cross guild x perona x reader

Crocodile was lonely.

He never imagined he'd think something so pathetic, but these past few nights you only returned to your shared tent to grab clothes and toiletries, a few books and a tarot deck for your extended stay with the Ghost Princess of Thriller Bark. Of course you apologized—not that he needed it—and pecked him on the lips or his forehead, maybe more if he got his hook around you, but your excuse was, "The last woman she talked to regularly was a reanimated corpse."

Perona was a spoiled brat, in Crocodile's opinion, and she had you, Gecko Moria, and Dracule Mihawk wrapped around her finger, though only two of you would admit it. Yes, Crocodile would feel less neglected if his most constant companion of late wasn't Buggy. He'd sent Daz Bones off on business and sorely regretted it since Hawk-Eyes seemed to glower at a wine glass most nights, polishing off a bottle or two regularly since his former... roommate arrived at Karai Bari. If Crocodile knew anything about his other lover, it was that Mihawk savored wine for the taste, not the sensation.

So Perona had two strikes, in Crocodile's counting.

You were too conscious of looking like a kept woman to treat Buggy's Delivery like servants, always walking on your own two feet to eat your meals with the rest and often with Buggy; Perona had no such qualms. No one sighted either of you except for when you scurried on home to him for minutes at a time. Apparently the only other person allowed into the infernal woman's tent was Moria, who was too dense to realize his daughter in all but name was a grown adult and a menace.

"What do you want?"

Crocodile never needed to announce himself when he visited his fellow executive due to the man's eerie acuity, and it was early enough in the evening that Mihawk better not be in his cups already. He peeled back the tent flap with his hook and ducked under the entryway to see Mihawk set his book face-down, like you did, which stuck out as an odd habit for a man who was so careful of his other possessions.

"Dinner, here."

Mihawk exhaled. "Fine."

As with you, Crocodile could stay comfortably silent in the swordsman's company, though you were wont to silent gestures of affection while the two men kept their distance, still new to this dimension of their relationship. He accepted one glass of wine, if only to cut into Hawk-Eyes' supply.

"You trust that Ghost Girl." It wasn't a question.

"She's a better ally than enemy."

"That's what you said before." Before, when the Thriller Bark pirates docked at their shore, Perona floating ahead to plead her and her captain's case to the only person she knew: Mihawk. Their reunion was stilted and cold, Mihawk still as stone while Perona twitched as if she wanted to embrace him or sock him in the jaw, maybe both. When the executives broke away to discuss their possible addition, Mihawk only spoke to Perona's abilities, not Moria's, which left Crocodile to accept their fellow former warlord into Cross Guild.

"Is that not enough?"

Crocodile crossed his ankle over his knee. "Let me rephrase. Do you trust that Ghost Girl with her?" At that, Mihawk's golden eyes narrowed, but he didn't respond. "I'm indulging this because I trust my navigator, and I trust your word. But personally: what is Perona to you?"

They stared at each other, and the only indication that Mihawk was unsettled by the question was a slow blink, followed by a slow sip from his glass, and Crocodile followed the bob of his throat as the wine went down. Focus.

"A nuisance," Mihawk said at last. "A companion. Maybe a mistake, one I doubted I'd see again."

They were both proud men, so Crocodile knew such an admission was monumental. He wouldn't press. What he really wanted was you here, because you would. Mistake how? you'd say without hesitation. Or, Whose mistake? And you had a way of disarming, what some might call psychic, that Mihawk might just respond to.

"She isn't malicious," Hawk-Eyes continued. "Nor is she careless, despite appearances. I think," and it looked like it pained him to say it, "our girl could do her some good."

Our. Crocodile bristled at that, which Mihawk knew, given his minute smirk over the rim of his wine glass.

Perona wasn't his type, at all. Dainty as a knife's edge with poor manners, like a teenage boy, so he didn't understand how she enraptured two people he admired. You and Mihawk were quiet and wry, subtle and practical in all the ways Perona wasn't. Crocodile knew he was taken into your confidence, that you didn't wear your heart on your sleeve except to him, and the two of you were inching closer to that with Mihawk. On the other hand, Perona telegraphed her every emotion, often audibly, and you'd have to be an idiot not to know she was displeased with Hawk-Eyes.

"My turn," Mihawk said after some silence. "Is this jealousy disguised as concern?"

Jealousy?

When Crocodile said he was willing to share, he had two motives, the minimum for any move he made. He had your happiness in mind, borne of was that rare, creeping insecurity he could usually ignore: that he wasn't suited to emotional intimacy and it was a mercy to give you options. Then there was the selfish animal of him who wanted to see you from all angles, knowing every inch of you was his no matter who gave you pleasure; and that appreciated the beauty of another man, and was serious about wanting to see someone of a more reasonable size kiss you like you deserved. Unfortunately, the most reasonable choice seemed to be a woman just an inch or so shorter than you who floated a foot of the ground anyway.

Crocodile wasn't jealous, no. He feared he could never begrudge you your needs or even your whims, how little you asked of him.

"What's different between me and Perona?" Mihawk continued. "Or is it that she's a woman? Many men have the opposite preference, who they'd see their partner fuck."

Crocodile huffed a laugh, more an exhale through his nose. "I'm not most men."

In truth, Crocodile saw how... soft your Magician was, his waves of hair and delicate features, and your odd affection for Buggy, the clown blushing as you twirled his blue locks in your slender fingers in innocent contexts. Crocodile really was the outlier in your tastes, and however friendly you and Mihawk were, your bedroom activities were more for Crocodile's tastes than your own.

Could he really stand you wandering like he claimed?

He'd have to. He'd said so.

But.

"What about you? Are you like most men?"

It might have been a trick of the light, or the alcohol in his veins, but Mihawk's cheeks were less-than-pallid.

That meant yes.

It was very humanizing for the Navy Hunter have such a pedestrian sexual interest as in seeing two women—both beautiful, Crocodile could concede—in each other's embrace, but it was a bit too intrusive even for him. Part of him feared Perona's ability, the humiliation of it all, but if Mihawk could find his way back into her good graces, she might just let him.

Crocodile grinned into his wine glass.