Since I can't export my blog bc it's like 90GB in one file... 😒
I'll be slowly moving my stuff (fics, moodboards, etc.) to dreamland-library.tumblr.com and I will be posting new stuff there from now on
I won't delete anything here bc I don't wanna lose the lovely comments and silly tags I sometimes leave for myself to remember a WIP but I won't be posting any new fic here either. So this will remain my main blog where I reblog stuff I read or come across my dash and the taglist will be the same too but if you are only here for the fics give the sideblog a follow 🙃
I also apologize in advance for kinda spamming the tags with the reposts as I move stuff. The OCD wants everything in one place 🙈
Plot: 37 year-old Shanks still hasn’t confessed his love to you. But never fear…27 year-old Shanks will do it for him.
A/N: a very loose sequel to The Betting Pool
The problem started in the hold.
“It was not my fault,” Shanks said.
Beckman stood over the open chest and looked at the glowing red coin inside it. “You touched the cursed treasure.”
“It was glowing.”
“That is usually a reason not to touch it.”
“It looked interesting.”
“The chest bit Rockstar yesterday.”
“Rockstar startled it.”
Beckman stared at him.
Shanks sighed. “Fine. Maybe I touched it.”
The coin flashed.
The ship lurched.
Somewhere above deck, Yasopp shouted, “If that was another sea king, I’m not helping!”
Then the air in the hold twisted.
Like the world folded wrong for half a second.
When it snapped back into place, someone was standing beside the chest.
Barefoot. Shirt half-laced. Red hair loose around his face. Straw hat tipped back. Younger by ten years.
The hold went silent.
Young Shanks looked around.
Then at Beckman.
Then at present-day Shanks.
His grin widened.
“Oh good,” he said. “I age well.”
Beckman shut his eyes.
Present Shanks stared at him.
Young Shanks looked down at himself, then back up. “What year is it?”
Shanks told him.
Young Shanks blinked. Then whistled. “Thirty-seven?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m not. I just thought we’d look worse.”
Beckman said, “You act worse.”
Young Shanks turned to him, delighted. “Beck. You got meaner.”
“I adapted.”
The noise had drawn half the crew by then. Faces crowded the stairs. Yasopp pushed in front of Lucky. Limejuice leaned over Building Snake’s shoulder. Hongo took one look and muttered, “Oh, this’ll be bad.”
You arrived last, still holding a mug from the galley.
“What happened?”
Young Shanks turned toward your voice.
And stopped.
Not for long.
Just long enough that everyone noticed.
Then his expression changed, bright and interested and entirely unashamed.
“Well,” he said, looking you over with open appreciation. “Nobody told me the future got this pretty.”
The hold went dead silent.
Then Yasopp made a sound like he had swallowed his own tongue.
Present Shanks went very still.
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
Young Shanks stepped around the chest like nothing about this situation concerned him. “You heard me.”
“Oh, she heard you,” Lucky said, delighted.
Present Shanks turned his head slowly. “Lucky.”
Lucky held up both hands. “I’m just observing.”
Beckman reached for his cigarettes. “This is going to be educational.”
Young Shanks came closer, still smiling at you. He had the same face, mostly. Same eyes. Same red hair. That same warmth when he focused on someone.
But where the Shanks you knew had learned restraint, this one wore his interest plainly.
“So,” Young Shanks said. “Do I know you?”
You glanced at present Shanks, then back at him. “I don’t think so.”
“That’s a shame.”
Present Shanks stepped forward. “That’s enough.”
Young Shanks looked at him.
Then at you.
Then back at him.
His grin sharpened.
“Oh,” he said. “Interesting.”
“It isn’t,” present Shanks said.
Young Shanks leaned slightly to see around him. “Is he always this tense around beautiful women?”
The crew erupted.
You should have been more alarmed. Probably.
Instead, it was very difficult to panic while young Shanks was smiling at you like you were the best part of his accidental time travel.
“You’re taking this well,” you said.
Young Shanks shrugged. “I’ve had stranger mornings.” He leaned in closer. “What’s your name?”
You told him.
He repeated it once, testing it like he liked the sound.
Present Shanks’s jaw tightened.
The crew noticed, of course.
They had been waiting weeks for him to do something incriminating. The betting board in the galley had become less of a game and more of a record of his ongoing failure.
Young Shanks glanced toward the stairs. “Why is everyone looking at us like that?”
“No reason,” Hongo said.
“Just enjoying the view.” Lucky added
Present Shanks closed his eyes. “Do not start.”
“Start what?” you asked.
The entire crew found the ceiling, the floor, the walls, and one another’s shoes fascinating.
Young Shanks leaned closer to you. “They’re hiding something.”
“They usually are.”
“I like her,” Young Shanks said immediately.
Present Shanks opened his eyes. “Of course you do.”
Yasopp slapped a hand over his mouth.
You looked down into your mug, trying not to smile.
Present Shanks saw anyway.
His expression changed for half a second. The annoyance slipped. Something softer took its place, familiar and almost too warm.
Young Shanks saw that too.
His grin faded a little.
Then came back worse.
Young Shanks laughed once, bright with disbelief. “You’re in love with her.”
The hold exploded.
Yasopp actually shouted.
Lucky grabbed Building Snake by the shoulders.
Someone above deck yelled, “Pay up!”
Your face went hot.
Present Shanks looked like he had just been stabbed by himself, which was closer to true than anyone wanted to admit.
“You,” he said to Young Shanks, very evenly, “are going in the brig.”
“For helping?”
“For breathing.”
Young Shanks leaned around him again, eyes still on you. “Has he told you?”
You looked at present Shanks.
He looked away.
That was answer enough to make the crew lose their minds all over again.
Young Shanks stared at his older self in open horror. “You haven’t told her?”
“I was getting there.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“None of your business.”
Young Shanks turned to the crew. “How long?”
“Months,” Yasopp said instantly.
“Longer,” Beckman corrected.
Present Shanks pointed at him. “Traitor.”
Young Shanks looked personally offended. “Longer than months?”
You folded your arms, attention still on present Shanks. “Longer than months?”
Shanks gave the crew a murderous look.
Young Shanks stepped beside you, lowering his voice in a way that did absolutely nothing to hide it. “This is embarrassing for us.”
Present Shanks moved between you again. “There is no us.”
“I am literally you.”
“You are a cursed incident with poor timing.”
“I have excellent timing. She knows now.”
You did know now.
Or at least you knew enough that your heart had started beating differently.
You looked at Shanks.
Not the young one.
Your Shanks.
He met your eyes for half a second, then seemed to realize there was nowhere left to run.
You asked quietly, “Is it true?”
The hold went still.
Even Young Shanks shut up.
Present Shanks let out a slow breath.
The teasing left his face. The embarrassment too.
“Yes,” he said.
Then Yasopp whispered, “Finally.”
The moment broke.
Present Shanks turned his head. “I heard that.”
“You were supposed to,” Yasopp said.
Lucky wiped at his eyes. “I never thought I’d live to see it.”
“You’re all very dramatic,” Shanks said.
Beckman looked at the younger Shanks. “You have no idea.”
Young Shanks grinned again, but there was something softer underneath it now. Almost wistful.
Then he stepped forward and clapped present Shanks on the shoulder.
“Good news,” he said. “She’s pretty and patient.”
Shanks caught his wrist. “Brig.”
Young Shanks laughed. “For fixing your life?”
“For flirting with her.”
“With her or with destiny?”
“With my patience.”
You laughed.
Both Shanks looked at you.
That was deeply unfair.
Present Shanks’s hand fell from his younger self’s wrist. He turned toward you fully, and this time, he did not look away.
“I was going to tell you,” he said.
You smiled at Shanks. “Were you?”
Young Shanks leaned beside Beckman. “Does she always make him look like that?”
Beckman glanced at present Shanks, who was looking at you like the rest of the ship had blurred at the edges.
“Yes.”
Young Shanks was quiet for a beat.
Then he said, softer, “Good.”
Later, in the galley, under Beckman’s old line of Never, someone added:
A/N: This is YANDERE/DARK Shanks. Do not read if you dislike this version of him.
Based on anon request
Plot: A quiet Straw Hat catches the attention of the Red-Haired Emperor.
The Red Force had a better library than the Thousand Sunny.
You had not expected that.
Real shelves.
Rows of them, built into the inner wall of a quiet room below deck, secured with brass latches against rough seas. Some books were old enough that their spines had cracked. Others were wrapped in cloth, carefully labeled.
You had spent the first five minutes just staring.
Usopp had been impressed for about thirty seconds. Luffy had pulled out one book, opened it upside down, declared it boring, and left to find Shanks.
Which meant you were alone.
That was exactly how you liked libraries.
You sat on the floor with your back against one of the shelves and a book open across your lap.
It felt safe down here.
Quiet.
Separate.
Until the door opened.
You looked up.
Shanks stood in the doorway.
“Didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said.
His voice was warm. Easy.
It still made your stomach pull tight.
“You didn’t,” you said quickly.
A lie.
His smile deepened like he had heard the lie and enjoyed it.
“You found the library.”
“It’s impressive.”
“More impressive than the Sunny’s?”
You hesitated.
Shanks laughed softly. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Luffy.”
You had been avoiding him since the two crews met again. Not obviously. You were not rude. You smiled when spoken to.
But Shanks noticed things.
You had felt it.
His eyes lingered too long. Not in the careless way Sanji’s did, or the openly curious way some men looked when they found someone pretty. Shanks watched as if he were learning you. As if every small habit mattered.
How you held your cup.
How often you looked toward exits.
How you went quiet when a room got too loud.
How you moved away every time he came close.
He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.
“What are you reading?” he asked.
You glanced down, grateful for something to look at. “A travel journal.”
“Good one?”
“So far.”
He crossed the room slowly before lowering himself into a crouch with ease.
He was too close.
Close enough that you could see the faint scarred texture near his eye.
His gaze moved over your face.
“You’re prettier when you’re not hiding behind your captain,” he said.
Your breath stopped for half a second.
“I don’t hide behind Luffy.”
“No?” Shanks asked.
There was no mockery in it.
That made it worse.
You looked away first.
His hand came up.
You went still.
He did not touch you. His fingers stopped near your cheek.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Sweetheart.
The word landed too softly.
Too naturally.
You should have laughed awkwardly and said not to call you that.
Instead, you froze.
His eyes sharpened.
There it was again. That feeling that he had just learned something.
“You’re nervous around me,” he said.
“You’re an emperor.”
“That all?”
You forced yourself to meet his eyes.
Bad idea.
He was smiling, but his eyes were not kind. They were bright. Focused. Hungry in a way he was not bothering tohide anymore.
“No,” you admitted before you could stop yourself.
Shanks’s smile faded slowly.
His fingers brushed your cheek.
The touch was light enough to deny, but your body betrayed you anyway. Your lips parted. Your shoulders drew in. Your pulse jumped beneath your skin.
Shanks saw all of it.
“That’s honest,” he said quietly.
You tried to move back, but the shelf was behind you.
He leaned closer.
Your book slipped slightly against your knees. You caught it before it fell, and his gaze dropped to your hands, then to your mouth.
“You’ve been hard to catch today,” he said.
“I wasn’t trying to be caught.”
“No,” Shanks said softly. “You were trying very hard not to be.”
Your fingers tightened around the book.
He was too close, and too good-looking, and you hated that your body noticed.
Dangerous things should not be allowed to look like that.
“You’re staring,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Your face warmed.
His thumb touched the corner of your mouth.
You stopped breathing.
Shanks watched your reaction like it pleased him.
Then he smiled again, slower this time.
“That’s what I thought,” he said softly.
The door opened.
You jerked back so hard your head hit the shelf.
“Oops,” Lucky Roux said from the doorway.
He did not look even slightly apologetic.
Shanks did not move away immediately.
He stayed there, crouched in front of you, his thumb still close to your mouth, his attention still fixed on you as if Lucky were no more important than a change in the wind.
Then he stood.
The room felt colder without him that close.
“What is it?” Shanks asked.
“Beck needs you.”
Shanks sighed.
You used the distraction to scramble to your feet, clutching the book to your chest.
Shanks glanced at you.
“Take it with you,” he said.
“I shouldn’t—”
“I said take it.”
Your mouth closed.
There was that shift again. Warmth over command. Smile over steel.
You nodded once.
He stepped aside to let you pass.
You moved quickly, but not quickly enough.
As you slipped past him, he grabbed your wrist. His mouth lowered near your ear.
“Don’t hide too well tonight, sweetheart.”
Then he let go.
You left without looking back.
————————
That night, the beach was lit with fires.
The locals had insisted on a gathering before the Red Hair Pirates left the island.
You stayed near Nami and Robin at first.
That had been the plan.
Stay close. Eat slowly. Laugh when Luffy nearly set his own sandal on fire. Keep your eyes away from the Red Hair captain.
Mostly.
Sometimes you slipped.
Sometimes you looked and found Shanks already looking back.
Every time, he smiled.
Every time, you looked away first.
Then someone pressed a cup into your hand.
The drink was sweet enough to hide how strong it was, and Nami laughed when your face changed after the second swallow.
“Careful,” she said. “That one sneaks up on you.”
“It tastes like fruit.”
“That’s how it gets you.”
Robin’s mouth curved over the rim of her cup.
You should have listened.
Instead, you finished it.
Then you had another.
Usopp dragged you into a terrible dance, all flailing arms and unnecessary spins, until you were laughing too hard to keep your drink steady.
When the song ended, you looked down and found your cup empty.
You found the drink table near the edge of the gathering. The jug was heavier than you expected. You had to use both hands to tilt it, and a little spilled over the side of your cup.
You laughed under your breath.
“Trouble?”
You froze.
Shanks stood several paces back half-swallowed by the dark.
“I’m not trouble.”
“No,” he said, walking toward you. “Of course not.”
You hated that he sounded amused.
He stopped in front of you, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to look at him.
“You’ve been avoiding me again,” he said.
“I’ve been busy.”
“Dancing with Usopp?”
“He has a very demanding style.”
Shanks smiled.
You wished he would stop doing that.
His gaze dropped to the cup in your hand.
“How many of those have you had?”
“Enough to know you’re still intimidating.”
His smile widened.
Shanks reached out and took the cup from your hand.
“Hey.”
“You can have it back.”
He stepped around you instead, carrying it with him.
“Shanks.”
He glanced over his shoulder.
The look was quick. Warm. Pleased.
Like he had known you would.
He led you around the back of the drink table, just far enough that the barrels blocked you from the main fire. The party was still close, but the shadows made it feel private.
Your steps slowed.
He noticed.
“Relax,” he said, setting your cup on one of the barrels. “I’m only stealing a minute.”
Shanks leaned back against the crates, loose and unhurried, but his eyes stayed fixed on you.
“You have any idea what you’ve done to me these last few days?”
You blinked. “I haven’t done anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
The wind lifted your hair against your cheek.
Shanks reached out and tucked it back. His fingers lingered near your jaw, then slid slowly to the side of your neck.
“You sit there quiet as anything,” he said, voice lower now. “You watch everyone. You slip out of rooms before they get too crowded. You avoid me like you know exactly what I want from you.”
Your breath caught.
His thumb moved once against your throat.
“And then you look at me anyway.”
Your arms loosened.
You did not mean for them to.
His gaze dropped, catching the movement.
“I keep wondering,” he said, “where else you’d go quiet if I touched you.”
Your lips parted before you could stop them.
His eyes dropped to your mouth again, and this time he did not bother hiding the satisfaction on his face.
The gathering felt farther away. Luffy’s laugh rose somewhere beyond the dune, bright and familiar, but Shanks’s hand was at the back of your neck, and you could not make yourself move.
“We leave in the morning,” he said.
You blinked. “I know.”
“Come with me.”
The words were so direct that for a moment you thought you had misunderstood them.
“What?”
“Come with me,” he repeated.
No hesitation. No softness. No attempt to make it sound casual.
Your chest tightened.
“I’m a Straw Hat,” you said.
“I know.”
The longer he stayed quiet, the harder it became to breathe.
You tried to soften your voice. “I’m flattered. Really. But no.”
The word hung between you.
No.
Shanks looked at your mouth as if you had handed him something interesting.
“You’re loyal,” he said.
“Yes.”
For the first time that night, something cold passed over his face.
It was gone almost immediately.
Shanks looked at your mouth.
“Can I kiss you, sweetheart?”
Your heart jumped hard.
You looked at his mouth.
Then back at his eyes.
“Yes.”
Shanks did not rush.
He lowered his head slowly. His nose brushed yours, then his mouth touched yours.
The kiss started softer than you expected.
Warm. Controlled. Almost careful.
That lasted until you kissed him back.
His hand slid from your face into your hair, fingers threading close to your scalp. He pulled once and your head tipped back for him.
You rose onto your toes without thinking.
Shanks stepped in until your back hit a crate, his body holding you there while his mouth moved harder over yours.
He made a low sound against your mouth.
His hand left your hair and wrapped around your throat. Not tight enough to hurt. Just enough to hold you still as he parted your lips with his and slid his tongue against yours.
You tasted liquor on him.
Or maybe that was you.
You could not tell anymore.
His chest pressed into yours as the kiss turned hotter.
Your knees brushed his leg.
He broke the kiss just enough to speak.
“Come with me in the morning.”
Your eyes opened halfway.
His mouth touched the corner of yours.
“Shanks—”
“I’ll give you whatever you want.”
He kissed you again before you could answer. Your fingers moved from his shirt to his shoulder.
“Shanks.”
“There,” he murmured, mouth moving to your jaw. “Say my name like that again.”
You turned your face, but he followed, mouth moving to the side of your neck. He kissed you there once, then opened his mouth against your skin and bit down.
Your fingers dug into his shoulder.
Shanks held the pressure for one slow second before easing off, his tongue passing over the mark he had left.
“Come be with me,” he said against your skin.
Your eyes squeezed shut.
“No.”
It came out weak.
He heard it.
His mouth curved against your neck.
“That one didn’t sound convincing.”
You grabbed his hair and pulled his mouth back to yours.
The kiss turned messy.
Your fault this time.
You kissed him harder than you meant to, and Shanks answered immediately. His tongue slid against yours again and you made a small sound you wished you could take back.
He swallowed it.
Then he pulled back just enough to look at you.
His hair was messy from your fingers. His mouth was wet. His eyes had gone dark in a way that made your pulse trip.
“Tell me what it takes,” he said.
You shook your head.
“I’ll give you a room beside mine. Every book I own. Every island you want to see. Jewels, dresses, gold, quiet, noise, whatever keeps you smiling.” He leaned in, close enough that his mouth almost touched yours again. “Tell me what you want, and it’s yours.”
“That’s not why I’m saying no.”
“I know.”
His voice dropped.
“That’s why I’m asking again.”
Your chest rose hard against his.
“I need to go back to my crew.”
Shanks went still.
“You need to?”
“Yes.”
He looked at you for a long time.
Then he stepped back.
You reached for your cup but Shanks caught it first.
“I think you’ve had enough.”
You almost laughed.
It came out uneven. “Now you’re worried about that?”
His eyes stayed on yours.
“I’m worried about a lot of things when it comes to you.”
The words sounded sweet.
You knew better.
You took one step back. Then another.
He let you.
You turned toward the fires, forcing yourself to walk instead of run. Your lips still felt warm.
You were almost close enough to hear Usopp’s voice clearly when Shanks spoke behind you.
“Sweetheart.”
You stopped before you could stop yourself.
Slowly, you looked back.
He stood in the dark with your abandoned cup still in his hand.
For a moment, he looked like the man Luffy adored.
Then he glanced past you toward the fires, and all warmth left his eyes.
“Stay close to Luffy,” he said. “He’s the only reason I’m asking nicely.”
You did not move.
Shanks smiled again.
It did not reach his eyes.
“Good night.”
The Red Force left at dawn.
The Straw Hats stood near the shore, waving and shouting. Luffy was at the front, grinning so hard it looked like it hurt.
You told yourself not to look for him. You looked anyway.
His gaze found you immediately. For one long second, he only watched you.
Then he smiled.
A friendly smile.
The kind everyone else could see.
Beside him, Beckman leaned against the rail, cigarette between his fingers, eyes narrowed toward the shore.
The ship began to pull away.
The distance widened.
Only then did Shanks look from you to Beckman.
His voice was casual when he spoke. Almost bored.
“I want her on the Red Force.”
Beckman exhaled smoke.
He did not ask who.
Shanks was still watching you.
You stood on the shore beside your captain, the wind lifting your hair, the book you had forgotten to return held tight against your chest.
Shanks’s mouth curved.
“Make it happen,” he said.
Beckman flicked ash into the sea.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I figured.”
The Red Force sailed into the morning light.
And Shanks did not look away until you were gone from sight.
Something something Erid is a high-pressure, no light planet with liquid water and bioluminescent, lure-based, energy efficient ocean creatures could develop; something something Eridians have close to no spatial memory and therefore worse scale? memory; something something Eridians are the apex land predator specifically.
(All that, and I forgot the suit. Ah well. Point is, they deserve a buddy comedy ending.)
