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thebunnednun · 4 months

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Tempted to touch! Men of One piece x Fm! Reader (Multi Character fic)

Pairings: Ace x Reader, Shanks x Reader, Mihawk x Reader, Crocodile x Reader, Smoker x Reader

Synopsis: Can someone write like a lil thing for Ace, Shanks, Mihawk, Crocodile and/or Smoker or any One Piece character (secretly) seeing their S/O being able to whine (dance) and having crazy waist control (being able to bounce their ass without movin anything else)? 🧍🏻‍♀️

A little something for @mororona who gave me the prompt.

Use this song: Tempted to Touch by Rupee

I'ma also tag @fanaticsnail I know you're sick rn, and I hope this helps, I added ben for you! Plus you love dancing and this music.

As a caribbean latina, I couldn't resist.

On with the show!!~

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Ace

The ship's corridors echoed with the distant sound of music, drawing Ace's attention as he passed by [Name]'s room. His curiosity piqued, he couldn't resist the urge to investigate. Quietly, he approached the door and peeked through a crack. What he saw took his breath away.

[Name] stood before the mirror, bathed in the soft glow of the room's ambient light. They wore a simple tank top that hugged their curves and shorts that accentuated their toned legs. The music pulsed in the air, setting the rhythm for their movements. With each beat, their hips swayed with an otherworldly grace, their waist seemingly moving independently of the rest of their body.

Ace's jaw dropped at the sight. He had never seen [Name] like this before—so carefree, so alive. His heart skipped a beat as he leaned against the doorframe, unable to tear his gaze away. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, a mixture of amusement and admiration swirling in his chest.

"Damn," he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the music. He crossed his arms, feeling a rush of warmth spreading through him. "I never knew you had those kinds of moves," he thought, his mind buzzing with excitement. He watched in silence, savoring the intimate moment.

As the music faded into the night, Ace lingered a moment longer, committing the image of [Name]'s dance to memory. With a soft chuckle, he straightened up and continued on his way, a newfound appreciation blossoming in his heart.

Shanks

The Red Force sailed smoothly through calm waters, the gentle lull of the ocean providing a rare moment of tranquility. Shanks, ever drawn to the call of adventure, found himself wandering the deck in search of excitement.

As he strolled along, the distant strains of lively music reached his ears, beckoning him like a siren's song. Curiosity piqued, he followed the melodic trail until he came upon a secluded corner of the ship. There, hidden from prying eyes, he discovered [Name].

[Name] stood in the embrace of the sea breeze, their form swathed in a loose-fitting sarong that billowed around them with each movement. The soft fabric accentuated their every sway, casting shadows that danced across their skin like fleeting whispers.

Shanks, ever the playful observer, couldn't help but grin as he watched from behind a nearby barrel. His eyes widened in awe as he beheld [Name]'s dance, their waist moving with a fluidity that seemed to defy the laws of nature. Each motion was a symphony of grace and control, weaving a tapestry of enchantment that ensnared his senses.

"Well, well," he murmured to himself, his voice lost amidst the music's intoxicating melody. His heart quickened with a rush of excitement as he continued to watch, his admiration mingling with a newfound sense of desire.

As the last notes faded into the night, Shanks remained rooted to the spot, reluctant to break the spell that had enveloped him. With a soft chuckle, he finally emerged from his hiding place, his grin widening with each step.

"Someone's been hiding some talent," he remarked, his voice laced with playful teasing. He approached [Name] with a glint of mischief in his eyes, ready to share in the dance they had unwittingly revealed.

Mihawk

The courtyard of Mihawk's imposing castle was bathed in the soft glow of twilight, the air heavy with a sense of quietude that seemed to envelop the world in its embrace. Mihawk, ever the solitary figure, made his way through the shadowed corridors, his footsteps echoing faintly against the stone walls.

As he passed by a window, a flicker of movement caught his attention, drawing his gaze. Through the glass, he beheld [Name], bathed in the ethereal light of the setting sun. They wore a fitted top that hugged their curves and leggings that accentuated the elegant lines of their form.

The distant strains of music reached Mihawk's ears, a delicate melody that seemed to dance upon the evening breeze. And dance they did—[Name], with a grace that transcended mortal bounds, moved with a fluidity that spoke of hidden depths and untold mysteries. Each movement was a testament to their skill, their waist control impeccable, their every motion precise and mesmerizing.

Mihawk stood in the shadows, an enigmatic figure shrouded in darkness, his keen eyes fixated on [Name] as if they were the only star in a vast, empty sky. A rare smile tugged at the corners of his lips, a whisper of admiration that lingered like a wisp of smoke in the still air.

"Remarkable," he whispered to himself, his voice barely more than a breath against the canvas of the night. In that moment, amidst the quietude of his solitary vigil, Mihawk found himself captivated by the hidden depths of [Name]'s abilities, drawn to the allure of their silent dance like a moth to flame.

In the courtyard below, [Name]'s movements flowed seamlessly, each gesture a tantalizing blend of strength and elegance. The fading light cast long shadows that danced along with them, creating an almost otherworldly spectacle. As they twirled and spun, their eyes briefly met Mihawk's through the window, a spark of recognition passing between them.

For an instant, time seemed to stand still. The world outside the castle walls faded into insignificance, leaving only the unspoken connection between the two. Mihawk felt a stirring within him, an unfamiliar but not unwelcome sensation. It was as if [Name]'s dance had unlocked something deep within his stoic exterior, a flicker of warmth in the cold recesses of his heart.

[Name] continued their dance, unaware of the profound effect they had on the man observing them. Their movements grew bolder, more daring, as if sensing the intensity of Mihawk's gaze. The music swelled, and with it, the emotions that had been carefully kept at bay.

As the last notes of the melody faded into the night, [Name] came to a graceful stop, their chest rising and falling with the exertion. Mihawk remained in the shadows, his expression contemplative. He knew that this moment, this dance, had changed something within him.

Stepping away from the window, Mihawk made his way back through the corridors, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The quietude of his castle had been shattered, replaced by a new and intriguing possibility. The allure of [Name]'s silent dance had left an indelible mark on his soul, a mystery he was now determined to unravel.

Sir Crocodile

The echoes of Crocodile's footsteps reverberated through the empty corridors of his stronghold, the weight of his recent meeting still heavy upon his mind. As he neared his quarters, a faint sound reached his ears—a melody so delicate, it seemed to hang in the air like a whispered secret.

Intrigued, Crocodile followed the sound, his curiosity piqued by the mysterious allure of the music. It led him to one of the spacious rooms, where he found [Name] dancing in the soft glow of candlelight. They were clad in a stylish ensemble that hugged their figure in all the right places, accentuating the graceful arc of their movements.

Silent as a specter, Crocodile lingered in the doorway, his keen eyes fixed upon [Name] with a gaze as sharp as the blade of a scimitar. He watched as they moved with a fluidity that seemed to defy reason, their waist swaying with a skill that mesmerized him. Each movement was a testament to their prowess, a silent symphony of elegance and finesse.

A predatory smile curved his lips, a silent invitation lingering in the depths of his gaze. "Remarkable," he whispered to himself, his voice a husky murmur against the canvas of the night, a flicker of amusement dancing in the depths of his steely eyes.

[Name] spun gracefully, the light playing off their form in a tantalizing display, each motion drawing him in further. The candlelight caressed their skin, creating a shimmering halo that only added to their allure. Crocodile's eyes followed every move, every sway, as if committing them to memory.

With a silent nod of approval, Crocodile made a mental note to compliment [Name] later, in his own subtle way. But for now, he remained rooted in the shadows, content to bask in the intoxicating beauty of their silent performance. There was a predatory grace in the way he observed, a sense of possession mingled with admiration.

As the music reached its crescendo, [Name] executed a final, breathtaking spin, coming to a poised stop. For a moment, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of their breathing, the air thick with the lingering echo of their dance.

Crocodile stepped forward, his presence finally known. The movement was deliberate, almost languid, like a predator approaching its prey. "You dance beautifully," he said, his voice low and smooth, carrying a hint of the power and danger he wielded so effortlessly.

[Name] turned, their eyes meeting his, a spark of something electric passing between them. The dance had ended, but the night had only just begun.

Smoker

The ship creaked and groaned as Smoker made his rounds, the steady rhythm of his footsteps echoing through the corridors. His ever-watchful gaze swept over the decks, his stern expression softened only by the glow of his cigar.

As he passed a door slightly ajar, a faint melody drifted out into the hallway, luring him like a siren's call. Intrigued, Smoker pushed the door open a fraction and peeked inside. What he saw took him by surprise.

[Name] stood in the center of the room, bathed in the soft glow of lamplight, clad in comfortable workout clothes that hugged their form in all the right places. The music pulsed in the air, setting the rhythm for their movements. With each beat, their hips swayed with an otherworldly grace, their waist moving with a precision that defied logic.

Smoker's eyes widened in astonishment as he watched, his cigar dangling forgotten between his fingers. He took a long drag, the smoke swirling around him like a wisp of shadow. Despite himself, a look of admiration crept into his stern features, softening the hard lines of his face.

"Well, I'll be damned," he muttered to himself, his voice barely more than a whisper against the backdrop of the music. In that moment, he found himself captivated by the mesmerizing rhythm of [Name]'s dance, drawn to the raw power and grace that radiated from their every movement.

The way [Name] moved was a tantalizing blend of strength and elegance, each motion more hypnotic than the last. Smoker's heartbeat quickened as he continued to watch, his breath catching in his throat. He had never seen anything quite like this, and the sight stirred something deep within him, a mix of admiration and an unfamiliar, burning desire.

With a silent nod of approval, Smoker decided to let them have their private moment, content to linger in the shadows and watch from afar. But deep down, he couldn't wait to see the look of surprise on [Name]'s face when he casually mentioned it later, a secret shared between them like a hidden treasure waiting to be discovered.

As the music swelled and [Name] executed a particularly daring move, Smoker felt a smirk tug at the corners of his lips. He could already imagine the playful banter they would exchange, the way their eyes would light up with that spark of recognition. For now, though, he remained in the shadows, savoring the intoxicating beauty of the dance.

Benn Beckman

On a different vessel, Benn Beckman strolled through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Force, the hum of conversation and laughter from the crew fading as he ventured deeper into the ship. A faint, alluring melody reached his ears, drawing him toward one of the private rooms. Curiosity piqued, he approached quietly, the sound of music growing clearer with each step. Balancing a tray with a steaming bowl of soup, he pushed open the door slightly.

Gently pushing the door open, Beckman found himself captivated by the sight before him. [Name] was in the center of the room, their form illuminated by the soft, flickering glow of candles. Clad in cute pajamas that accentuated their every curve, they moved with an elegance that left him momentarily breathless. The rhythm of the music guided their motions, their hips swaying with a hypnotic grace that seemed almost unreal.

Beckman leaned against the doorframe, his usually calm and composed demeanor giving way to an appreciative smile. He crossed his arms, his gaze never leaving [Name] as they danced. The fluidity and precision of their movements spoke volumes about their skill, each motion a silent testament to their mastery.

His eyes narrowed slightly as he remembered something important—[Name] was supposed to be resting in bed, recovering from an illness. A mix of amusement and concern flickered across his face as he watched them, clearly defying orders.

"Adorable," he murmured, the word a low rumble in the stillness of the room. His eyes followed [Name]'s every move, a mixture of admiration and intrigue shining in his gaze.

As [Name] continued to dance, unaware of their audience, Beckman found himself drawn in more and more. The way they moved was enchanting, each step a perfect blend of strength and grace. The soft light played off their form, creating an almost ethereal aura that only heightened the allure.

When the music finally came to an end, Beckman stepped forward, his presence no longer concealed. "You dance beautifully," he said, his voice smooth and warm. "But you were supposed to be resting, weren't you?"

[Name] turned, surprise evident in their eyes as they met his gaze. Beckman’s smile widened, a hint of playful mischief in his expression. "Maybe you can teach me a move or two sometime," he added, the suggestion laced with a subtle challenge.

For now, though, he was content to let them savor their private moment, the memory of their mesmerizing dance a new secret they shared.

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I wanna add more characters later, Lemme know what characters you want! DM's are always open.

To be posted on the ao3 account soon.

Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help. I have a fic for almost everyone here in the master list. Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want.

I promise I bite~

Seen you soon my loves!!~ <<33

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introspectivememories · 1 year

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buggy who turns to shanks one night after they've reunited and says softly, with indecipherable look in his eyes and says, "i'm not in love with you anymore." and shanks, shocked beyond belief, heart aching with a want he didn't even know he had, with a need he hadn't even realized was there, thinks quietly to himself, i didn't know you ever were

#i mean like obv buggy is fucking lying to himself #but he hopes that if he says it to shanks' face he'll get over it #but honestly how do get over a near lifetimes worth of love #(you don't)#and shanks who didn't even know loving buggy like that was an option until buggy said smth is devastated #because of course he loves buggy. what else has been a constant in his life but buggy?#but he didn't realize that be /in/ love with buggy was an option. and shanks who has always taken buggy's words at face value #doesn't refute them. he sits in his heartbreak and tries not to mourn the loss of his love #benn and cabaji are so fucking sick of them #buggy the clown #buggy one piece #op buggy #shanks #akagami no shanks #op shanks #shuggy #shanks x buggy #one piece #1k

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rayraelleaizawa · 6 months

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You find out they have very sensitive nipples

TW: mild sexual content, Minors DNI

Characters: Shanks, Benn Beckman, Dracule Mihawk

Shanks

this guy walks around all day with his bare chest out, so getting to his nipples is an easy thing

you two were laying in his bed in the captain quarters, both of you panting from the wild love making you just did. You absently let your fingers trail over his chest while you two enjoyed the silence. His hand strocked over your side, keeping you close, as both of you basked in the afterglow. You then circled one of his nipples, and holy-

this man moaned

suddenly, unexpectedly, loud and deep

you looked at him in shock at the sudden noise, and he looked at you in a shocked and suprised way too

"W-what did you just do-"

He'd ask with a blush and tries to act like nothing happend, but you already noticed what was going on and are now smiling devilishly up to him

you pinch his nipple this time, and his whole body arches as he moans and yelps surprised at the same time

"That's it"

He says and grabs you and rolls you over that you're laying under him

"If you want to tease me that bad, you sure can have that"

Shanks is a man of his word, and he shows you that with another one, or two, or three rounds through the whole night

Benn Beckmann

You were sitting on Benns lap as he read the newspapers on deck

You and him both enjoyed the others presence, finding calmness and comfort with each other. And that is exactly what Benn needs after watching over his Captain and the other crewmembers everyday while also doing a bunch of tasks

He loves sitting with you and just relaxing. He's the king of quality time

You hum quietly to a tune in your mind and trace invisible patterns over his shirt, as you graze a nipple of his

His muscles tense at once and he makes a quiet and suprised groan

Tho he acts like nothing happened and just continues to stare at the newspaper

You on the other hand, trace over his nipple again, and again, and again, and you feel his body tensing more and more, and after some time he cant hold back his groan anymore and you feel goosebumps rising up your arms and back at the arousing sound he makes

You look at him stunned, you never thought he'd be that sensitive in that area, while he folded the newspaper together and laid it on the table. You just wanted to say something as he scooped you up and started walking with you in his hands under deck

"What, you think you can tease me like that with nothing incoming? I'll show you just how senstive your own body can be"

he grins as he says that, and just like his captain, he's a man of his word and makes sure to go over every inch of your body and find every sensitive spot you have and torture you with it

Dracule Mihawk

He is a stoic man

He won't tell you about his sensitive spots, he'll just make sure to please you in every way possible, but doesnt really care about himself, if he finishes with you he is more than happy

But just like Shanks, this man walks around with his bare chest and nipples on display for everyone to see

so one time, you just wondered if he also has sensitive areas. He always makes sure to stimulate you in every way, but you never saw anything that stimulated him except of the part between his legs

So, you were thinking if his nipples might be just as sensitive as yours

You walk up to him, knowing that a direct approach is best with him

He read the newspaper and sipped some of his wine as you came into the dining hall to him. You walked up to him and asked "Are you sensitive there?" and just softly pinched his nipple

You were shocked from his reaction to say the least

You figured that he might be senstive there like you are, but his reaction was way more intense than yours ever been

He gasps suprised and his back arches of the chair, his head falling back as a small moan escaped him at the end

You didnt know if you saw right just now, the Mihawk who only lets his emotions show in bed, and even then he seems to hold them back still, lost controll about his body so easily

You wanted to do it again, but he quickly grabbed your hand before you could reach his nipple again. He looked at you with a small blush

"Yes. I am sensitive there."

He answered you, and you already knew that you would use that knowledge against him the next time you two would get intimate

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sordidmusings · 8 months

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Give (in) and Take (me) - (Beckman x Reader)

Art by shibama_TK9

A/N: *Hasn’t completed a smut in weeks, comes back throwing a niche character at you to spread simpin for him like a virus* plz love him he’s great and while he ain’t my main I’d have nooooooo complaints in partaking 😩 tryin to give @fanaticsnail some morsels cuz the writing for this man is quite devastatingly scant. She also a whole sweetie and wrote me some perfect Buggy when she found out I was doing this. Obviously I am much slower 🥴🥴🥴

Word Count: ~8.7k

Warnings: fem!reader, NSFW, there’s some plot at the front and back, bratty reader, brat-tamer Beckman, he does the Nanami hair grab 👌🏻, semi-public, standing, against the wall, man-handling, clothed sex, p in v, creampie, praise, degredation, lots of teasing on both sides, age gap? (briefly mentioned, ~30 and late 40s), Beckman is a lil mean but don't worry he's Whipped, this some filth filth 🥴 whoops

Now please come enjoy prodding the big gruff man (who just wants to treat you right) until he snaps

(˵¯͒〰¯͒˵)

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

You’ve had enough of the raucous jubilation in the bar, especially now that you noticed your awaited opening unfolding before you. The rest of the Red Hair Pirates were fully distracted in their jovial whirling, hooting, and playing, leaving a certain silver smoke cloud all by his lonesome. You’d been dancing through his whisps all night, enjoying how they’d wrap and curl around you as you went. It was in their nature to do so. Each brush of a hand got a shiver and a sigh and a trailing stare. Each floated conversation was leaned into, breathed in, savored. Each departure was followed with the turn and lean of his chest, pulled to follow from the sure grip on his thumping heart until his doubts rooted him down and resisted the tug.

You were plagued by your own doubts, mostly of what the “after” would look like, but you were certain of one thing: he was attracted. Along with his need to entwine with your presence, you’d noticed the tell-tale sign of his gaze drawn to lips, neck, breasts, hips, and thighs. You’d noticed the hunger growing his pupils so they could better suck in your image on each glance. You’d noticed how he had to keep flicking his tongue out to wet his lips, mouth dry from restrained need. Most importantly, you’d noticed the way he had to shift and shuffle while he watched you dance, fighting the need to pull you away for himself to join and trying to flush the heat from his body. Whatever it was that was holding him in his seat and keeping his hands and lips and tongue off of you, you were going to drag him right through it until he was fully in your grasp.

First thing’s first, you retook your spot on the stool next to him at the bar. Immediately the smoke tendrils embraced you; your drink was scooted back in front of you, his thigh slid sideways to seek the brush of yours, a lethargic smile took residence on his face to greet you. You responded with a coy smile of your own and then a hearty gulp of your drink. The steady burn and potent taste of liquorice cutting through the muddled mint and lemon centered you and heartened you for your plan of attack.

“Thanks, Becks, glad to have you as my cocktail guard dog,” you said with teasing humor. You gave his thigh a friendly pat that crossed the amicable boundary with a lingering hold and gentle squeeze, before you brought the hand back up to give you another sip of your drink. The taste of touch on his thick muscle had it twitch in delight. Your mouth watered at the feel, not quite sated with alcohol on your tongue when there should be skin.

“Any time, darlin’,” Beckman responded easily and honestly. “Though I don’t think there’s any here who would do much to it. Much more likely one of the fools will steal it to drink for themselves.”

You laughed at the statement, knowing how true it was. When the crew was drunk they got sticky fingers, and when it came to drinks they were the worst - none quite remembering whose was whose and caring even less to get it right. Knowing where you wanted to try and get this night to go, you’d kept yourself far behind them in intoxication. You kept yourself right in the sweet spot of inebriated enough for that coveted liquid courage but not so much that you were out of control of yourself. Besides, if you got your way you didn’t want any of the details to be foggy.

“Even so, it’s appreciated,” you reasserted, giving him a winning smile and stalling his heart. “Now can I ask another favor of you?”

“‘Course you can, darlin’,” he replied instantly. Another cheer rang out in the background, followed by the beginnings of a long and loud drinking song. Beckman used this as an excuse to lean into your space to better hear and see you. “What can I do for you?”

You centered yourself more forward towards the bar, just to force him to lean in even closer to chase you, and peeked at him from the corner of your eye. The look mixed with your mischievous smile had him ready and eager to agree to whatever you had in mind. Not that he’d let you see how easy it was for you to sway him.

“Well…” you trailed off, just to make him squirm, “I can think of lots of things you could do for me. I’m having trouble picking my favorite.”

Beckman’s brows rose at the blatant flirting. Sure, you’d both thrown some flirtatious comments at each other throughout your relationship, but they didn’t feel anything like this. They felt easy, friendly - like something to build rapport and have fun. This felt so much heavier - a gift offered to him that was pulling the possibility of closeness from cloudy dreams down to the ground with the weight of the warm cast of the bar lights, the dark desire in your eyes, and the sultry tone of your voice. He began to recount how many drinks he’d had to check if he was imagining the advances he’d long wished for. Maybe he should check for you too.

“Darlin’, how many drinks you got in you?” There was genuine concern in the question, mixing with a touch of incredulity. You scoffed at it all.

“Not enough to lose my sense, thank you very much,” you answered. To snub his misplaced worries, you downed the rest of your drink. “That was only the fifth of the night, we’ve been here hours, and you know it takes much more than that to take me down.”

“That it does,” Beckmann conceded. The bare affection in his voice and eyes while he said it had you flushing, finding care much more difficult to process than lust. “Now my task?”

Yet again, you took to keeping him in suspense. Instead of answering, you slowly drew your gaze over him, assessing him. He fought against the small shiver it put through him; he felt like you were staring straight through his clothes. He felt like he was getting the most important appraisal of his life and all he had to go on was the burning in your eyes and your cryptic smile. You were doing a better job of reading him; while his expression remained perfectly schooled, you were observant enough to see his tells. Just as when he watched you dance, he shifted in his seat, working through the flush of arousal poured on him from his nervousness and having your eyes glued to him. Between the curtains of his wavy silver hair, you saw his Adam's apple bob with a strong swallow. He started lightly drumming on the bartop with his fingers on the hand closest to you.

Using that to your advantage, you made your next move. Doing it slowly so he could layer each second with his anticipation, you trailed your fingertips across the knuckles of his fidgeting hand, halting the motion. You flicked your gaze up to check in on his eyes. They mostly held confusion, but so so much interest was also packed into his silver irises. Happy with the reaction, you proceeded to move your teasing touch further, traveling over the back of his hand and his wrist to play with the soft hair on his forearm in deliberate circles. Though he was nearly bursting with questions, Beckman kept his mouth shut and resolved to let you lead this at your own pace until you finally decided it was time to reveal your hand to him.

“I’ve decided,” you started, finally breaking the silence with an alluring whisper, “that I want more than one favor.” You stopped watching your fingers touch him to look at him through your lashes. “And I know where you can start.”

Beckman blew out a long breath, hoping to settle down his heart, which was still jumping and kicking. You’re not drunk, but this has to be the alcohol. You couldn’t be propositioning him. Him. Maybe he’s just a curiosity? Perhaps you were interested in trying out an experience with an older lover who’s had more years to learn his way around a woman? Maybe, even though you could have your choice of any of the patrons, you found him to be the easy target.

“And where is that?” he asked, making sure to keep his tone steady.

“You can take me home.” You noticed the real shock in his gaze, and for the first time in the encounter a bit of panic seeped into you. Thinking quickly to soften the blow, you explained, “Don’t wanna walk home alone with even a little alcohol in me, and I know you’ll take care of me.”

“Aye, darlin’, that I will.” The honesty in his words stoked your courage back into a steady burn even better than the one brought on by the hard drinks.

Using the hand that had been trailing over his forearm, you loosely held his wrist, slid smoothly from your seat, and began leading him out of the bar. Beckman followed you easily. You didn’t have to put any pressure behind your hold on him; he wouldn’t let you get more than a step ahead of him. Even with his close hover, you both ducked and weaved with practiced grace through the chaos of your crew and the rowdy celebration they’d whipped up with all the other patrons. By the time you’d reached the entrance, you’d ducked three swinging fists, five drunken “dances”, two frisbeed hats, one flung fork, and a pair of tossed shirts.

The door shutting behind you sealed away the cacophony of the crowd, melding it with the comforting ambience of late night bugsong and strangers distantly living their lives. The outside world felt pleasantly chill and calm, especially in contrast to the atmosphere of the bar. The slight bite to the air only made the small contact between the two of you feel that much sweeter in its skin-to-skin warmth. Both you and Beckman sucked in a deep breath of crisp evening air to savor the moment.

Throwing a cheeky (and, to his worry, slightly plotting) smile his way, you began to head in the direction of the docks. You only made it about eight steps. The moment the alley between buildings opened on your right, you yanked Beckman into the shadows with you. He stumbled after you with barely a fight, continuing his emotional flavors of the night: confused, intrigued, and happy to be here. Once you fell past the full streams of light from the street lamps, you spun around to him and pounced.

You began by rooting him in place, fisting your hands tight into his shirt by his waist and stepping so close that your chests and stomachs and hips and thighs touched. You leaned up to place a kiss right above the point in his v-neck, relishing the heat of his skin against your lips. You shivered at the feeling of a twitch of interest against your lower stomach. His hands quickly found your waist and gripped. He worried the flesh under his fingers, earning his first quiet moan from you. It only made his grip stiffen, warring with himself between his disbelief at your advances and the rabid need to pull you closer and make sure you never stopped.

Beckman began to use his hold on you to ease you back from him. You responded with a frustrated whine and greedy hands. Those hands massaged their way across the packed muscles of his sides and chest before twisting in the fabric over his large pecs and tugging him down to your height. Taking advantage of the untouched skin now within reach, you kissed and sucked your way over his collarbone and up his neck.

His plan of retreat crumbled under your advance, leaving him to paw his grip down to the meat of your hips and try not to succumb to the fierce instinct to grind his aching cock against you. Your head spun with your rushing blood and skipping breaths. The whirl was spurred on by finally getting to know the taste of his skin, the feeling of his coveting hands keeping you close, the sound of his stuttering breaths morphing into panting. Now you just needed to spur him from receiving into action.

“Beck, touch me,” you whispered against his ear. He shivered fully from your lips and breath ghosting over him and filling his skin with addictive tingles. Losing his concentration, Beckman guided your hips in one long, sturdy grind against his straining hardness. You nipped his earlobe in appreciation. “I want you to touch me.”

“You’re drunk,” he weakly protested.

“We both know I’m not,” you shot back. Switching your methods, you crawled your hands up his shoulders, his neck, and into his hair. You led him with sweet and teasing kisses against his cheek and jaw, playing with the way his head always tilted to follow your affections in a wanting daze.

“You should look for another man to share your body,” he tried again, this time managing to sound assertive through the breathiness of his voice.

“Do you really want another man touching me?” you bit back at him.

“No,” he instantly growled. The mere idea had always put a pang in his heart but feeling your touch and hearing the words from you made it more real, and he was no match for the spike of angry possessiveness that overtook him.

“Good,” you cooed coyly, lips back against his ear, “because I don’t want that either.” You took a long moment to tease your nails against his scalp and nip the skin next to his pulse. He succumbed to another torturous grind against you. Each press of him gave you a better idea of what he was hiding and had your mind running rampant trying to figure out how it would feel splitting you open.

“I want you,” you moaned, pushing all the genuine need into your voice that you could.

“Come on, pretty thing, you don’t mean that,” Beckman stubbornly argued. He’d sound much more convincing if he wasn’t moaning the words out with his strained rumble, turning the statement into a plea.

“I do though,” you whined back to him, right below his ear where you were working hard to leave another pretty mark. For all his propriety fueled hesitation, Beckman was still leaning down so you could reach his neck and tilting his stubbled jaw away, pleading for more of your attention. “I do mean it.”

Your own desperation and his unspoken pleas for your touch fueled your boldness. One of your hands left his tresses to wedge between your pressed hips and grab a hold of him. A groan shook through his ribs, only encouraging your hand to press and feel more. His cock twitched and jumped under your slow strokes and palming, begging for your touch when he wouldn’t. His cheek fell to your shoulder and his humid panting caressed your neck.

“Pretty girl, if you keep touching me like that,” his speech was interrupted by a poorly restrained moan, “I’m not gonna be able to keep my head.”

“Then don’t,” you encouraged, voice rushed and ravenous and pulling him to the depths of his urges in his new favorite siren song.

Having felt him in your palm, you became set on getting to feel him skin to skin. You wanted to feel the power of the radiant heat that poured from him so strongly you both felt like you were burning through your clothes. You wanted to see what’s been hidden from you, become privy to secrets that will let your fantasies forever hold more reality. You wanted to know he let you have this piece of him, let you take his body and take control of his pleasure. On top of all of that, you wanted to feel, see, and know the thick hardness that was going to stretch you wide open.

In your rush, you only gave yourself time to trail a few kisses down his chest on your way to your knees. Beckman leaned himself back on the wall of the bar, opening himself up to as much of your touch as you would give. He still attempted to keep his defense under the siege of temptation, taking to opening and closing his hands at his sides to keep them from manhandling you. He wasn’t strong enough, however, to push you away. Each touch of yours was teasing him with the heaven he’d been dreaming of finding under your hands and in your body. Now having had a taste of your touch, It’d take nothing short of a gun to the head for him to break from anything you were willing to give. Doesn’t mean he won’t try to steer it so you’re taken care of the way he wants you to be.

He looked down at you, hypnotized by the radiant image of you and your styled hair and your decorated lashes and your smudged lipstick actually kissing him, treating him with the desire he thought impossible. His eyes had long adjusted to the darkness of the alley, blessedly letting him take in this image to hoard forever.

As your knees hit the dirt path, it hit him - alley. You were getting yourself dirty to touch him, basically in public in your rush, stuck in a location with only hard ground and stone walls for comfort. The realization had his cock throb hard, getting an eager moan from you where you were kissing along his length while your fingers made their way under his sash to find the waistline of his trousers. Fuck, this was a dream. It was a dream, but not the one he wanted for you where he takes his time worshiping every inch of skin, treating you like royalty, going slow so when he makes you cum it shakes you from toes to fingertips to the crown of your head-

“Darlin’, you deserve better than some back alley fu-”

“What I deserve is you; now let me have you,” you grumbled back to him, nosing his sash up so you could leave kisses and nips right above the hem of his pants. You inched them lower and lower, following their descent with your hungry mouth and savoring every new speck of skin you could. You got past the ridge of his adonis belt when you realized he had nothing on underneath them, making your mouth water with ever more anticipation. You could tell from the tenseness in his muscles, the tremors in his thighs under your clawing grip, that he was at the end of his rope. Centering a kiss on his happy trail, you looked straight up into his eyes and ordered, “Now fuck me.”

You were just about to get his pants low enough to let his painfully hard cock out to greet with a kiss when an angry hand took hold of the hair at the back of your head. It clamped in a fist and turned, taking absolute control of you. White hot adrenaline poured through your body, bursting fresh with each hard pound of your heart and stuttering your every breath. That iron grip jerked back, forcing you to crane your head back with it and look up at the imposing bulk of Beckman looming over at you.

“You want me to fuck you?” he growled dangerously, leering down at you with a growing scowl. Steadily he curled himself down until his nose bumped yours and you were sure you could see how the lighting and lust had turned his eyes from shining silver to dark stone. The light pulsing in your scalp was no match for the shadowed face and piercing eyes of Beckman taking over your every thought and dragging your heartbeat low to drum between your legs. “Fine. I’ll fuck you like the slut you’re set on being.”

“I’ll happily be a slut if it's for you,” you breathed out before you could think, sounding nearly in a trance from his sudden dominant behavior.

The declaration had his cock jumping and his knees weak.

“Darlin’,” he moaned, voice stretched thin by his taut, straining need. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

He surged down, stealing your lips in a bruising kiss, using his hold on your hair to control every tilt and press. Right away, you opened to each other, exploring the flavor of each other’s tongues and indulging in the tingles brought on by sliding the slick muscles over each other. You shivered and moaned when he flicked the point of his tongue on the roof of your mouth and he swallowed the sound down greedily. Never breaking his claim on your lips, Beckman hauled you up to your feet. The action set a pleasant burn on your scalp as you chase the pull of his grip. Your hands went back to work on getting his cock free, but he snatched them up.

“No,” he rumbled against your lips. “You’re just going to take what I give you.”

“Beckman,” you whined back to him between your continued fervent kisses, “let me touch you.”

“Sluts don’t make demands,” he snapped in a bitter taunt. Using his height to his advantage, he pulled out of the reach of your lips. He was still able to lean down over you and keep distance, forcing you to keep your head craned back with his fist in your hair and his gaze holding you hostage. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

“I want you,” you moaned in complaint. Though your voice was warbly with want, your tone was way too petulant to be considered begging. Even so, it was testing his resolve.

“You’ll have me,” he answered gruffly.

Before you could realize what was happening, you were flipped around and swapped, now facing the rough wall of the bar with Beckman right behind you. He had released your hair so he could trap each of your wrists to your sides. He kicked your feet to spread with heavy boots and settled eagerly against your ass. He anchored you against him by pulling on your wrists, keeping you trapped against his grinding hips. The height difference had him centered at the level of your tailbone. The feeling of having you against his cock was overwhelming, especially with the plush of your ass massaging at his sensitive balls. Quiet grunts accompanied each circle of his hips, always carried with the erotic sound of his heavy breaths.

You tilted forward and arched your hips up, seeking attention against your weeping entrance and swollen clit. The change had his dick nestle between your cheeks, the base of his cock and his tense balls giving you a small piece of the pleasure you were seeking. He stood just barely too tall for them to give any attention to your clit, causing you to shift and shimmy back into him in search of more. Despite the lack of direct stimulation, your body was still in a pleasant buzz; he felt large and heavy and hot against you and your mind was swimming in joy at how hard you made him. The open-mouthed groan you earned from him with your squirming shot enough pleasure through you to have your clit pulsing.

“On your toes, slut,” he ordered.

You listened without thinking about it and were rewarded with the new height lining him up much better to grind against everywhere you wanted him. Well - almost everywhere. Most of all you ached for him to massage you inside out, rub and dig into every slick plush space you could offer. Despite the burn already entering your calves, you tilted your ass up even higher to feel any extra speck of friction you could get from him.

Beckman’s grip on your hips was commanding, he owned your every sway and grind of your clothed cunt and ass against him. The skirt you were wearing was beginning to ride up with each thrust, exposing inch after inch of fresh skin to his hungry eyes. Both of you thanked your choice of garment as he used one hand to shove it up and over your perked ass to hang limply around your waist. It swayed and brushed your legs with each continued motion, hypnotizing Beckman for a moment.

That moment was broken when he instead looked at your ass, smooshed high and round with each grind, your underwear cutting sinful lines across the muscle, making your skin pop around the tension in the most mouth-watering way. It had Beckman moaning from deep in his chest again and thanking whatever lucky stars he had that let him have you in front of him like this. The sight mixed with the new heat from being just that much closer to getting to your bare cunt had a flurry of possessiveness and need overcome him. He nearly bowed forward to the strength of it, but fought the call so he could keep watching your body writhe against him.

You had no doubt you were sopping wet, more than enough to make his slide in slick. Each grind of him against you had your soaked panties dragging with him, causing sharp friction that was just on the right side of too much. You wondered faintly if you were getting his pants wet too, wishing you could easily turn and see to find out. You wouldn’t have been disappointed; a steady dark spot had built on his crotch from a mix of your leaking pussy and his weeping cock. You had gotten him dripping pre-cum the moment you began kissing down his chest. It had only gotten worse with each touch, his body desperate and ready to be inside you.

Suddenly, one of his hands and his hips disappeared from you, leaving you feeling lost. Before you could stop yourself, you let out a whining moan at the loss, sounding fucked out and pathetic without either of you truly being touched yet. The small coherent part of yourself marveled at the number he had done on you.

“Don’t you worry, pretty thing,” Beckman grumbled, half placating and half condescending. The sound of shuffling fabric clued you in to his missing hand’s task. “I’ll give you just what you need.”

His large fingers hooked into the sides of your underwear, guiding them over your ass until they fell down. Your slightly spread legs had them catch on your thighs and Beckman huffed at the inconvenience.

“Stay right there,” he rumbled in warning as he crouched down. He dragged the soaked cloth the rest of the way off, guiding you with gentle cues. The slide of his fingertips down your legs sent tingles across your skin, but the delicate hold he put on each ankle to ease them out of the garment had your heart thumping. In this process his touch switched from tyrannical to reverent, making your mind sing with hope. That song only hit a great crescendo when he peppered the backs of your thighs with sweet and slow kisses.

As he rose back up and shoved the ruined cloth in his pocket, Beckman broke you both out of his worshiping trance by giving a playful and slightly mean nip to your left hip. You let out a little yelp despite yourself and he chuckled at the reaction, finding it absurdly cute. You shivered again at the throaty sound, nerves too easily tweaked from your potent anticipation. It only got worse when his hips found yours again.

Both of you moaned at the feeling of finally meeting skin to skin, immediately addicted to the wet heat and heady throb of each other. You sent your hips high with renewed vigor, spurred on by the need to chase more of the feeling of his thick cock against you. You were right about him being thick and long; his grinds spread your folds wide, exposing your entrance and clit to the sweet friction, and he laid across the length of your pelvis. It let him see the leaking red head of his cock peeking out from between your cheeks, the filthy image making his eyes roll back and an involuntary moan of “fuck, darlin’” growl out of him.

Beckman hooked his right arm around your front, nestling it as close to the tops of your thighs as he could get. It let him use your hip bones for stability in his hold, saving you from your weight crushing the limb into your stomach. The anticipation of feeling your legs bounce against his arm while he fucks you had him salivating.

He curled his arm, pulling your lower back flush to his abs. It made him take your weight, the toes of your shoes just barely scuffing the ground when you pointed them. You’d seen his insane strength before, but feeling it used on you had your body lighting on fire along with your cheering mind. Beckman’s other hand slid from your hip down and in on your thigh, spreading and lifting your leg until he was holding the inside of your knee out to the side. It left your cunt exposed to him, each grind of his further mixing your arousal with the pre-cum spreading down his cock.

“Hold that wall and keep your voice down,” Beckman instructed, “Unless you’re such a whore you need an audience.”

You let out a complaining moan at the harsh words but still writhed eagerly against him, unable to deny how they had you fluttering in anticipation. Your hands found purchase on the stone wall in front of you, giving you a sense of balance and security in your barely supported upper body. You were close to it so your arms were bent, allowing you strength and leverage. The force behind his grinds had you sure you’d need it.

Slowly and deliberately, Beckman slid his cock from root to tip between your slick folds, threatening you with his impressive length while he made sure he was properly coated. He only stalled the movement when his thick tip found its way down to your entrance. Unable to help himself, he ground a tight circle around it, groaning out a deep “fuck” at the feeling of your cunt trying its best to suck him in. You let out another keening moan, sounding vaguely like “please”, at the realization that his head was the perfect width to stretch you out right to the edge of your limits.

Angling his hips just right, Beckman followed the catch of your entrance to start forcing his way into you. You were right about the size of him; only his mushroomed tip was in and you already felt like your hips were being pressed wider. His achingly slow sink into you let you both feel every overwhelming bit of contact, every delicious rub of soaked skin on skin. Your mouth hung open, letting out appreciative moans, even though your attempts to hold them back left them clipped and jumbled.

Beckman had to shut his eyes and scrunch his brow to handle all the sensations flooding him. You felt so goddamn perfect wrapped around him. He felt somewhere in his being that you were made to be here with each other and force bliss from your pounding hearts and bodies. He finally fell to the call to curl as close to you as possible, his temple rested on yours, his stubble teasing your cheek, and stray gray hairs sweeping down to tickle your skin.

“So, so good, darlin’,” he praised breathlessly. He made it another inch into you, offering your cunt more firm flesh to clamp down on. “You feel better than a dream -nnngh- got the perfect pussy for me.”

An unrestrained moan tumbled past your lips at his praise, brain too empty and body too happy to care about anything anymore other than him and the feelings he brought out in you. The cheering and music from the bar was loud enough to lightly leak through the walls, so you wouldn’t have worried too much about attracting attention anyway.

He hadn’t prepped you any, but the abundant arousal sitting in your body so long loosened you up and made sure there was more than enough lubrication for him, especially with the addition of his own. His torturously slow press into you helped your body make room for him too. In fact, your pussy was so eager to open for him he felt like your walls were trying to suck him in quicker as they quaked and trembled around him. It made it near impossible to resist the urge to shove as deep into you as he could go, needing the hot grip of you around his aching cock and the pleasure of your plush ass and thighs pressed tight against his hips.

When he finally got there, you were both shaking and gasping. Your head felt light with the amount of bliss swimming through you at finally having him like this, held tightly in you while you shared your bodies. It also helped that he had you feeling so deliciously full; the press of him was potent enough to spread through your sides and up through your chest. It was the biggest stretch you’d taken but his size was just perfect, like he was built just to fit you and you him. The weight of his thick cock rested down towards your stomach, primed to massage your every favorite nerve.

“Just like that, darlin’,” Beckman groaned, starting his first pull back out of you. He continued with his slow speed to make you feel every ridge and vein in detail. Your favorite was the rim of his head dragging across your swollen walls. He sat that head just within your entrance and paused. “Bein’ such a good little slut.”

Right at the end of his praise, he shoved forward to fully sheathe himself back in you. The force of the thrust pressed the air from your lungs, creating a breathy moan, and gave you a taste of pleasure that had you certain that no matter how long he fucked you, you’d always want more of this potent bliss. You could live like this, fucked the rest of your life, just so long as he never stopped taking and touching you. He continued the strong and steady pace, needing to savor every second in your cunt, memorize every twitch and flutter. It had you whining, mind fraying under the threat of how much more he could give you.

“Beckman,” you moaned in frustration. “Give me more, I -ahhh- I need it.”

A punishing thrust had you feel him in your throat and your eyes rolled back in time with your high pitched moan. That moan turned into a rough whine when he stayed sat fully inside you instead of continuing. To tease you further, he began tight circles against you, making his pulsing cock play with every inch of your cunt, earning him a tight clench from you. This tantalizing rub continued as he moved to nip at your ear lobe.

“What did I say about making demands,” he warned, rumbling the words right against your ear. The puffs of his breaths shot goose bumps up your neck. He tilted his head down to tease his teeth over the flesh and continued his maddening little circles against you. With one leg trapped in his grip and the other barely reaching the ground, you had almost no leverage to work yourself back against him. Your abs burned with the effort as you tried to use your grip on the wall to stabilize yourself and grind back, but his iron grip was much stronger than any of your attempts.

You sobbed out a few needy moans at his continued meticulous playing with your body. Though you wanted so much more right away, that steady press of him waking up every inch of your insides was starting to build a pit deeper in your stomach than the one you were used to. Your mouth watered at the thought of what a full body high it could bring you but it felt so far away and you wanted to be smothered in pleasure now.

“Beckman,” you whined out, catching the way it made his breath hitch over your skin. “More, harder.”

Nothing changed and you were stuck spread open and suspended and at the mercy of his whims. It was the most deliciously frustrating thing you’d ever experienced, being forced to take the slow treatment. It made your body and mind agonize over every little sensation, every pulse and throb, every inch of you he reached that you’d never felt before. It made your ears take in the obscene sound of the little motions of his cock pushing drop after drop of your arousal out of your entrance to drip down his balls and your thigh. You flushed at how graphic it sounded, ears, face, and neck burning, especially with your combined heavy breaths and mixed moans and groans.

“You’re gonna have to try much harder than that, pretty little thing,” he goaded. You could hear the taunting condescension in his voice and you cursed the fact that it made your pussy spasm around him. The twitch of his cock that it earned inside you swelled your desperation to feel more from him until it swallowed your pride whole.

“Please,” you gasped, near truly sobbing in need. “Pleeeeease, fuck me harder, Beck, fuck me faster, please, just -hhhah- just need more.”

Beckman sucked harshly on your neck and set about answering your pleas. He changed right to fucking you fast and hard, making you yelp at the immediate flood of sensation. Your thigh and hips jumped in his grasp as you tried to take the onslaught. Every nerve in your pussy burned in the most beautiful way, emptying your head of any thoughts other than Beckman working your body into a quick frenzy. His teeth, lips, and tongue were decorating the sensitive skin of your neck; his hands and arm were clamped, making you feel blessedly trapped; his torso hovered on the back of yours, giving you brushes of his hard working muscles in motion; and his cock - his perfect cock - was bullying you open over and over and lighting every quaking inch of you ablaze.

Through your panting breaths and scattered moans, you could hear the wet slap of his hips against you, each impact making a little more arousal gush out of you. Being spread as you were also let his heavy balls tap against your clit with each hard thrust, ensuring every wired part of your pussy was seen to. You could barely form words but you were sure he caught the slurred praises you sent his way from how he echoed them back and kept adding more and more heat, pressure, grind, suck, and drag on you at your breathless moaning.

Stuck on the start of the encounter, he kept repeating a favored phrase to you - “So good, darlin’, such a good fucking slut”.

“Your slut,” you panted, “only -hnngh- yours.”

The pledge of ownership had his eyes rolling back and his mouth more ravenous against your skin. He needed to keep you locked to him forever, be on your skin forever, brand you as his, and have you mark him as yours.

“That’s right, darlin’,” he rasped, “only mine.”

He dropped your suspended thigh in favor of sinking a bruising grip into your hip. Your thighs clapped together with a wet smack, forcing a yelp from you as it jolted your clit. He placed an apologetic kiss on your shoulder and got right back to his tempo. The deep pressure he’d built with his deliberate grinding was now added to by every thrust, creating a shaking warning of the orgasm to come that sat from hip to hip and up to your ribs. It felt like he was fucking you just as deep, each drive of his cock seeming to replace the beating of your heart in your chest.

The new dancing on your toes had your calves, thighs, and abs working in sporadic clenches and twitches, the jerks and shifts causing pulses around your clit and into your trembling cunt. The new position made him feel all the wider as it let your labia relax around him and light up with delicious friction on each thrust in and pull out. The squeeze of your legs and muscles also put constant pressure on your clit, which Beckman would jostle with each forceful fuck into you.

All of it was getting to be too much and you were happily drowning under the rising tide of that threatening orgasm. It was swimming through your body so thoroughly you were sure you could feel each strong thrust pull pleasure from your very bones. Every piece of you that lived between your hips felt blinding white hot and pulsing and alive and so so very good.

The cherry on top of your euphoria were the pieces of the feeling you could hear echoed in Beckman. His voice was deep and groaning but also strained and fucked out as it whispered dark praises against your neck and shoulder. His breath was ragged and just as desperate as his touch, which was trying its best to permanently attach to your skin. His aching cock was just as responsive as your trembling pussy, dripping and twitching and jumping with each move and touch of your body.

Responding to the telling grip of your cunt clamping down constantly around him, Beckman slowed his pace slightly, focusing instead on the strength of each thrust and keeping his angle just right to drag you to your end. It accented the sound of each strong clap of his hips into yours and brought back clarity to the feeling of his thick cock spearing you. Your mouth hung open, panting and watering from the change of pace and unending pound and pull of him fucking your cunt into the shape of him.

“Beckman, Beckman, Beckman -ahh!- so cloooose,” you cried, voice thin and desperate. He cursed and moaned in response, the sound of you nearly making him lose himself and cum before you. He kept his pace pounding into you, each firm fuck lighting up your tightening walls and bouncing through your swollen folds and thighs to drum on your clit. Your head was swimming; despite your fast and canting breaths, you felt like you couldn't breathe, the air escaping you with each thrust beating a needy moan from your open mouth. The burn for oxygen only added to the tightly wound pleasure gripping you from throat to cunt, clawing tightest from your hips in, held steady between his sturdy hands.

Your toes and fingers tingled numbly in anticipation and shook just like the rest of you. Instinct tilted your hips just a degree higher, letting the tip of his dick tap just so against your cervix, ramping the overwhelming build even higher than you thought possible. Your moans yelped out sharper and higher amid sobs of “don’t stop, don’t stop, pleeeeease”, making Beckman groan and curse in his own mind-numbing arousal and frantic fight not to cum first.

A few more thrusts blazing across your cunt and shaking deep in your gut had the tension finally burst. You felt it first in the shot of electricity from your clit down to your toes and up to your buzzing head, before the tight pulse of your muscles took over everything. You writhed and shook against Beckman as he held you like a lifeline, trying desperately to fuck you through every second of heaven you could feel instead of following you over the edge. Each jerk and clench of your body gave you more and more bliss, the squeeze of you so tight and sure that it felt like there was only room for Beckman’s large cock in your body.

He couldn’t manage to pull even an inch out of your cunt, too weak to deny himself the bliss of feeling you cum, so he guided you through with shallow but heavy thrusts. Each tap on your cervix swelled you more and more until you weren’t sure if you had already cum or there was something else building on the other side of this endless screaming song in your nerves. Your answer came with the feeling of a snap that switched your cunt from long pulses into frantic milking down on Beckman’s jolting cock. Each squeeze was powerful enough to cause a full jerk and shudder of your hips, having you slip and grind in Beckman’s clawing hold on your hips.

“Fuck, darlin’, sweetheart, fu-uuuck, you’re too good, too much -ngah!- so goddamn perfect,” Beckman moaned out a stream of mindless praises while he shoved his forehead into the side of your neck, your only anchor in the torrent of sensation ripping through your body. After an eternity, your muscles and nerves began to relax, leaving your body feeling limp and heavy in the wake of your pleasure. You were positive nothing worked anymore except for your clit and cunt, both still drooling and twitching over Beckman’s shallow thrusts. You were thankful your closed legs kept the attention from overstimulating you fully. Beckam felt your body relax, getting an addicting sense of pride from fucking you into a limp puddle, and finally took to chasing his own pleasure.

“Need to see you,” he gasped, flipping you around and desperately pressing his twitching cock back into you. He shuddered at the relief, feeling ravenous and untethered every second he couldn’t be inside you. All his sanity was now held in the taste of your skin, the pleasure in your voice, and the sweet clench of your plush cunt. Pressing your foreheads together, he made it impossible to look anywhere but at each other. Even in the low light that managed to sneak between the buildings with you, Beckman’s silver eyes glowed while taking you in. The color looked sharper pressed thin by his lust-blown pupils and you were hypnotized as his gaze swallowed you whole.

Seeing the needy scrunch of his brows and the way he switched back and forth between clenching his jaw and hanging his mouth open to moan freely sent fresh sparks straight down to your clit. Having your legs spread around him had his racing thrusts teetering you on the edge of overstimulation, but it was well worth the sight and feeling of him rabidly chasing down his pleasure in your cunt. He was mindless and rutting in his need, enjoying your sopping heat contrasting with your nails scrabbling for purchase on his broad shoulders. The hug of your thighs around his waist kept him close and added to the wondrously tight clench of you that seemed to spread over his whole body. He was so, so close he just needed one little nudge.

“Beckman, please, need you -hahhn- need you to cum in me,” you begged, tone broken from all your moaning.

He was kicked right over the edge, barking out a deep “fuck” at the power of the orgasm shredding through him. He jerked his lips down to yours, holding you in an open mouthed kiss full of tongue and teeth and groans. He shoved himself as close as he could get to you, trapping you near painfully tight against the stone wall with his pressing bulk, demanding lips, and throbbing cock. His dick jumped hard with each pump of hot sticky cum deep in your cunt. It warmed you inside out and mixed with the heady knowledge that you’d completely unraveled this imposing man to unexpectedly drag you into a milder orgasm of your own. Each heavy jerk of him helped guide you through your own bliss, bodies working in perfect synch to have every pump answered with a coaxing squeeze. It kept you both suspended in your mindless heaven until you’d wrung every bit of pleasure from each other that your bodies could possibly give.

Beckman was certain that you’d sucked his very soul from him if the numb and clumsy feeling of his body was anything to go by. It wasn’t ready to listen to him, acting like it belonged to someone else and he supposed that was true; it was yours now. You’d held his heart a long time and his mind even longer, so it was only fitting that you owned his body too.

You didn’t seem to be doing much better with being in charge of your body, eyes half-lidded and lashes fluttering against the need to close. You were a vision - your foggy and affectionate gaze glued to him from under dark lashes, the flush tinting your sweat-damp skin, your lips parted and kiss-swollen, hair a wild crown around your head, decorating your face with stray strands. He studied and admired the image of you fucked-out and languid with eagerness and reverence. You were doing much the same, enjoying his mussed silver waves of soft locks, his gently shining eyes, the hints of red on the apples of his cheeks and his chest, the heavy rise and fall of his sculpted shoulders as he tried to catch his breath.

The sound of a drinking song spiking high in volume snuck through the wall and shattered your illusion of privacy. You were both suddenly back against the side of the bar instead of whatever pocket world you had carved out for just yourselves. Beckman continued to hold you steady as he slowly let your tired legs down, your skirt following after to hang back in place. Your legs shook under you like it was your first time standing and you laughed at their clumsiness. Beckman cracked a loving smile at you, stealing your breath and halting your chuckles. Again the melody within the bar seeped out to you clearly and you laughed even louder this time when you recognized one of Shanks’ favorite tunes. While he tucked himself away, Beckman raised a brow at your cackling until he recognized the song too and added his own gentle laughter to yours.

Looking him straight in the eyes, you fought to sing along properly through your bubbling giggles.

“I took that lass and smacked her ass

Said darlin you’re comin’ with me”

He took your hips and pulled you to him, guiding you in the closest to a swaying dance that your uncooperative legs would allow. He quietly joined you on the next lines, treating you to the deep and raspy parts of his voice that lived in his chest.

“Ain’t got a hall but we’ll use the wall

Just give me an hour or three”

“What do you say, darlin’?” Beckman asked with humor dancing in the light reflections in his eyes. There was a seriousness underlying his tone in his next question, however. “Willing to give me a few more hours?”

You gave him a sweet smile but turned it coy, your attitude sneaking back as your mind stabilized. “You’ve got one to convince me to keep you.”

Beckman huffed out a laugh at your bite coming back and leaned down to kiss your forehead affectionately. He took a moment to rest his cheek atop your head, breathing in the smell of your shampoo, delicately tinged with a touch of sweat and sex. It had him shiver and start to twitch back to life. Slowly, he trailed kisses from the top of your head to the tip of your ear. His warm breath made you shiver and begin to heat again as well.

“Sweet darlin’,” Beckman mumbled, lips tickling the rim of your ear, “I’ll have you back to begging for me in half the time. Gotta show you that I don’t just know how to fuck; I can worship.”

#beckman x reader #benn beckman #one piece #thirst hours #benn beckman x reader #beckman x you #beckman x y/n #x reader #fem reader #one piece smut #benn beckman smut #x reader smut #my writing

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jintaka-hane · 24 days

Text

A Visit to the Infirmary

Masterlist

Img by Buffoland

This is a gift for the lovely @akagami-no-laney 🎁!! I like Hongo thanks to you, and when I went to look for more content about him, I saw there was very little! So I decided to write this. I hope you like it! 💕 Summary: You've fallen in love with the doctor aboard the Red Force. In complete denial of your feelings, you think it’s best to avoid him for a while until the feeling passes. But a terrible pain in your back will force you to pay him a visit. Word count: 3000 Notes: Love in denial. Flirting. Confessions of love. Use of 'Darling' and 'Doll'. Reader is a brat. Beckman is a saint. Hongo doesn't really know how to approach you, though in the end it seems like he manages to 🤪. I have no knowledge in medicine, so everything here is pure fiction XD.

"Dammit, Beck!!!" you roared as you kicked and flailed in the air, landing futile punches on the immense, wardrobe-like back of the first mate. "Let me go!"

The tall man's grip tightened as he carried you over his shoulder, his face serious and stoic as he strode determinedly towards the ship's infirmary.

"Scream all you want, Darlin’, but we’re going to see Hongo whether you like it or not."

“NO!” you protested, writhing with renewed intensity. “NOT HONGO! PLEASE! I—I’ll do anything you want! I’ll… I’ll get you the finest cigarettes at the next port!”

Beckman chuckled and shook his head, clearly amused by your desperate efforts to escape.

"BECKMAN, I’m serious! Let me go!! I-I swear that… that… OUCH!!" you twisted in agony as a sharp, searing pain shot through your lower back.

Your captor halted immediately, noticing how you contorted in pain, and gave you a moment’s respite as he tried to ease you through the surge.

“Darlin’,” he spoke softly, one hand moving to your back and rubbing it gently, “you need help… and he’s the only one here who can give it to you, do you understand?”

You nodded, closing your eyes and gripping his shirt tightly, enduring the wave of suffering as best you could.

You had been dealing with unbearable pain in your lower back for days. You didn’t know what caused it—whether it was some bad posture, the fall when you climbed down from the lookout, or the time you landed hard on your backside going down the ship’s ladder. Whatever it was, you must have injured something, and the pain, coming in waves like stabbing knives, was horrible.

Stubbornly, you had tried to let it pass on its own, avoiding asking anyone for help and steering clear of the infirmary. Yet your walks on the deck, face twisted in pain and hand pressed to your lower back, hadn’t escaped the ever-watchful Benn Beckman. Guessing your reluctance to see the ship’s doctor, he had kept his distance and observed you from afar without asking questions, but, as he watched your condition deteriorate further, he decided it was his duty to act.

“Hongo’s a decent doctor. Give him a chance,” he said, turning his head over his shoulder to look at you with his concerned gray eyes.

The problem wasn’t whether Hongo was a good doctor. You knew full well that he was competent and professional. The real issue was that he was also kind, tall, funny, and undeniably attractive.

That, and the fact that you were maybe… probably, a little bit in love with him—an insignificant detail, as you were fighting it, convinced that maintaining the right distance would make the feeling pass and spare you from a possible broken heart. All you had to do was avoid him and act like a brat when he was around, and everything would be fine. You were as certain of this as you were that your back pain would eventually subside on its own.

BAAAANG!!!!

The infirmary door swung open with a deafening bang as Beckman kicked it harder than intended, his hands fumbling as he tried to grab hold of your increasingly elusive body.

“Sorry, Hongo,” he said, noticing that part of the doorframe had splintered.

“Oi, Beck,” Hongo said without turning around, completely unfazed by the door’s loud crash as he meticulously washed his hands in the sink. “I see you’ve convinced y/n to come and see me.”

“That’s not—” you began to say.

“YES,” Beck shot you a reproachful look as he carefully set you down on the floor. “She’s a smart girl and understands what’s best for her.”

You tried to speak, but his hand covered your mouth, stopping you in an instant. His cold eyes bore into yours as he mouthed the word “behave,” leaving no room for argument.

“Perfect,” Hongo said, turning around with that disarmingly charming smile that always had a hold on you. “Welcome to my office, y/n.”

You held his gaze for a moment, noting the way his eyes crinkled kindly beneath the scar that ran down his temple. His tall figure stood straight before you, broad shoulders framing a muscular chest that his shirt merely hinted at. He picked up a small white towel and dried his hands with a delicacy unusual for a pirate, the thought making you feel slightly uneasy. Unable to maintain his gaze any longer, you looked away, taking in the ship’s infirmary for the first time.

It was surprisingly tidy and well-organized. Shelves lined with neatly arranged medical supplies and herbs occupied one wall, while a sturdy wooden table in the center held a pristine array of bandages, ointments, and surgical tools. Alongside, a set of syringes was neatly displayed, and a patient examination table, covered with a fresh, white sheet, stood ready for use.

“Do you need me to stay?” Beckman asked, unsure of what to do.

“Yes—”

“NO—” Hongo said at exactly the same time.

Beckman’s gaze flicked between the two of you, perplexed.

“I’ll be outside if you need me,” he added, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and placing it between his lips.

Shit.

You watched him leave, casting a murderous glance his way, and as soon as the door closed, Hongo’s gaze locked onto you again, his smile lingering as he took a step closer.

“So…” he began, halting when he noticed you flinch and step back, “you’ve had a sharp pain in your lower back for days, haven’t you?”

Of course, that bastard Beckman had told him.

“Maybe,” you replied nonchalantly, avoiding his eyes.

“And you didn’t come to see me until now, why?”

“It’s not that bad.” You shrugged, the careless movement causing the pain in your back to flare up again, but in a wave you managed to endure with dignity.

“Uh-huh…” he paused briefly, examining you. “Let’s take a look, okay?”

He took another step forward, this time slow and deliberate. “Can you lie face down on the examination table for me?”

Your gaze flickered to the examination table before snapping back to the doctor.

“Absolutely not,” you said, staring at him with a defiant look, your arms crossing tightly over your chest as you stood your ground.

Hongo’s expression shifted instantly, his gaze narrowing, sharp and calculating, with a hint of something predatory.

“Very well,” he muttered, kicking aside a stool that stood in his way as he moved toward you, “then by force”.

You swallowed hard as you realized your back was pressed against one of the shelves on the wall, and as soon as you saw his menacing figure lurking closer, you scrambled for cover behind the wooden table. You clutched its edge and dragged it to shield yourself, causing several bandages, bottles and ointments to scatter across the floor, some breaking open and spilling.

“Eeehm, do you need help!?” Beckman’s raspy, concerned voice came from the other side of the door.

“No!” Hongo bellowed as he charged after you, his eyes fixed on you and ignoring the mess on the floor. “No need for help! We’re behaving like two perfectly normal, civilized people!”

He moved along the right side of the table while you quickly circled to the other side, moving as fast as your body allowed. As he reached out to grab you, you twisted to evade him, but a sharp, agonizing pain shot through your back, spreading to your hips and down your thighs. Your legs gave way under the intensity of the pain, and just as you began to collapse, Hongo caught you in mid-air, preventing you from hitting the ground.

“I’ve got you…” he soothed, his usual tenderness reappearing as he held you tightly against his chest, unwilling to let you go until the pain subsided. “I’ve got you…”

You buried your head in the crook of his neck, sobbing and swallowing your pride, and you stayed wrapped in his arms for a few minutes, until he felt your body gradually relax as the pain started to ease.

“I’m going to take you to the exam table now, alright?” he said, feeling your head nod against his neck.

“You know…' he helped you to sit down, "you must be made of steel, because in all the time you’ve been with us, you’ve never come to see me…” his fingers danced lightly along the edge of your shirt. “Can I examine you?”

“NO.” You swatted his hands away immediately.

"Alright, alright..." He smiled, rising his hands in surrender. "Let’s focus on your back, then." He gestured with his finger for you to turn over on the examination table. "Can you lie face down, please?"

You glared at him, chin tilted defiantly, your stubborn streak ready to surface again. He raised an eyebrow, catching the rebellious glint in your eyes.

"Face down, Doll. NOW." His voice radiated such strength and authority that it made it clear who was in charge.

With a dramatic roll of your eyes, you gave in, knowing full well there was no choice but to comply with your doctor’s orders. You turned over on the table, and the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through your back, forcing you to moan and press your face into the soft, white sheets. Hongo’s fingers ghosted over your back, right at the spot where the pain was the worst.

"It’s right here, isn’t it?"

You nodded, surprised at how efficiently he pinpointed the exact source of it. With your head still buried in the soft, cushioned surface of the table, you heard the sound of a stool being dragged toward you. You turned your head to see him, but instead found his knees and the tops of his thighs, legs set apart.

"Okay…" you heard him muse, his voice soft, calm, and steady, “... intramuscular analgesia”.

His left hand rested on your lower back, applying just enough pressure to keep you in place, while his right hand deftly prepared the cotton and antiseptic. As he turned his torso, his defined abs peeked above the waistband of his pants right before your eyes, making you turn your head to the other side, exhaling sharply.

"Don’t worry Doll, I’ll be gentle…" he said, assuming your reaction was just a fear of needles, nothing more. "I need you to lift your skirt and lower your underwear, please"

You didn’t respond. You just lay there on the examination table, motionless, your heart pounding in your chest. The pain in your lower back was unbearable, a relentless, gnawing agony, but the thought of Hongo standing behind you, asking to see your ass, was somehow worse.

"Come on, Doll…" he tried to encourage you in an even softer voice, "be a good girl for me."

This time, a surprised chuckle escaped your lips. Never in a million years had you imagined hearing those words from him, and a warm flush crept up from your neck, staining your cheeks. You hesitated, hands trembling as you slowly lifted your skirt over your hips. Your fingers fumbled with the waistband of your panties, and as you exposed the soft, vulnerable skin of your ass, you felt Hongo shift slightly on the stool, his breath catching.

“... Hongo?”

"Yes," he cleared his throat with a hint of self-reproach. "Please, keep your ass up."

The tension in the room was suffocating.

The sharp scent of antiseptic saturating the air, the weight of his gaze on your exposed skin, and that last command... It was too much. You had to say something, anything that might unsettle him and tip the balance just a little in your favor.

“Tsk, tsk, doctor, you can’t just pull down a girl’s panties and say 'ass up’ without, you know, a little courting first, can you?”

He let out a snort of laughter, and the sound made you smirk, proud of yourself, though not for long.

"Oh, Doll..." His fingers brushed against your skin, tapping with the cotton swab soaked in alcohol. "You know I've been wanting to court you for a long time, don't you? But it’s hard to do when you’re always running away from me."

Your heart raced again, this time even faster as you processed his words. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to get up and run out of the infirmary. But unable to do any of that, you simply turned your face away, squeezed your eyes shut, and tried to focus on anything but what he had just said. He stifled a sigh, noticing your distress, and prepared the syringe with measured precision.

“Okay, here we go,” he said as the needle pierced the skin with a sharp, clean sting that made you gasp. “Good girl, you’re doing really well…”

His hand was steady, his movements deliberate as he slowly injected the analgesic into your muscle. He noticed how tightly you were gripping the sheet on the exam table, and unable to bear seeing your discomfort, he slipped his free hand beneath yours, and interwined his fingers with yours.

“That’s it, hold on a little longer…”

You focused on his words, letting the rhythm of his calm, measured breathing soothe you, and as soon as he finished, he withdrew the needle and turned away to dispose of the syringe.

“Try to rest a bit until the medication takes effect,” you heard him say as he rose from the stool and moved away to give you space.

With your face still turned to the wall, you pulled up your underwear, feeling that the pain in your back hadn’t disappeared yet but was fading, leaving you with a fleeting sense of relief. Then, you slowly sat on the exam table, surprised to find you could do so without wincing.

From that angle, you had a clear view of the infirmary, and saw Hongo kneel on the floor to clean up the mess you had made in your frantic attempt to escape. You watched him quietly, his back hunched and his shaved neck bowed, carefully working to pick up the spilled liquids and shards of glass, taking care not to cut himself. A sigh escaped you at the sight, as you felt the stubbornness in your heart giving way to something warmer. You decided to moved closer and crouch down beside him.

“Is your back feeling better?” he asked as soon as he noticed your presence nearby.

“Yes… ,” you said softly, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor. "Thanks."

“Anytime.”

You felt his gaze on you as you concentrated on the task, sorting the broken jars and glass shards into a bag. You worked side by side in a silence that, strangely, didn’t feel uncomfortable, and you wished it could stay that way. But when your hands brushed against each other and you withdrew yours, he spoke.

“Why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you,” you replied without looking at him.

“But you avoid me…”

You remained silent, grabbing a rag and scrubbing it vigorously against the floor, feeling a knot in your stomach grow larger and larger.

"Look at me," he said, stopping you as he placed a hand on the crown of your head, guiding it to face him. "Isn’t a ship’s doctor good enough for you?"

You shrugged off his hand and stood up abruptly, trying to hide the mixed feelings on your face.

“It’s not that, Hongo, it’s… it’s complicated.”

He quickly rose to his feet to match your stance, his eyes locking with yours with a hint of pleading in his expression.

“It shouldn’t be complicated… actually, it’s very simple. At least for me, loving you is as simple and natural as breathing.”

His words pierced your heart like arrows set aflame. He might have tended to your back, but his gaze and his words were leaving your mind and heart reeling, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

“You love me…” You closed your eyes, and pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling your heart weary from fighting.

“Of course I do… You know I'm crazy about you.”

You opened your eyes to meet his gaze, his face calm yet sharply attentive to your reaction.

"I just..." you trailed off, your eyes darting between his, "need a little more time to sort out my feelings and make things... right."

He held your gaze for a moment, letting your words sink in, before nodding with a reassuring smile. Then, he raised his hands, palms open, in a gesture that seemed to take in the entire infirmary.

“I’ll be right here.”

You returned his smile. It wasn’t going to be very hard to come to terms with your feelings if he kept acting like this. Discarding the dirty rag you had been holding into a bin, you turned and walked toward the door, feeling as though you were leaving a piece of your heart behind.

"I’d really like to see it again, you know? Though, maybe under different circumstances…” he said as your hand reached for the doorknob.

“See what?” you turned to look at him, hoping that whatever he said next wouldn’t be too out of place.

"That beautiful ass."

Bastard.

Your heart betrayed you as you felt oddly flattered, having to suppress a smile.

He was a pirate after all.

“Oh, Hongo,” you looked at him with pursed lips, “I can’t believe it. Where’s your professionalism?”

“Trust me, I’ve been plenty professional,” he playfully placed a hand over his chest, a hint of feigned indignation crossing his face. "I’ve had to stop myself from giving you a smack, and believe me, I’ve really wanted to.”

"Ugh!!" you huffed, exiting the infirmary and slamming the door behind you, bumping into Beckman, who was waiting in the hallway.

“How’s it been, darlin’? Feeling better?” he asked, looking at you with his deep gray eyes.

With a smile you could barely hold back, you pulled him into a hug, rising onto your toes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. Then, you brushed your fingers along his chin before continuing down the hallway, leaving him momentarily stunned. The infirmary door opened, and Hongo leaned against the doorframe, watching you walk away.

Just before you disappeared from their sight, you responded over your shoulder.

“Much better!”

............................

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @armiliadawn @pandora-writes-one-piece <3

#hongo one piece #hongo #hongo x reader #hongo x you #hongo op #benn beckman #one piece #one piece fiction #one piece fanfiction #x reader #jintaka stuff #red haired pirates

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softonshanks · 1 month

Text

Real man

Word count: 2100 Characters: Shanks x female reader Plot: Everybody always had the time of their life on the Red Force at night, but Y/N tonight seems sad, even if she usually dances all night. The crew is concerned about her behavior and Shanks tries to investigate: he finds out that she is heartbroken because her boyfriend left her. He tries to console her: one day the right man, a real man, will come and love her as she deserves. But what if he's that man?

Author’s note: Honestly? I’m in love with how this turned out, but I am mortified about the length. Words just kept flowing out of my fingers and I couldn’t stop. I hope you enjoy this as much I enjoyed writing it, even if it’s a bit sad. Also, there are references to a bit of age gap (imagine late twenties – early forties), I hope no one will be concerned or offended. Let me know if you like it and as always, english is not my first language, so I apologise if something is wrong.

The deck of the Red Force was alive with music, laughter, and the clink of tankards filled to the brim with rum. The crew swayed and stumbled in time to the music, their voices raised in raucous cheer. It was a scene Shanks had orchestrated countless times before—a night of celebration, letting loose under the stars, sailing with nothing but freedom on the horizon. But tonight felt different. Y/N sat apart from the crowd, her back against one of the ship’s sturdy masts, knees pulled up to her chest. Her gaze drifted over the crew as they danced and shouted, lost in their revelry, but her heart wasn’t in it. She clenched her tankard in both hands, staring into the dark liquid inside it as if it might hold some answers, something to make her feel better and fill the hollow ache inside her.

But it didn’t.

“Oi, Y/N!” Yasopp called from the center of the party, swaying slightly with a grin on his face. “Where are you hiding? You’re the true queen of parties!”

Shanks was beside him, his arm slung lazily over the sniper’s shoulder, his laughter booming across the deck. “She’s probably nursing that drink,” Shanks called out, his voice teasing. “Last time she got lucky, but deep down she knows she can’t outdrink me!”

“Still can’t accept that you are not the best drinker on the ship, eh Shanks?,” Benn teased him, as he took a long drag out of his cigarette.

That had been the game—Y/N and Shanks facing off in drinking contests, him always so sure that he’d win, and her always proving him wrong. Despite her small frame, she had a resilience, a fire inside her that burned bright enough to match his. But tonight, that fire was dim. Y/N forced a weak smile and raised her tankard half-heartedly in their direction, but she didn’t get up. Yasopp caught the look in her eyes, his grin fading slightly, and nudged Shanks in the ribs.

“Something’s off,” Yasopp muttered, lowering his voice. Shanks watched her more closely now: the tension in her shoulders, the way her gaze kept drifting out to the horizon instead of to the party. He’d noticed it earlier, how she had been quieter, distant, her usual sharp retorts and bright laughter absent from the night, but he thought it was just a moment, a sudden tiredness that had momentarily slowed down her tireless spirit.

He crossed the deck, his noisy flipflops on the wood, stopping just in front of her. She looked up, eyes glassy with unshed tears, and tried to smile again, but it faltered.

“Mind if I join you?” Shanks asked, his voice softer now.

Y/N shrugged, scooting over to make room. He sat beside her, his larger frame casting a long shadow over her. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the noise of the party feeling oddly distant despite being just a few feet away. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “You should be out there,” he said, nodding toward the party. “Dancing. Drinking. Outdrinking Yasopp and me of course, even though I’ll never admit it.”

Y/N managed a small smile but didn’t turn to face him. “Not tonight, Captain.”

Shanks frowned. He wasn’t used to this side of her. Y/N was always the one pulling others out of their funks, the one who lit up a room with a laugh that could make even the most serious men crack a smile. He hated seeing her like this—quiet, withdrawn, a far cry from the lively woman he had grown to care about far more than he should have. Shanks tipped his head back, looking at the stars, then glanced sideways at her. “So,” he began, keeping his tone light, “you planning on moping all night, or are you gonna tell me what’s got you looking like Benn stealing your last glass of rum that time?”

She let out a short, humorless laugh and shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing if it’s making you sit out a party,” Shanks said, nudging her with his shoulder. “Come on, spit it out.”

Y/N bit her lip, her fingers tightening around the tankard. For a moment, she hesitated, unsure if she wanted to let the words spill out. But Shanks was patient, his presence warm and steady beside her, and finally, she sighed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Jim broke up with me,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible above the wind.

Shanks raised an eyebrow. “That idiot? I should’ve thrown him overboard the first time I saw him”. He tried to keep his usual calm tone, but his voice was hardening despite his attempt to stay calm.

Despite herself, Y/N let out a small laugh. “He was… charming. At first.”

“Charm doesn’t make up for being an asshole,” Shanks said bluntly. He paused, his tone shifting into something more serious. “Would you like to tell me what happened?”

Y/N hesitated, then sighed again, looking down at her hands. “He said I wasn’t enough for him. Said I was too… childish. That I didn’t know what it meant to be in a real relationship, not serious enough for true commitment. Said I wasn’t worth the trouble.”

Shanks’ face darkened, a rare flash of anger crossing his features. “He doesn’t know a thing about you. You’re better off without him.”

“That's perfect, 'cause he dumped me,” she said, her voice cracking just slightly at the end.

Shanks knew Y/N had been seeing this guy, a merchant, if he remembered correctly – in one of the port towns of the Island they were staying. Tall, good-looking in that clean-cut, boring sort of way. He had never liked him, though he hadn’t said anything to Y/N about it. He watched her leave the ship when they had free time, saying she was going to see him. For two months straight, he always greeted her with a smile, but his feeling were a different story. She’s young, he used to tell himself. She’s just like you when you were younger, she should be having fun. You are just her old captain. Let her be.

Now, knowing what had happened, he felt a surge of anger. He wished he had told her sooner that he knew that guy was no good for her. But the inability to tell if his instinct were right as usual, or if this time jealousy had won him over, forced him to stay silent. Shanks felt a hot burst of fury in his chest. He clenched his jaw, trying to keep it from showing, but it was there—sharp and sudden.

“That idiot doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about,” Shanks said, his voice rougher than he intended. “He’s blind if he can’t see how lucky he was to be near someone who is joufyll like you. If he can’t handle you living your life on your own terms, then he’s not worth the salt in his veins”.

Y/N’s lip trembled, and she looked away quickly, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I know, I just… it just feels like… like maybe there’s something wrong with me. My parents used to tell me too, you know” she said, making the alcohol in her glass dangerously move. “You’re too loud,” she tried to emulate the disappointed tone of her mother’s voice, after having chugged all she had in her glass. “You can’t take life seriously,” she repeated once again, feeling her mother’s stare on her. Y/N took the half empty bottle of rum Shanks had in his hands, pouring the dark liquor in her tankard once again.

Shanks felt a pang in his chest, seeing her like this. She was always the one laughing, teasing, strong in a way that made the world seem lighter just by being in it. Seeing her doubt herself—seeing her hurt like this—made him want to punch something, or better yet, find that merchant and make him regret ever crossing her path.

He wanted to maker her feel better again, so Shanks tried for levity, leaning back on his elbows with a sigh. “Sounds like you dodged a cannonball to me you know,” he said, his voice dipping into that easy, familiar drawl. “Can you imagine? Spending your life with a man like that? He’d probably make you wear fancy dresses and drink tea at noon. You'd be already asleep at this hour”.

Y/N let out a snort of laughter, despite herself, but it quickly turned into a quiet sob. She pressed her hands to her face, shoulders shaking, and Shanks’ heart twisted in his chest. He hated seeing her like this—so small, so vulnerable. He placed a hand on her shoulder, his touch light but firm. “Hey,” he said, his voice gentle now, the teasing gone. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have joked about it. You know me, I can’t take life seriously either,” tried to joke once more.

She shook her head, lowering her hands from her face, smiling to him through tears. “No, it’s not that, I’m fine”, she explained, watching the look of concern growing on Shank’s face. “Seriously, I’m fine. I knew it wasn’t going to last, I just…” she stayed silent for a second, trying to gather the right words. She tried to catch breath, trying not to hate herself more than she was already doing. First, the thing with that idiot, now this: crying in front of her Captain, looking so weak and so…so ugly, with her eyes red, the snot coming out of her nose, the puffy face. She started slowing down her breath, but this was just too much so she let another deep sob escape her.

Shanks’ hand lingered on her shoulder for a moment longer, then slid down her arm until their fingers brushed. He hesitated, torn between the urge to comfort her and the gnawing uncertainty that had been eating at him for weeks—his feelings for her, the tension between them that he had tried to ignore. Shanks felt a knot tighten in his chest. Of course, that dumbass wasn’t worth it. The man was a fool for leaving her, for not seeing what Shanks had seen in her all along. But how could he say that? How could he tell her what was really on his mind?

He didn’t trust himself to speak, so instead, he took her by the arm, leading her away from the noise and the crowd, past the cabins and down the stairs toward a quiet corner of the ship where they wouldn’t be disturbed. She followed without protest, though her mind was racing. She had never seen Shanks so serious, so intent on something.

Y/N sat down the last step, Shanks let go of her arm and ran a hand through his red hair, exhaling sharply. He leaned against the wall, staring at the ground, his brow furrowed as if he was struggling with something inside of him. She was young and despite her fierce independence, there was a fragility to her that he didn’t want to break. He knew the kind of life he lived wasn’t fair to someone like Y/N—someone who chose this life, but indeed deserved stability, safety, a love that didn’t come with a price.

He took a deep breath, his gaze searching hers. “Y/N,” he began, his voice rougher than he intended, “you deserve better than some fool who can’t see how amazing you are. You’re strong, you’re smart, and you’ve got a fire in you that no man should ever try to snuff out. You will hurt tonight, but tomorrow you will be fine, and it’s okay. But trust me, please, you don’t have to change for anyone,” the words come quick, like a cascade out of his mouth.

Then, he placed his arm around her shoulders, keeping her close to him. His chin resting upon her head, her face buried in his chest. Y/N breathing slowed down, finding comfort and warmth in Shanks’ arm. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and vulnerable, and he felt something break inside him as she quietly whispered something that made him freeze. “I hope I will meet someone as kind as you”. She absent-mindedly let it slip, her brain incapable of being as sharp as it usually was. Between all the emotions she was feeling, all the sadness bottled up inside trying to come out, she wan’t as attentive as always. Shanks couldn’t keep this up—this careful distance he had been maintaining, this charade of just being her captain and friend. Not when she looked at him like that. But he had to.

“Why does it hurt so much?,” she asked, loosening her grip.

“Because that’s what we do: we feel things,” he told her, feeling uncomfortable as she started slipping away.

“Tell me that it does get better,” she begged him, wiping a tear off her face, in the vain act of regaining some dignity. “Tell me that when you grow up you will feel like you know it, like you have it all figured it out”.

He feels a soft smile coming through his face.

“No, it does’t”, he realveas passing his now-sadly-free-hand in his red hair. “It’s just a fucking mess, but trust me, it’s beautiful. It won’t be better, but it will be worth it”.

Shanks starts to move slowly towards the door, about to go out, in desperate need of air or, even better, another drink. He needed to go away, before he’d say – or worst, he’d do – something stupid. Y/N stayed there, smiling and thinking about his answer. As soon as she notices his movements, watching him as he tries to leave, she feels a new wave of sadness hitting her.

“Come back?,” she asks with a wishper, hoping it will be loud enough for him to her her. He turns around, smiling at her softly once again. She signs him to come closer, but he reassures her. “I’ll be here in a few seconds, I am just going to grab something to drink for both of us, alright?,” he asks her, incapable of controlling the tenderness in his voice. She nods and sits on the ground, waiting for him. “Shanks,” she calls again as he takes a step back, once again. “Can you steal a cigarette from Benn for me?” asked, still her voice shaky. He let out a soft laugh, raising his thumbs at her.

Shanks stepped out of the cabin and closed the door softly behind him, taking a deep breath. The weight of the air felt lighter out here, away from Y/N’s sorrowful gaze, but the ache in his chest didn’t lessen. He ran a hand through his messy red hair, shaking off the vulnerability that had started creeping in while he comforted her. Who would have thought this was were this night was going: he thought that he could just get drunk and have with her and the crew what they usually do but no, that idiot had to break her heart and now there she is, crying and aching, while he tempts to console her, carefully trying to not let his feeling take the best of him.

"Alcohol. Need some alcohol," he muttered to himself as he came on the deck again, the clamor of voices suddenly filling the air.

“Oi, Captain!” Lucky Roux called out from where the crew had gathered. His cheerful face was now lined with concern, and the others around him were equally somber. “How’s Y/N doing? Is she alright?”

“Yeah, we saw you and her heading under the deck before,” Yasopp chimed in, leaning against the railing, arms crossed. “What’s going on with her? I told you something was off tonight”.

Shanks sighed, stopping in his tracks. He could feel the weight of his crew’s eyes on him. His men were like family, and they cared about Y/N just as much as he did. Keeping things from them wasn’t really an option. Still, this wasn’t something he wanted to dive into.

“She’s... well, it’s about that boy she’s been seeing,” Shanks said reluctantly, scratching the back of his neck. “Broke things off. Hurt her pretty bad.” The crew’s reactions were immediate. Yasopp let out a low whistle, “That bastard,” Roux cursed under his breath.

They were all pissed, Y/N wasn’t just someone on the ship, she was like their little sister, and her pain was their pain. It had been a year now since she joined their crew. Since that moment, they all felt like the fun and laughter, the alcohol and the joy, had doubled – she worked some trick on them, making them feel as if they were all back in their late twenties.

Roux clenched his fists. “We should teach him a lesson. No one messes with our crew, especially not Y/N.” Shanks held up a hand, his tone even but firm. “No need for that. It’s over. And she needs time, not more trouble,” explained, as Y/N’s heartbreak had become the crew’s problem now, too.

As the others turned to leave, Benn Beckman approached, leaning casually against the doorway, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. His eyes were sharp, more knowing than most.

"Shanks," Benn called softly, making sure no one else could overhear.

“Oh you were just the one I was looking for, I need a cig,” Benn raised his eyebrow confused, as Shankes added also his matches in his request.

“It’s for her,” he explained. Benn gave him what he needed, shaking his head with a soft smile, thinking about the first time Y/N confessed him she didn’t smoke, she was just endlessly smoking her last cigarette.

Shanks and Benn had been friends for so long that words weren’t always necessary—but when they were spoken, they were always heavy. He stopped and met Benn's gaze. "What are you going to do about it?"

Shanks knew exactly what Benn was asking. He wasn’t talking about getting Y/N this cigarette or offering her some comfort. He was asking about the truth Shanks had kept buried for so long. The truth about how he felt about her.

Shanks' smile faltered for a moment, a rare crack in his usually carefree demeanor. He shifted his weight, feeling the familiar flutter in his chest whenever he thought about Y/N as something more than just a crewmate. He rubbed his thumb along the rim of his glass, his tone softer now. “Nothing she needs right now,” he replied, looking off into the distance as if that might provide some clarity. “She’s hurt, Benn. She doesn’t need more complications”. Benn’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t press further. He understood Shanks better than anyone, even when the red-haired captain didn’t fully understand himself.

Shanks sighed, feeling the weight of Benn’s words but knowing there wasn’t an easy answer. “She’s hurting now,” he continued, “The only thing I care is to make her feel alright as soon as I can”.

“And what about you?” Benn asked, his voice a low murmur, almost swallowed by the sound of the waves against the ship. “When will you be alright?”

Shanks didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on the closed cabin door where Y/N waited for him. “She’ll be alright,” he repeated, turing away to head back to Y/N with a bottle of rum in hand, the truth hung heavy in the air between them, unspoken but undeniable. Benn watched him go, the cigarette still burning between his fingers, his eyes knowing and weary. He knew Shanks could lie to the crew, and maybe even to Y/N. But lying to himself? That was another battle entirely.

She’ll be alright and it will be worth it, Shanks repeated himself, softly smiling. When he returned, Y/N looked up at him with those same tear-streaked eyes. And for a brief moment, as he sat down next to her and handed her the cig, he wished that for just once, he could tell her everything. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not when she was already broken. So instead, he smiled, taking a long swig from the bottle, and mentally vowed to stay by her side. Even if it meant keeping his feelings locked away, just a little while longer.

She lit the cigarette taking a long drag, Shanks watching her with a bit of amusement.

“Remember that I’m letting you smoke under the deck just because this is an emergency,” he tried to lighten the mood once again, while taking another sip. She nodded, puffing out the smoke, “so, when are the rest of the guys going to kick Jim’s ass?,” she casually asked. Shanks turned to her, “I heard what they were saying on the deck, they’re not exactly quiet you know,” she explained, “Remind me to say thanks to Roux for wanting to step up for me and defend my honor,” she laughed, while grabbing the bottle and pouring her some.

“You’re smiling a bit,” Shanks noted relieved. “Are you feeling a bit better?” Y/N nodded.

“Knew that drinking would have helped you,” he joked.

“Maybe it’s the drink,” she repeated. “Or the cigarette,” she took another drag while Shanks drank a bit more. “Or the fact that whenever I am around you, I can help but laugh,” she added smiling once again, Shanks’ heart skipping a bit for what she had just said.

“Thank you, I will never thank you enough for this,” she turned to face him, moving towards him, resting – with no warning – her head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry I kinda ruined the party’s mood tonight,” she continued, finding comfort once again in the cigarette.

“Well, you can’t always be the life of the party, can you?,” Shanks joked, incapable of stopping himself to enjoy the closeness they were sharing. Before she could speak once again he signed her to be quiet, “I want that to be very clear: you haven’t ruined anything. You felt hurt, it happens. I hope you know that it’s not your fault”, she nodded.

“I truly mean it, Y/N. He was not worth your time or your energy. I think you have shed more tears for him than he deserved. I don’t want to see you cry again,” he said, caressing her puffy cheek with his thumb, “unless if it’s about Benn stealing you last drink again”, he tried to make her smile again. The feeling of her soft skin under his calloused fingers reminded him once again the truth he was trying to avoid: she was a fragile thing, he need to be careful with her.

“You will find a true man who will take care of you,” he added while he stood up to set some distance between them.

“Can you hug me again before you go?”. Shanks froze, her words hanging in the air. He hadn’t planned on leaving just yet, but her request for another hug—it was the way she said it, the vulnerability in her voice—it almost unraveled him. Turning back to her, he hesitated only for a moment before sitting back down, opening his arm. She nestled into his chest, her small frame fitting perfectly against him. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her close, and for a moment, everything else fell away.

“I ruined your shirt,” she said noticed the stain she caused with her cries.

“Are you feeling better now?” he asked, looking her in those big eyes, still a bit red for the emotional turmoil of the night. She nodded.

“Then it’s fine,” he answered nodding his head in disbelief, as if he could care about a damn shirt.

“Was it worth it?”, she asked suddenly, her tone quiet yet meaningful. Shanks froze for a moment, taken aback. She had repeated his own words from earlier, the ones he had spoken to try and reassure her. Shanks felt his breath hitch slightly. He gently pulled away, giving her a bit of space, though he kept her hand close, his fingers barely brushing against hers, reluctant to lose contact. The look on her soft face was sending his mind into shambles, and suddenly, the air between them felt impossibly thick, each breath heavy with everything left unsaid. His lips parted as if to say something, but the words seemed to falter on the tip of her tongue. Shanks’ heart pounded in his chest, louder than anything else, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her—how her eyes still held that same vulnerability, but there was something else now. Something more.

“You are always worth it,” he said finally, his voice low and steady. She blinked up at him, her expression softening as she leaned in just a little closer. “I’m glad,” she whispered, her gaze flickering to his lips for the briefest of moments. It was enough for him to notice, to feel that pull again—the one that told him he was dangerously close to crossing a line. But it didn’t feel dangerous anymore. It felt right. Tell her. Don’t tell her, let her rest, you will grow over it. Tell her, it will be worth it.

“I—” Shanks swallowed hard, standing up while feeling his throat tighten. “I’ve wanted to say this for a while now, but I wasn’t sure if I should. You’re younger than me, and I know… I know I’m not what people would call a “good man”. But I—”

Before he could finish, she stood up as well, almost facing him. “Shanks,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Don’t”. He froze, his breath catching in his throat, his heart pounding so loud he was sure she could hear it. He knew it: he shouldn’t have let his emotions get the best of him. He should have at least waited until all of this was months behind her. But then she leaned in, closing the distance between them, her lips brushing against his in a kiss that was soft, but filled with a quiet kind of desperation. He didn’t move at first, too stunned by the feel of her against him, until something inside him snapped and he kissed her back, his hand sliding into her soft hair as he pulled her closer. It wasn’t a kiss of passion—it was something gentler, more intimate, the beginning of something that had been waiting for a long time to surface. When they finally pulled apart, both of them breathless, Shanks rested his forehead against hers, his heart still racing in his chest.

“I’ll show you,” the words urged to come out of his body, he needed to get this out of his chest. “I’ll show you how you what a real man does when he’s lucky enough to be with a woman like you. Tell me you’ll let me and I will do it”. Please let me.

Y/N smiled, her eyes bright with something that looked like hope, and she kissed him again, a soft peck on the lips, while her hand rested on the side of his face. Their foreheads remained pressed together, breaths mingling as they stood in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Y/N’s fingers lightly traced the side of his face, her touch gentle and reverent, like she was afraid to break the delicate spell between them. Her smile wavered slightly, not from doubt but from the overwhelming emotion of it all—the love she had kept hidden for so long, now finally set free.

"Shanks," she whispered, her voice so soft it was almost lost in the small space between them. "I don't need you to show me anything I haven’t seen already". Shanks closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling a deep breath, feeling the weight of her words settle in his chest. When he opened them again, he looked at her with all the certainty he had in the world. His thumb brushed across her cheek.

“I know this wasn’t the best timing” he whispered back, his voice low and rough with emotion. “But I had to take it off my chest, Y/N”.

Her hand lingered against his skin, her heart thudding in her chest as she searched his face for any sign of hesitation—but there was none. There was only love, plain and simple. It was so clear now, as if it had always been there, waiting for them to recognize it. She caressed his scar, making him shiver due to her gentle touch. He wasn’t used to this.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, the air between them thick with everything unspoken. And then, in a quiet voice that seemed to crack with vulnerability, Y/N whispered, “I don’t want you to think that I am doing this out of sadness. I’ve always thought this. You. Us – something more than the strong bond we shared before, but I felt so dumb and inappropriate, how was I supposed to—”

Shanks tilted her chin up gently, his gaze unwavering as he leaned in closer, their lips just a breath apart. “It doesn’t matter now,” he murmured. He kissed her again, once again with a slow tenderness that made her melt into him, her body soft against his. His hand slid up to the back of her neck, his fingers gripping slightly as if he was holding on for dear life, afraid that if he let go, she would disappear. But she didn’t, she held him close, her hand still on his cheek, pulling him tighter against her. When they finally broke apart again, Shanks leaned back just enough to look into her eyes, his own filled with an intensity that made Y/N’s breath hitch in her throat. “I meant what I said,” he told her, his voice low but steady. “I want to take care of you. Not because you need it—but because I’ve waited so long before finding someone to love you like you should be loved,” he softly spoke, feeling finally lighter. The weight he was carrieng from six months until now was driving him mad but now, since they kissed, he felt as if he’d been on land for too long and he just saw the ocean again.

“I know we don’t have an easy life, but I told you, I will give you all the love I have in me. But I need you to know if you’re 100% sure about this,” he explained.

“I am,” she smiled. “I know I’ll never find someone who’ll beat my drinking skills,” she joked, her wide wide smile found again, “but I need someone who can keep up, or at least tries to,” concluded with a small laugh. Shanks laughed with her, the thing that made him happy the most is that he finally recognised her Y/N, the sadness seemed to have passed, just like a storm.

“I will beat your ass tomorrow night, you know that”, he said, hugging her once more.

“I look forward to”.

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kacievvbbbb · 2 months

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Shanks trying to explain to people that Mihawk is actually hilarious and cracks a lot of little sarcastic jokes and his crews just like sure boss we believe you

Shanks growing desperate and frantic trying to explain that Mihawk can actually be really fun and is very sporadic a lot of the time and is the literal embodiment of “do it for the plot 🤷🏿‍♀️”and the crew’s just like captain’s really whipped ain’t he. Hawkeyes’ really got your number boss.

All the while Mihawk watches on eyes alight with joy only Shanks can see. This was all part of his plan

#Mihawk trying to make shanks look crazy on some go ahead tell them they will never believe you shit #shanks is torn between being the only one to really see and get this dude of Mihawk and being incensed that the crew #is basically implying he is a high schooler laughing insanely “loudly at anything his crush says #also yes not the only one that knows #Benn knows but he’s a good sport #yasopp has probably guessed it he’s just also a menace and is herding the boy on #throwing thoughts to the void #one piece #dracule mihawk #op #hawkeye mihawk #mishanks #akagami no shanks #red hair shanks #akataka #mihawk x shanks #red haired pirates #benn beckman

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cyborg-franky · 1 year

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Happy Birthday!

I hope you enjoy this lil something @softcenteregg thank you for being like, so awesome. I've really loved getting to know you these last few months! Happy Birthday <3

Shanks x GN Reader x Benn SFW Modern AU WC: 940

You hadn’t planned to work on your birthday but it had happened that way, typical. You looked at the screen, feeling your eyes getting tired, glancing at the empty cup of coffee at your side as you sighed. It’s fine, this is fine you told yourself as you leaned back in your seat, stretching out, getting the kinks and aches of sitting still for so long out of your joints.

Your phone decided to remind you of its existence. Vibrating angrily across the table, you watched it having its temper tantrum and debated picking it up, you dreaded finding a message that would add to your growing to-do list but as you watched it rattling on the desk you sighed and picked it up but at seeing the name in the notification you felt yourself smile.

Unlocking the screen and seeing the messages.

Shanks: You’ve been working for hours, let's go grab something to eat!

Benn: How’s work going? Almost finished?

Ah, your boyfriends, two very different people with two very different work ethics. You looked at your work, seeing the progress you’d made so far. Sending a message to each one, letting them know you’d be finished in around an hour.

You slouched in your seat, feeling your body sliding off the chair before mumbling and picking yourself up. You didn’t have much to go, you could do this, and the reminder you’d get to see Benn and Shanks when you were finished just renewed your vigor, pushing you forward through the current mountainous task at hand.

–

You’d been sent a message, telling you to wash up, get changed, and meet them both at your favorite restaurant. Your stomach rumbled as you thought of food, not just any food but your favorite. You had a quick shower before getting into some nice but comfy clothes.

–

Arriving at the restaurant you saw Benn standing outside waiting, smoking what was probably his fifth cigarette that evening. You walked over and felt him slide an arm around your waist, making sure his smoke didn’t go in your face as he pulled you closer. “Happy birthday, sorry you had to work.”

“It happens, where’s Shanks?” You asked and noticed the chaotic redhead wasn’t waiting here for you. “Inside, he’s still looking at the drinks menu, you know him.” You chuckled and nodded, just leaning against Benn until he was finished with his smoke.

You both headed in, chatting about work and what you had to do as Benn was silent, absorbing all the information as he led you to where he had left Shanks. You heard Shanks and then noticed the large table, there was Shanks, waving, surrounded by various bottles of booze which you didn't doubt were just for him. But also you noticed your closest friends sat there and greeted you with a cheer.

“You… really?” You laughed a little, not sure how to process the surprise party but you were glad it was small, you had a feeling Shanks would have invited everyone you’d had one awkward conversation with online if it had been up to him.

You sat between Shanks and Benn, everyone passing you cards, small heartfelt gifts and everyone was chatting. You’d been nervous at first, a little taken aback by the surprise party but the mood was nice, and the vibe was just right. Everyone getting along and happy to see you.

Which made your heart happy.

You looked at the menu, listening to everyone's conversations, enjoying how Shanks was able to do most of the talking while you charged up your social batteries, feeling Benn’s hand on your lower back, gently stroking you and keeping you calm, he was a rock and Shanks was wind.

The evening went on, you picked up after a drink and some food, Luling into comfortable conversation with your friends, laughing and throwing yourself into the mix. You’d not been so sure of the party at first, tired from work but this was nice, this was lovely. A night with the people you cared about the most and eating the best food.

At the end you heard singing and glanced up, seeing a waiter bringing a cake towards the table, you quirked a brow and looked at Benn “I know, I know,” He said as everyone around the table started to join in singing, Shanks loud with an arm around your shoulder, swaying you in time with the song.

“It was this or Shanks was going to jump out of a cake, I think I managed to reel him pretty well,” Benn said, his smirk growing when he saw your face, he could tell you were now thinking of the spectacle of Shanks leaping out a cake.

“Kind of wish he had, that’d be funny.”

“I should mention, he wanted to do it naked.” you heard that comment and almost choked on your drink as everyone settled down around you, waiting for you to blow out your candles.

You did and very much wished for the strength to get past your deadlines this week and that you’d never have to put people through a very naked Shanks bursting out of a cake in a nice restaurant.

You felt Benn and Shanks lean in either side of you, a kiss on each cheek which made a blush bloom across your face, looking sheepish as others clapped. “I love you both, thank you.” You said, your hand finding both of theirs and feeling Shanks rest his head against yours “Love you too,” and Benn giving your hand a squeeze, never the fan of PDA but knowing he loved you just as much.

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lale-txt · 2 years

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what gets their heart pounding... ♡ [partly ns.fw] ↳ w/ Kid, Killer, Law, Mihawk, Shanks, Benn

a/n: look who is clearing out her drafts again while working on a longer fic! i love writing little headcanons, they help me get into a nice writing flow and are just super fun to think about. those here are both fluff and spicy, so be aware. reader is gn!

Kid

seeing you walk around in his shirt when it’s laundry day on the Victoria Punk

the warmth of his hand in yours when you paint his nails for him after he lost his arm, unfazed by his bickering when you’re doing a messy job

you keeping him company in his workshop when everyone else already went to sleep, studying blueprints while he tries to focus on the thing he’s working on but failing miserably in your presence

the way you look at him when he tilts your chin up, his thumb brushing your lips

how hungry you kiss him, tasting yourself on his lips after his cheeky tongue wracked your whole body with pleasure

the shiny red shapes of his hand on your ass cheek and your needy mewls for more

whispered confessions with every thrust, your hands cradling his face as he fucks you through your orgasm, melting in lust and adoration

Killer

hearing you humming in the kitchen, cooking a surprise meal for him

your fingers untangling his hair at night, gently combing out every knot without hurting him

your laughter when he tries to put on the polka dot shirt that got way too small

the way your gaze softens when he takes off his mask for the first time in front of you

your lips parting so willingly for him when he leans down to kiss you in a moment of bravery

his lipstick smeared on the inside of your thighs, leading dangerously close to your aching core

the way you twitch around him as you ride him, eyes closed as you chase your high, his fingers digging in the flesh of your thighs

Law

your hands brushing when you hand him a cup of coffee in the morning, knowing he was up all night again

you falling asleep on the couch when you both study in the library together, admiring how you let down your guard around him

hearing you mumble out his name in your sleep

patching you up after a battle where you fought back to back, just blind trust into each other

thinking back about the heated kiss you two shared when you thought it all was over and you wouldn’t see tomorrow

you straddling him in his chair, asking for permission to do it again in the safety of his arms and realizing those are the lips he wants to kiss for the rest of his life

seeing those lips wrap around his length for the first time, holding hands while you make him see stars and a future so bright in the absence of fear

Mihawk

the faint smell of your perfume when he enters a room you’ve been in before

watching your hands rolling out dough in the kitchen, covered in flour, a vinyl playing in the background, veggies from the garden on the counter

how you handle the knife, not for fighting but for creating something beautiful and heartwarming from scratch with patience and compassion, something he admires deeply

the way your eyes linger on him in a room full of people, making him feel like it’s just the two of you

stolen kisses after glancing at his lips for too long, tasting his wine on them

your delicate wrists in his grip when he pins you down on them above your head, legs spread wide open for him

the way you sigh his name when he enters you in one go, a big smile on your face, your eyes so full of love and lust

Shanks

standing outside the bar and hearing your voice from from the inside as you chat and laugh with his crewmates, Benn nudging him a little with a look

how you yawn and mumble out a ‘good morning’ on your way to the bathroom, in your underwear and sleepdrunk, because you spent all night visiting him in his dreams

the way you tilt your head and smirk when he takes the bottle of wine from your pretty hands and takes a sip, lips touching where yours have been seconds before

you shutting him up with a kiss when he teases you for too long, your hand in a tight grip around his collar

the same hand pulling his hair when he pushes you against the wall, your legs wrapped around his waist, rubbing his clothed cock against your core

feeling how soaked your panties are when he reaches to pull them aside, your needy mewls soon to be muffled with them

Benn

the way you cup his hand to help him light his cigarette, your faces awfully close

how you muster him up and down and your cocky smile when he asks if you like what you see

standing side by side outside and watching the rain fall while the rest of the crew is having a banquet inside, just a quiet moment between you two

you reaching for his half-smoked cigarette, pleading eyes asking for a kiss

the same eyes looking at him through long lashes when he unbuckles his belt

your shaking legs on his shoulders as he makes you count out loud the times he makes you cum with his fingers alone

your broken voice begging him to fill you up, legs wrapped around his waist to keep him from pulling out, nails leaving red trails on his back

#one piece x reader #eustass kid x reader #shanks x reader #trafalgar law x reader #mihawk x reader #benn beckman x reader #eustass kid #op killer #trafalgar law #red haired shanks #dracule mihawk #benn beckman #one piece reader insert #one piece x you #one piece headcanons

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zorosleftmantit101 · 1 year

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One piece reactions to seeing a spider inside!

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Buggy, Law, Ace, Shanks, Kid, Killer, Benn.

A/N: incase you guys are in anyway similar to the ppl on tiktok THIS IS SATIRE do not tell me to kms because you think im wrong because I am always right in-fact I am oda.

C/W: if you don't like spiders or if u get sad about bugs being smooshed

Luffy: picks it up so confidently puts it in his pocket it bites his ass and he sits on it, this all happened consecutively within five minutes and he's so sad he makes a grave for him.

R.I.P

Redgy

12:30 - 12:35

Zoro: Didn't see it steps on it goes on with his day.

Sanji: karate kicks it.

Buggy: feeds it to his pet lizard yes Buggy has a pet lizard.

Law: He doesn't care like at all, he's kinda like, how the fuck did you get in here.

Ace: screams at the top of his lungs is standing on the table kicking his feet hysterically crying and throwing up.

Shanks: the exact same as Ace except his scream is super high pitch like glass shatteringly high pitched.

Kid: blows it up

Killer: blows kid up for putting a whole in the floor

Benn: shoots it for shanks while he's still screaming.

#zorosleftmantit #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece funny #one piece headcanons #headcanon #one piece x you #monkey d luffy #god usopp #zoro x reader #luffy x reader #sanji x reader #buggy x reader #law x reader #ace x reader #shanks x reader #kid x reader #killer x reader #benn beckman

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thebunnednun · 15 days

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If you really love me, let me go PI

Parings: Red Haired Shanks x Vice Admiral! Reader

Prompt:

Hey Mami! Soo I've been thinking about our beloved Shanks x Vice admiral!Reader. Cuz why not? He's so carefree, so it would be nice to see him with someone who is the opposite of him.

Warning: Angst.

For, @orange-milky who gave me the prompt for this story. Always making me flustered with their nicknames for me.

ON WITH THE SHOW!!~~

You were peacefully sleeping, the kind of deep, dreamless sleep that came after an exhausting day of paperwork and drills. The cool breeze from the open window gently rustled the curtains, and all was silent in your little abode atop the plateau that overlooked the town.

Everything was still, quiet—until a sudden, sharp crash from downstairs jolted you awake.

Your eyes snapped open, heart still calm and steady despite the noise. You groaned softly, already reaching for the duel pistols you kept under your pillow, a natural reaction born from years of training as a Vice Admiral in the Navy. The best-case scenario flashed in your mind: Luffy and his friends, showing up unannounced again for some reckless, impromptu visit.

You wouldn’t put it past the kid, not after the last time they used your backyard as a training ground for their latest techniques.

But you weren’t one to take chances. Slipping out of bed as quietly as possible, you padded across the room in your fuzzy bunny slippers, your anchor-shaped earrings gleaming faintly in the moonlight.

A quick glance in the mirror showed your reflection: hair in rollers, a green mud mask you’d forgotten to wash off, and your pajamas—a set featuring Uta's face plastered all over, a playful gift from her before she went to sail with Luffy.

The robe you wrapped around yourself was adorned with Luffy’s jolly roger, a ridiculous but endearing gift from the cutie himself. You sighed, raising your dual pistols to your side, wondering what kind of chaos you’d be walking into this time.

The hall was silent as you made your way down the stairs, moving like a shadow, every step measured, controlled. You clutched the pistols tightly, ready for anything. As you neared the kitchen, the faint sound of muffled whispers reached your ears—low voices, trying (and failing) to be quiet. You rolled your eyes, already guessing the culprits.

There were too many deep voices to be Luffy’s crew.

When you flicked on the light, the kitchen was suddenly bathed in a warm glow, and the scene before you could only be described as utter madness. Every available surface was covered in food, bottles of rum, and—most tellingly—members of the Red Hair Pirates. The twelve of them were scattered across your kitchen as if they owned the place.

Shanks’ crew, all of them: Benn Beckman, Lucky Roux, Yasopp, Hongo, Limejuice, Bonk Punch, Monster, Building Snake, Gab, Rockstar, and—by some cruel twist of fate—Uta wasn’t there this time. She was still off with her brother.

Yasopp was the first to notice you, though his reaction wasn’t what you expected. The second his gaze fell on you, still standing in the doorway with your pistols in hand and a full-on “I-will-kill-you” expression on your face, he burst into laughter.

It started as a quiet chuckle but quickly grew louder, causing a ripple effect across the room. One by one, the rest of the crew joined in, their laughter filling the space until it felt like the walls themselves were vibrating with the sound.

Your eye twitched in annoyance. Standing there in your bunny slippers, hair in rollers, Uta PJ’s, green mud mask still smeared across your face, you probably looked more ridiculous than intimidating.

Like a pop princess wicked witch of the west. But you were still a Vice Admiral, and your patience had limits.

“Oh, this is rich,” Yasopp wheezed, doubling over as tears streamed from his eyes. “We’re gonna die—” He cut off with another fit of laughter, but before you could decide whether to shoot him or not, the back door swung open, revealing a familiar mop of red hair.

Shanks strode in, his entrance casual as ever. His trademark grin stretched across his face, a bottle of rum in one hand and a bouquet of wildflowers in the other. His eyes lit up when he saw you, seemingly oblivious to the chaos he had caused.

“Hello my love!” he said brightly, as though this were a perfectly normal scene to walk into at what had to be three in the morning.

Your response was instinctive. You raised both pistols and fired—ten rapid shots that would’ve made any rookie in the Navy tremble. Shanks, to his credit, dodged every single one of them with that infuriating grace he always seemed to have, weaving between the bullets like it was all just a game.

“Now, now, let’s not start with violence!” Shanks laughed, clearly unfazed by the near-death experience. He took a step forward and offered the flowers toward you. “For you, my little sea monster.”

You huffed, your glare softening just a fraction as you lowered your pistols. Behind him, Benn Beckman gave you an apologetic smile, his hand already reaching into his coat. “We didn’t mean to disturb you. I wrote you a letter ahead of time,” he explained, holding out the envelope,

“and we tried to be quiet…”

You sighed, arms crossing as you stared at the lot of them, still lounging around your kitchen as though they lived here. “Clearly, you failed.”

They all muttered their apologies, though none of them seemed particularly guilty. Lucky Roux stuffed his mouth with another pastry, while Bonk Punch and Monster shared a conspiratorial glance. Yasopp was still grinning like a fool, clearly amused by your appearance, though he was at least trying to stifle his laughter now.

Benn stepped forward with a steaming cup of tea, which he handed to you with a practiced air of calm. “In case you woke up,” he said gently, and before you could take a sip, Shanks handed you the bottle of rum with a wink.

“Don’t forget the important part.”

You rolled your eyes but accepted both. “You’re all lucky I like you,” you muttered before taking a seat in the barely-used dining room. Pistols stashed into your pockets, the crew, now more relaxed, went back to their conversations, though they kept their volume lower, out of some remaining respect for your sleep.

Shanks slid into the chair beside you, his arm resting lazily on the back of your seat. He didn’t say anything for a while, content to watch you as you stirred a bit of rum into your tea, the warmth from the cup seeping into your hands.

After a few quiet moments, he leaned in, his voice dropping into that soft, almost tender tone he used only with you.

“Come with me for a second?”

You arched a brow but didn’t protest. Shanks stood, grabbing the rum bottle as you followed him out of the room. He led you outside, through the back door and up a hidden staircase to the roof. The air was cool, the stars glittering above you like a sea of diamonds, and from this height, you could see the town below, quiet and peaceful in the night.

Shanks leaned against the railing, his gaze wandering across the horizon. You joined him, your eyes following the lines of the ships docked in the harbor and the soft glow of lanterns lining the streets.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the sound of distant waves crashing against the shore filling the silence. Then, Shanks let out a low chuckle.

“You’re still mad, huh?”

You snorted softly, taking a sip of your rum-laced tea. “You and your crew have a terrible sense of timing.”

His grin was mischievous, but there was something softer behind his eyes as he looked at you. “Well, I’ve always had a bad habit of showing up unannounced.” He reached over, brushing a thumb against your cheek, his touch light but affectionate. “But you’ve always taken care of us anyway.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Someone has to.”

The stars above stretched endlessly across the night sky, their brightness cutting through the dark canopy like diamonds spilled across velvet. It was your favorite part of living here—how open and vast the heavens always seemed. You found comfort in how steady they remained, unmoved by the chaos of life below.

Sometimes, as you looked up at the twinkling lights, you wondered what it would be like to sail in the sky itself, drifting from planet to planet like the sea of stars was just another ocean. Luffy, ever the dreamer, always promised to make your wildest fantasies come true, and knowing him, it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.

But what about you? What about your responsibilities?

Shanks' voice pulled you from your thoughts, though you hadn’t caught his words.

"Hey, are you alright lass?" he asked softly, his tone laced with a gentle concern.

You blinked, turning your attention back to him, meeting those familiar, warm eyes that seemed to hold a world of their own.

"Sorry, no. What did you say?"

He smiled, that easy, carefree grin that never quite matched the weight of his words. "I was asking if you’d join me at sea again."

The idea hung between you like the scent of saltwater that always seemed to cling to him. You opened your mouth, glancing toward the town below, gesturing to the village that stretched out in the distance, its peaceful quietness versus the unpredictability of a pirate’s life. The flicker of lanterns from the homes and streets was like the heartbeat of the place you’d sworn to protect.

But Shanks shook his head, his expression unbothered by your hesitation. "Not for long," he clarified. "Just two weeks. I know you couldn’t stay forever."

His words were calm, non-pressuring, but the temptation lingered like a beckoning wave. You mulled it over, your mind swimming with the responsibilities that weighed you down. You weren’t young anymore, at least not in the way that counted. The youthful impulsiveness of picking up and leaving whenever you felt like it had long passed.

Now, you had cadets who looked up to you, a village that relied on your protection, and a life you couldn’t simply walk away from. The thought of leaving—even just for a few weeks—and returning to disaster haunted you.

Yet, here stood Shanks, the man who could never be caught, the one who had always captured your heart. He wasn’t crowding you, wasn’t demanding an answer. He was just… there, waiting, like always. He reached into his pocket and passed you a handkerchief. You hadn’t realized you still had remnants of your green face mask smeared across your cheek.

You took the handkerchief with a small, grateful nod, wiping away the last smudge of your mask. Shanks’ grin widened as he watched you, a mischievous glint lighting up his features.

"Lovely as ever," he said with that familiar charm.

You raised an eyebrow, disbelief clear on your face. "Really now?"

"Yes," he said, his tone softening into something more genuine. "Like the first day I saw you. You just keep getting better and better."

His words, while honest and genuine, cut deep. They were too real, too heartfelt for the situation you were both in. It hurt—knowing he meant every word. You let out a heavy sigh, your chest tightening as you voiced what was already understood.

"That’s what makes this so painful, Shanks. We’ve been dancing around each other for years. How long can we keep playing this game?"

You both fell silent, a weight settling between you like the fog rolling off the sea. The unspoken truth was something everyone knew—from the Celestial Dragons to the mermaids deep in the ocean. Even the sea beasts you used to ride in your younger days knew: You and Shanks were in love. But there were laws to nature that even love couldn’t break.

A bird and a fish could admire each other, even come to each other’s aid when needed, but they could never be together. One couldn’t fly, and the other couldn’t swim—not where it mattered.

"What a cruel twist of fate this is," you whispered, your voice barely carried by the wind.

Shanks nodded solemnly, his gaze never leaving yours. "Indeed."

The night carried on in its quiet way, the hum of distant waves filling the silence between you. You both sat there, not speaking, just watching each other, as if memorizing the lines of each other’s face.

His presence was like the sea—calm, vast, and eternal. You felt it deep in your bones, the pull toward him that was as strong as the tide, and yet you remained anchored here, to this place, this life.

Eventually, your eyes drifted back up to the sky, the stars glittering down on you like an endless sea of possibilities. The two of you were suspended between worlds, the stars and the ocean, the past and the future, and all you had was this fragile, fleeting moment.

Shanks followed your gaze, his hand brushing against yours in a light, almost accidental touch, as if he too was trying to capture something too precious to hold onto.

For now, that was enough.

There was no real use crying over it. You had both spent countless nights easing the sorrow of your situation in your own ways—Shanks drowning his thoughts at the bottom of another bottle, while you buried yourself in the work that defined you. The understanding he’d given you when you first saw this village in ruins so many years ago, when you decided to stay and rebuild it, still lingered between you.

It had been a quiet acknowledgment, a silent support. He didn’t fight your decision, didn’t call it betrayal. Instead, he—and the rest of his crew—had simply accepted it, open arms waiting if you ever wanted to come back.

The night you became Vice Admiral was one you still laughed about, remembering their terrible disguises as they snuck into your ceremony. There was Benn Beckman in a comically oversized face mask, (you were all thankful that he wasn’t immediately recognized) Lucky Roux sporting a pair of ridiculous sunglasses, and Yasopp trying to hide his distinct dreads under a crooked wig.

You’d all spent the evening in a local pub, singing sea shanties and dancing like no one was watching. The memories were a balm to the ache of what you couldn't have—the laughter, the carefree joy.

You smiled faintly now, the sea breeze playing with your hair as the memories came flooding back. Shanks had always been at the heart of it. You teased him mercilessly when you heard he’d taken in a daughter.

"Shanks, raising a kid? Who’s the poor soul responsible for keeping the both of you in line?" you had joked.

It was Benn, obviously. His face had lit up with pride as he spoke of Uta, and before, when he told you about a scrappy young boy named Luffy—the boy he believed would change the world.

And Luffy had.

You’d come to know him well, hiding him and his crew whenever they came to pass. They always treated you like family, laughing and eating meals around your dining table, as if this was their home away from the seas. You adored Luffy’s brothers too—Ace, with his fiery spirit, and Sabo, with his quiet determination.

They’d both been reckless and had nearly gotten themselves killed more than once, leading to your stern lectures. But they always grinned sheepishly, knowing your scolding came from a place of deep affection.

Even Buggy—oh, Buggy. You picked fights with him like it was second nature, always at each other’s throats with bickering and insults. But despite the chaos, you were one of his oldest friends. The bond between you two ran deeper than either of you cared to admit.

When you’d heard about what he’d done to other villages, you punched him square in the nose. "Get it together, you ass hat," you growled, and he’d just sulked before eventually grumbling an apology.

And then there was Shanks' trust. His absolute faith in you, especially when it came to Uta. Whenever he had dangerous missions, he left her in your care, knowing no harm would come to her under your watch. The girl had become like a daughter to you, and even now, she sailed alongside Luffy, her spirit as free as the wind.

You entertained Mihawk whenever he happened to sail by, sharing quiet conversations and sparring matches under the moonlight. Perona would pop in with her gloomy charm, and you welcomed her with the same warmth you gave all of Luffy’s friends.

You had become a mother of sorts—a matriarch to all these misfit pirates who called the sea home. You were the unofficial wife of the Sea King, Shanks himself. Everyone saw it. The way he looked at you, the way you moved through his world without ever truly leaving yours.

And yet, despite it all, you didn’t rule by each other’s side.

The wind shifted, carrying the scent of salt and seaweed, and Shanks exhaled slowly beside you. His eyes were distant now, focused on the horizon, but there was a heaviness in his posture that wasn’t there moments ago. The weight of your shared history pressed down on him as much as it did on you. His hand rested loosely on his bottle of rum, fingers tracing the glass absentmindedly. He’d had countless battles, faced impossible odds, but nothing stung quite like this—the unspoken truth that neither of you could deny.

His voice was quieter when he spoke again, almost as if the words were too much to bear. "It does kill me, you know," he said, still staring out at the sea. "Not being able to hold you, not waking up with you by my side."

The confession hung between you, thick and painful. Your heart twisted, but you kept your eyes trained on the stars, refusing to let the emotion slip into your voice. "We have our duties," you replied softly.

"Responsibilities of the same weight, just in different forms."

Your words were practical, almost cold in their truth. But beneath them lay the same yearning, the same ache that Shanks felt. He was right—it killed him. And it killed you too. But you both knew the rules of the game.

A fish couldn’t live in the sky, and a bird couldn’t swim in the depths.

You had your village, your cadets, your rank as Vice Admiral. He had the seas, his crew, the freedom to roam wherever the wind took him.

Your lives ran parallel but never quite intersected.

He shifted beside you, finally looking your way. There was a sadness in his eyes, one he never let anyone else see. "I never wanted to cage you," he murmured.

"But I never wanted to let you go either."

You turned to him then, meeting his gaze head-on. The raw vulnerability in his expression was too much. You reached out, your fingers brushing lightly against his cheek, a small gesture of comfort in the midst of all this uncertainty.

"I know," you whispered, your voice gentle but firm.

"I know."

For a long moment, you simply held his gaze, letting the sea breeze carry away the tension between you. There was no easy answer, no solution to the impossible situation you found yourselves in.

The stars twinkled overhead, casting their gentle light over the quiet village. The night was cool, and the sea breeze carried the scent of salt, mingling with the earthy fragrance of the nearby forest. You sat beside Shanks on a grassy knoll, the two of you a striking contrast to the stillness around you. The village, your home, rested in peaceful slumber behind you, its rooftops barely visible in the low light.

You could hear the distant crash of waves against the shore, and for a brief moment, it was as though the world belonged to just the two of you.

There was a time where you both had talked about marriage. Shanks had brought it up many times over the years, his playful grin turning serious when the conversation lingered too long. You could still feel the warmth of his words, the weight of his unspoken promises, and the quiet desperation behind his eyes each time he spoke about wanting to make you his.

And yet, here you were. Still not married. Still bound by the same chains that had kept you apart for so long. You glanced over at him now, taking in the sight of the man who held your heart so tightly. His red hair, wild as ever, blew in the breeze, and the familiar scar over his eye seemed to catch the light just so.

His eyes, those deep, piercing eyes, held a softness reserved only for you, but there was something darker there too—an unspoken sorrow.

“We could’ve been married by now,” Shanks said, his voice low, cutting through the stillness. His gaze was fixed on the stars, but you knew his thoughts were off somewhere far deeper. “But I couldn’t do that to you. Not when it would ruin your life, your career.”

The words stung, but they were true. Marriage to a pirate, especially one like Shanks, would be a death sentence for your career. You’d lose everything—your rank as Vice Admiral, your home, your people.

You’d be hunted down, imprisoned, forced to leave the people you loved, the people you swore to protect. Your entire life would be torn apart.

Worst of all, they’d use you to lure out Shanks and have him killed.

And Shanks knew it. He always did.

“I love you too much to put you through that kind of pain,” he continued, his voice soft but resolute. His fingers fidgeted with the bottle of rum beside him, but there was a tension in his posture, a heaviness in his shoulders. He hated this as much as you did—this cruel twist of fate that kept you apart.

You sighed, turning your gaze back to the stars. They twinkled innocently above, indifferent to the turmoil below. “I know,” you said quietly. “But I hate the thought of us being this… couple that can never truly be together. Not for more than a night.”

The thought weighed on you constantly—the idea that you could never have a life together. That you would always be bound by your respective worlds, able to steal moments but never truly share them. You had responsibilities. You had a village to protect, cadets who relied on you, a duty that couldn’t be abandoned. And Shanks had his crew, his mission, his endless journey across the seas.

But there was more to it. You knew Shanks. He was a man of action, a man who followed his heart. And in his heart, he refused to leave this world without being joined with you before God, as he had said countless times. The idea of dying without you as his wife was a torment he didn’t express often, but you knew it haunted him.

“What if something happened to me?” he asked suddenly, his voice thick with the weight of unspoken fears. He looked at you now, his eyes full of emotion.

“What if I died? You wouldn’t have any legal right to me. You’d be left with nothing. Unless…” His voice trailed off, and a bitter smile crossed his lips. “Unless the crew managed to pull off some ‘common law marriage’ scheme."

"But we’re more than that.”

You bit your lip, feeling the tightness in your chest. The thought of losing him, of having no claim to him, no right to mourn him as his wife, was unbearable. You were worth more than that. Your love was worth more than that. You weren’t some fleeting romance or a temporary connection.

You were each other’s heart and soul, two people who had shared years of laughter, hardship, and devotion.

And Shanks wanted to make it official. He wanted to make you his woman, his wife, and let the world know that you were his in every sense of the word.

He reached out then, his hand resting gently on yours. His touch was warm, familiar, and it steadied the storm brewing inside you. “I want to make you an honest woman,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I want to stand before God and make you mine, for real. No more games, no more pretending we’re something we’re not.”

You looked down at your hands, his fingers intertwining with yours, and the warmth of his palm grounded you. He had always been your anchor, the one person who could make everything feel right, even when the world seemed against you. But this—this was bigger than anything you could’ve imagined.

“Shanks,” you began, your voice wavering.

His grip tightened ever so slightly, his gaze intense as he leaned in closer. “I know. And that’s why I’ve never pushed it. But if there’s a way—if we could find a way—"

"I’d give up anything to have you by my side.”

The raw emotion in his voice, the sheer vulnerability, tore at your heart. This man, this legendary pirate who commanded the seas, who had fought wars and won impossible battles, was here, willing to risk it all for you. And you… you were stuck between two worlds, two impossible choices.

The stars seemed to dim in that moment, as if even they felt the weight of your decision. The village behind you, quiet and peaceful, stood as a reminder of all that you had built, all that you would lose. But beside you sat the man who had claimed your heart long ago, the man who wanted nothing more than to make you his forever.

“What do we do?” you whispered, your voice barely audible against the sound of the waves.

Shanks smiled faintly, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and shook his head. “We figure it out, like we always do.”

And with that, he pulled you close, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You leaned into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, the strength in his embrace. You could lose yourself in the warmth of his presence, in the silent promise of the future you both wanted but could never fully grasp.

You pull away from Shanks' embrace slowly, feeling the warmth of his arm linger on your skin as you give him a small squeeze of reassurance. His presence, solid and comforting, is something you’ve known for so long, yet each time you step out of his hold, it feels like a tug on your heart.

With a soft sigh, you turn to face the open sky again, the stars above you glittering like a sea of diamonds.

“I could never ask you to abandon the sea,” you say quietly, breaking the stillness between you, “the same way you never asked me to abandon these people.”

The weight of those words sinks in as you reach up to take the curlers out of your hair. It’s a familiar routine, one you’ve done countless times. Yet tonight, with Shanks by your side, it feels different. There’s a certain tenderness in the air, a shared silence that speaks louder than any words ever could.

His rough, calloused fingers soon join yours, gently separating the pins and pulling each curler free. You let him help, allowing yourself to relish in the intimacy of this quiet moment.

One by one, the curlers come out, leaving your hair feeling lighter, bouncier, freer. Shanks hums softly, an old sea shanty you both know, as he carefully runs his fingers through your strands, styling it the way you like. The way he likes. His touch is surprisingly gentle for someone who’s lived such a rugged life, and you close your eyes for a moment, savoring the warmth of his hands in your hair.

There’s a stillness between you, but the energy that passes through his fingertips speaks volumes. You feel it in the way his fingers brush lightly against your scalp, in the unspoken affection he shows through every careful motion.

And all the while, there’s that look in his eyes again—the one you hate. That mix of longing and resignation, as if he’s silently saying goodbye to something he knows he can never truly keep.

Finally, when he’s satisfied with your hair, he drops his hand, letting it fall to his side, but he doesn’t look away. His gaze locks with yours, and for a moment, it feels like the world has stopped.

The stars, the village, the sea—all of it fades into the background, leaving just the two of you suspended in this fragile, bittersweet moment.

You can see the question in his eyes, the same one that’s been lingering between you for years: How much time do we have left? How many more moments like this can we steal before the world inevitably pulls us apart again?

It’s a question neither of you can answer, but it’s always there, lurking beneath every shared glance, every touch, every word left unsaid.

Below, you can hear the sounds of the crew bustling in your kitchen. Their laughter and chatter filter through the open window, grounding you in the present. Plates clink together as they wash the dishes, their voices teasing and jovial as they talk about what they’ll bring you from the market tomorrow.

You can almost picture them in your mind—scrubbing your pans with exaggerated care, making a mess of your kitchen, and scribbling down a list of things to restock your pantry. It brings a small smile to your lips, knowing they’re looking out for you in their own way.

The crew’s presence is a comfort, a reminder that you had a family on the seas. A family you’ve built with Shanks and his men. They’d never judged you for staying behind, for choosing a life of responsibility and duty over adventure. They understood you, accepted you, celebrated you, and always welcomed you back with open arms whenever you needed them.

They were your family too, in a way that was different from the villagers you protected.

Shanks, watching your expression soften, finally breaks the silence. “You know they’ll be back tomorrow, right?” he says, his voice low and teasing. “Probably with more supplies than you’ll know what to do with.”

You chuckle softly, breaking the tension as you shake your head. “I can already see it—half the market will be in my kitchen by morning.”

He laughs, a rich sound that rumbles deep in his chest, and it eases some of the ache in your heart.

Shanks’ laughter fades into a quiet hum, the sound trailing off as the two of you sit in the comforting stillness. Together, you glance over your garden, your gaze sweeping over the large pumpkins resting snugly in their beds of soil, their vibrant orange hue a testament to the months of careful tending.

The last of your harvest is waiting to be gathered—a few stubborn tomatoes clinging to their vines, and some squash ready to be plucked before the first frost. Despite the season's end, your wildflowers still bloom with surprising vitality, their colorful petals swaying gently in the cool evening breeze, defying the inevitable chill creeping in.

Shanks shifts beside you, looking down at your small patch of land as though he’s taking mental notes. He’s never been much of a gardener, but he appreciates the life you've built here. He tilts his head thoughtfully before turning to you with a familiar grin.

“I’ll clean your gutters tomorrow,” he offers with a hint of amusement in his voice, knowing full well you’d never ask him outright.

You smile softly in return, murmuring a quiet, "Thank you," that lingers between you like a secret. But then, silence falls again. The two of you begin to search for excuses to prolong the moment, your eyes wandering over the garden and the stars, avoiding the looming reality of parting.

You pull your knees up to your chest, resting your chin atop them, making yourself smaller as the cool night air gently settles around your shoulders.

Shanks moves beside you, his hand lifting slightly as though to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, but he hesitates. Instead, his fingers shift course, and he cups your cheek with the softest touch. His thumb moves in slow circles over the apple of your cheek, the roughness of his skin a contrast to the tender way he holds you.

It’s such a simple gesture, yet it carries with it a thousand unspoken words, memories, and years of shared longing.

His touch lingers, pulling your gaze upward, and you meet his eyes. For a moment, the world seems to fade away. The years flash before you like a slideshow—quick scenes of laughter, of whispered promises, of stolen moments that felt too fleeting.

You can see it in his eyes too, the weight of time, the shared joy and heartache, all caught in that brief exchange. It overwhelms you, the thought of how much time has passed, how much you’ve both given and lost to the lives you’ve chosen.

Before you can stop yourself, you crawl into his arms, your body moving on instinct as you bury your face against his chest. His arms immediately wrap around you, pulling you close, holding you as though you might disappear at any moment. Shanks doesn’t say a word, and for that, you’re grateful. He understands.

He always does.

You feel the tightness in your throat, and as your tears begin to gather, you squeeze your eyes shut, hoping to keep them at bay. But it’s no use. The warmth of Shanks’ embrace, the quiet hum of the night, the distant sounds of the crew still lingering in the kitchen—it all presses down on you, and a tear slips free, soaking into the fabric of his shirt. You know he feels it, but he doesn’t comment. He just holds you tighter.

Shanks rests his chin atop your head, his breath slow and steady, but you can feel the slight tremble in his arms. He’s fighting his own tears, just like you. The weight of all the years, all the distance, all the longing—it’s too much for either of you to bear alone, but together, in this small stolen moment, it’s almost manageable.

A breeze rustles through the trees, sending a few stray leaves fluttering down into the garden below. The wildflowers sway again, their petals catching the moonlight in a delicate dance. Above, the stars continue to shine, as if oblivious to the heavy silence that hangs between you.

The world continues on, indifferent to your pain, but in Shanks’ arms, it feels like, just for a moment, the two of you are the only ones in it.

Neither of you speaks. You don’t need to. The tears you shed, the way you cling to him, the way he holds you close—all of it says more than words ever could. Neither of you wants to break the fragile moment, both knowing that the weight of your responsibilities keeps you from being together in the way your hearts long for.

Suddenly, with a shift of movement, Shanks stands, taking you with him in a single fluid motion. His arm slides under your bottom, steadying you as he bounces you up to secure your position.

You yelp in surprise, wrapping your arms around his neck and instinctively hooking your legs around his waist. A laugh bubbles from your lips, despite the lingering sadness, as he effortlessly carries you down from the roof.

The soft crunch of grass beneath his boots fills the quiet air, mingling with the distant sound of waves crashing against the rocky shore.

Shanks walks for what feels like forever, carrying you down the steep path toward the beach. You keep your eyes closed, resting your head against his shoulder, listening to the rhythm of his steps and the gentle lull of the ocean.

When you finally open your eyes, you see Shanks has a small dinghy set up near the water, a modest lantern flickering at its side. He sets you down gently, taking a step back before bowing dramatically, a roguish smile playing at his lips.

“My lady, would you do me the honor,” he says in mock formality, “of joining me on the water tonight?”

Your heart flutters, a mix of excitement and hesitation swelling in your chest. The responsible part of you screams that you have work tomorrow, that you could be seen. But your heart—oh, your heart aches to say yes. After all, so little happens here, and no one’s likely keeping watch. You gaze at the man you’ve loved for more than half your life, his eyes shimmering with the moonlight and something deeper.

“How could I refuse such a gracious offer from a fine gentleman like yourself?” you respond playfully, your lips curving into a smile.

Shanks grins and takes your hand, helping you step into the small boat before he pushes off from the shore. The dinghy rocks gently as the ocean cradles it, the sound of water lapping against the hull blending with the night’s peaceful rhythm. Soon, the lantern’s glow is the only thing illuminating the quiet waters as the two of you drift farther from the beach.

The moonlight glistens on the surface of the ocean, catching the peaks of the waves like scattered diamonds. The soft, silvery light bathes the world around you in a dreamlike glow, and for a moment, it feels as though time has slowed, leaving just you, Shanks, and the sea.

You dip your fingers into the cool water, feeling its gentle caress against your skin. Shanks chuckles softly beside you, warning, “Mind your hands.”

You splash him lightly in response, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. The two of you share a quiet laugh, the tension easing as you lose yourselves in the serenity of the ocean.

'This,' you think, is what you’ve always loved most about sailing—the way the world transforms under the night sky, how the ocean becomes a tranquil mirror reflecting the stars above. It’s a reminder of how vast and beautiful the world is, even in its quiet moments.

Leaning over the side of the boat, you gaze down into the water, marveling at the world below. The fish and sea creatures seem to be sleeping, floating peacefully just beneath the surface. Everything feels so calm, so different from the chaos of the day. The ocean’s gentle lull, the stars twinkling above—it’s all mesmerizing.

But for Shanks, the real beauty isn’t the ocean or the stars—it’s you. He watches as you lose yourself in the wonder of the world around you, your eyes alight with curiosity and joy, your smile so radiant it could rival the sun.

You don’t even realize it, but to him, you’ve always been the most ethereal sight, the one thing that makes this vast, untamable world feel like home.

The boat drifts gently on the quiet waters, the two of you nestled against each other as the lantern’s soft glow casts a warm circle of light. The ocean hums in the background, the sound of the waves gently slapping against the sides of the dinghy, while overhead, the stars twinkle like tiny beacons of light in the vast night sky.

It feels as though the world beyond the sea doesn’t exist, and for a while, you both simply enjoy the tranquility.

But soon, conversation naturally flows between you and Shanks, the easy back-and-forth of two souls who have shared a lifetime of stories and adventures. Luffy comes up first, his boundless energy and unshakable optimism always making you smile. Then there’s Ace, Uta, Sabo—each memory shared with fondness and a tinge of sadness as you recall the times spent with them, wondering where life will lead them next.

Shanks talks about Buggy, and you can’t help but chuckle at his long-time friend’s antics. “Buggy’s going to find the One Piece before any of us,” you tease, leaning back into Shanks' warmth. “Can’t wait to see the look on your face when he does.”

Shanks grins, shaking his head. “If that clown gets there first, I might just retire early,” he jokes, the humor in his voice laced with the familiarity of an old friendship.

Then, as conversations between you often do, the topic shifts to the grand mystery that’s captivated the world—the One Piece. You tilt your head, watching the moonlight dance over the water, your thoughts racing with ridiculous theories.

“You know,” you begin, your tone half-serious, “I think the real reason Benn’s wanted dead is because of his past in the Marines.”

Shanks raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Go on…”

You lean in, voice dropping conspiratorially. “I think Benn knows what the One Piece really is.”

Shanks smirks, amused by your sudden shift into wild theorizing. “Oh? And what’s that?”

You can’t help but grin, the ridiculousness of your idea bubbling up. “It’s a wax strip.”

He blinks, staring at you like you’ve lost your mind. “A… wax strip?”

“Yep,” you say, trying to keep a straight face. “You see, back in the day, there was this legendary sleepover with Monkey D. Dragon, Gold Roger, and Whitebeard. They tried this beauty regiment, you know, to keep their rugged looks under control. But something went horribly wrong, and now Dragon’s been walking around without eyebrows ever since.”

Shanks stares at you, and you can see the moment the absurdity of your theory sinks in. His eyes widen in disbelief before a bark of laughter escapes him. “Wait— so Dragon lost his eyebrows during a sleepover with Roger?!”

You nod solemnly. “Exactly. And the One Piece is the last remaining proof of that night—a wax strip containing Dragon’s eyebrows. That’s why they had to execute Roger, to keep the secret from getting out!”

Shanks doubles over, his laughter coming in great, booming waves. His whole body shakes with it, and he grips the edge of the boat, trying to steady himself.

“I— I can’t—” he chokes out between gasps for breath. His face is flushed, tears of laughter threatening to spill from his eyes.

You can’t help but join him, your own giggles bubbling up as you watch him lose it completely. You let go of the oars to clutch your stomach, trying not to tip the boat over as the two of you howl with laughter.

“I’m serious!” you manage to get out, though the ridiculousness of your own theory makes it hard to keep your voice steady.

Shanks wheezes, wiping a hand across his face. “Eyebrows… eyebrows… with a wax strip!”

He shakes his head, barely able to breathe as he leans back against the side of the boat, still snickering.

“I swear, only you could come up with something like that.”

The boat sways gently beneath you as you both try to regain control, and you grab the oars, taking over steering the dinghy while Shanks continues to laugh. You glance back at him, shaking your head in mock frustration.

“Well, someone’s gotta steer while you recover from my genius theory.”

Shanks sits up, trying to catch his breath. His eyes are still sparkling with mirth, the solemnity that had clouded them earlier completely wiped away by your absurdity. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and looks at you with a grin that’s both affectionate and teasing. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

You shrug, still chuckling. “Maybe. But I’ve kept you entertained all these years, haven’t I?”

He nods, his laughter finally dying down, but his smile remains. “That you have.” His voice softens, and the mood between you shifts slightly, the laughter giving way to something quieter, more intimate.

Moonlight reflects off the water, the gentle rocking of the boat creating a sense of calm that wraps around you both. As you dip your fingers into the cool water again, feeling the sea’s steady pulse, you can’t help but smile to yourself.

The beauty of the night, the ridiculousness of your conversation, and the way Shanks looks at you—everything feels perfect, like the ocean has swallowed up all the heaviness of the world and left you with just this moment.

And though Shanks has stopped laughing, he’s still watching you, his gaze filled with that familiar warmth. The sight of you leaning over the boat, eyes full of wonder as you take in the night sky and the calm waters, never fails to amaze him.

To him, you’re the real treasure in this world, your joy and curiosity shining brighter than any moon or stars.

Soon, it becomes even later, and you both return to your house. The house is still as you and Shanks quietly slip through the front door, the faint scent of saltwater and sea clinging to your clothes.

The soft sound of your slippers barely echoes as you both tiptoe through the rooms, careful not to wake the sleeping crew scattered across your kitchen and dining room.

Blankets and pillows have been pulled from the guest closet, and you can make out the tangled mess of limbs, chests rising and falling in peaceful slumber. Someone’s snoring lightly, and the soft murmur of sleep-talking drifts through the air as you navigate past them.

You exchange a glance with Shanks, and a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. It feels like sneaking in after a long adventure, the comforting sense of home mingling with the reminder of the fleeting time you have together. His hand brushes yours, a fleeting touch that anchors you in the moment as you both climb the stairs with careful steps, finally making your way to your bedroom.

Once inside, you close the door gently behind you. The familiar scent of your sheets, the worn, cozy blankets, and the soft light filtering through the curtains create an intimate cocoon. Shanks shrugs off his coat, hanging it on the bedpost, and you can’t help but grin at the casual ease of it all.

For a moment, it feels like he’s never left.

“Have you taken any lovers since I last saw you?” you tease, your voice low and playful as you sit on the edge of the bed, pulling off his boots.

“I keep telling you that it wasn’t like that with Mihawk!” Shanks replied, his voice hushed but carrying a laugh.

“So you say,” you quip, eyes twinkling with mischief. But there’s no jealousy in your words, only the shared understanding that the bond between you both could never be betrayed.

You both giggle, the sound soft and intimate, knowing full well that neither of you would ever stray. Shanks stands, stepping over to your dresser where your anchor earrings sit. He plucks them up and then reaches into his pocket, retrieving a new set of earrings shaped like a ship's helm. Without a word, he places them next to your old ones, the subtle gesture saying more than words ever could.

A piece of him, left with you.

You crawl back under the covers, the weight of the day catches up with you, the sea breeze still lingering on your skin. Shanks settles beside you, watching you with that ever-present glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

You watch him, a warm feeling blooming in your chest. He turns back to you, and before he can slip under the covers, you reach out, cupping his face with your hands. Your fingers poke and prod at him, squishing his cheeks in playful teasing.

His skin is warm under your touch, rough from years at sea, but familiar. You even pick at his scruff a bit. He squints at you in mock offense, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Go ahead, bite me,” you challenge with a grin, your voice barely above a whisper but playful nonetheless.

Shanks chuckles through his nose, his teeth flashing in the low light as he leans in and gently snaps his jaws at you, catching your finger between his teeth in the softest, most careful bite. He holds it there for a second before kissing it gently, the warmth of his lips sending a shiver down your spine.

You pull your hand back and snuggle down into the mattress, pulling the blankets up to your chin. Shanks joins you, his strong arms slipping around you as the two of you settle into the comfort of each other’s presence. His body is warm and familiar, his scent a mix of the ocean and the faint hint of rum.

The silence stretches out, peaceful but heavy with unspoken words. Shanks’ voice breaks it first, quiet and reflective.

“I’ll be gone in the morning.”

You swallow, your throat tightening at the inevitable. “I know,” you whisper, staring at the dark ceiling.

He shifts beside you, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm. “I’m going to miss you,” he says, his voice barely above a murmur, filled with a tenderness that makes your chest ache.

“As will I,” you manage to say, though the words feel too small for the weight of what you feel.

A beat of silence passes before Shanks speaks again, this time his voice softer, more serious. “Can I tell you something?”

You turn your head to look at him, your eyes searching his face in the dim light. “Yes?”

He hesitates for just a moment, and when he speaks, his words are laced with raw emotion.

“I love you.”

The confession makes your heart clench, the quiet sincerity of it hitting you like a wave. You’ve known it, felt it in the way he’s always treated you, but hearing it spoken aloud—especially now, on the edge of another departure—makes part of you want to cry.

“I… I love you too,” you whisper, your voice trembling despite yourself.

Shanks’ hand moves to your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that escapes before you even realize it’s there. “In case I die tomorrow,” he says softly, his voice barely a breath, “I want you to hear it one more time.”

“I love you.”

The words hang in the air between you, and you can’t help but bury your face against his chest, trying to hold back the sob that threatens to escape. His arms tighten around you, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, grounding you in the present.

You close your eyes, willing the moment to last, even as the heaviness of his impending departure settles over both of you like a storm cloud waiting to burst.

The morning light pours through your window, casting long shadows on the wooden floor. You stir, reaching out to the empty space beside you, and, as expected, find it cold.

Shanks is gone, true to his word. You sigh softly, sitting up in bed, pulling the covers around you for just a moment longer. But then the smell of freshly baked bread wafts through the house, and your curiosity draws you downstairs.

In the kitchen, everything is pristine. The countertops gleam, your pantry is fully restocked, and a neat stack of notes sits on the stove. You pick one up, recognizing Benn’s precise, no-nonsense handwriting.

A brief note, polite as ever, informing you that everything was taken care of: your gutters cleaned, garden weeded, and the trash dutifully taken out.

You smile at the thoroughness of it all, imagining Shanks probably supervising the entire crew to ensure everything was done right. Your eyes drift to the corner of the room where your favorite scarf used to hang, only to notice it’s missing.

In its place, a vibrant red sash and a neatly wrapped box for your pistols now rest, a clear sign that Shanks had left a part of himself behind once more.

You pick up the red sash and hold it for a moment, feeling the soft fabric between your fingers. Then, with a sigh, you begin to get dressed, opting for something simple at first—a starch white blouse that feels cool against your skin, paired with a navy blue pencil skirt.

But as time ticks away, the pressure of duty calls, and you finally surrender to the full uniform. You button up the military jacket with its crisp white fabric, pull on your cap, and lace up your combat boots.

The final touch is the red sash, which you tie snugly around your waist for comfort, a small piece of Shanks’ world blending with your own.

Stepping outside, the morning air feels crisp, the breeze carrying the faint scent of the sea. You make the familiar walk down the hill, your boots crunching over the dirt path, your thoughts scattered between Shanks’ departure and the day ahead. As you near the village, however, you’re met with an unusual commotion. There’s a buzz of excitement in the marketplace, people whispering and pointing toward the docks.

You pick up your pace, weaving through the crowded market, dodging vendors and children playing in the streets. The sound of hurried feet matches the beat of your heart as you make your way to the docks. And then you see it: the unmistakable sight of Admiral Garp’s great ship, its massive sails billowing as it rolls into the harbor.

The towering figure of Garp stands at the helm, his broad shoulders and unmistakable grin visible even from this distance.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, relief washing over you. With a quick salute to the other marines at the docks, you leap onto the ship, barely giving the cadets time to register your presence. They jump aside as you dart past them, your eyes fixed on the familiar figure ahead.

Before you can even greet him properly, Garp’s arms are around you, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. His laugh is loud and booming, the kind that shakes your entire frame. His massive hand slaps your back with affection, the force almost sending you stumbling.

“There you are!” Garp beams, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I was starting to think I’d have to drag you down from that hill of yours.”

You chuckle breathlessly, your ribs aching wonderfully from the sheer force of his hug.

“You know I wouldn’t miss you coming into town, old man.”

Before you can say more, you feel a small weight cling to your hip. Looking down, you see a pair of tiny arms wrapped around your waist. A bright pair of curious eyes look up at you, and a grin splits your face as you recognize the small boy holding onto you.

Your heart swells as you see the familiar bright eyes of your seven-year-old son, his small arms wrapping tightly around your waist. His fiery red hair, unmistakably like his father’s, catches the sunlight, creating a soft halo around his cherubic face. His smile mirrors yours, full of joy and innocence.

Not far behind him is your oldest daughter, walking with that confident stride you’ve seen in yourself for years. She’s fifteen now, her auburn hair rich and vibrant, carefully styled the half braided way you taught her, cascading down her shoulders in waves.

Her face is your mirror image, except for her eyes—either wide, deep pools like the night sky reflected in the ocean or sharp and cunning, with a twinkle of mischievous intent that’s all her own.

Or maybe a repressed part of you.

“Mom!” your son exclaims, his small hand reaching for yours. You scoop him up in one swift motion, hugging him close to your heart. Your daughter sidles up next to you, her arms crossing playfully as she surveys the scene with that knowing smirk.

“Miss me?” you ask, ruffling your son’s hair and pressing a quick kiss to his temple. He giggles, nodding vigorously before trying to wriggle free.

“Of course, they missed you,” Garp chimes in, a grin on his face as he watches the reunion. “Though I think they enjoy ‘grandpa’ time more than they let on.”

You give Garp a grateful nod. “Thanks again for keeping them busy. I know how much they love running around with you.”

Your daughter laughs, her voice ringing with a mix of sarcasm and sincerity. “Oh yeah, grandpa has the best stories, especially the ones about how he used to throw cannonballs at people.”

You shoot her a look that says behave, but she just winks at you, flipping her auburn hair over her shoulder. Her brother, ever eager to help, adjusts the strap of her large bag that he’s somehow decided to carry for her. She, in turn, holds his much smaller backpack, their roles hilariously reversed as they shuffle beside you.

You three start the walk back home, their small hands in yours, swinging gently as they chatter about their adventures with "grandpa."

Your son’s voice is filled with awe as he recounts how Garp taught him to dodge imaginary cannonballs, while your daughter’s tone is more measured, full of wit as she talks about navigating the ship’s rigging like a pro.

“I could totally be a pirate, you know,” your daughter muses, casting a sidelong glance at you, her auburn hair gleaming in the sun.

“Not like a bad one, just… you know, one of those good ones, like Uncle Luffy.”

You smile knowingly, squeezing her hand. “A pirate, huh? You know your dad wouldn’t be too happy to hear that.”

She shrugs, a mischievous glint in her eye. “He’s not here to say no, is he?”

Your son giggles at that, tugging on your arm as he jumps over a small rock.

"But I’m gonna be a marine! Just like you, Mama. And fight bad guys!"

His enthusiasm is contagious, and you can't help but laugh, thinking how they’ve inherited the best and most chaotic traits from both you and Shanks.

As you reach the house, the familiar creak of the door welcomes you home. Your son immediately kicks off his shoes, darting into the living room while your daughter takes a more measured approach, carefully setting down her bag and tidying up the space as if it’s her own personal domain.

“I’ll get changed,” your daughter calls out, already halfway up the stairs with your son at her heels.

“Don’t take too long,” you respond, your voice trailing after them. You take a moment to breathe, the house suddenly quiet save for the faint sounds of your children settling into their routine.

Your gaze falls on the kitchen counter, where the notes from Shanks' crew are stacked neatly. You pick them up, glancing at the distinct handwriting. These notes are a secret you’ve kept close to your heart, carefully hidden from prying eyes.

Not even Shanks knows about the of half of life you’ve built here. The villagers think you’re married to a man who works overseas. Only a few, like Mihawk and Luffy’s crew, have come close to uncovering the truth.

With the notes safely tucked into your purse, you can’t help but glance around the house—a place where every corner holds a memory of you and the kids. It’s a life filled with quiet joys, secrets woven into the fabric of your everyday life, a delicate balance between worlds.

The thought of Shanks lingers in the back of your mind, but for now, it's pushed aside as you focus on your children. They’re your best-kept secret, a legacy of love and strength that connects you to both the sea and the land, as you’ve always been torn between the two.

You watch as your daughter, Mariana, comes bounding down the stairs, her curly auburn hair bouncing with every step. She looks like a flash of sunlight, her bright eyes scanning the room as she carries her silver sandals in hand. You can’t help but smile—she’s always been so full of life, a perfect mix of your stubbornness and her father’s boundless energy. Her bare feet pad softly against the wooden floor, and she glances at you with a mischievous grin.

“Mom, are there any snacks?” she asks, already half-knowing the answer.

You tilt your head toward the back door, giving her a playful look.

"There’s still fruit from the yard."

“Score!” she exclaims, her excitement bubbling over as she practically skips toward the back door, already dreaming of the sweet taste of ripe peaches.

You watch as she swings the screen door open with a flick of her wrist, the sunlight filtering through and casting a golden glow over her figure. Her silhouette looks so much like you at that age, yet there’s something else—something wild and untamed about her that reminds you of the sea.

It reminds you of him.

You sigh, feeling that familiar weight pressing on your chest. Shanks doesn’t know. He’s never known. And every day, as Mariana grows more curious and your son becomes more aware, the burden of that secret becomes heavier. You’ve managed to avoid the question time and time again, especially with Mariana.

She’s smart—too smart for her own good—and every so often, her sharp, inquisitive nature leads her to ask about her father. You’ve always found a way to deflect, to change the subject, but with each passing year, it feels like you’re running out of excuses.

Your son, on the other hand, barely asks. He’s content in his little world, more attached to you and the village than Mariana ever has been. But that doesn’t lessen the guilt you feel. The worst part of it all?

You’ve never told Shanks. Not one word.

He doesn’t know that he has a daughter who shares his vibrant spirit, or a son with his piercing red hair.

He doesn’t know that the two children running through your home, laughing, playing, and growing up in the safety of this small village, are his.

And how could he?

How could you shatter his world with the truth? He’s worked his whole life to protect the seas, to maintain the balance of power, to keep the chaos at bay. You know what kind of man Shanks is—if he knew, he’d give it all up in a heartbeat to be here. To be with you. To raise them.

And who would be there to keep peace in the seas then?

You loved the village, the safety it provided. It was your sanctuary, a place where you didn’t have to worry about your children being held for ransom or hunted like some sick prize because of who their father is.

But every time you think of that last visit with Shanks, when he stood in your kitchen, laughing with you and stealing glances like he always had, it took everything in you not to crumble. To not bow and confess everything—the sins, the secrets, the life you’ve hidden from him for so long.

A part of you wanted to. You wanted to fall at his feet and tell him the truth, to take his hand and show him the family he didn’t know he had. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

"Mom, I'm staying outside!" Mariana’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. You look up, seeing her standing by the back door, already slipping her sandals on.

"Don’t go too far!" you call after her, though you know she’s probably already halfway back to the peach tree, her favorite spot in the yard. You smile despite the ache in your heart.

Mariana, so full of life, is your pride and joy. She’s quick-witted and cunning, always one step ahead of everyone, including you. It’s the same kind of cleverness you’ve seen in Shanks a thousand times, the way he always seemed to anticipate what was coming before anyone else did.

You wonder how long it’ll be before she pieces it all together—the resemblance, the stories, the red hair her brother shares with the infamous pirate.

As she disappears into the garden, you run a hand over the kitchen counter, absently picking at the sash left by Shanks. Your eyes scan the outside, but your mind is elsewhere. Shanks is out there, somewhere, unaware of the legacy he’s left behind.

The truth lingers in the air, unspoken, but ever-present. And one day, you know, you won’t be able to keep it hidden any longer.

Mariana, your star of the sea, was already off in the yard, likely sitting high in the branches of the peach tree with her sandals discarded in the grass. Her laughter echoed faintly through the open window, blending with the soft rustle of the breeze.

Inside, Luca, your moon, was making his usual descent—sliding down the banister of the stairs, too lazy to take them step by step. His red hair caught the light from the window as he landed with a thud, standing proudly before you with a mischievous grin plastered across his face.

“Oh, Luca,” you murmur, shaking your head with affection as he strides over to you, his chest puffed out. “What am I going to do with you?”

Luca, your greatest helper when it came to finding the “best” rocks on the beach. Who was very bit as in awe of the world around you. Who was skittish of thunder but always ready and willing to fight for his sister. His little arms always holding some wild creature that he’s found while exploring. Picking twigs out of his sister's hair while he himself was covered in sand.

The little one who had once dyed his hair blue using paint because he was curious about how it would look.

If you had to pick him from a line up of other children with a resemblance to Shanks you’d choose this cool little dude that has a heart as big as his father.

Luca doesn’t answer, only beams up at you with those bright eyes—your eyes—and you scoop him up into your arms despite his whines.

His legs kick in mock protest, but you kiss his round cheeks anyway, peppering his face with affection. His giggles fill the room, that sweet, innocent laughter that tugs at your heart.

“Stop! I’m a man!” he squeals between fits of laughter, trying to wriggle out of your embrace.

“Oh, a man, are you?” you tease, holding him tighter and pressing another kiss to his forehead. “Well, this man is still my baby boy.”

You hold him close, feeling the warmth of his small body against yours, and for a moment, everything feels perfect.

Just you and your children in the safety of your home, far away from the dangers of the sea. You smooth a hand over Luca’s red hair, wondering—if Shanks could see this, if he could see how much Luca looks like him—would he even need you to say the words?

Raising them without him had been the hardest thing you’d ever done. It felt wrong, every lie, every evasion of the truth, every time you had to cover up why you couldn’t tell him.

You’d sent aid when you couldn’t be there for a fight, feigned illness or some convenient excuse when he’d visited on nights the children were staying in your room.

On those nights, you’d stayed downstairs, telling Shanks it was for old times’ sake, a ‘slumber party’ for the two of you, when in reality, you were protecting the secret that grew harder to contain with each passing day.

You’d felt Benn’s eyes on you, too. How many times had he nearly stumbled upon the bottles, pacifiers, and toys you’d hastily hidden? Maybe he already knew and was keeping your secret, but you’d never asked. The fewer people who knew, the safer your children would be.

Luca’s laughter dies down, and he nuzzles into you, resting his head on your shoulder. The weight of his small form in your arms feels like the weight of the world at times, the burden of secrets and lies pressing down on you. But here, now, in this moment, it’s just you and your son.

You don’t hear the footsteps outside. You don’t hear the soft creak of your front door opening or the steady sound of boots on the wooden floor. You're too wrapped up in Luca, kissing his cheeks again, earning another round of giggles. It’s only when you hear your name being called—familiar, yet unexpected—that your heart skips a beat.

“My love?”

The voice is unmistakable, and your breath catches in your throat as you turn, still holding Luca in your arms. There, standing in the entryway, is Shanks.

The room seems to shrink, and time feels like it slows to a crawl. Shanks stands in the doorway, sunlight framing his figure, his usual carefree smile faltering slightly as his eyes land on you and Luca.

There’s a moment of silence, thick with unspoken words and heavy with the weight of what you’ve hidden for so long. Luca, oblivious to the tension, wriggles in your arms, his small voice breaking through the quiet.

“Mama, who’s that?”

Your heart pounds in your chest as Shanks’ gaze shifts to Luca, his eyes widening slightly. For a moment, he looks at Luca—really looks at him—and you can see the realization starting to dawn on his face. The same red hair, your sweet grin, the spark of life in his eyes.

“y/n…”

End of part 1, second half to be posted 09/09/24

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