled and picked you up princess-style, one arm around your waist and one under your knees.
You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed a kiss on his cheek, “If you keep this game going you’ll end up having to marry me, you know.”
He smiled, his most sincere smile of the night.
“Ah, wouldn’t that be terrible?”
