@ brainsoupp_ on twitter// @stmichaelthearchangel// @ cybermrcury on twitter// @throughmy-eyez // @ shellerina on twitter// @caesarsaladinn// @ nelsoncj4 on twitter // @ heimberg_a on twitter// make your own kind of music by cass elliot// @ soledadfrancis on twitter// ? // @ sourcenectar on twitter// @superorganism
If I ask nicely will people reblog this and tell me what their most common breakfast is? Not your favorite necessarily, just what you have for breakfast most frequently? 🙏🏽
arguing with your knight and deciding to be petty and say “shouldn’t you be addressing me from your knees only” except watching him drop down to do exactly that makes you feel like you just immediately lost ….
need mihawk and shanks to get competitive in their middle age and make a game of “stealing” their mutual lover from each other (with THEIR permission). occasionally they call a truce or eventually declare a winner and you get to enjoy as much peace as you ever get with them.
(about 1k, mostly fluffy, some suggestive content | mdni)
It’s rare for the Red Force's deck to go so quiet, but in the early morning hours where colors begin to streak light across the sky, all you hear are the rippling sea and sails. Everyone’s long gone to bed, save whoever’s taking a shift in the crow’s nest. They’re just as likely to be asleep, in truth, just as you had been until something coaxed you from the warmth of your shared bed in the captain’s quarters.
A change in air pressure, perhaps, like a storm rolling in or a breeze breaking through. A shift into cooler waters. Still, you pull your cloak tighter and scan the horizon, waiting for the subtle feeling to sharpen into something you can put your finger on, even if you shouldn’t, like the edge of a blade.
There. Not far from the ship now, a small boat bobs beneath a still silhouette recognizable by the shape of his shadow. A sword towers over his massive hat. Behind him, the mast rises in the same shape, all harsh angles. As the boat nears, he only tilts his head to look up, golden eyes glinting in the low light. The corners of his mouth curl ever so slightly.
“Must I come up and steal you away, or will you take pity on my old shoulders?” As if he cannot still wield Yoru with the grace of a swordsman half his age and twice his size.
Still, you smother your laugh while looking over each shoulder, clutching your hands to your chest in a playhouse’s depiction of fearful martyrdom. “If it is the only way to save my crew, then…” His boat is close to one of the ladders. You go to it, unknotting your cloak to leave it in a heap on the deck, a sign you’ve gone, though Shanks will know.
Mihawk’s smile could carve the dark.
You spare one glance toward the crow's nest, curious until you catch sight of Beckman watching from high above. He winks, then settles back as if he's slept all this time, none the wiser as another vessel came to claim you in the night. You can practically hear him lamenting on the theatrics he'll indulge in for a pretty face.
Mihawk's hands steady you as you let go of the ship, moving from the ladder's lowest rung to his coffin-shaped boat gracefully after all the times you've done just this.
It's not quite cat and mouse, for though Mihawk and Shanks have chased each other plenty, it's you that they ferry back and forth now under a pretense of villainy. This game has only your piece on the board, a shining pearl ever moving between the sea and the fog-drenched island that feels practically at the end of the world.
It doesn't take long to get there tonight, wrapped in rarely relaxed arms as you near the half-obscured shore. Kuraigana had been your destination, after all. Even without rushing, Shanks and his crew are likely to dock before midday, encouraging you to take your peace while it lasts.
Mihawk removes his hat when he gets you home, revealing temples streaked silver in dawn's weak light. Your lips find his pulse there, the corners of his mouth, the hard muscle in his jaw that eases beneath your mouth. You have just the time for a few languid hours in the library, reacquainting yourself with the full shelves and the velvet chaise and the man who hasn't taken a hand off you since you disembarked.
You both await the Red Force in the harbor, your dress a drama of its own where it blows with the mist. Mihawk's foregone his usual attire and left Yoru inside for this meeting. Some pirates pose no threat, after all — not here. The sun must be high when the ship arrives, but the ever-present clouds and fog surrounding the island mute the day's light and color. Shades of scarlet, though, seem vibrant as ever when he come into view.
"I call a truce!" Shanks shouts from where he stands on the Red Force seemingly on top of the world. His cloak billows from his back. Yours is draped over his remaining arm.
Parley, you mouth. It's as though he never remembers his lines.
"How about calling a winner?" Mihawk doesn't raise his voice, doesn't have to. The sea and sky always seem to quiet for his words.
"For the night, perhaps." Shanks' feet find the rocky shore and he strides across the distance, hand lifting at his side in anticipation of a reunion.
Mihawk scoffs but tangles elegant fingers between roughened ones. "Time will tell."
There's the business of getting the crew settled, then of arranging dinner for pirates and wards and yourselves. Despite their reputations, your lovers work well together, all preparations going toward the promise of a peaceful night.
You get it (and more) when the castle's gone shadowed and quiet. The hours turn small and sticky in bed, running together pleasantly until the beat of your heart slows and your body relaxes, content to lie in shared sweat until you're coaxed into a still-steaming bath. Strong arms support you over thighs and against chests as you lounge until the water's nearly gone cold. The last of the candlelight sees you dried and dressed, your head well-kissed and tucked beneath chins as your breathing evens and the flame gutters out.
In the morning, Mihawk wakes early enough to prepare a feast, ordering you and Shanks to stay in bed but hiding a smile when your combined laughter fills his kitchen. You eat together, though the castle goes quiet in a familiar, unwelcome way when he goes to check on his student's progress with the sword. There's note on the table and no lovers in sight, as if the last day had been a dream.
He unfurls the paper, some of his own stationary, of course. He reads, rubs at his chest, smirks.
If Shanks has already stolen you away to visit a market on a nearby island, well. You'll both be back long before dinner, and he'll have bought you something pretty to repay the debt of a ruined dress.
2087
prguitarman
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
vaporwave
titsay
yousharknotpass
snowghoul
