Chapter Text
The first time it happened was when Shanks rescued Buggy when he drowned.
He didn't know what happened then, too busy panicking over the love of his life drowned eventhough Buggy was an excellent swimmer. Then, when they were pulled from the water by the crews, Buggy panted and threw up because he had drunk too much seawater, and something stirred inside Shanks.
Buggy cried, his cheeks reddened from the lack of oxygen when he was drowning and coughed he almost threw up; it woke up something inside Shanks, something that he didn't even know existed.
Shanks wanted to see Buggy cry until he couldn't breathe.
He tried to forget about this, of course. Buggy rarely cried like that; the most he did was a few tears and snot coming out of his pretty nose.
Oh, Shanks would gladly give Buggy the whole world to see him cry like that again.
The second time it happened was when their Captain was executed.
Shanks found Buggy panting for the air; he had been crying long before Roger was on the platform, Shanks was sure.
Shanks felt disgusted. Their crew was disbanded, and their Captain had been executed not even an hour ago, yet he was hard seeing Buggy like that.
He wanted to eat Buggy whole, to feel the bluenette under him, writhing as he wrapped his fingers around Buggy's pretty neck.
"I misjudged you," Buggy said, his eyes hard and tired.
Before Shanks could even say anything, Buggy turned and left.
At that time, Shanks should really follow him, yet he stayed there, looking over Buggy's back.
It was okay.
Buggy will come back to Shanks; he always did. He just needed some time alone to clear his pretty little head.
Buggy left him.
Shanks wanted to die.
It had been years since Shanks saw Buggy.
Buggy was supposed to be by his side, yet no one knew where he went. There was no bounty poster of him, no words, nothing, and Shanks almost lost his mind.
Shanks turned to alcohol.
It was easier to forget things when you were too intoxicated to care.
The whore had blue hair.
Shanks didn't remember her face or even her eyes; it was nothing of importance because she was too happy to indulge in Shanks' fantasy. She was blindfolded, and his hand slowly cut off her oxygen.
As he emptied himself inside her, his mind was hazy, and all he could see was Buggy.
It was almost a decade before Shanks finally saw Buggy's bounty poster.
Buggy The Clown, he was called. For all the things Buggy said about clowns and his nose, Buggy embraced the clown persona really well; he had heart-shaped lipstick on his lips and diamond-shaped makeup on his eyes. A dark purple feather mantle hung on his tiny shoulders, making Shanks wonder where Buggy found such a huge mantle.
The bounty poster could only convey so much, yet Buggy from the poster was different from what Shanks remembered him. He was more mature, more alluring, yet his eyes lacked the twinkle in their youth.
What had happened when they were separated, Shanks wondered; he wanted to bury his hand inside Buggy's torso, feeling the bluenette's heart pulsating slowly beneath his fingers, to make sure Buggy was still his.
(Shanks would burn the whole world if he knew Buggy's heart was never his after Loguetown. Buggy left Shanks and his shattered heart on the rainy day when their Captain was executed, wandering around and wanting to die.
Shanks would burn the whole world if he knew Buggy met someone on his journey, hiding from the wandering eyes of marines and falling in love in the process.
Shanks would burn the whole world if he knew Buggy's first real love died, and Buggy had been mourning for his lost love this entire time. Even when Shanks and Buggy finally met again, twenty years after they parted, Buggy was still mourning.
Shanks would burn the whole world if he knew Buggy had found his twin flame and soul mate in the one person, and this person was not Shanks, never him.
Shanks would burn the whole world if he knew when Buggy's lost love died, he brought half of Buggy's along with him, and without him, Buggy was never truly alive again.)
Notes:
I had so many ideas in my drafts revolving around Buggy. Most of it was like a snippet or one shot, so I tried to compile it on this story. I already have three chapters ready, and I'm accepting a request for chapter four and above!
Tell me what you think, and see you in the next chapter! (P.S. next chapter was... intense. It was a request from my friend about fem!Buggy and it was smut.)
Chapter Text
"Shanks," Roger called him, and Shanks put down his ale to follow his captain. Roger pulled him from the bustling party to his cabin. The crew knew Roger's cabin was off-limit, not that people wanted to wander there either, not when the whores started to swarm the deck.
They had just docked on an island to supply some things, and Shanks had been old enough to bring back the crates, so he was out helping Gaban and others while Roger and Rayleigh talked about something.
Since Shanks was a little boy, he knew Roger saw him as a son, both him and Rayleigh, so it wasn't that surprising to Shanks they trained him harder and stricter than anyone else. Shanks loved the challenge, the rush of power in his vein.
Then, when he was old enough to know sex, Roger told him to wait.
"Don't sleep with some whores; they could blow you, or you could do anything else to them, but never sleep with them."
"But why?"
"Just wait, and when it's time, I will give you something better."
His captain was not someone who ever broke his promise; before they reached Laugh Tale, Roger told Shanks he could drink beer when they finally found Joyboy's treasure. And when they did find it, they partied, and Shanks drank four glasses of beer before he threw up.
So, Shanks waited.
It was hard to wait if he was honest. They always brought whores from the local island when they docked, and the whores were more than happy to fill their pockets with gold and get fucked by the King of Pirate's crew.
Many whores offered themselves to Shanks, but he dodged them. He could sleep with some of them without Roger knowing, of course, but where was the fun in there?
The deck was a private quarter; it only had three rooms: Rayleigh's room, Roger's cabin, and a room to receive a guest. The moonlight illuminated the corridor, and Roger led them to his cabin at the end of the hallway.
"You keep your promise, boy?" Roger asked.
"Aye,"
Roger nodded and held the door handle. "Good, we don't want your gift to go to Rayleigh, do we?"
Before Shanks could ask what he meant, Roger swung the door open, and then Shanks could see inside his cabin.
Rayleigh was on the bed, his face buried in a girl's cunt, suckling it hungrily like a man parched.
A girl, not a woman.
Shanks stopped in his tracks.
"How's Blue, Ray?" Roger called out, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"She's so good," Rayleigh held the girl's legs, and she whined. "Her cunt was the best I ever tasted."
"Good girl," Roger purred, taking the girl's tit onto his hand, squeezing it lightly. "Buggy, meet Shanks."
The girl, Buggy, looked at him, and Shanks' breath stopped.
She was so gorgeous: long flowing blue hair and blue eyes to match; even her big red nose was beautiful. Shanks forgot how to function.
Buggy grunted and moved her hips upwards. "Ray, more."
Her moan filled the cabin as Roger stroked his finger on her perk nipple. "Easy, Blue. You have been so good lately, no?"
"I've been good," She mumbled, her voice slurry. "Want you and Ray inside me, please."
Rayleigh sat up, wiping up his lips that were glistened from Buggy's cunt. Shanks' cock refused to cooperate.
"Come here, boy." Roger waved his hand, Shanks almost running to his side. "This is Buggy, and she was your gift."
Buggy clearly hated that; she pouted and tried to sit up. "No! You promise me to be your woman, Ro. You and Ray! I've been a good girl for six years because of that!"
Buggy looked like she was the same age as Shanks, and if she had been waiting for six years, how young was Buggy when they found her? Better yet, they promised her to be their woman?
There was so much Shanks wanted to ask.
"You are, Blue." Roger pulled her to his lap; his fingers slipped inside Buggy's cunt so easily. "But if you wanted to be our woman, you need to accept Shanks first; he was the one who would continue my legacy, someone important to Ray and me."
Buggy whimpered when Roger pulled out his fingers and hugged Roger's neck, mumbling something Shanks couldn't understand.
"Open your clothes, Shanks," Rayleigh ordered, and Shanks tried so hard not to see his cock jutting to his stomach. "Buggy was a virgin; take your time slowly, okay?"
Shanks complied too quickly, and not a second later, he was naked, and his cock standing proudly. His cock was hurting.
"Buggs, come here." Rayleigh cooed, and Buggy released her grip on Roger's neck, laying on the bed again. "So good for us, Blue."
Buggy's blush could be seen even in the dimly lit room, and without realising, Shanks was already in between her legs.
"I've already prepped her," Rayleigh sounded smug as he lay beside Buggy, taking her nipple in his mouth. "Open your legs wider, baby."
Buggy spread her legs more, and Shanks could see her cunt pulsing, clear fluid pooled on the sheet. "Hurry, fuckface."
She clearly had the mouth of a pirate.
Shanks quickly pumped his cock before he bent down and pushed his cock inside Buggy, and he almost came.
Fuck.
Buggy's cunt was so tight. It was warm and engulfed Shanks' cock like a blanket.
Roger joined them, too, naked and started to kiss Buggy, swirling his tongue inside her mouth. It felt so dirty, but it was the best Shanks had ever felt.
When his cock was inside Buggy's cunt, he heard Roger and Rayleigh chuckled. "Look, Shanks, your cock bulged inside her stomach."
Shanks saw it, too. But Buggy's cunt was so good Shanks' heart almost gave up.
"Start moving, Shanks."
Shanks did just that; he slowly moved his hips, pulled his cock slowly before slamming it inside Buggy's cunt again. It felt heavenly.
Buggy moaned between Roger's mouth, her toes curled. Shanks moved faster.
"You made to take our cock, Blue," Rayleigh said proudly as he kissed Buggy's forehead. "Good thing we wait, no?"
Roger pulled out from the kiss, and Buggy moaned loudly. Roger caressed her hair lovingly. "Who knew a little girl we found on the beach could be this sexy?"
Shanks should be alarmed, yet they were pirates, and pirates took everything they wanted, no? Even little girls. It felt so wrong, yet at the same time, Shanks didn't want to stop.
Buggy got wetter, and it was almost too easy to thrust into her; the squelching sound was too obscene, but Shanks couldn't stop, not when Buggy was so responsive to his—their touch.
It didn't take long before Shanks pushed his cock to the hilt inside Buggy's cunt, filling her with his cum. It was so blissful, and the last thing he saw was Rayleigh lifting Buggy.
Notes:
Hi guys! I just want to tell you when I put Dead Dove: Do Not Eat tag on my fanfic, I meant that this story might be fucked up. The story I wrote might not resonate with you, and that was okay. Your safety came first, and if what I wrote triggered something inside you, I recommended that you stop reading and find something of my other works that suits you (I wrote angst mostly.) or even close the story you currently reading.
I also tried to be specific when doing tags so you would not be lost and still enjoy the story you might like, but there might be some things that I missed, and for that, I'm sorry, but you are more than welcome to put the suggestion for me to fix things that I'm lacking.
That being said, I will not be sorry for the stories I have written thus far. Each story I wrote meant something to me, and some might be sitting in my draft or published here, but they were precious to me. When I published the stories that I had written, it was for me first, more than anything else.
Sorry for my rambling, hope you enjoy this story <3
Chapter 3: KIDNAPPING, OVIPOSITION, STOCKHOLM SYNDROME
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
In hindsight, Buggy knew he should be more mindful of his surroundings, considering he was almost thirty and had been prone to getting kidnapped ever since he was a child.
The number of Stanger Danger alerts and any other warnings he had heard since childhood were ridiculous, and he should have known better.
And yet, the moment Buggy entered that dive bar on friday the thirteenth, his fate was sealed.
It was supposed to be a normal friday; relaxing after a long day of work by watching the cinema by himself, treating himself to a sweet or two, and finally drinking some cheap beer before returning to his place.
It was a bonus if he found someone to have a one-night stand with. But well, if he didn't, Buggy just received his package of new dildos, and he will be content for the week.
Everything had been good lately, so Buggy dropped his guard and let himself enjoy the faint music and the cold beer when a stranger approached him.
He was just Buggy's type, really; tall and muscular with broad shoulders and tanned skin. He wore a simple, white shirt half-buttoned up, exposing the middle of his chest and upper abs, and Buggy bit his lips.
"It's the first time I've seen you around here." The man had red hair and roughness around the edge, tree scars adorning his left side, and a missing arm as well, but he knew his way around people. "Thought I was too drunk to see an angel before."
"Oh, you sappy fucker." Buggy said, drinking his beer. "It was the first time I was here."
Buggy usually went to much better places than this dive bar. He knew too many creeps lurked behind the dimly lit corners, and they were ready to take advantage of him.
The man just laughed and brushed off Buggy's rude comments. "I'm Shanks. What's your name, pretty?"
The man—Shanks, purred, leaning on Buggy's ear; his voice was deep and rumbling, seemingly distorted and eerie, yet Buggy was too horny to care.
"You can call me Blue." Buggy turned to the man, feeling Shanks' soft breath mixed with whiskey on his lips. "Just Blue."
"Blue," Shanks said, testing the sound of it. "I love the sound of your name."
It was a blur afterwards; Shanks treated him to a few shots of whiskey and tequila, their fingers touched and it burned.
It felt like hours when they finally left the dive bar, stumbling into Shanks' flat; his place was near the bar, on the fifth floor at the end of the hallways.
(His room was too dark, too quiet and seemingly empty that they walked without even bumping into something; that should have been the first sign for Buggy.
A decent man should have at least a functioning lamp. Buggy should have asked to turn on the light before even agreeing to enter a stranger's place.)
Shanks led him to another room; it was dark and damp, and when he pushed Buggy down on something soft, he got on top of him, Buggy put his hand on Shanks' torso.
"Wait—" Buggy meant to say he should have at least douching first before they even started; it was basic decency, and he was expecting to feel a muscular chest, but instead, what he felt was a sticky and cold jelly-like substance.
Buggy quickly retracted his hand, and by instinct, he wiped his hand on what he assumed was a mattress, eyes downwards as he tried to adjust his sight in the darkness.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Shanks whispered; something cold touched his abdomen and lifted up his shirt. "It will be better if you just lay down and enjoy it, Buggy."
Chill ran down his spine.
Buggy never told Shanks his name; he usually never had. Buggy wasn't that stupid to give his name so easily, especially to strangers he met in a shady bar.
(It was the reason Buggy had never been on dating apps. He never had casual sex with strangers, moreover, with someone he had just met for the first time without knowing their background first.
The man he usually met and had sex with was someone he knew, either a friend of a friend or even an acquaintance he had known for more than ten meetings.
Shanks was an exception; he was just Buggy's type, and he reasoned that it was just this time he would be this reckless, just this once.
There was always a first of everything, and Buggy realised it far too late.)
"How did you know my name?" Buggy tried to be brave, and he really did, but it was hard to focus on the door when Shanks' eyes glowed golden in the dark as if he had been waiting for this all his life. "I never told you my name."
Shanks chuckled, and for the first time, Buggy was afraid. "I've known you for a long time, my pretty Buggy."
A squelching sound was heard; it was heavy, and not even a second later, Buggy could finally see under the dim light.
Shanks was still on top of him, yet he wasn't the man Buggy met that night; his skin wasn't the tan shade like before, it was deep purple coated with greenish slime, dripping like poison.
Where Shanks' legs were supposed to be were tentacles, writhing under him, wrapped around his calves, tearing apart his pants.
"Let go of me, you monster!" Buggy tried to wrestle the tentacles, but the tentacles were stronger, and one of them slid inside his mouth, pumping out something thick and fishy from the tip, and he almost vomited.
"Shh, it's okay, baby." Shanks cooed, gently lifting Buggy's with his tentacles, caressing his body lovingly until they faced each other. "It was long overdue, but now here we are."
Buggy wanted to bite the tentacles in his mouth; he wanted to scream and punch Shanks, yet the more he struggled against the tentacles, the more it squeezed him tight, making it hard to breathe.
"Now it's just us; Shanks and Buggy, for all eternity."
Buggy had lost track of time.
The room was always dark, and Buggy had long grown accustomed to the darkness surrounding him.
(It was easier to become used to things when it was the only things you knew after the life you used to have was robbed right before your eyes.
It was easier to become used to things when a monster shackled you and made you heavy with eggs he forcefully stuffed inside you, saying it was your children and you should learn to love them.
It was easier to become used to things when the only things he fed you were liquids that altered your body and made you pliant, easy to breed once every fifteen days.
It was easier to become used to things when the monster broke your legs after you tried to run away, and no matter how loud you screamed, there was no one to help you.
It was easier to become used to things when you felt there were movements beneath your skin; scrapping and writhing, and then the monster said it's time before his tentacles forcefully spread your ass, letting the little monster he called your children into the world.
It was easier to become used to things the monster stuffed you again with eggs not long after his tentacles scrapped out the eggshell inside you, saying you were brave and beautiful and made love to you like the monster really loved you, kissing your bruised skins and tear streaks and said I love you, my sweet little Buggy.)
The door was opened slowly, and Buggy saw Shanks' tentacles lurking, inviting like a poison, like a home. "It was time, my sweet Buggy."
Buggy let out a whimper, yet his hands raised high, and he welcomed the sight of his lover. "It is time, my love."
Notes:
So it was the first POV from Buggy, and it was, well— it was really an idea that I had had since around 2015, and I thought it would fit Shuggy, so here it was.
I will start to make the request you guys had left. Wish me luck!
Tell me what you think, and hope you enjoy this story!
Chapter 4
Notes:
Request from Cai about heartfelt Shuggy and I hope this filled your expectations 🧎🧎
Also it could be read as sequel from chapter 1 of this collection.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Buggy was still as beautiful as the day Shanks lost him.
He just stood there, looking over the vast sea after he had delivered the strawhat to the Surgeon of Death for Luffy.
Shanks wondered what Buggy thought about; they had been parted longer than they had been together, and he loathed this feeling.
He used to know everything about Buggy; from his thoughts to his feelings, from his dreams to his needs, Shank knew every inch of him.
Yet Buggy felt like a stranger to him now. Shanks could no longer read his thoughts and his emotions.
(It used to be Red and Blue, Shanks and Buggy. It should have stayed like that, even when the world was between them.)
"Law should've given the strawhat to Luffy when they met," Buggy said, his voice tired. "Now, pay your debt."
Shanks' smile was easy, leaning closer to Buggy. "I had quite a treasure in my ship. How about you come to Red Force after this? You could take a few diamonds and maps."
Please say yes. I know you love diamonds and treasure maps; your eyes used to shine so brightly when you saw those two things.
"I don't need diamond or treasure maps." He said, and Shanks' heart shattered. "I need you to take something of mine from Sengoku."
"What is it?" Shanks asked, his hand itched. What could possibly be so important to Buggy now than the promise of treasure?
"Nothing you should worry about. It won't start a war." Buggy told him. "Just told him my name, and he should know."
"Is it important?"
Buggy turned to him, looking at him with eyes Shanks had dreamt about for years. "More than my life."
The war had been avoided; their Captain's son was safe, and Whitebeard's Pirates went into hiding. Luffy didn't have to suffer the agony of losing another half of his soul ever again.
All was well.
"What do you want, Red Hair?" Sengoku's face was hard still, even as he turned on Shanks and began walking. "Your Captain's son was alive, and we have no war to be having. Go on your way."
"I want to take something of Buggy."
Sengoku stopped, and for a moment, Shanks thought his shoulders were slouched, finally feeling the heavy burden of the world.
"Where is he?"
Shanks' gripped on his sword. "Nowhere you should worry about."
He barked something at his subordinate before turning to Shanks again. "Is he eating well?"
It startled Shanks.
He expected to have Sengoku rage at him, making him confess where Buggy was. The bluenette had broken out of prison and taken inmates with him; it was a slight the marines could not forgive.
"Why are you asking me this?"
What had happened after Buggy and Shanks parted all those years ago? Who did Buggy meet, and how did they know him more than Shanks?
Sengoku's subordinate returned with the dark purple feather mantle Shanks saw from Buggy's wanted poster, never changing.
"You were comrades, a friend for him," Sengoku said, taking the mantle to his hands. "I had hoped you could help him, but it was for nought."
He sighed and handed the mantle to Shanks. His eyes tired, and he looked so much older than he ought to.
So many unsaid words polled at the tip of Shanks' tongue, yet he held it. He didn't want to hear about Buggy from other people; it felt like a bitter taste in his soul to know something from other people who had been with the love of his life when Shanks was unable to.
He turned on his heels, and Sengoku called from behind. "Tell him my denden number is still the same, will you? Tell him Tsuru and I missed him so much."
Why should I, Shanks' heart whispered.
The mantle felt heavier as he left without a word.
Buggy had always been exceptionally good at concealing himself from the eyes of others. Ever since Shanks could remember, whenever they played tag, he could never find Buggy, no matter how hard he tried.
Buggy could easily find him, yet Shanks never could. He tried to search the entire ship once, even with Captain and Rayleigh's help, yet Buggy could never be found; only when Shanks surrendered did Buggy show up.
Buggy had always been exceptionally good at concealing himself from the eyes of others, so it was no wonder Shanks could never find him all those years ago. Yet he hoped, by making a name for himself, Buggy would find him, because Shanks knew that if Buggy didn't want to be found, no one would be able to.
"There you are."
Buggy sat on the stern, and Shanks reminisced it was one of his favourite places on a ship.
"I got your thing." He held up the mantle, and for a moment, a fire burned inside Buggy's eyes. It was not quite like the fire he had when they were younger, but it was still there, burning slowly.
The mantle quickly disappeared from his hand, burying Buggy's form like a lover's embrace.
A pang of jealousy spread inside Shanks' heart.
The sun had dipped low enough when his crew brought the mead and beer barrels. "Care to join us?"
"No."
Buggy's reply was curt, and Shanks was glad. The bluenette had always been curt when something was on his mind; it hadn't changed, and it tethered Shanks.
"I will be back."
Shanks had taken quite an amount of bottles with Benn's help and carried them to the stern, where Buggy sat, unmoving.
Buggy sat slightly to the right, hugging his knees. It felt weird to see Buggy like this; he reeked of melancholy, the one that had been for years and never truly gone, no matter how hard one's tried.
"Sengoku sends his regards," He said after he sat behind Buggy, looking at the bluenette's detached hands that trying to keep the mantle in place.
"I know," Buggy said after a long pause, mumbling under his breath. "That was why I sent you."
What's your relationship with him, Shanks wanted to ask. Lay your worries on me like you used to, where nothing and no one stood between us.
Shanks leaned closer, feeling Buggy close. It felt like it was supposed to be, having Buggy beside him.
"You could drop me off at the nearest island," Buggy's voice sounded distant. "My ride will pick me up."
"Don't talk nonsense, Bugs." Shanks almost raised his voice; he hadn't done that in years. "Everyone knew you now; it wasn't safe for you."
You are safe here, with me.
(Please don't leave me again.)
Shanks gave Buggy his room while he let himself loose on the deck, drinking until he vomited twice before drinking again.
It was late when Shanks stumbled in front of his room, opening it ever so slowly.
Buggy was on top of his bed, hugging the mantle yet again; he looked peaceful, and Shanks felt they were back at Oro Jackson, where they were closer than breath, sharing laughs and woes.
It was okay; Shanks still had time.
He had all the time in the world now Buggy was back; Shanks had all the time to hear his adventures, his favourite places, his favourite songs.
Shanks had all the time in the world to mend back their tattered thread.
Just as before Shanks turned to leave, Buggy whimpered in his sleep; he was tossing and turning, tears started to flood the bedsheet.
Shanks rushed to Buggy's side, cradling his head on his chest and rocking him. "It's okay; it was just a nightmare."
"Shanks?" Buggy's eyes fluttered open.
"I'm here, I'm here," He shushed Buggy, circling his thumb on his back. "It was okay, Blue."
Buggy was still trembling, his eyes unfocused. "Hold me, Shanks."
"What?"
Shanks misheard it, he was sure. There was no way Buggy told him to hold him.
"Fuck me, Shanks. I needed this."
Shanks fucked Buggy from behind. It was harder for him now that he only had one arm, yet he couldn't refuse Buggy, not when he presented himself so beautifully like this.
He had imagined their first time for years; from when they were teenagers and had to kiss under the stuffy blankets at night to avoid gazes until very recently when he saw Buggy again.
Shanks had imagined their first time for years; they would kiss again slowly until Buggy cried, gasping for breath. Then, he would worship Buggy's body, inch by inch, marking him as his, so no one else would even dare to glance at the bluenette.
Shanks had imagined their first time for years; where Buggy finally told Shanks he loved him, he had been for years, and nothing would separate them again.
Shanks wanted to kiss Buggy, to see his face, yet Buggy only granted him to see his back while his lover moaned on the bed.
But it was okay; now that Buggy was here, Shanks would never let him go again.
When Shanks woke up, Buggy was nowhere beside him, and something inside his chest shattered.
He ran to the deck, meeting Benn halfway, forgoing even a bedsheet to cover himself.
"You don't plan to flash us, don't you?" his first mate shot him a disapproval gaze.
"Where's Buggy?"
Benn huffed, dragging his cigarette. "He left before the first light. Heart Pirates took him."
"Why did you let him go?" Shanks grabbed Benn's collar, shooking him. "You know what he meant to me, Benn. How could you?"
Benn led him back to his room again. There was no sign of Buggy anywhere but the dried cum on the sheet and the tear stain on the pillow.
Buggy left him again, when Shanks thought everything was alright between them.
(But it had always been like that for them. Shanks always thought everything was alright between them, because it had to be.)
"You need to let him go, Shanks," Benn told him. "He had the eyes of a deadman, long gone before his time; it was not something you could fix, no matter how hard you tried."
"I could fix him," Shanks argued. "I'm good at fixing things, Buggy just needs some time to heal; I knew he would bounce back in no time, like he used to."
Benn was quiet, thinking. It was never good to have him be quiet for this long. "It had been more than twenty years, Shanks. People changed, and so did Buggy. Maybe he already died long before, and maybe you knew it too."
(It used to be Red and Blue, Shanks and Buggy. It should have stayed like that, even when the world was between them.
And yet, there was only Red, now. Half of him left that rainy day at Loguetown; nothing and no one could ever replace the burning scar in the shape of the blue-haired boy that had been a constant ghost in Shanks' life.)
(In the dead of the night, Shanks picked up denden mushi.
"Where's Buggy?"
The silence from the other side was deafening before Trafalgar Law's voice was heard. "He was sleeping."
"I need to talk to him."
"He didn't want to talk to you, Red Hair."
Shanks' haki flared; he was sure Benn would scold him later. "Let me talk to him, while I'm still talking nicely."
"Hear me this once, Red Hair." There was a rustling sound from the other side; a whimpering, a tossing and turning. "You are not the first, nor will you be the last. Last time, Bubu needed someone to take him down, and you were there. It was just that, nothing more, nothing less."
It was the first time Shanks wanted to kill people, to tear them apart and feel blood drenching from his fingers.
"It wasn't about you or what you did," He added. "It just you can't be the one person he needed and wanted; his heart was long gone, and there was nothing you could do about it.")
Notes:
I was on vacation, and I am writing this from my phone (because I was dumb to leave my laptop in my room), so I apologised for any errors and will fix them once I get hold of my laptop again.
Also while writing this I felt like this pining!shanks stories could have their own story (apart from this one-shot collection). Tell me about your thoughts!<3
Chapter Text
The first time she opened her eyes, all she could see was the vast ocean; the sparkling blue water as far as her eyes could see, the sound of gentle lapping of the waves rolled in one after another.
The sand was warm under her toes, and the salty smell of the sea was intoxicating; without hesitation, she walked towards the shoreline, letting the waves gently lick her feet.
Oh, how she fell in love instantly.
She was home.
"There you are, Clown."
A man she had never seen before appeared before her just after she emerged from the ocean and walked to the shore. He was tall and had broad shoulders with a scar across his face, and was dressed in expensive clothing, yet the smell of blood lingered from him from the golden hook on his left side.
Her blood.
"It was a goddess for thou, young man." She said, crossing her arms. The water still dropped from her blue hair, rippling beneath her; the man would have died in one wave of her hand, yet she was reluctant to do that.
He bore the Blessing of Vessel's mark, after all.
The man scoffed. "I have heard you were called immortal before, but I never would have guessed you successfully escaped from Red Hair's dagger to your chest."
Ah, is that how she died before?
"Now tell me," the man walked to the shore, close enough to see her close, yet far enough to not let the water touch him. "How did you do it? Disappeared like sea foam and appeared in this goddamn forsaken island, looking like a child?"
"Thou asked so many questions, young man." She flicked her hair. "What my previous incarnation have been doing, I wonder, to have such impertinent man as a vessel."
The man did not like to be called a vessel, it seemed, for he growled, low and dangerous.
"I would not repeat myself twice, Clown." He said. "Tell me how you did that, and I will even forgive all the slights you ever done to me."
She cackled loudly, and the ground trembled. Oh, how funny this man was! Forgive her, he said. Such a funny human, and to think her previous incarnation chose him as their vessel, no less!
"Oh, such a puny little man! Daring to threaten a goddess!" she walked to the sore, raising her hands. "I ought to punish thee, young man, lest a human thinks they are equal to me."
The seawater rose, taking in a form of an arm, and power surged from her hands. She swished her hand, and the seawater swiftly grabbed and lifted the man.
"Blame yourself on your arrogance, Crocodile the Saffron."
She dunked him in the ocean for hours, and the man did not cry even once; she had to give him some credit should he survive.
When the sun dipped below the horizon, the man had surrendered. His face was deadly pale, and his lips had turned blue.
She tossed him back on the sand. "Come to the house when thou are well enough. Just follow the stone path."
"Aren't you going to help me?" The man asked, his breath slow, and the arrogance had disappeared from his face.
"Why would I bother to help thee if thee are going to die from that?"
To his credit, he followed her to the house, albeit he walked slowly and had to stop once in a while.
When he collapsed a few steps before the door, out of pity, she lifted him and brought him inside.
She looked around the house; there were only a few pieces of furniture and a broken mirror near the wooden bed. It was more destitute than she initially thought. How many years this place had been abandoned, she wondered.
At least her shrine on top of the mountain was still in good condition.
Speaking of a shrine, a new wish just dropped inside it; a desperate wish, full of rage and asking for blood.
She opened her palm, and in a quick second, a knife appeared in her hand. It was not ideal, but she will make do.
She had a work to do, after all.
The man had woken up when she returned. Her only clothes had been drenched in blood, and from the mirror, she could see how horrible her hair was.
Quickly, she dropped the severed head of her newest hunt and stripped her dress, letting it pool at her feet.
"You really not him, huh." the man said, taking out a cigar and lit it, his hand shook ever so slightly. "I had hoped you would be Buggy, that he had successfully pulled out the greatest prank in the world, but—"
"Art thou close to him?" She asked, sitting in front of him. "My predecessor; thou said his name was Buggy?"
"Yeah,"
"What a distasteful name,"
"Is that not your name also?" He asked. "Are you not him also?"
His voice had a tinge of hope, yet she brushed it off.
"I had just said 'twas a distasteful name, boy." She crossed her legs, letting her drenched hair fall on her calves. "I am him, for the most part."
"Then, do you remember anything as him?"
She shook her head. "No. When gods die, they reincarnate; we share no memories of our predecessors."
"How do you know that if you don't share his memories?"
"No one taught thee how to breathe as a babe, yet thou knew; it was instinct, as simple as that. The same way I knew things even I shared no memories with my predecessors."
He exhaled his cigar, and the smoke obstructed her view; she couldn't see his face and expression.
The first light had not appeared, and she was quite tired from her little hunt.
"Thou ought to rest, boy. We will talk tomorrow."
She had taken a liking to her new vessel, who insisted on being called Crocodile. She liked the sound of Crocodile the Saffron more, to be honest, but she would never deny his wish to be called whatever he wished when he was alive. When he died, however, she had the right to call him whatever she wanted to.
Crocodile repaired the house and bought her dresses that were too gauche for her taste. She burned the dresses and kept the house.
"He was a coward," Crocodile said, taking yet another cigar not long after the last had been extinguished. "He was a god, yet why did he cower before someone and let himself be killed just like that."
There were many things that made gods willingly be killed, and she didn't know which one her predecessor chose.
(Being a god had many advantages, yet there were also disadvantages.
There were too many, in fact, and the most common was heartbreak.
It was easier to die and forget about anything; gods couldn't truly die, not really, but starting anew without remembering things that broke your heart was bliss.
In a way, maybe gods were cowards, too.)
Crocodile often looked at her with longing.
She knew it wasn't directed at her; she and her predecessor shared the same face, after all. They have the same hair and the same bright red nose.
While it was common for gods and their vessels to have relationships, she wasn't interested. She would have many new vessels in the future, she was sure, but even vessels died.
It would be better for her to treat vessels as their intended purpose; a tool for gods.
She worked alone every night.
It was better like this; Crocodile was still human, and bringing him was too much hassle. Instead, Crocodile was responsible for sorting out her spoils and offerings.
It was easier for him to keep track of treasure chests and other things she never bothered to see after she had acquired them.
"I need a new dagger," she said on the seventh day Crocodile was on the island. "The last one broke."
Crocodile sighed.
The new dagger was already on her bed in the morning. It shone brightly as sunlight hit the tip.
"Someone's coming."
Crocodile opened his eyes and quickly put on his hook when she barged into his room.
(She offered to him to fix his arm on the third day.
She had yet to receive an answer.)
"Marines?" He whispered.
She closed her eyes, letting her consciousness blend together with the wind. "No. It was a pirate ship. Their flag bore a skull with three scars across its left side."
Crocodile sucked his breath. "Red Hair."
Ah, the one who killed her predecessor. "He is the one, no?"
He put on his robe, tying it clumsily. "He was the one who killed Buggy."
"We ought to meet him, then." She said.
"To get revenge?"
She pursed her lips, walking out of his room. "No, silly. If this Red Hair killed my predecessor with a dagger, there was a chance the dagger was mine. I want something of mine to be with me, not with someone else."
"You are not going to get revenge, then?"
She stopped in her tracks and turned to him. "I had no intention of doing that. If he had a problem with my predecessor, it had been done when he died. I don't care as long as he wasn't doing anything to irk me."
"You are different from Buggy." He said, he looked so dejected it baffled her.
"I had told thee, boy. Each reincarnation of gods are different; there was never the same slab twice. Your Buggy had died, nothing and no one would ever be the same as he."
It was why she would never give Blessing of Vessel's mark to someone who was still alive; loose spirits were much better to manage, and they almost never talked back.
Notes:
This idea was loosely inspired by Noragami; gods died, but they could reincarnate again.
I have just finished my holiday and tried to work on your request; hope you will like this chapter because I certainly do.
Tell me what you think! :)
Chapter Text
If anyone asked Shanks when the moment he decided to pursue art, he would answer it happened on the eighth day of August, when he just turned six.
That day, his parents brought him to New World, visiting an old friend of theirs. Shanks, being six, had no choice but to be there. It was one of the worst summers he had ever experienced.
The weather was hot and humid, and Marco took him out of pity.
Shanks was never too keen on art, if he was honest. Papa seemed to enjoy it from time to time, but that was it.
Marco was older, and he was left to take care of Shanks while their parents talked; he shouldn't have to, but it was nice of him to think of Shanks.
"Do you like statues, Shanks?" Marco asked, and he remembered Dad talking about Marco pursuing art.
"Just so," Shanks said, shrugging his shoulders. Marco chuckled awkwardly, and Shanks felt guilty. "But I heard you had your first art exhibition?"
Marco beamed at him. "I do—well, it was my class' art exhibit; photographs, paintings, and statues."
"You make the statues, then?"
He nodded and turned the car left. "Me and three others. I wanted to take you there if you are interested."
Oh, so that was why he asked. "Sounds cool. Papa enjoyed paintings, maybe I could take him there to buy some."
Marco laughed, loud and vibrated inside the car. "You won't regret coming with me."
Shanks very much doubted it.
Shanks took his word back.
The art exhibit was the best thing he came across. It was unlike the boring art he found in the museum; the photographs were colourful, and the paintings were stunningly great.
(It was a plus that Marco's friends found him loveable and gave him candies. Papa would scold him later, but it was a problem for the future.)
"Where was your statue?" Shanks asked as he licked the lollipop. "You said you made a statue."
"Ah," Marco scratched his cheek. "They were on the back. Someone bought it along with some other things, and his mover will take it later."
"Is he rich?" Shanks asked, biting down on his lollipop.
"Eh, you could say that." Marco shrugged, leading them to the back. "Come, I will let you see the statue before the mover comes."
The back room was dimly lit; the floor was full of crates and styrofoam lying around. Some of Marco's friends carefully move something wrapped in styrofoam inside the wooden crate.
"My piece should be the last to be wrapped," Marco explained, taking Shanks further into the back room. "It was the biggest and the heaviest, so the mover will help us."
Shanks just nodded and trailed behind Marco until they entered another room, and Marco turned on the light.
"What do you think?" Marco nudged his shoulder. "You can see—but don't touch, please do not touch it."
Shanks walked to the centre of the room, where a half-nude marble statue stood; it was bathed in the soft glow of the yellowish lamp on the ceiling.
The statue was slightly shorter than Marco, Shanks guessed. Both arms were missing, and carved drapery covered the lower half of the statue; the face was attractive, and although Shanks couldn't determine the hair or eye colour, there was a distinctive feature in the statue.
The nose. It was round and smooth, and Shanks wondered if it was deliberate from Marco.
Shanks walked around the statue, trying to see more. The statue was leaned slightly to the right side, and the left leg was raised slightly.
"Well?" Marco asked from behind him. "What do you think?"
"I love the detail of the cloth." Shanks pointed at the drapery. "I thought it was real."
Marco puffed his chest proudly. "I'm glad you could appreciate it. It took me four months to make the drapery."
"Wow, it was really that long?"
Marco ruffled Shanks' hair. "Of course. I took even longer to convince the model, you know."
Shanks glanced at Marco; the man looked so proud of himself and his hard work, and his art was not a joke either.
The statue felt—alive, somehow, from the detail of the hair that somewhat tumbled like a waterfall, the eyelashes that softly touched the cheeks and the softness of the belly.
"Oh," something crossed his mind. "Is the model an omega?"
Marco chuckled. "How do you know?"
"The statue's body looked like a man," Shanks pointed out. "But the face was feminine, and the shoulder wasn't big like Dad or Uncle Newgate."
"That was a good point," Marco said. "But many omegas were not feminine nowadays. Time has changed, so don't profiling someone just because of their body, okay?"
Shanks just nodded.
It was late when Shanks and Marco returned.
He quickly ran to his parents, who were happy to see their son babbling excitedly about his newfound hobby.
"I want to be like Marco when I grow up!" Shanks decided.
His parents laughed at him, saying they were sure he would do great in everything he put his mind to.
Now, Shanks was a freshman at the art college, and his professor's first assignment was to draw a nude model.
Specifically, a model that he had seen once more than a decade ago in the shape of the statue from Marco's art exhibit.
His name was Buggy, and yes, his round nose was real and not one of Marco's jokes.
And, yes, Shanks might have a crush on Buggy.
Notes:
My friend requested younger!shanks and older!buggy then I want to write younger!buggy and older!shanks.
She won because she said add dash of omegaverse and imagine buggy as milf was something i could not pass.
If my work hours were kind to me this month, I might make a new story out of this.
Also, this story was inspired by art on Tumblr: Buggy as Venus de Milo, but I can't remember the tags I have been scrolling through or the artist. If you would be so kind as to know the art I have been looking for, please tell me so I can credit the artist for the inspiration and tell them:)
Tell me what you think and enjoy reading!<3