#xochitlwrites

A breath of fresh air, what with everything he has had to endure. Sanji knows his love for you takes over his entire body and soul, he says his love for you is his entire reason for being— maybe you are a blessing bestowed upon him from the grand creator of this world? He says silly things like that so often, but he makes sure you know it. In the softly colored bedroom of the lodging you have chosen, there's a wondrous balcony onlooking the sea— which seems to have presented the purest blue coloring for your perfect day; everything seemed so grand, not in the sense that it's making up for a lack of sincerity in your union, but for representation of the grandest union of two lively souls.

The beauty of the balcony, venue, and sea weren't nearly as beautiful as Sanji. A face painted of pure joy and adoration with each glance he shot your way, but you noticed his fraying nerves when he grabbed your hand to place the ring onto your finger. His hands were so shaky, and silent tears cascaded down his flushed cheeks while his pure smile beamed straight to cast away any lingering shadows. His vows were so clear, though he was struggling not to cry anymore, how dare he taint the memory of your wedding in such a way? Tears borne from love didn't count if it was from you, but he hated crying in front of you.

“My most cherished lover, I will accept you in your entirety. Things will never be left unsaid, for my heart will speak aloud to you forevermore, not once will I forget myself for as long as I am bound to you; which will be as long as my heart, mind, and body will be left on this lovely earth. Even then, I must promise that our souls will never travel apart, because on this day, we are informing the sea, the sky, the stars, and the entirety of the universe that together we are. Smitten as I am with you, I will never overlook your character. Not only are you my love; you are a part of my life in every possible way. My companion in all things romance, my crew, my heart… I solemnly swear, most of all, that I will be proudly at your side, no matter what turbulence occurs in our long lives shared together.”

Franky was trying his best not to cry, meanwhile Brook was shaking in his seat, holding back jokes for the tender moment. Such sincere smiles gathered from your friends and those who have aided you along the way, but Sanji and you kept your gazes locked onto each other. It was like you could see the beat of his heart, and he could see the vows ready to be spoken in yours.

Being pirates, you can't have your marriage recognized by the government, but who needs those bastards to know you're in love anyways? Franky is ready to loudly announce it to anyone who looks at you or Sanji’s way, why do pirates care about what the government thinks? If two can love, then they can keep their passion private, or they may be free to soar it across the skies as they please. Sanji would proudly announce it to his fiercest enemies faces, you’re sure.

Sanji is still nervous. His heart is racing like he's supposed to rehearse a play all by himself whilst playing every single role there is— but he's just sitting next to you in bed. His blue eyes flicker over your features to commit them to his memory once again as if he hasn't memorized every mark and every dip and curve on your body, he needs to do something to stop such intense longing for what is already in his grasp. His hands, shaky yet warmer than ever, reach out to touch you; but Sanji balls his hand into a fist, bringing his knuckles to his mouth to sink his teeth into. Though he's next to you in bed, he feels like he's thousands of years away.

You're both still dressed in your clothes from the reception, matching the beautiful colors which soared across the ceilings at your venue. You should have been changed a bit ago, but you can't brush off the fact that Sanji is acting odd, when you see him nervously bite around his knuckle, you smile softly and begin to speak.

“Sanji, calm down…” Your own hand reaches out, tracing the back of his palm and easing his teeth away from his knuckles. Though his hand is loose from the clench of his jaw, his soft pink lips remain parted, and he looks like a lost puppy for a second. Well, it isn't all that different from the way he is when you're separated for longer than an hour or two. But besides when you were getting ready, he was there every step of the way. “It's improper of me to abandon my love on this important day.” Was his newest excuse for standing outside the door when you went to the bathroom.

“Oh… I apologize for… My distant mind. I swear I only think thoughts of us.” You watch him catch his bottom lip between his teeth, his posture loosening only ever so slightly.

“That's okay. Think whatever you want to, Sanji. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon…” Murmuring, you begin to pick up a soft smile as you move a little closer to where he is sitting atop the bed, your weights recognized as one on the firm mattress. Hands finding their way to his collar, they start to unbutton his dress shirt, your actions aren't entirely sexual in nature, surely many couples do that, but you would prefer to put his nerves back into the right places before Sanji starts to malfunction.

“Would a warm shower help? Or would you prefer a bath?” You watch as your proposal; In real time, allows a spark to return to Sanji’s eyes, but then you think maybe you moved too quickly when his eyes widen and his lips quiver as he looks you up and down.

“B-Bath… With… With- With you?”

Ah, your first mistake on your wedding night. Well, it's entirely your fault but it's comforting seeing him go back to his usual self. And again, he catches himself and prevents another nosebleed.

“Gah! No! My apologies, my dear, I… I meant to ask if you would like to bathe together… As a married couple. It's a common thing with modern couples, you see—” After his loud gasp, he begins to stammer and then pause when his brain processes his own words. Does he think he sounds creepy? His perverted nature has seemed sweet in nature to you as of lately, so maybe he's realized himself for once.

“M…Ma—... Married...”

Stiffer than a stone statue, Sanji’s body freezes entirely. It took longer than you feel comfortable admitting to just to get Sanji back to earth, while his shirt still remained halfway undone. How can you get him naked with his… eccentric personality, then? Do you bribe him like a dog chasing after a bone? Distract him? Ah, you should just drag him along with you before he gets on all fours or something. It's endearing sometimes you swear, but you're not sure how much everyone else believes that.

“Apologies. I can't fathom that I am with you… Ah, no— I can't believe we are married. Oh, I feel like a fool.”

Cupping his face in his hands and wallowing in utter despair at his slippery speech, he fails to realize that you are dragging him along with you in the direction of the bathroom door. When he removes his hands, he's greeted by the feeling of his belt being undone, making him pause. Not again, Sanji… And with gritted teeth, he masks himself, but his eyes twitch and his nostrils flare repeatedly, it's not like he's never been nude around you, he feels like it's even more significant considering you are officially forever.

When his pants drop, he politely steps out of them, kicking them to the side as his hands reach out for you to return the favor. It's been done before, he can do it again, but his hands hesitated as he awaited a confirmation.

“Yes, you may undress me.” Your voice is clearer inside the bathroom.

Breathing a sigh of relief, his hands start to reach for the fabric of your clothing, sliding it down your shoulders, the pads of his fingers slipping down each inch of skin newly exposed. It didn't feel as lewd as it was, standing half naked together. There weren't any shy giggles, no heavy panting, no hands dancing across each other's skin for any reason other than to shed clothing. It could take a turn once you two reach the shower, maybe you two would end up in a tangle of passionate limbs, but Sanji would prefer to love you somewhere more comfortable.

He respects you. Though he's dense at times, though he can be perverse and pathetic, it's all out of the love he has for you. He's vulnerable with you more than he ever knew, he sheds his skin and presents his back to you, he's not afraid to be less of a man if he cries near you. He doesn't worry you with tears of any sort, but at times he feels so lucky that his life has taken such a positive turn and allowed him to find people who love and care for him the same way his mother did. Would she be proud her boy found his true love?

Opening his heart, he lets you feel him. He lets you hold his hands, he lets you in the kitchen though he hates being disturbed— before you were his love, you were always the one for him. Not once did he view you as pure romance, you were a person, and you were his person.

"Slow down— the door isn't even closed." You speak in a hushed tone, paranoid that there would be eyes watching through the crack in the door, Ace groans dramatically and rolls his eyes at your paranoia, however. It's not like he's some kind of exhibitionist, he's simply recognizing that you're being completely ridiculous in your worries.

"Yep. Mhm... there's definitely sober people on Whitebeard's crew that would think to check an old raggedy closet and see if Ace and Y/N are getting it down. I think half of them forget we even interact half the damn time, chill out." Ace giggles, that sleazy smirk and those heavy lidded, tired eyes drawing his whole look back into the same work of art he is always.

When you two first started this little arrangement, that may have been true, but you've kept this up for a while now and even though you don't plan on stopping, things would get a little more complicated if Marco actually spoke up instead of smirking each time you and Ace stare at each other. Suddenly, the hands on your hips pick up their previous pace, rubbing your upper thigh and gliding up your body smoothly.

He sits down on a dusty crate of unnecessary items bought by whoever it was, long forgotten in a secluded storage closet. Ace's hands reach the hem of your shirt, sliding under without a second thought. Before you could retort, the clicking of the door shutting sounds off into the room, and you're engulfed in darkness.

"Wanna do it in the dark?" He teases you with the ghost of his breath, the pads of his fingers tracing your stomach before holding your thighs before he pulls you up onto his own, a soft gasp escaping you despite yourself. Another teasing remark is coming, and so you silence him with your lips, the same way you did the very first time.

His warm lips meet yours, coated in saliva and desire with barely anything else to give other than something sloppy and dirty. His eyes are shut as if he were pondering something, and his hand comes to your face to feel how much warmth has gathered on your cheek, while his lips do their best to warm you more. Ace's tongue smears saliva onto your mouth, and it's an odd slippery feeling, but not that different from when his mouth is on your other lips. He doesn't like kissing you much, and you don't know why, but you can't complain about someone's preferences, maybe it's a good thing he withholds things like this from you, because he is utterly addicting.

Your body is warm, you start to feel sweat forming on the back of your neck and the inside of your elbows, things are steamier in the closet, literally. Ace is sliding his hands over the fabric of your clothing, raising goosebumps on your warm skin with his tantalizing touch. A moan slips into his mouth, your tongue quivering as you scrape his bottom lip with it, and he finally lets you go breathe your own air.

"You know I got a light if you need, just ask." Ace pants, but he still holds up his flaming finger for you to gaze at, his freckled face illuminated by orange flames. He's beautiful, you think to yourself, you know he would only scoff and roll his eyes if you said something like that at this time again. One day he's gonna see his worth, and you hope it comes from the time you two have spent together so far.

"You're a jackass. Just fucking touch me." You groan, better not make things too emotional, he's sure to view it as just sex. You keep having to remind your giddy heart that this isn't romance, it burns but not as much as when his flame flickers a bit too close to you. He puts out his light, and you're both back in the dark again. Gods, you're nervous and anxiously awaiting his eager touch.

His long fingers come to rest under your shirt, tracing the curvature of your breasts over your bra. You have recently learned that Ace's eyes carry a strong presence, you can always feel them on you no matter how far he seems to be, and it's just that much more intense up close. Slowly, he lifts your shirt up just so it wouldn't cover your breasts, and you feel his breath begin to tickle your sternum. Without a word, you take your blouse off yourself, giving him a bit more free reign.

The barely audible noise of your bra coming undone and hitting somewhere on the floor as Ace throws it aside softly resonates in the room.

"I'm gonna need that later." You huff.

"You'll get it later, we got better things to focus on." Ace chortles, his smirk prevalent in his voice.

The cool air of the closet stiffens your nipples, making goosebumps form on the soft skin of your breasts as well. A small hum escapes Ace's lips, and you hear the sound of saliva clicking in his mouth as he shifts closer towards you, then things are silent for a second... Before a soft sigh whimper escapes you when you feel two fingers gently tug at your nipple, rolling it under their warm touch. Your hardened nipples begin to soften upon contact with such warmth, and Ace seeks to stiffen them back up. His other hand reaches to grope your untouched breast, kneading it firmly while also keeping a dash of tenderness in his palm as he grabs it in his hands the way you like, he's always been a fast learner when it came to various things, you could say he's an expert in you and your body at this point in time.

"I ever told you that you got some pretty tits?" Ace licks his lips, just barely able to see better than you can in the dark, and he's got his eyes on the prize. His fingers quit toying with your nipples as he dips his head downwards, pressing his moistened lips to your areola in hot kisses. Breath heavy, his tongue darts out to swirl around your nipple and coat it entirely in his saliva, making you squirm in his lap. A desire bubbles up in your stomach, and your thighs coincidentally trap one of Ace's own.

Though you try and still yourself, it's harder becasue it's Ace, not some random guy you'll forget about the very next week. You've practically trained him in all areas, so what if he's got you horny and wanting more just from a little nipple play? It's a natural reaction with a boy like him. Squeezing your eyes shut, your brows furrow when you give a small roll of your hips into Ace's thigh. A chill runs down your spine, and you feel your arousal dripping into your underwear. Ace's teeth come out to play in a soft nibble against the fat of your breasts, his tongue is hot and heavy against your skin, and it's not stopping here.

"I can feel how hot your pussy is getting." It sounds like he's about to giggle, but his mouth is stuffed full of your breast to the point most of what he says is illegible besides his wet breathing and sucking, your suspicions are confirmed when he smiles midway into sucking on your nipple.

"Whose fault is that?" That retort of yours only fires him up more— literally. His back is bursting into flames, and it lights up the room a little too much for your liking, but atleast you get to see his pretty face showcasing what must be pure bliss with his mouth wrapped around your tit. It feels warm, now that it's colder outside Ace seems to be the only thing to warm up your body. Your hands reach around the back of his neck, fingers interlocking themselves between the messy locks of raven hair on his head, and it calms him... you think.

Ace lets out a low hum, drool trickling down under your breast.

"Hm... Is it mine? 'Cause I'm worried you've got a side piece you're thinking of." Ace's giggles are muffled into your skin again. Finding time to make small jokes during sexual things like this is a bit too intimate for people who are supposed to be just friends with benefits. The impending retort you had in mind is shoved back into the depths of your mind when you feel his hands slide down your body, heading for the waistband of your pants.

Ace always keeps you on your toes, who has need for someone else? You would tell him, but maybe it's better if you show him instead. Gently placing your hands to cup his face, you ease him away from your chest and he thankfully gets the message, but it feels like losing a part of you when his tongue is no longer tracing your skin. Cocking his head to the side, he begins to speak up.

"Not feeling me tonight?"

Resisting the urge to make a joke, you keep the retort to yourself. You'll be feeling him a lot tonight.

END.

(here is ace photos for you to enjoy because I left on a cliffhanger)

“My Lady. I came with your wine.”

Bodies litter the surrounding floor entirely. The tavern reeks of death, flies buzz nearby the pools of blood, the shade of crimson is dark, resembling the color of midnight. A young girl settles to her knees with a trembling body, presenting a golden tray carrying a singular chalice of red wine. Despite the manslaughter surrounding, she dares not run, doesn’t let the tray fall even a little bit, and holds her position. She carries a weak heart, it promises but another year. Something tells you that she doesn’t want even a few more months of her life.

You stare at her. She doesn’t look up at you. When your clawed fingers reach out, her trembling stills, preparing for something yet to come.

As you grasp the chalice, a gurgling sound comes nearby you, and a body crawls closer to you, fingernails bending as their hands claw at the floor, but when they reach your foot, you raise it. Anger surges through you, it pulls your strings and draws a powerful kick out of you, the body flies across the room, breaking the wooden bar stained red. The girl remains still. Nothing is suitable, not an ounce of flesh, nor a single bone, not even the trickling blood. It doesn’t quell the urges within.

“Does the cold air not hurt, My Lady?” she questions. Golden eyes greet you as he stares from below the tray of gold, her appearance reminds you of the angels you’d dreamt of, the divinity that mocked you, the purity you had lost. She begins to look like a person to you as you stand beneath the dim lights, but those words laced in fake kindness mean nothing, not when you can hear the whispering inside of her head. For death, she begs, cries out to the gods. Her frost-bitten fingers make you grimace, they look as if they’re ready to fall off.

“It’s a terrible bite. No matter what, it remains still on my skin. I suppose I have only myself to blame.” You speak, but turn away from her.

“Because of your robes?” her tone questions you. You pause. She does as well.

“... My Lady.” The young girl adds. Nothing in your expression changes, and you keep your back turned to the girl, in all honesty, you do not care if she loses every last limb. You don’t care for any other than yourself, it’s a miracle in itself you had spoken that day, even more disquieting, you’d chosen to walk away from her. The chalice in your hand falls to the ground, spilling the wine on a dismembered head lying about.

Though her eyes look straight at your back, you choose to ignore it. In this world, it’s eat or be eaten, it’s likely that you’ll never hear from her again, she will die soon. But then, a particular feeling tugs at you, urging you to return to the young girl. With people already waiting for you at the crypt you had taken over, you still wasted precious time on a flickering flame of life.

Something about her spoke to you.

Unbeknownst to you, that wasn't necessarily a positive thing. If it had been, maybe you wouldn't be stirring inside bindings, all your limbs pinned to the ground by nails that had long since rusted and secured by ropes. Only the room itself must know how long it had been.

The polished stone floors lack dust, but the high ceilings your head is forced to look up at is littered with thick cobwebs, no living arachnids in sight but yelling a tale of time. Though the nails piercing your arms and legs limit your movement, you wiggle your body weakly against the steady rip of your skin, struggling with both panic and anger. Anger at the fact that you can recall in vivid memory just how you’d ended up bound inside this mysterious room, anger at the fact that humanity had betrayed you once again even after all you gave— and panic, for the air carried a familiar chill.

You still your body, and let it remember the painful memory of your demise. Hundreds of beautiful gowns, a singing angel, focused dances— and a betrayal, by the advisors you kept closest to you. The memory hurts, not because of the betrayal, but because of the embarrassment that you’d let people so weak leech off of your power, and ultimately slaughter you. But you have two things, at least… your life, and a mouth that hungers still.

After sleeping for who knows how long, the very last thing you wanted was to succumb to human emotion. Anger was fine, because it was the driving force that helped your undead armies grip the country by the hair, but the fear was entirely unwelcome. Hunger grips you, like you’d never wanted to know, yet still you struggle to free yourself, unwilling to give in to your newfound weakness. All those years spent feeding, growing your armies and power, dominating the world with both politics and war, and yet those powers you spent your life cultivating were nowhere to be found.

Nails piercing your skin used to be part of your beauty regimen. And now, they are binding you to the floor, where peasants would kneel at your feet, maybe to send a message.

“I am not a peasant.” You gasp, reassuring yourself like an insecure little girl would. Another gasp takes you.

“I am not an insecure little girl!” Even though you could have spoken to yourself, you make a point of saying everything out loud. It's a habit picked up from your reign, you suppose. A chill in the room rushes over your skin. Panic strikes you once more.

The chill in the room materializes in the only way it should, in the form of Mihawk, standing proud as he towers over you, looking almost triumphant— like he’d won the war the two of you fought silently over the years. But his face remains blank in the way you always remembered it was, offering you a drink from his cold wrist and a warm body for you to eat, treating you like a wild animal or a pet. This man, this thing, has a reason for coming to see you now. While you don't remember him showing up at your “de-throning”, you have no doubts in your rotten mind that he had something to do with it.

When you took the throne, his whispers stopped. There were no more questions about your everlasting hunger, no bits and pieces about how people like you and him were special, nothing else forced into your mind against your will. Mihawk must have been plotting your downfall ever since you gained the power to block him out, desperate to harass you!

“Is that so? But you speak to yourself like one.” He furrows his brows in a curious display of emotion.

Your body twitches as it jerks towards him, but is held in place by the nails that seem to be more painful than ever, they feel like they're burning. Mihawk’s eyes look you up and down, then follow the length of the rope at your wrists and ankles, paying particular attention to the bells. There are thousands of things you want to say to him, and yet nothing leaves your mouth.

“What an ill-maintained place. Do people really think it appropriate to keep their queen in here? Or was it empress..? Well, it looks more like a...” Mihawk eyes every corner of the room as he speaks, you do your best to follow. It's got four walls, polished floors and a leaky ceiling, a captive queen, but that's about it. His eyes catch on something behind you that you're yet to see.

He looks back at you, and keeps his mouth shut. But you hear the word “peasant” in your head, clear as day. With a newfound thirst for violence, you thrash against your bindings, the bells ring loudly as you manage to lift your thigh up, taking a few nails with you and leaving the rest. A pained scream nearly escapes you.

Mihawk shows a small forgotten smile at your outburst, but it quickly turns into his normal melancholic look after the fact.

He chastises you with a click of his tongue as if you were a child, walking towards your freed leg, dodging your feeble kicks aimed at him with ease. His eyes catch on your leg and its wounds, you follow once you realize that the holes left inside of you aren't healing as they normally would be. Another furrowed brow from Mihawk. And an internal panic from you as he reaches towards your thigh, gripping it with one cold hand all the while you struggle to think of what he might want with you when you're bound and helpless.

Another fearful thought takes you. Not fearful of Mihawk, instead afraid of your own feelings that spread when he touches your wounded skin. It's something you would rather hide, this flowery feeling is not welcome in your domain.

“Hungry already? It's only been a few years.” Being of the same breed as you, he knows very well the physical symptoms you show and their cause, the delayed healing is caused by hunger. A few years have passed, he says.

“How many years is a few, exactly?” You’re desperate for information, Mihawk is the only one here to accompany you.

“Why? Hoping to get back on your throne, maybe drink from a few lusty maidens? Or handsome lads? Maybe you’ve become the type who thirsts for creatures instead… Perhaps a werewolf? I suggest you stop thinking about it.” Mihawk commands you with an unshakable voice, starting off mockingly and ending with a harsh reprimand that makes you even want to take a step back despite all the tension between you two. And being nailed into the floor.

But that doesn't stop you from feeling angry at the way he speaks to you. Surely by now he knows what makes you angry.

“Listen to me. I—” Before you even get the words out, Mihawk’s finger is pressed to your lips to shush you. Two different types of shivers run through you when faced with his touch.

“I will not. Shut your mouth for a moment, and heed my warning.” As Mihawk speaks, the very same vampiric authority you used to wield grips your skin, and you shut your mouth to obey his command.

“For too long has the world tolerated you. Instead of tolerating, they worshipped— laying their hands upon your body, drinking from your wounds and savoring the vampiric power. The power that we shared. ” Mihawk leans in close, but pulls himself away, walking behind you and out of sight. Lying still, you shake with rage, but are still forced to obey his command and listen to him obediently. He continues, letting the room echo his soft voice.

“It won't do humanity any good to have something like you running amok.” Mihawk ends.

The command he placed onto you lifts, and you're eager to get your words in.

“Oh please! Why should I waste the curse you gave me, and obey your rules? Why should I, the one who you attacked, listen to you?” Your words are raw, full of emotion but lacking the power you like, and you slowly start to feel like they're empty the more the silence washes over your words.

“Curse? Attack? Listen here—” Mihawk’s voice shakes with anger, you can taste the urges buried within that show their ugly head, and you can't resist the fear that they demand you to feel, falling under the spell of his words. A soft noise leaves your lips, and you feel sad? His emotions force you to let them in, and so he begins to tell you his own thoughts. Again, he approaches you. And again, you try to decipher his thoughts, yet can't understand them, nor remember when you last peered into his mind.

“We share something special. Something I so patiently waited for you to understand, lurking just within, and yet… Your body and soul reject it. Every inch of you resists this power, and yet you become it, losing all that you'd ever cared for, and so you are the evil. Do you feel it? How far you’ve fallen.” You hear his voice clear as the night sky, and yet you fail to understand the emotion within the words, the echo is forgotten. Mihawk does not wait for you to respond, instead possessing you with an emotion with no name to scare you into submitting.

“Power is not for you to seek. You were never, ever, meant to rule the world as such— but I still allowed it. ” Mihawk’s words drive you to foolish tears. But you insist in your head that they do not matter to someone like you.

“I don't need your permission for anything, pest!” A sob threatens you as you snap back at Mihawk, shaking in both pain and a whirlwind of emotions as the ceiling watches over you.

“Of course. But I am responsible for you, because it was I who made you into what you are now. Since the beginning, I swore to keep you in check, I gave you so much grace and relied on myself to make sure that you continued to grow. But in the end, all those missing memories must have swam away.” Mihawk speaks even softer than before, like he's telling you a secret.

“What are you saying? Am I a lost cause? Do you think I'm worthless, Mihawk?” This time, you can't help but cry, the tears are colder than you remember, like glaciers melting against the heat of your conversation. Mihawk speaks like he owns you, and yet you feel a slight comfort in his words— just before the pain of his words pierce you over and over again. You just don't understand! What is it that you're missing? What else did he take from you, what other wounds has Mihawk inflicted on you?

Why do you seek his answers so desperately, in spite of all he had caused? Why do you want his approval?The confusion from something deep within teases you, and the anger makes you lash out.

“I'm going to slaughter you! The same way you hurt me, I'll hurt you— and I won't let you live the next time we see each other." Each word you spit makes you feel human again, you swear you can feel a faint beating from within your ribs as you stare at him.

Once again, Mihawk walks into view. He steps between your legs, and drapes himself over you. This, you cannot discern from fact or fiction, but you remember how you felt warm for just a moment. before he’d gripped you and tossed you into the cruel and unforgiving sea. Master of your emotions, Mihawk has once again taken you from the real world and twisted your mind to feel something sick towards him, yet his actions remain a haze to you, that same wound he gave you long ago aches.

It aches. Oh, how the pain grips you! And still…

The air of the mausoleum suddenly fails to meet your expectations. That, or your corpse has left that comforting place for some unknown reason. How absurd. One moment, you were fang to fang with Mihawk, and now all those big emotions are gone, clashing with the confusion of awakening in this new and unfamiliarly sweet smelling forest? You’d hope there weren’t any fairies here playing tricks on your mind, but the sudden harsh ache in your skin forces yet another awakening. Something rather large scurries away as your palms plant themselves on the wet earth beneath you, its beating heart is indiscernible from any other living creature due to your weakened state.

As your eyes open, you notice dirt and moss, but also tall stone walls— ones you are far too familiar with. Here you are, inside of the overgrown ruins of what you once called your home, this time in the small but beloved courtyard. Except, this place, though holding some familiar pieces of structure, has become something almost entirely unrecognizable.

Many large trees have sprouted, allowed to stretch towards the sky without the constant upkeep of the garden you allowed the servants to keep. Slowly rising, it was as if you were learning how to walk again, your thighs shook while your knees wished to give out on you, and your arms were just as shaky while you tried your best to sit upwards. A primal hunger was present in your entire being, and the night smelled only of silence and blooming flowers.

“Ah, these statues must be thousands of years old at the very least! What a wonderful find.”

A voice echoes through the dusty and forgotten walls and hallways which surround you, the clacking of shoes against the stone floors are far too close for your comfort. How could you not have noticed this woman coming so close? The only answer could have been that far too much time has escaped, and the hunger was a tell tale sign of it. You are starving, and need to consume life in its rawest form of flesh and blood, or risk facing another one of your massacres falling upon people again.

…Perhaps she could satisfy your needs?

“Here should be the passage to the main portion of the palace. That long-nosed elf made quite a detailed map.” She continues talking to herself, but remains out of sight, her voice is echoed across the various walls that slowly become less recognizable.

Faced with more hunger pangs, you can only grind your fangs and push yourself up from the floor. When your body rises you struggle to keep yourself stable and standing straight, but it happens somehow. As the woman draws nearer, from what you can discern from the scattered noise of her footsteps, your legs feel alien in their slow pursuit. Just when a head of raven hair pops into your view, your knees buckle— and you fall to the ground once again, thankfully the sound is muffled by the wet earth. It's another struggle to get yourself standing again, now soaking in the wetness of the earth.

Legs pop into view, and you panic, entirely unprepared despite making up your mind to sink your fangs into her moments earlier. Would you be able to pull off spontaneous feeding in a weakened state like so? Again, it’s not like you have a choice. She’s closer, you can hear her exasperated breathing.

“Everything’s almost untouched by the human hand… Nature wins in the end, I suppose.” You hear the woman chuckle. Maybe you should make the first move, and brush up on the acting skills that got you through the first century of vampiric life— or you could play dead like a worthless mammal. You haven't stooped that low yet, and so you decide to hope those years of watching plays from above haven't left you like everything else has.

An extremely brief moment is spent clearing your throat, and trying to look less pathetic and more hopeless. Shockingly, that doesn't take much effort.

Ignoring the mortal plane's insult, you manage a shaky “Who's there?” After centuries alone in silence, you speak again, sounding less like yourself and more like a seasick sailor. The woman steps into view, cautious as ever with a lantern in hand— and a wooden stake in the other. Just seeing the sharpened piece of wood, a morbid curiosity fills you. Can the legends be true? Would a simple weapon like that paralyze you, or perhaps even slaughter you? Your legs now tremble with more than just excitement.

But, then your dull mind manages to put two and two together. If she carries a wooden stake, she is at the very least aware of some vampiric presence. Her earlier words of your beloved statues being “thousands of years old” hints that far too much time has passed, if her observations are correct. The trees about you hint only a few hundred years, but you're no tree expert. If she is aware of your existence, she is at least not aware of your face. If you play your hand right, then you’ll be able to catch her off guard with a bite.

Unfortunately for you, the pain of hunger has other plans for you. 

The sounds of walking stills, before continuing, a bit more hesitant. A hum reverberates throughout the room, light approaching at the same pace and there she is. A raven-haired beauty, one with eyes of ocean blue and a long slender nose— her skin is swallowed by the warm lantern light, making her complexion appear beautifully bronze. You take a moment to admire, before hunger rips through your flesh and displays your innards. Figuratively of course, but it makes you fall to your knees the same.

Everything cries out silently in your direction, your fingertips feel as if they've swollen, your lips crack in the irritating cold as you once again acknowledge just how infuriatingly weak and ravenous you are. This time about, something shifts in the air, and even you feel a chill— different from being hand in hand with danger, you can't even ask for a dance. It's terrible, pitiful, you want anything but this feeling to take over you, your body seeks out the closest distraction, with your hands feeling the mossy ground for comfort. This woman watches, curious as to what comes next, it infuriates you— but you understand her curiosity. The pervert in you tells you to savor this feeling, but it's whipped into shape by rationality.

“It aches,” you dig your fingers into the earth, hoping to coax the woman closer. She does come closer, but your vision is quickly obscured by water. Not tears, but some other mysterious liquid that you hope is water. As you blink it away, you feel more small splashes hit your skin and freeze against your lack of warmth. The pain is temporarily quelled by the dripping liquid, for now you have a moment to question what exactly the woman is doing to your body.

“Oh. So you aren't an unholy creature.” The woman blinks at you a few times, tossing a glass bottle to the side. In the distance you hear the glass break, and it's an intense struggle to resist the urge to scream about her littering inside of your home. At the very least you didn't suffer from whatever she must have assumed you would, and she now thinks you are not an unholy thing. 

“What?” Your confusion doesn't stop after she stops throwing the unknown liquid on you.

“Holy water. You didn't dissolve, did you? Or maybe the elf lied. Maybe I'm misremembering it all. Well, in that case, will you wear this?” She lowers her lantern onto the ground, and the light stings your eyes, but you blink that discomfort away quickly. You notice a satchel on her hip and a backpack hanging off of one of her shoulders, both look considerably full and well maintained. Inside her satchel, you watch her pull out a cross made of steel, strung about by a small chain. Correction; it's a cross necklace. 

Not taking any chances clearly, she tosses the necklace towards you in an odd manner, and the chain somehow finds its way around your neck. Of course nothing happens, but you sit on the floor and wait for the necklace to do whatever it was for the moment. She seems satisfied and inches closer, but decides against actually approaching you. You take notice of her missing stake, and shakily lift yourself up with quickly draining strength that craves her. Instead of managing to lunge at her, you fall backwards again, but the woman wraps her arms around you, catching your fall.

When she's closer, you can practically taste how clean she is. She smells like flowers, and the dusty pages in books. The exposed taste of her arms and legs feels smooth— you can feel on your fingertips the traces of perfumed oils on her forearms and wrists. Her grip is steady and strong despite her initial reluctance to approach you, and you wish it was due to your acting rather than your actual physical state. Seeing someone so well taken care of only makes you wonder just how dirty and messed up you’ve gotten after so long, and just how you may have ended up in the ruined courtyard.

Did Mihawk move you? He had no reason to. Perhaps some of those who still worshipped you wished to free your body, and give you a better resting place. If it was the servants, you have no doubt they would move your body to their favorite place, in the heart of the palace.

Mihawk’s name is unfortunately not mentioned in passing inside of your head. Like an invasive vine, he covers the fences of your ribs and smothers your dried up heart with himself. Just like you said you would, you’d slaughter him no matter the cost. If you need to live as an urchin, lurking and eating in the filthy wastelands, you would. If it meant that Mihawk would die by your hand, and you could get another taste of the ichor in his veins, then you’d eat his bones and all. It's certainly not for pleasure! Of course you’d enjoy it, but you wouldn't enjoy it, right?

It takes a while for you to notice that you're now standing on your own, staring at the ground like a freak of nature.

“Might I ask who you are, Miss?” The woman pokes you with the stake that had suddenly appeared in her hand again, earning a jolt and near tumble from you. She grips your hip and steadies you, but still keeps a distance oddly enough.

“Me? Shouldn’t you introduce yourself first? I was here first.” Suddenly, the pampered woman inside of you wants to have her way, and you scowl at this mysterious woman. You don't like her accusatory tone! Even if it is well founded.

“Were you?” Her brow raises the longer she looks at you.

“Of course I was! I woke up here, and…” Slowly you start to realize that your tone is far too rude for someone so robust and alert to hear. If she was so pleased, you’d be a red splatter on the walls! Well, there's always time for a somber tone.

“I was attacked, I know not by who. I just didn't want to risk being discovered by him again… He’s a terrible thing, ruthless in all the worst ways, and with no shortage of resources to deploy if it means my death.” Partial truths always make the best lies, and your fake sniffling certainly makes quite the spectacle. When you were out on city streets playing the helpless maiden, there was no shortage of men and women alike to buy the act. There's no reason it shouldn't work now.

Your admission leaves the woman speechless. Her eyes don't leave you, but you look over and notice her shoulders have gone a bit slack.

“Why have you not sought refuge with the adventurers guild? If you posted a bounty, our higher ranks would have taken care of him. We also offer free lodging for those fleeing violence.” She crosses her arms over her chest, and leans back against a pillar to watch you.

A guild? You’ve not the slightest clue who these people could be.

“I do not know this guild you speak of. I prefer the countryside, where there are less people and more animals.” With a sigh, you look into the distance as if in thought, struggling to not look over at the woman again.

“Essentially, we’re a group of people who explore and slay beasts, hence the name. If it is a safe haven you seek, then there is a town nearby. Though, you don't seem to have any currency on you…” 

You swallow. The hunger is brewing again, and your eyes land on her again. But she's clearly intelligent enough to know that an erratic woman approaching rapidly means doom. You must leave this place, and choose easier prey— if only animals could sate your appetite.

“Oh. Well, I'm sure I'll find my way there. Farewell.” Before you can turn and run away, the woman interrupts you with the utterance of a name.

“Nico Robin, archaeologist of the adventurer’s guild. With the harvest moon so close, the wolves grow restless, as do their appetites. If you must go, I will offer safer passage. Though I can only hope we won't be eaten by creatures.” The woman, who you now know as Robin, speaks with a new smile, something that feels so familiar and comforting. In return, you do the same, introducing yourself as a lonely woman living in the deep countryside— fleeing from an abuser and abandoning your home in the process.

Roleplay. How delightful. Curiously enough, you feel like you've done this before, but never in your nightly trysts.

She clears her throat, and begins to speak.

“You see, I was wary of you at first due to the legends about this place. Long ago, before the light dared to shine upon our country they say, there was a cruel empress who ruled the sea and land alike. No armies could quell her wrath, and with her uprising came the birth of many supernatural creatures. The lycanthropes, her vampire spawn, and other things that were said to be myth. I didn't live in this time, but there were records that survived and came from these very ruins— stating that the vampire mistress, unbelievably lustful for blood and otherworldly in her…” Robin begins to rant, her voice carries far too much interest for a normal person. She must be one of those odd ones.

“When I encountered a beautiful stranger, looking so sickly, I was naturally surprised. They say true vampires carry otherworldly beauty, so they may easily seduce their victims and lure them to their death. Some theorize that the sirens of the sea and the vampires are closely related due to their similar characteristics.” Despite her desire to ramble about many related topics, you focus on the bits and pieces you hear about yourself and other vampires. Despite being an archaeologist, she's knowledgeable on many things.

“But a true vampire living so long isn't plausible. According to stone carvings–” Just before Robin says more than you can handle, a low growl interrupts her. You wouldn't doubt that the local wildlife or other creatures have grown impatient with her talk, as have your cold lips. Hunger comes again, but it remains mostly silent in the face of what your body assumes is an imminent meal.

“I believe we should leave this place.” You click your tongue, and Robin nods.

“Let's go, then.” Robin spoke, prompting you to join her, you can't help but notice the appeal in her smile, the way she struts about with utmost confidence, the dip in her back, the curve of her hips, the curl of her lips— though, you, of course, would never ogle a human woman in such a manner. It's just that it's been a while since you've been awake, and she's easy on the eyes, so your appetite is pleased by her looks. She bends down to pick up the oil lamp she brought with her, and your eyes are still drawn to her.

It's simply your appetite talking, of course. You two head down throughout the dusty and spider infested halls, the clacking of both of your shoes is a tad bothersome.

“Miss. How did you come to know of this place?” Robin begins to question, her tone non-accusatory. She looks back at you with a curious look, in fact.

“I didn't,” you reply, staring down the torn paintings you once cherished the most in your halls. The statues remain, too heavy to drop and too sturdy to shatter, Robin admires them in passing. “I was fleeing that man. I ran into the maze of walls and hallways in hopes that he would not find me… and ended up unconscious inside.” 

Robin lets her hum of acknowledgment meet you as you meet an especially large opening in the beloved walls of your home. A frown dares to fall on your face.

“Does the air here seem a tad thick to you, as well? We should hurry. That moon has yet to come, but dangers persist no matter what. The walls could cave in on us, and we would end up being nothing more than splatters of red.”

Robin comments. She’s more odd than you initially thought, but individuality is part of being human. A chill same as before wraps itself over your spine and almost causes you to gasp aloud. You feel anxious, and for a second you swear you feel the same eyes boring into the back of your head.

“Of course.”

Exhaling, you glance behind you, gripping the watch as if it were your lifeline. You're frightened, so you walk side by side with Robin, ignoring any suspicious she might throw your way as a response.

It’s bittersweet, seeing the stains of old blood and splints of bone while simultaneously taking in the palace which gave you comfort. Things are sure to have changed quite a bit, and in order to get your steady food source replenished, you would have to possess any sort of power yet again. Such a thing wouldn't be too easily achievable, not when you’re back to living like a spawn does. Robin leads you down a staircase, into the lower level of your palace.

On the lower level, you’d find the torture chambers, blood baths, and room of many murals. It used to be your favorite floor… and it's also the place all the younger servants would sneak out and back in from, specifically from the crypt beneath the church they’d all established for you.

It's a long walk, but if Robin knows this path, then she's aware of it. Despite the ache in your legs, you prepare to walk for what will feel like days— but it is only an hour or two. 

The you which the world knew saw you as a bloodthirsty deity who would give humans a few extra years of health and life for a bath of blood. That does sum you up, actually, but now you feel your existence is more than to just feed and slaughter. New feelings, sensations, and coherent thoughts are filling your stained soul with curiosity, the question is not what is the cause but why is the cause.

“Was there anything you were searching for in particular in these ruins?” Opting for small talk, you try to catch Robin’s attention. 

“Not anything specific. It's just interesting, learning about an empire that lasted so long, and only fell with the death of its ruler. Vampires don't die, but according to official records, this one did. Don't you think it's funny?” Robin whips her head around, hair flying in various directions, looking behind you into the long passage. She smiles at you, and then slows her pace, walking by your side.

You confuse yourself a bit. You spent the entire journey back up spacing out, unsure if you even made conversation; you can't really be bothered by anything more than your own internal conflicts and hunger. Immediately you begin to notice the crickets make a cacophony of noise, the crashing of waves and distant howling is all too familiar. One more glance at the familiar surroundings before you leave for an uncertain amount of time, maybe returning eventually, and maybe not. Robin takes one good look at the flowering road ahead, and then continues onward.

“I’m planning to check into a nearby inn, but I’m concerned about you most of all. It’s no good escorting you if I am to hear that you are deceased by the next day. It could just be the goodwill of the senior adventurers spreading through me… It’s out of character for me, but nobody quite takes an interest in me much anymore, so I suppose I just want you to live long enough for us to be acquainted.” Robin’s eyes watch the surrounding woods for a minute, before they momentarily glance over to you, awaiting an answer. You don’t have any choice but to stay with her– how could you survive without her, either way? The thing you need most is her blood, but her comment about the “senior adventurers” piques your curiosity, and you certainly are tempted to ask a question or two.

“This guild you speak of,” you step over a puddle in the ground, unable to catch a glimpse of your reflection.

“It’s well established, no? Were you being compensated for exploring these ruins?” Unsure of what comes next, your eyes flicker between Robin and the surrounding trees.

“Oh no, nothing of that sort. It's more like a vacation to me, another chance to see a lost civilization. Isn't it interesting to you?” She glances at you through the corner of her eye, still smiling as she strides forward. Afraid of making things awkward or killing conversation, you nod your head.

“Somewhat. But I find it tragic all the same.” 

Fortunately, after much more idle conversation, Robin seems to have eased up around you— just in time for a worn dirt road to appear, the most traveled path is always the easiest. A distant screeching from some sort of avian sharpens your long dull instincts, for a second everything surrounding you is back to the way you remembered before. Suddenly you can hear Robin’s heartbeat for the first time, it's steady and sure of itself, which is good for you. Just as quickly, it's gone, leaving you wondering what strange changes your body might experience also.

“Did you come from this way?” You ask a simple question, furrowing your brows as birds gather in the walls of trees you leave behind. 

“Yes, there’s a village nearby. Not exactly quaint, but it's not the capital either. Plenty of people pass through, and it's got everything you need within.” 

“Nearby?” You question. “How close?” 

“Can you not see? We’ll be there in less than an hour, not to worry. Just stay close, and we won't encounter any issues.” Robin points in the distance, slowing her speed as she tries to gesture towards some distant blurry patch of land, but you don't see anything special. Back then, you could have seen it from underground if you wished, and now all of your senses are far too dull for your liking.

“Let’s make haste, then. I’m beginning to get a bit jumpy.” You speak as if the trees are actively listening, the two of you begin shuddering just as audibly as it is visible. The air is cooler with each step the two of you take, and you just can’t break out of the silence, because it feels wrong.

You feel those eyes boring into the back of your head every step of the way. Strangely, you can't make out any of the forms he would dare to take. He must still be quite powerful, to find you so quickly and so soon. Mihawk doesn't dare approach you, but you feel his watchful gaze unable to leave you, like it's telling you to hold your tongue. His eyes have you in such a trance, that you barely manage to pull yourself together as a carriage rushes past you, far too many horses follow, rushing towards the city walls that you can finally make out.

Whoever was being pulled by the carriage would reach the city before you, and it's now more than ever you wish someone was here to pamper you like so. The smell of cigarettes gives you whiplash, but you don't pay any more attention to it, not when Robin is so clearly scolding you.

“Pay more attention, I'm begging you. You would have been trampled.” Robin’s eyes betray a hint of worry, and you aren't sure why she cares so much about you. You’ve just met after all, and your charm does not possess the power to bewitch her like so in this state.

After far too much walking, a bustling and noisy town greets you. Though it is deep into the night, occupied minds cannot find the time in their schedules for sleep, and they wander the streets. Some laugh merrily, others wallow in their own negativity, and you and Robin are just looking for somewhere to settle. It would be easier to go after a drunken man and drink him dry, but you aren’t the type of vampire to chase after men simply because they’re easily accessible, you have your eyes set on a beautiful archaeologist this time. Following in her footsteps, you reach a cozy looking Inn. There are orchids displayed in intricately patterned vases nearby the open door. The building itself is made of a sturdy looking wooden structure with a wide arch that has a homemade sign on display.

The noise of this place drowns out everything but your own thoughts. Even so late into the night, it feels like a second sunrise.

“Come in, come in! Are ya ladies looking for lodging? Beauties such as yourself should never be caught out at such a late hour. You too, young man with the dashing golden locks! I have plenty of room for all.”

An older woman comes into view, popping out of the doorway and dancing towards you two, including the blonde man. She’s short and stout with graying hair tied back with a piece of cloth, an apron tied around her waist with a welcoming smile. There’s a keyring hanging from a chain clasped around her neck, which must be keys to the rooms.

“How much would you charge for a single room with two beds? I’m afraid I’ve nearly used all my travel funds. It’s just for tonight, ma’am.” Robin unclasps a leather pouch from around her belt, her lantern is now extinguished. She loosens the drawstrings around it, digging around for a second as she awaits an answer, her cold blue eyes drawn to the contents of her coin pouch. The woman looks back between you and Robin with an accusatory glance, her lips pursed and eyes narrowed all while she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Sorry, lass… All we got is a few single bed rooms. Just for the inconvenience, I'll give you a discount! Maybe they're together…?” The older woman not so quietly mutters the last part under her breath. Robin purses her lips and nods, sparing you a singular apologetic glance— she does not have the proper funds for two rooms. 

“And you, young man?” She speaks to the hooded blonde man now, who jolts the very second she tries to draw his attention. You watch him remove his hood after stepping a bit more into the shadow cast nearby, then you notice his odd eyebrows. They’re swirled, but he seems to cover the right side of his face with his bangs quickly when he catches onto your curious look, a shy blush and beating heart greet your ears and eyes, which you consider a rather friendly introduction. There is still a part of you that enjoys this manner of attention, but you want to keep it buried for now.

“One room, one night. Please and thank you, Mademoiselle.” His voice is smooth, but it has an undeniable presence, reminiscent of a certain emperor with an appetite for women you remember tearing limb from limb. A shiver runs through you, pleasure calls to you and asks for time to reminisce on murder. He smells like cigarettes, the same you’d smelt from the carriage earlier— and yet he’s only just arrived at this Inn.

“For the ladies, ten in total, for the young man, it's just fifteen.”

She leads the three of you inside slowly, shutting the front door of the Inn after all has entered. The reception area gives off a comforting vibe, and there's the faint smell of dinner dug into the beige colored walls, the wood planked floors are a bit squeaky and worn, but still not the slightest bit dirtied. Robin hands over ten unfamiliar coins with a symbol etched into each side, it looks like a “B” with two lines cut into it. Some new age currency, no doubt about it.

The blonde man hands over his payment as well, your eyes glance over the rings of silver adorning his fingers, paired with many jewels. Not exactly the best choice if you’ll be out in a slightly more rural area, but maybe he’s just a clueless rich kid who got lost. 

“I’ll be right back young man, wait here for a moment while I show these pretty ladies to their room.”

Nodding towards your direction, she guides you down a dimly lit hallway, passing what must have been a dozen doors before she finally reached one that seemed deliberately excluded from the others. She no doubt still thinks you and Robin are lovers, but it's not like she's mocking the two of you, at the very least. Robin is beautiful, but your mind craves her corpse at most, not romance at the moment. No matter how much beauty is in a vessel, all is measured in ash and blood. Except yours, of course! It's common knowledge that you're gorgeous, and that beauty earns you the rights to many things.

The innkeeper removes a heavy metal key off of the large keyring hanging around her neck, and places it into Robin’s open hands.

“You two ladies stay safe, I wouldn’t go out this hour at night, what with all the rowdy men. Your door locks, too.” She smiles at you two, before walking back to the reception area.

Robin sighs, unlocking and pushing the door to your room open. The room is a bit smaller than someone of your caliber is used to, but it is clean and pristine, although the windows only have a sheer curtain to cover them. The two of you stare at the single bed, waiting for each other to say something. Robin seems tired, but also looks curiously at you, perhaps you seem disheveled. She might not be used to sharing a bed casually with another, but you aren't as shy as she is.

Without any words, you remove your shoes, placing them neatly by the door as you approach the bed. Unsure of what comes next, since you do not need to sleep, you sit on the edge, waiting for her to approach.

The way Robin looks at you is not the way acquaintances should glance at each other. She's not disgusted, nor uncomfortable, she looks too excited to lay next to you for the night. Lust is always the first emotion to show in people— but you're not entirely sure this is lust, either. Nonetheless, she removes her own shoes and outer layers of clothing, now wearing her undergarments. Her satchel and backpack come with her all the way to the left side of the bed, and are carefully placed onto a nightstand.

She looks classy in her nightwear, you note. Robin doesn't give you another glance, and settles beneath the blanket with a swiftness, not facing your direction.

Silence, once again, fills the gap between you two. You can't remember the last time it was so quiet, without other worries floating around inside your head. Well, you did have worries, like the ever aching hunger within your bones, but those could wait. There's a warm, breathing body next to you. If you were so patient, you could wait until she slept, and have a bite.

But then comes the moral dilemma. You know it better than anybody else, when you get a taste you just won't stop until everything is gone. Not only that, but she's been so kind, and the human in you aches. Can you really make time for emotional aches when the hunger inside you is swelling into an ugly mass? 

You decide to wait, just until you’ve counted a thousand breaths of hers, ignoring a persistent presence outside of one of the windows and the shouting from inside the Inn. Mihawk will wait for you, whether he heard your vow or not, and you are sure that he's watching just as curiously now. From the windows, inside the cracks of the walls, it feels as if his eyes just won't leave your figure.

Every lustful piece of you wishes to swim in warm blood spilled from a beautiful body.

The slowly disappearing rationality in you urges you to stop and think— you are not alone in this sinful den. Were a murder to take place, you’d be caught within minutes, even without your hypersensitivity to beating hearts this much you can tell. Yet, despite telling yourself that you’d ensure that you would be free and strong enough to taste Mihawk again, you cannot ignore the primal need to taste the sleeping body next to you. But, you wait, and you wait. Until you can’t anymore, and until your brain feels as if it would split, you will wait.

Sleep does not dare take you. Even as you count several hundred breaths that silently leave the archaeologist’s body, you can’t force yourself to close your eyes. Each and every waking moment is spent watching her back, to the point you cannot remember anything else you’d wanted to do. Mihawk’s name does not shake you, nor the night that gets darker still.

Something inside of you whispers, teasing you with something so sensual and disgusting.

“Taste her,” it pleads, pressing its warm skin to yours.

“Eat her…”

“Let them mourn her.” With a final breathy gasp clawing at your stomach, despite the panic that rises immediately from not being in control, your mouth opens wide to welcome her tender and moist meat. Saliva you didn’t know you had floods from your lips, and you lunge at her, jamming your fingers into warm skin you wished to steal away.

But instead of a steady red rush, instead of a terrifying awakening, Robin delivers what your hungry mind could not have expected. A wooden stake, jammed into your cold body with such force that you swear you can feel the breath you’d lost long ago fill your lungs again. You freeze, jaw still unhinged and ready to taste, bearing all of your sharpest teeth.

“You’re a vampire.” Robin sounds exasperated, her eyes light up in a way you’ve never seen before, likely the last you’ll ever see. Her smile still enchants, still lures you in, but the hunger has vanished. This hunger has made you lose.

No words leave you. Despite your ability to do so, you cannot speak, and can only stare up at this beautiful face.

She seems so sure that she will slaughter you.

And that’s why her next words are even more shocking.

Robin states your name, your full name, though hearing what you can only assume had been your human surname sends unpleasant chills through you.

“The shadow cast over the world centuries ago. I…” She suddenly wavers, twisting the stake deeper into where she’d pierced you.

You were sure then that she would condemn your actions. Call you a wench, succubus, unholy creature… and yet she did not. She only asked you one simple thing.

“Would you mind telling me about it? Life so long ago… what I would give to witness the rise and fall of so many centuries. And yet here you are, wielding such information, keeping it all secret.” The look in her eye and tone of her voice tells you that she means to scold you. You’re far too shocked to say anything about it.

Sensing an opportunity, however, you try and test your luck.

“I’ll… tell you all you need to know. Just release me, and—” Searing pain shoots through every inch of you as you fail to finish your sentence, Robin stops you as she pushes the piece of wood deeper into you. It would have been thrilling if she wasn’t able to kill you.

“Let’s have some fun with it,” Robin smiles, pushing her body onto yours as she means to immobilize you further. It only arouses you, shamefully. “Then, perhaps you’ll be free..."

With a groan, turning back at your red-haired lover, you harshly grab his ear, earning a warm laugh from him.

"That's not funny." A huff escaped your lips, but it was replaced by a soft sigh when a passerby seemed to let their eyes linger on your predicament longer than they should have. You harshly yanked him by the collar of his shirt behind a large poster, staring him down. "Do. Not. Grab. My. Ass. In. Public." Your words were stern as ever, but Shanks simply grinned at you, shrugging his shoulders with a wiggle of his brows. Your eyes drifted down to his hand, which was already slowly not-so-sneakily making its way to your backside once more.

Despite the earlier events, right now you felt the exact opposite. Once again, in yet another small tavern. Always the taverns with the red-haired pirates, wasn't it?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

"She hates me! Swear she does! Not even one little squeeze, or a poke... Ah, I may not survive the winters without a firm grope to her bosom, her warmth may reach me nevermore..." Shanks was going on a playful spiel, a very annoyed and tired first mate forming his lips into a thin line at the information, the lack of your presence always ended with Shanks either rambling on about the private parts of your relationship, or a pretty lady finding her way to him again. Sadly, this time, it was both, unbeknownst to you.

"Another round of drinks for the table of handsome pirates?" Said the barmaid just now approaching the table of senior officers for the first time that night. Her hair was tied back, and she seemed to have her eyes set on one particular pirate. The pirate in question? Why, your boyfriend, of course! Shanks the Lady-Killer. Absolutely nobody calls him that... Beckmann stared around at the rather quiet table, Roux and Yasopp playing cards in relative silence, before nodding with a gruff grunt. "Yeah. Get us some rum, will ya' sweetheart?" Beck licked his dry lips, already aching for a smoke as watched the barmaid walk off after shooting the table (Shanks) a soft smile. Shanks snickered, a daft smirk flowing effortlessly onto his lips.

"Whatever you want, daddy Beck!" Shanks mimicked the womans voice terribly, placing his hand on his cheek as if he were fawning over Beck, batting his dark and thick lashes as he puckered his lips in Beckmann's direction, Roux and Yasopp snickering at him like little kids. Benn merely sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to breathe in through his nose. "It seems more like she'd prefer daddy Shanks." Yasopp laughed, slapping his knee, but accidentally dropping his cards, mumbling a few curses as he bent over to grab them, hitting his forehead on the way down, allowing Shanks to begin cackling like a maniac.

Laughter burst out at the table, but it slowly subsided when the overtly flirty barmaid came back, drinks in hand for Shanks' table. She glanced around at the table, noticing a conveniently empty seat next to Shanks himself, glancing at the busy bar, she saw that her coworkers seemed to have it covered. "Here are your drinks... And here's yours, handsome." She winked at Shanks in particular, allowing everybody else to grab their own, but she decided to hand Shanks specifically his own drink. Yasopp raised a brow, crossing his arms over his chest as he gestured his head to the woman as if to say "see?"

Of course, the woman took it upon herself to sit next to Shanks.

"Ah, actually—" Shanks attempted to interrupt the woman, really, he did! But it seemed he was a bit too late, and it felt rude making a lady get out of her seat... Shanks wasn't that kind of man, of course. So, he bit his tongue, assuming you were gonna be gone long enough for the woman to get the hint that he wasn't interested. She struck up a conversation with Shanks, it was about something trivial like the weather or how he was doing... His first mate just shook his head, lighting up another cigarette, breathing a sigh of relief as the smoke invaded his lungs.

Yasopp suddenly stood up, clearing his throat with a smile forming on his face, ready to distract his mind from the sabatoged game of cards, and prepared to share yet another story of his amazing captain. Roux, sensing the incoming performance, let out a snicker, teeth on display as he bit into the leg of meat in hand.

Where were you during all of this? On the ship, of course, for some reason, you didn't feel like partying that night, so you opted to stay in Shanks' quarters, laid out on his hammock after a few minutes in said tavern. A few other members had walked back with you, though they weren't there to entertain you or whatnot, simply uninterested in partying too much or still hungover from the previous night. Though, you did miss your boyfriend, so you decided it would be nice to see him, clearly not expecting anybody to swoop in and try to steal him away. But, alas, with somebody like Shanks, people flocked to him constantly.

You weren't planning to drink, simply wanting to at least enjoy the drunken chatter of your crew and captain. As you approached the tavern, you heard cheers and yells of joy, and the booming voice of Yasopp echoing throughout the night.

"Our captain struck him down without a second thought— One singular swing of his sword and the man was no more... Silence grew over the barren lands, all of us on edge— Then.... BOOM! A loud crack echoed through the skies, and as Beck readied his gun—"

Tuning out the rest, you walked through the swinging doors, none paying you any mind. It didn't take long for your eyes to find their way to red-hair again, but it took a while for you to register another thing.

Was that woman... In your chair?

She was talking to Shanks, giggly and flirty, but not overbearingly so... Either way, it was weird, but hey, at least you didn't walk in on Shanks kissing her or touching her? Not that he would, anyways.

You couldn't reassure yourself, and jealousy flared in your mind, fists clenching tighter with each shaky breath of yours. The only person that seemed to be watching Shanks was really just that flirting woman, but there was still alot of people at his table, Limejuice filling in Yasopp's empty spot while another sat where Roux would normally be. Your body felt hot in a thousand ways, both bad and good, until you decided to throw your morals out the window. You would let him feel you up as long as that woman, assuming she was a barmaid, ended up backing off. But, how would you? You could just walk up to him and kiss him, then run away— No, no... Definitely not, she would probably assume Shanks was open to things like that... You had to make sure she knew for a fact that he was yours. God, you sounded oddly possessive but, for the greater good.

Your shoes clacked against the hardwood floor, you walked a little faster than intended, but as soon as you reached Shanks, you knew what you had to do.

"Oh, you're back, I— Oh, wow..."

Your body felt warmer when you heard him speak, and your legs felt like jelly when he laughed, his singular arm resting around your waist. Suddenly, he pulled you closer into his lap, your back pressed against his chest how he normally had you when you were in private. You lowered your head, really contemplating what to do, and whether you should go through with the other thing you had in mind... "Didn't expect to see you back so soon, sweetheart." Shanks giggled, his fingers gently tickling your side, an indicator he was either going to grope you or poke your side, but you paid no mind.

You swallowed the pooling saliva in your mouth, twisting your upper body to kiss Shanks. Your fingers gripped his collar, legs shifting so you could kiss him a little better, and you may have accidentally backed up into him to get a little closer, you could practically feel the smirk in his lips. Once a closed mouth kiss from you found its way to Shanks, it didn't end so soon. Maybe that's what you wanted, though, didn't you want to show off your lover to that woman, anyways? Or were you perhaps planning on saying you just wanted to put her into her place? Shanks parted your lips with his own, the taste of the spiced rum he had been drinking lingered faintly in your mouth, making your hand rest on his cheek to deepen the kiss, chasing the taste of him the rum.

His hand moved downwards, fingers trailing down your spine before landing you know where, squeezing the flesh of your ass. You leaned deeper into him, allowing it to go on for just a little longer... You know, to make sure that woman wasn't interested, or anything...

You both pulled away for a little air, with Shanks practically grinning from ear to ear. Was he blessed today? If not, then why was his PDA hating girlfriend all over him right now? The gods must be smiling down at him. Still, he wondered why you did this out of the blue... Following your gaze, he noticed you looking at the barmaid, who was now leaving with a tray in hand, ah, that's why.

"Jealous much?" With a signature brow wiggle, Shanks' hand trailed up to your chest, softly squeezing through the fabric, though, this time, it was met with a glare from you. Shanks pouted, his eyes silently pleading with you, but your stare was kept firm. Suddenly, you were aware of the fact that there were people at the table with him who weren't there to try and chat him up, and you really didn't want to look away from him, you would probably die from embarrassment if you saw how horrified poor Limejuice looked. But, despite not wanting to look back in front of you, you attempted to stand back up.

"Nuh-uh, stay riiight there..."

Shanks kissed your cheek, pulling you back into his lap, keeping his arm firmly wrapped around your waist so you would stay in place.

"Aw, come on! Get a room!"

You could hear the horror in Limejuice's voice, and now you definitely weren't leaving until Shanks carried you out to avoid looking in anybody else's eyes.

"Why would we get a room when we can do it right here?"

You're gonna kill this man.

For a moment, there's nothing but the soft humming of the car's engine, the jingling of keys, and the sound of shoes scuffing against the concrete and curb, tripping over themselves and anything else. A loud grunt resounds in the empty parking lot, and then your laugh follows afterwards.

“Do we really have to pick your grown ass up every damn time you get too drunk? Doesn't that clown…” Beckman’s grumbling becomes an audible sentence, before he catches himself saying something that would definitely worsen the situation. But, he caught himself a bit too late, and he can only whisper a quiet “damn it” before Shanks speaks of that clown in question.

“BUGGY! God, why?!” 

Eyes locking in a stare with Beckman’s, flashing a knowing look, your eyes squint as you sigh and open the door leading into the backseat of the silver SUV, promptly shoving Shanks into the car and slamming the door afterwards.

“Come on, Beck. You know Buggy dumped him. Why do you think he's drunk off his ass again?”

Shanks sobs louder, curling into a ball as his tears fall onto Beckman’s leather seats he's so proud of. Beckman sighs and opens the driver's side door, staring down at the steering wheel before he looks back to meet your gaze.

“Jus’ saying! They break up every other month. You know this. I had more stable relationships in middle school.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a loose cigarette he was forced to put away about ten minutes earlier— around when he needed to stop Shanks from stumbling into oncoming traffic during your walk to the car, which of course required two hands.

“Shanks loves him. They love each other, just be patient! They’ll be married in no time, watch.” You can't help but feel like the road to their marriage might be a little bumpier, when you see Shanks clutching a photo from his senior year’s prom— to which Buggy was his date.

“Why won't he come back?!” Shanks screeches, curling into himself once more, thrashing in the seats.

“Yeah, I'm not looking forward to him scratching at the door like a stray begging to sleep on the couch because he and Buggy got into an argument.” Beckman exhales, smoke escaping his lips. He turns back to the inside of the car, before pulling himself inside just about as slow as he could, savoring the time spent outside. You head to the passengers side, sighing as you mentally prepare yourself for the ride home.

The drive is almost as loud as a concert, with Shanks’ non-stop crying and Beckman's yelling, then you yelling at Beckman to go easier on Shanks, plus the radio station which was, of course, the newest Soul King. Beckman couldn't even enjoy that.

Shanks quiets down to just sniffles, before he wipes his teary eyes and stares straight at the back of Beckman's head. 

“Can we go get food? I’m hungry—” Shanks pouted, pleading with Beckman.

Shanks then proceeded to projectile vomit everywhere, including all over the back of Beckman’s neck, and some managed to splash on your hands. The leather seats were ruined. And even worse, you all ran into Buggy at the gas station while you desperately tried to find anything Shanks could eat, and let's just say that wasn't pretty.

Beckman hates giving Shanks rides, and he never forgets why. But you, despite Beckman reminding you of all the times Shanks made a mess of your couch or his car, always insisted you give poor Shanks a ride.