#red haired pirates x reader

[gav-san]

Pipe and Prejudice

Main Masterlist Here

One Piece Masterlist

Oneshot Length: 3.5 K+

Pirate law says don’t screw the crew. Beckman says: Not unless it’s him.

To gently encourage @jintaka-hane to never stop writing Benn Beckman.

Benn Beckman doesn’t walk. He arrives.

Every step is deliberate. Every movement measured, like he has all the time in the world and no intention of wasting a second of it. He’s tall in the way that makes people straighten their backs when he passes, broad-shouldered and lazy-limbed like a wolf that hasn’t bothered to hunt yet. Everything eventually comes to him.

Salt-kissed hair falls in careless waves, streaked with silver at the temples in a way that shouldn’t be hot, but absolutely is. There’s stubble along his jaw, the kind that begs to be scraped against skin. His voice, when he actually chooses to use it, is low and smooth with just enough gravel to feel like sin you can’t afford but want anyway.

He doesn’t speak much. He doesn’t need to.

One glance from under those heavy-lidded eyes and people either shut up, shape up, or rethink their life choices. He carries himself with the quiet confidence of a man who could kill you with a look. He’d rather ruin you slowly though. A hand on your throat. A smirk at the edge of his mouth like the punchline to a private joke.

And that damn cigarette?

Always within reach. Cradled between his fingers or tucked into his mouth like a warning. He lights it lazily, exhales like he’s bored, and watches you like he’s anything but.

His lips are always slightly curled, like he knows something you don’t.

Spoiler: he does.

And his hands. Scarred, steady, infuriatingly controlled. The kind you imagine gripping the wheel of a ship or the curve of a thigh with the exact same precision.

Benn Beckman isn’t loud. He’s just there. In your space. In your thoughts. In your blood.

And if he ever really touched you?

You’re pretty sure the ship would burn down from sheer atmospheric tension. He wouldn’t even flinch.

He’s so hot. And it’s starting to make you a little pent up.

Okay. A lot.

Especially since, you know, it hasn’t exactly been easy being part of his crew.

And that hypocritical asshole Benn Beckman?

Still has the nerve to act like you’re the one who can’t behave.

He knows exactly what he’s doing. And he’s doing it on purpose.

You know it. The crew knows it. Even the damn birds flying overhead know it.

Ever since you glanced, and yes, it was just a glance, thank you very much, at that long-legged mercenary in port (the one with the smirk and the suspiciously clean fingernails), Benn Beckman has made it his life’s mission to personally torpedo every attempt at affection in a fifty-nautical-mile radius.

Which would be fine. You’d respect the effort.

If it weren’t his rule.  And if you weren’t quietly nursing the unspoken, increasingly loud need to climb him like a tree. 

But he said:

No crew hookups, he said.

No emotions. No entanglements. We’re pirates, not a soap opera.

No babies (Bold, and underlined three times)

He said it with all the smug wisdom of a man who could bed half the port with nothing but a smirk and a well-timed flash of abs. At the time, you thought it was pretty reasonable.

And yet, months later, you’re the one dry as the Calm Belt and twice as volatile.

It started subtly.

A look. A step. That pipe leaned too casually on his shoulder as he just so happened to be standing between you and a promising flirtation. Then, almost lazily, he tapped the ash right onto the poor man’s sleeve.

No apology. Just a low, amused hum and a look that said, “Oops. My bad. You were in the way.”

And then it escalated.

You tried to sneak off during docking to meet that handsome tanner with the kind hands and the stupid, endearing laugh. Benn suddenly developed a deep, burning interest in knife-throwing drills. Right outside the exact door you needed to slip through.

You tried a drink with a sailor from another crew. Benn sat beside you without invitation, then proceeded to clean his pipe with the slow, deliberate menace of a man gutting a fish. Somehow, soot ended up directly on your date’s collar. The man excused himself immediately. You didn’t even get a sip.

You flirted with a charming rogue who wrote you a song. Benn whistled the same tune behind him. Off-key. Loud. Deeply disrespectful. The poor man gave up halfway through the second verse and muttered that he “wasn’t feeling it anymore.”

You chatted with a quartermaster from a supply ship. Benn strolled past, eyes flat, voice cool. “Didn’t know you were into men who can’t read a tide chart.” He was gone before the poor guy could finish blinking.

You danced. Just danced. With a noble in a tavern.

Half a spin in, Benn appeared like a mid-boss encounter. He stole the man’s drink right off the table, took a slow sip, then leaned in and muttered something so vulgar it made you blush. You. Who once out-cursed Shanks during a hurricane and won a bottle of rum and a lifetime of respect from Lucky Roux.

It was psychological warfare. And he was winning.

The crew?

Of course they noticed. But they said nothing. They remembered the rule.

Benn’s rule.

No emotional or physical entanglements within the crew.

For harmony. For professionalism.

For reasons™.

Which would be fine. Noble, even. If Benn Beckman weren’t out here acting like you belong to him, without having the decency to follow through.

Every time someone flirts with you? Benn shows up. Every time you flirt back? Benn exists louder.

And you?

You haven’t even kissed anyone in months. Not a stolen kiss in a shadowed hallway. Not a drunken mistake after a raid. Not even a pity peck from a crewmate with too much rum and not enough self-preservation.

You’re going mad. Horny. Lonely. Emotionally blue-balled by a man who won’t even break his own damn rule.

And worse?

He’s not possessive in a way you can fight. He’s calm. Polite. Maddeningly composed. No theatrics, no yelling. No sulking in the corner like a jealous idiot.

And it’s not even jealousy. He’s not possessive.

He’s interfering.

Casually. Constantly. Confidently.

And the worst part?

You’re starting to think he’s enjoying it.

Every thwarted suitor. Every lingering stare. He plays the calm, superior puppetmaster of your dry spell every moment.

A one-man blockade.

A silent, pipe-smoking shadow who somehow appears at just the right moment to obliterate your chances at intimacy like it’s a goddamn hobby.

You're not even sure why anymore. Does he think he’s protecting you? Is it some twisted sense of duty? Or is he just a power-tripping hypocrite who enjoys watching you suffer?

At this point, you’re not sure whether you want to slap him, kiss him, or set his stupid pipe on fire.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

You try. Gods, you try.

You flirt.

You flutter lashes. You laugh at jokes that aren’t even funny. You lean forward during card games and pretend not to notice when shirts ride a little low. You compliment knife skills. You fawn over his muscles. You even complimented a very unfortunate mustache because the owner had good calves.

None of it works.

Because Benn Beckman is everywhere.

Like salt in the sea, like mildew on wood, like some extremely judgmental barnacle that has emotionally latched onto your libido and refused to release it from the hull.

You try again with a visiting swordsman. A tall one. Sweet. Mutter's poetry when drunk.

Benn walks by mid-conversation, glances at your companion’s sword, and says, “Bit small for compensation, isn’t it?”

The man leaves instantly.

Then there's the shy medic from a nearby ship, who offers you flowers. Real flowers! You get one whiff before Benn “accidentally” drops his coat over them and says, “Allergic?” You aren’t, but the medic panics and runs anyway.

The next guy, you try to kiss. Try. You’re in a shadowed hallway, lips inches away, and a pipe taps lightly on the wall beside your head.

You both freeze. And Benn, not even looking at you, says casually, “Captain’s looking for you. You were going to report in an hour ago.” The man flees like a rat from a sinking ship. You’re left alone. Again. With a heat in your veins and a scream caught behind your teeth.

You really try to be normal about it, at first.

You flirt like a polite menace. You offer compliments. You even bake—bake—a pie for a carpenter who helped fix a busted plank near your quarters.

Benn drops the entire dessert into the ocean with a casual “Oops.” The carpenter pretends it never happened and never speaks to you again.

Fine.

You flirt harder. You wear a necklace with cleavage implications. You lean against barrels in suggestive ways. You ask questions like “Do you believe in soulmates?” with all the sultry poise of a woman about to commit crimes.

Each time, Benn appears. Never angry. Never loud.

Just present.

He looks at men like they’re bread left out too long. One man you try to woo tells you, “I’m sorry, I’m just not ready to be buried at sea.”

You blink. “What?”

He gestures vaguely in Benn’s direction. “He looks like the type to anchor a man with weights.”

Eventually, you grow unhinged enough to ask Shanks for help.

Desperate times. Desperate measures. Spoon in hand.

“Shanks. I haven’t been kissed in six months. I’m going to throw myself off the side of this ship and hope I land on something hot.”

He doesn’t even blink. Just grins that ridiculous grin and takes a sip of his drink like you didn’t just declare a romantic emergency at sea.

“Sounds like you already did,” he says. 

You throw a spoon at him. Not hard enough to cause damage, but with intent.

He ducks, still laughing, and yells, “Yasopp, she’s officially snapped! We’re five days from a Beckman-related homicide!”

From the crow’s nest, Yasopp calls back, “I give it three!”

Down on the deck, Lucky Roux mumbles something about prepping a mop, just in case.

And somewhere behind you, you can feel Benn’s gaze burning into your back like a storm rolling in.

You don’t look.

You’ve got at least one more spoon in your pocket. And if he says something smug tonight, it’s going straight between his collarbones.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

The celebration night starts simply.

Rum flows. Music plays. The Red Force is riding high off a fresh victory, and for once, you think…maybe tonight?

You wear your best shirt. The one that says, "I’m available, dangerous, and fully prepared to ruin lives with eye contact alone."

You lock eyes with a visiting sharpshooter. Dimples. Fast hands. Good aim. He makes a joke that’s actually funny, and you nearly cry from the sheer relief.

He invites you to dance. You accept before Benn can emerge from the shadows like the final boss of celibacy.

The deck glows with lanterns. The stars are bright. The music is rowdy, but melodic. The sharpshooter’s hands settle just right on your waist. Confident. Respectful. Warm.

You laugh at something he says. You lean in a little. It feels… nice. Not electrifying. Not dangerous. Just easy. Normal. The kind of moment you haven’t had in months.

He dips you in a practiced move. Eyes bright. Smile easy.

The air tightens. The laughter dulls, like someone turned the volume down on the world. The music still plays, but now it echoes like it’s coming from the bottom of the sea.

You don’t have to look. You feel it.

The storm has arrived.

You turn your head just slightly. And there he is. Benn Beckman.

Leaning against the mast like he owns the moonlight. Not borrowed. Not shared. His.

His coat hangs open, sleeves pushed to the elbows like he just handled something violent or intimate—maybe both. The lantern glow catches the line of his throat, the edge of his jaw, the slow drag of smoke curling from his lips like he’s sculpting the tension on purpose.

Hair tousled by the sea breeze. Scar barely visible under the lamplight. Cigarette balanced between two fingers like a threat. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t blink.

He just watches.

Not even looking at you. He’s watching him. The sharpshooter who unknowingly walked into his territory.

Assessing. Judging.Plotting a deeply personalized murder, with footnotes and a dramatic conclusion. Complete with a warning label and monogrammed body bag.

You try to ignore it. You force yourself to keep dancing. You laugh again, louder this time. Sharper. Petty. Just to prove you still have free will.

But Benn’s gaze doesn’t shift. He’s locked on you like you just committed high treason in full view of the mast. Like the moment you let another man’s hand touch your waist, you started a war.

The sharpshooter dips you again, still smiling, still unaware he’s dancing in a blast radius. You meet his eyes. And then, he kisses you.

Soft. Simple. Perfectly acceptable. You let it happen.

It’s not fireworks. It’s not poetry. But it’s something. And for one brief, fragile second, you think maybe the curse has been lifted.

But in your periphery, Benn straightens.

He moves with that infuriating calm. Like gravity, parts for him. One step. Two.

Towering. Broad-shouldered. All slow fury and sharp angles, radiating heat like he just walked out of a fight, or your last three fantasies.

His coat shifts with every step, open just enough to flash the knife-honed lines of his chest, sea-worn and sun-bitten. That scar along his side catches the lantern light, his cigarette glowing dim between his fingers like a fuse counting down.

His eyes, half-lidded and unreadable, flick to the sharpshooter with all the warmth of a storm cloud about to ruin someone’s year.

And he stops.

Just close enough to make your skin burn.

The sharpshooter opens his mouth to say something.

But nothing comes out. Not a word. Not even a breath.

Benn doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to.

The look he gives is a sentence, a verdict, and a funeral all in one.

The poor bastard swallows hard, nods like it was his own idea to leave, and looks away so quickly you wonder if he regrets ever being born.

Benn turns to you. Slow. Unhurried. Dangerous.

His eyes drag over you with the weight of something that sees too much and dares you to flinch.

You say nothing. You can’t.

Not with that look.

Not with the way your pulse trips in your throat like it forgot how to function.

He takes another drag from his cigarette, eyes still locked on yours.

Then he exhales. Smoke, silence, and something that coils in the air between you like a wire pulled too tight.

He doesn’t touch you.

But your whole body knows he could.

And if he ever did?

You’re not sure the ship would survive it.

You’re not sure you would.

“Get. Off. Her.”

Benn doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. It slices through the music like a blade to canvas; clean, cold, and final.

Your poor dance partner releases you like you’re made of dynamite. He takes one last glance at Benn, stammers something about needing another drink, and vanishes like a man fleeing death.

You turn. Jaw tight. “What is your problem, Beckman?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “You.” His voice is low. Controlled. Deadly.

“You and your damn flirting. You and every bastard who thinks they can put their hands on you.”

The words hit like a gut punch, sharp and unforgiving. You’re too stunned to speak. Too furious to breathe.

And then he steps closer. Too close.

Close enough that the scent of smoke and sea salt curls into your lungs, warm and dizzying. Close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his skin like he’s been holding back fire, and you’re the match that finally struck.

His eyes never leave yours. They’re dark, hungry, infuriating. And his voice drops. Smooth. Dangerous. Unapologetic. The sound of a man who’s done waiting, and doesn’t give a damn about consequences.

Your voice is low. Shaking. With rage. With exhaustion. With months of unmet needs and tension wound so tight it’s a miracle you haven’t combusted on the spot.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just leans in, all six-foot-something of sun-bronzed, scar-marked, sea-weathered menace, radiating heat and bad decisions.

His shirt’s open at the collar, the dip of his throat catching the lantern glow. That scar along his ribs was just visible beneath the edge of his coat. His hair was tousled like he had just rolled out of someone’s bed, his cigarette was forgotten between two fingers, and smoke was curling lazily past lips you’ve spent far too long imagining.

And his eyes, dark, hooded, locked on yours with the precision of a man who already knows what you taste like. A man who could wreck you with a look. A man who is.

He steps closer. Close enough to feel. Close enough that your breath stutters, and your pulse has nowhere to run.

“You’re not mine.” He breathes the words like a vow, slow and deliberate. Low enough that they settle against your skin. “But if I’m not allowed to have you—no one is.”

Silence. Around you. Between you. Like the moment before a storm breaks. Still, sharp, electric.

And he just stands there, too good-looking to be legal, with the firelight turning him into temptation carved from smoke and salt and every bad idea you’ve ever wanted to make twice.

Someone drops a mug. Somewhere, Shanks mutters, “Thank the sea gods—I was two weeks away from staging a fake wedding.”

You don’t blink. You don’t breathe.

You slap him.

Hard. Sharp. Satisfying.

You kiss him.

Harder. Hotter. Meaner.

It’s not sweet. It’s not gentle. It’s months of frustration. Of sabotage. Of cockblocking so relentless it deserves its own bounty poster.

It’s a collision. Of ego. Of need. Of finally.

And he kisses you back like he’s been waiting, like every smug look, every quiet stare, every damn lit cigarette was just foreplay he’d been layering like kindling.

You don’t remember how you ended up below deck. One second you’re biting his lip; the next, there’s a wall at your back and Benn’s hands at your hips, kissing you like he’s starving. Like he’s been starving. For you. Specifically.

He doesn’t fumble. He doesn’t rush. He devours with the steady, unhurried confidence of a man who’s thought about this in excruciating detail.

Later, when you’re pinned against a storage crate, breathless, barely dressed, and actively questioning your spinal alignment, you pant against his throat.

“Is this against your rule?”

He doesn’t even pause. Just mutters against your skin, warm and wicked: “An exception.”

Clothes? Gone. Pipe? Dropped and probably rolling somewhere beneath a barrel. Your dignity? Folding like a busted card table.

You moan something that might be his name or might be a new swear invented on the spot, probably one the crew will adopt out of context.

He kisses your throat again, biting this time. A warning or a reward. Then mutters, “New rule. Just for you.”

“What’s the rule?” you pant, somewhere between delirious and ready to throw him down again.

His mouth brushes your jaw as he grins, slow and cruel in the best way: “No one touches you but me. Emotionally. Physically. Biblically. Twice on Sundays just to be sure.”

You don’t argue. You can’t. You’re too busy making absolutely sure he never rewrites that rule again. Possibly ever.

Up above, the crew takes bets on how long you’ll last before you both break something important.

Shanks wins. He bet on ten minutes and a broken table.

You wake up in a supply room. Naked. Sore. Smug.

And unfortunately? So is he.

Benn Beckman, in all his post-sin glory, is still half on top of you. Bare chest rising and falling, scarred and golden in the early light slanting through the hull beams. His hair’s a mess, his lips are kiss-bitten, and one hand is still resting possessively on your hip like he’s asleep but ready to fight anyone who looks at you wrong.

And he’s hot. So hot it’s personally offensive.

The kind of hot that should come with warning signs. All long limbs, sharp edges, and that low, lazy strength that screams if you run, I’ll catch you—and not in a healthy way. Even now, bruised from your fingernails and still smug from last night, he looks like he walked straight out of your most unhinged fantasy and into a problem.

You glare at his perfect jawline and whisper:

“You’re still an asshole.”

He doesn’t even open his eyes. Just smiles, the smug bastard, and murmurs,

“You can glare all you want. Doesn’t change who you woke up under.”

The worst part? You can’t even pretend to be mad. Not when your legs are still jelly. Not when his scent is still warm on your skin. And definitely not when his hand is still resting exactly where it shouldn’t be, curled possessively on your hip like he knows you’re not going anywhere.

Because you’re not. Not yet. Not when he’s this warm, this close, and just barely awake enough to be soft about it.

You sigh. "You’re lucky you're pretty."

He grins without opening his eyes. "That’s not the only reason you kept me."

You smack his chest gently. Mostly.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Upstairs, Shanks updates the crew manual. Section 6B now reads:

Crew fraternization is forbidden.

Addendum: Unless your name is Benn Beckman and you're a tall, pipe-smoking menace with sniper eyes and slutty forearms.

In which case, fine. But at least pretend you’re conflicted, you smug bastard. Also, buy her dinner, you coward.

[kaivenom]

Can you write some headcanons about being the only female crewmate in red hair pirates?

Being the only fem!pirate on the Red Hair Pirate crew

Masterlist

It was a weird vibe at first.

Half of them were really awkward with you, trying not to be too manly cause they think that would make you uncomfortable.

The other half treats you like you are one men more and that can cause some really strange situations.

It was a matter of getting adjusted to the situation and having you around.

One example was the brothel parties, of course they made you a little uncomfortable at first, but you tried to cope with it cause you are the newest member.

Shanks realized this and aproached you one night that you were on the bar drinking.

You talked a little and he realized that it wasn't the best idea to do that, in fact, he realized some things that he didn't know about the brothel industry... cause you said it to him.

You thought the crew would hate you cause Shanks stoped the brothels parties, but when Shanks opted with pub and bar nights, they were all happy.

And so you could breathe happy and relieved.

The other thing that just made you laugh is that they didn't quite know period and all the things that come with that.

Yassop came one day with 6 packs of tampons and asked for your pussy size.

You laughed like crazy but seeing all their stunned faces made you realize that this was going to be a tough talk.

You were really embarrased talking to all these men for a whole hour about how periods work... but they got it now.

One thing that they really love about having you aroudn is that you make their looks improve.

The amount of times that Yassop, Shanks or Benn asked you for a fit check is almost hilarious.

Also, when they first saw you using a face mask they got really scared, it was dark at night and with no lights.

Then one day you found one of them with the same masks, and that was the start of the make up and glow up nights.

Where you help them trim their hair and beard, you do face masks and drink detox juices.

They really became drama queens and got some of your features.

They are more than glad to have you around, cause you are amazing and you are their girl.

Even though sometimes thay can be really awkward, but they love you a lot.

[alexa-yukiyu]

Kid reader/dokucha stealing coats/capes, like shanks cape, doflamingos, corazons, or kids fluffy ass jackets, laws coat that he had during wano etc.

woah id thought there would be more characters with capes bit i can only think of shanks- everyone else has just giant coats that none of them wear correctly except for the fluffy coats that doffy, cora and kid has (tho he had the other one before he lost his arm-) how do they not fall of the shoulder?! now in just ranting whoops

Coat Stealer

with Red haired pirates and Kidd Pirates

A/N ps I forgot my annotations in my laptop :p. Anywhoww that’s where you are wring nonnie! In the red haired pirates alone Benn, limejuice, yassop and Lucky have been seen wearing capes! There’s Luffy too and Rayleigh! And Boa…Jinbei…er well you see my point! 😂 Regardless i was just going to give my take for this but figured a drabble would take my point across better was hating on this but is it actually passable?? What do you guys think? Ya like?

Reader here is replaced by Dokucha which stands for reader in japanese for the enjoyment of reader and oc characters readers alike!

Dividers by @/firefly-graphics

Red Haired Pirates (Shanks Cloak)

“Ha! Ha! I am the Captain now!” Dokucha cheered as they climbed their way to the table, a familiar cloak engulfing them as they did.

“Hmm, Captain, you seem to have shrunk; what’s up with that?” Beck drawled, nursing the drink of his hand as he looked up at the child

“Shut up!” They yelled, shrinking slightly at the pointed glare the first mate sent them

“S-sorry, I meant quiet?

“…”

“Quiet, please?”

“Better,” he nodded, taking a sip from the sakazuki

“I’m Captain Shanks! Bow before me, peasants!” They called arms raised in victory

“I think that was the wrong Impression, Dokucha,” Lucky snickered, taking a bite from his meat

“Why don’t you try something the Boss always does?” Beck suggested

“Oh! Okay!” They nodded, clearing their throat

“I am Captain Shanks! I love women and alcohol and, and and breaking kids hearts!” They roared at the top of their lungs

“Huh? Did I get it wrong?” they asked, tilting their heads confused seeing as Yassop and Lucky doubled over laughing, Beck doing a spit take upon hearing the kid's’ words.

Kidd Pirates ( Kidd’s Coat)

Heat jumped from his bed as his door shot open, and a red ball of hair was thrown in. Curious, he approached the familiar coat, quirking his head as a small face popped up from it.

“Dokucha?”

“Uncle Heat! Help me!”

“W- What’s wrong?

“Hide me, please!” They begged as they threw themselves on the floor in front of him

“Oh. I’m guessing it has to do with his coat?” He asked, frowning as they nodded their head

“What do I get out of it?”

“Are you serious, uncle?!” They shouted, an incredulous look on their face as they shot up

“Sorry, kid. When it comes to the Boss, I’m not doing it for free. You better choose quick, though,” he teased. Before Dokucha could ask about his words, the sound of doors slamming, curses ringing, and stomping feet sounded behind them, causing Dokucha to blanch out.

“Anything! Please just hide me! I was just so cold, and he was in the shower. I forgot to put it back, please!”

“Eh, not worth, sorry.”

“Uncle?”

“Boss, they’re over here!” They gaped at the man, horrified at the betrayal, until the door behind them shot open, and something grabbed hold of them. They let out a cry as Kidd threw them over his shoulders, saying no words as he left the room.

“You better sleep with one eye open, Uncle!” They hollered as Heat simply waved them off, a teasing smile on his face as they continued trying to fight their way off the Captain’s hold

What we thinkin?

Taglist:

@Imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

@hannahbarberra162

@epochal-oracle

[firstdivisiongirl]

Hi vivi before requests close i want to request cute female reader x red hair pirates ,like the reader is joins the crew they found she can use magic she specific in water magic ,telkniss magic, mind control

Have good day!

Hi there! I know we talked already and you know I had a few ideas for this one. I chose something kind of cute featuring Makino and Luffy as well. This is before the whole thing where Luffy gets his hat. I hope you enjoy it friend.

Warning: Swearing

Red Haired Pirates x Fem Reader: A Magical Start to an New Adventure

You and Makino were best friends and both of you were basically Luffy’s mom. Unlike Makino though, you used magic. Your favorite form was water manipulation and telekinesis. Only Makino and Luffy knew about it. Sometimes, you like to play jokes on the customers like moving their chairs and glasses or making their drinks come out too fast and get all over them. Luffy loved it! To him, you were the coolest. But your favorite people to prank were the Red Haired Pirates. They fell for it every time, but they always smiled and laughed about it (unlike some guest).

One day, they came to the bar after being away for awhile. “Hey sweet cheeks,” Benn greeted you, kissing you on the cheek. Everyone else gave you a hug as Makino poured drinks for the crew.

The boys were drinking and everything was good. You decided to start with pranking Shanks. As he was lifting his glass ready to drink, you decided to hit him in the face with it, making it come out a little faster before he could react. But, as you did that, it came out more as a gush. It hit him really fast, like a water cannon. He got soaked in rum.

“What the hell?” Shanks asked as he grabbed a towel from Makino to wipe off. Luffy ran up to you with a angry yet not so scary look on his face.

“Y/N,” Luffy yelled, “that was mean! Why would you use your magic like that?!?”

Everyone froze. Thank goodness it was only you, Makino, Luffy and the crew. Luffy promised to keep it a secret, but you should have expected it to happen.

“Magic?” Yasopp asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Huh,” you sighed before continuing, “I have powers. I can move objects and water. That’s why whenever you come here you chairs seem to never be in the right place when you go to sit down or your drinks slip or hit you in the face. I’m sorry for doing that. I understand if you never want to talk to me again.” You looked down at the ground, ashamed.

Shanks eyes went wide with excitement, “that is amazing! So, do you want to join the crew? We could really use a gal like you to help if the currents are…”. You dreamed of going to sea, to have adventures of your own and see the world.

“Really?” You asked, looking back up at them, “I’d love to!”

Benn gave you a hug as Shanks spoke again,“great! We head out tomorrow, but don’t fret if you forget something. We’ll be back again soon.”

The next day, you met the boys at the Red Force with your things. As you walked onto the ship, you knew this was the start of a magical adventure!

[maaneskin]

FLYING BISON. red haired pirates x f!reader, 0.5k

“excuse me,” 

the red haired pirate crew's heads snapped up to the top of the mast where they saw a young woman squatting with a smile.

weapons were out and ready to fire in an instant, all pointed upwards. 

shanks stepped out from the men, “who are you?” he asked calmly, though he was still cautious.

you smiled, “i was just wondering if you had any fruit i could get,” 

“fruit?” 

nodding, you stood up from your squatting position and easily and elegantly got down onto the deck, standing in front of the captain.

“oi!” a man from the crowd shouted, “you can just get onto our ship and then ask for things,” 

you didn’t flinch at the guns being pointed at you. you waved your hands in front of your chest, “it’s totally fine if you don’t have any to give, i was just wondering,”

“we could kill you, you know? we’re pirates!”

tilting your head downwards, you chuckled, “do you think i would drop on a random pirate ship if i didn’t know how to fight? that’s not very nice of you,” 

an amused expression came over shanks when he felt no ill intentions from you. he laughed, shocking his crew (mostly the newer ones though, the older were used to his antics), “i don’t know if we have any fruit, but someone can check,” he turned to one of the men, “go check if we have any fruit for the lady,” 

the guy nodded and ran off inside.

shanks patted you on the back, leading you to a chair, offering some sake that you politely declined. he sat down in front of you, “you never did answer my question of who you were,” 

“right! i’m (name). it’s nice to meet you,” 

“nice to meet me, eh? you do know we’re pirates right, little lady?”

“of course,” you smiled, “but you’re giving me fruit,” 

“i guess that’s right,” 

“captain,” the guy who went to look for fruit came back with two barrels, “this is all the fruit we have. it’s not very fresh though,” 

“oh, that’s fine,” you said, “it doesn’t have to be fresh, just not rotten,” 

“how much do you want?” shanks asked, taking a big sip of his sake.

“as much as you’ll give me,” 

shanks nodded, “give her both barrels; no one eats fruit on this ship anyways,” 

you clapped your hands together, “ah! thank you!”

“is it all for you?” a long haired man asked. shanks introduced him as benn.

“no, it’s for appa,” 

a raised eyebrow from yassop, “appa,” 

you nodded, “yeah! my flying bison!” 

the captain’s eyes widened, “you have a flying bison? i thought only air benders had them,” 

“i am an airbender!“ you got up from the chair and walked to the fruit filled barrels, “and an earth bender, fire bender, and water bender,” 

“you’re the avatar,” shanks said in disbelief, “i knew i recognized those marks,” 

he referred to the marks you had on your arms. small pictures of the elements - two on each arm.

“correct!” you grinned brightly.

putting two fingers up to your mouth, you whistled and no sooner than ten seconds was appa on the deck.

“appa!” you exclaimed, not noticing the looks of horror and amazement from the crew, “i got your fruit. here you go,” you threw a few apples into the deck, appa wasting no time to eat them.

[sh4nksslvt]

One Month With You

In the final month of your life, you cherishes fleeting moments with your crew, hiding a terminal illness until only memories—and a letter—remain.

red hair pirates x reader | whitebeard pirates x reader | strawhats x reader | ONE SHOT tags: angst, sfw, ooc, major character death, grief, terminal illness a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe and akward word count: 2.6k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

RED HAIR PIRATES

The sea was calm that morning, the kind of quiet that made even the waves seem to hold their breath. The deck of the Red Force was alive with chatter and light laughter, but you stood by the railing, letting the wind sweep through your hair. Your fingers curled around the wood, your gaze far off—not at the horizon, but somewhere past it.

One month. That’s what Hongo told you when he unknowingly confirmed your own suspicions. You’d been hiding the worsening symptoms for months—fatigue that sank deep into your bones, the relentless pain in your chest, the occasional blood you’d spit out into the sea, unnoticed.

You knew he’d figure it out eventually. He was too good not to.

But you hadn’t expected him to burst into your quarters the night before, shaking with barely restrained panic.

“What the hell is this?!” Hongo had yelled, thrusting a tattered medical report into your hands. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say something?!”

You couldn’t meet his eyes. “Because I didn’t want to be watched like a ghost who hasn’t died yet.”

Silence. Deafening.

“...You have a month, Y/N, maybe less. You’re—” His voice cracked. “You’re dying, and you're acting like it's nothing?”

“I have a month, Hongo,” you had said quietly. “Please… just let me have it. Don’t tell the others. Let me spend it with them. Please.”

He didn't answer for a long time. When he finally did, it was with a whisper: “You’re a fucking idiot.” But he pulled you into a hug and didn’t let go until your shoulders stopped shaking.

From that day, you lived more fiercely than ever. You laughed at Shanks’ dumb jokes and drank with him until the world blurred. You challenged Benn to silent stargazing contests, betting on how many shooting stars you’d catch. You dragged Limejuice to island carnivals and flirted shamelessly until his face burned red. You played cards with Hongo, even when your hands trembled too much to hold them.

They all noticed. The Red-Haired Pirates weren’t stupid.

“You’re real clingy lately,” Limejuice teased one night, bumping your shoulder with his. “You sure you’re not sick or something?”

You smiled, heart twisting. “Would you be mad if I said I might be?”

He laughed, oblivious. “Nah. I’d carry you myself if you keeled over.”

You didn’t say anything. Just leaned into his warmth.

Shanks was the hardest. He noticed too much. Noticed how often you disappeared below deck when the coughing fits hit, how your eyes stayed on the ocean longer than they should have.

“You thinking of leaving us?” he asked once, half-joking.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “No,” you lied.

Benn just watched. Always watched. He didn’t say much, but you could feel his eyes lingering on you, searching. You gave him your brightest smiles.

The day you left, the crew didn’t know.

You made breakfast with Chef-level effort, joking with the kitchen staff, slipping kisses to Limejuice's cheek and hugging Shanks tighter than ever. You sat with Benn for hours on the deck, your head on his shoulder, watching the sun creep across the sky.

“I think you’re my favorite,” you whispered, teasing.

He snorted. “Don’t let Shanks hear that.”

He didn’t know that was the last time he’d feel your heartbeat against his side.

That night, you slipped away. A letter for each of them tucked under your pillow. A note for Hongo too:

"Thank you—for letting me pretend I wasn’t dying. I love you all too much to say goodbye."

Morning broke in chaos.

“Where the hell is Y/N?!” Limejuice shouted, tearing through the ship.

“They’re not in the galley, or the crow’s nest!” Benn called out, panic rising in his usually calm voice.

Shanks was quiet, unusually still, staring at the empty hammock where your scent still lingered.

The notes were found soon after. One by one, hands shaking as they read your last words.

You didn’t say goodbye, but each letter bled with love.

“To Shanks — Thank you for making me feel like I belonged in the stars.”

“To Benn — You saw through me. Thank you for not saying anything.”

“To Limejuice — Thank you for reminding me how fun life could be.”

“To Hongo — I’m sorry I made you carry this alone. Thank you for letting me be selfish.”

They thought you ran. Were taken. Benn demanded a search party. Shanks was pale, silent, gripping your letter so tight his knuckles bled. Limejuice punched a wall. Hongo said nothing—for two days.

And then, he snapped.

He threw your medical file onto the table during a heated meeting, eyes wild. “They didn’t leave!....They died. And...I let them.”

The room fell to a breathless silence.

“You knew?” Benn whispered.

“They had a month. They begged me to let them spend it with us, like nothing was wrong. And I let them lie.”

Shanks stumbled back, as if struck. “No. No, they were… they were fine.”

“They were dying, Shanks! They couldn’t breathe without pain, they were—” Hongo’s voice cracked. “They spent their last strength loving us.”

No one spoke.

Limejuice fell to his knees. “We didn’t even say goodbye.”

Later that night, Shanks sat by the railing where you always stood.

“I hope you’re watching the stars from up close now, Y/N,” he murmured, tears streaking his face. “Because we’ll never stop looking for you in them.”

WHITEBEARD PIRATES

You’d always imagined dying quietly, maybe on an empty shore, wrapped in salt and wind. But fate had other plans. Your end would come not with isolation—but surrounded by laughter, drink, and the stubborn, unbearable warmth of the Whitebeard Pirates.

The diagnosis came on a cold, cloudy day—so ordinary it felt like a betrayal.

You'd passed out during training. Woke up with Marco’s worried face looming over you. He’d examined you in complete silence. But his shaking hands and tight jaw told you everything.

“It’s not good, is it?” you asked, voice barely a whisper.

“No,” Marco had said, the word cracking as it left him. “It’s... terminal. A rare degeneration of the lungs and heart. I don’t—there’s nothing I can do.”

You didn’t cry. Instead, you laughed. “So, what—you’re saying I won’t outlive my goldfish?”

He didn't laugh. He looked like he’d been stabbed. “You have a month. Maybe.”

You made him promise to keep it secret.

Just him and Whitebeard.

When Oyaji found out, he sat beside your bed and gripped your hand with those massive, shaking fingers. “You are my child,” he rumbled. “And if this is your last voyage… then let it be the greatest of your life.”

You had never cried before. But you cried then.

From that day, you threw yourself into every moment.

Ace was all fire and impulse, but when he was around you, something softer flickered beneath the surface. He took to dragging you along for sparring matches, even when you claimed your muscles ached.

“I need a challenge,” he’d smirk, sweat glistening down his neck.

“You just want to show off,” you’d tease, raising your fists anyway.

He was always careful not to hit you too hard. Not that you said anything—but he seemed to know. When you tripped one day, coughing blood into your sleeve when he wasn’t looking, he’d jogged over, helping you up without a word. His hand lingered on your arm just a second too long.

That night, you sat beside him, both of you perched on the edge of the ship with your legs dangling into the air.

“You’re weird lately,” he mumbled, eyes on the moon.

You bumped his shoulder with yours. “Just thinking how lucky I am.”

He blinked at you. “To be with us?”

“To be with you,” you said, gently. And he froze, eyes wide, like he didn’t know what to do with that.

“…You’re gonna break my heart, aren’t you?” he whispered.

You smiled, because you already had.

Izo became your confidant without even knowing it. With every eyeliner flick and matching kimono, you gave yourself permission to feel alive. They would hum as they painted your face, hands warm against your cheeks.

“You’re glowing,” they said once, adjusting the red ribbon they tied in your hair.

“Death becomes me, huh?” you joked, and they slapped your arm, scandalized.

“You joke about dying too much.”

You didn’t mean to, but your voice cracked. “It’s easier than pretending I’m not scared.”

Their fingers paused, lips parting. “…Are you scared?”

You looked at them in the mirror, the shimmer of gold powder across your eyelids catching the light. “Yeah,” you said. “But not when I’m with you.”

They smiled then, a bit sad, and leaned in to kiss your temple. “Then let’s live like hell until we drop, dear.”

Thatch was joy personified. It was impossible to be sad around him for long, and that’s what made it hurt worse.

He caught you sneaking dessert at 2 a.m. once and acted like you’d committed a crime.

“Oh-ho! So this is where my pudding went!”

“Your pudding? I thought it had my name on it.”

“I’ll accept bribes in the form of kisses or cleaning dishes.”

You kissed his cheek, and he nearly dropped the bowl.

Every stolen moment in the kitchen became a memory—dancing while covered in flour, whipped cream fights, drunken baking experiments that ended in fire. You’d laughed so hard your sides hurt, even as your lungs begged you to stop.

“You’re making memories,” he said one night, tousling your hair. “That’s what this is. You’ve been clingy lately. Like you’re trying to make every second count.”

You froze, the spoon halfway to your mouth. “…Would you hate me if I was?”

He blinked. “Nah. I’d probably try to hold on tighter.”

You didn’t tell him then. Just leaned into his side and let him talk about his dream of opening a cake café after he retires.

You knew you’d never see it.

Marco was the one who saw the cracks, and it destroyed him. You kept him close because you trusted him most—and that made it hurt more.

You caught him once crying at your door. He didn’t think you were awake.

You opened it, silently wrapped your arms around him, and whispered, “I’m still here.”

“You shouldn’t be this calm,” he rasped into your shoulder.

“I’m terrified,” you admitted. “But I’d rather spend what time I have being loved than dying slowly in a bed.”

He pulled back, staring at you with reddened eyes. “You could have told them.”

“They’d look at me like I was already dead.”

He said nothing, and you reached up to cup his cheek. “Promise me… promise you’ll wait. Let me leave on my own terms.”

“…Okay,” he whispered. “But I’ll hate you for it.”

You kissed his forehead. “I hope you do.”

You left them on a quiet morning.

Then you slipped away, leaving only a bundle of letters on Marco’s desk.

Your final message was simple:

“Don’t let them hate me for this. Please. Just let them think I ran.”

The ship erupted into panic by nightfall.

Ace punched through a wall. “They’re gone?! What do you mean GONE?”

Izo ran through the corridors, calling your name until their voice broke.

Thatch turned the kitchen inside out like he expected you to be hiding in the cupboards, laughing.

Marco couldn’t speak.

He stood at the rail, gripping the wood so hard it splintered beneath his fingers.

Whitebeard stood behind him, silent, his massive shadow cast across the deck like a shroud.

“Do I tell them?” Marco rasped.

“No,” Whitebeard rumbled. “Not yet. Let them rage. Let them mourn in their own way.”

“But—”

“They wouldn’t understand it now,” he said. “Wait.”

A week passed. Then two.

No sign of you.

Your room remained untouched. Your absence echoed louder than any cannon fire.

They scoured islands. Questioned strangers. Considered kidnappers, Marines, even betrayal.

Ace refused to accept it. “They wouldn’t leave us! Not without a word. Not without—something.”

He went to Marco, desperate. “You know something. Tell me.”

Marco finally broke.

He gave Ace your letter.

Ace read it once. Then again and again. Then crumpled to the ground, screaming into his fists.

“They died?! All this time—they were dying?!”

Marco stood frozen, guilt crawling like acid beneath his skin.

“They didn’t want you to mourn them before they were gone,” he whispered. “They wanted to be loved, not pitied.”

Ace couldn’t answer. He just sobbed, curled around your crumpled letter like it could still warm him.

That night, Whitebeard gathered his sons and daughters.

He read your letters aloud. One by one. Each one aching with truth, memory, and love.

“To Ace — You made me feel alive, even when I was already halfway gone.” “To Izo — Thank you for making me beautiful when I felt invisible.” “To Thatch — You made every day sweeter, even the ones I didn’t think I’d survive.” “To Marco — Thank you for holding my secret when it crushed you. I love you most for that.” “To Oyaji — You gave me a family when I had nothing left. Thank you… for letting me die a Whitebeard Pirate.”

By the end, the deck was silent.

No sobs. Just breathless grief.

They didn’t throw a funeral.

They held a feast.

Not because they weren’t mourning—but because they knew you’d hate to see them broken.

They told stories. Passed your favorite drink around. Laughed, cried, and danced with ghosts.

And when the fire died down, Ace stared at the embers and whispered, “I hope you found peace, flame-heart.”

STRAWHAT PIRATES

You didn’t plan on dying at sea, but the Grand Line has a way of making plans for you. The first signs were subtle: a lingering fatigue you chalked up to busy days, aches you blamed on training, the dull pain in your side that you laughed off when Chopper asked if you were okay.

You knew before he did. Deep down, your body had been whispering the truth long before the words made it onto paper.

It wasn’t until you collapsed in the hallway between the kitchen and the infirmary that Chopper realized something was seriously wrong. When you woke up, it was to the sterile smell of the medical bay and his wide, terrified eyes.

“I ran every test,” he said, voice trembling. “And then I ran them again. It’s… it’s bad. Really bad.”

You nodded. Your throat was too dry to answer.

“I—I can’t fix it. Not with what we have on board. Maybe if we got to a major medical port, but even then, I don’t know if—”

You reached out, resting a hand on his tiny shoulder. “How long?”

He hesitated, ears flattening. “A month. Maybe.”

You didn’t cry. Not then. Not even when he begged to tell the others.

“No. Please. Let me have this. Just a month, Chopper.”

“They’ll never forgive me.”

“They will,” you said. “If they knew now, it’d ruin everything. I don’t want pity. I want memories.”

So you began to live. Fully, recklessly, as if the pain eating away at you was just a shadow at your back.

You started with Sanji. He was the easiest to be around, the one whose affection was loud and constant. Every meal became a moment: you insisted on helping in the kitchen, even when he protested. You chopped vegetables until your hands hurt, stirred sauces while leaning against him, snuck little bites when he wasn’t looking.

“You’re here a lot lately,” he said one afternoon, handing you a bowl of soup.

“I like watching you work,” you replied.

He grinned. “You trying to steal my heart, love?”

You leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Maybe.”

He went quiet for a beat. Then, more softly, “You look at me like you’re memorizing my face.”

You didn’t answer. Just smiled.

Zoro came next. You sparred with him almost every day now, ignoring the way your lungs burned, the way your legs shook. He didn’t say anything the first time you collapsed mid-match, just silently carried you to the infirmary.

“You’re pushing too hard,” he said.

“I need to,” you whispered.

“Why?”

You looked at him, really looked. “Because I don’t want to forget what it feels like to fight beside you.”

He frowned. “You’re acting like you’re running out of time.”

You forced a smile. “Aren’t we all?”

That night, he found you on the deck, staring at the stars.

He sat beside you, arms crossed. “You’re not saying something. I don’t like it.”

“I’m just tired.”

“I’d carry you, if you asked.”

Your heart ached. “I know.”

Luffy was harder.

He didn’t notice at first. You were careful around him—too careful. You laughed with him during meals, ran across islands with him, challenged him to stupid games on the deck. But he began to notice the way you lingered during hugs. The way you stared at him too long. The way your smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes.

One evening, you lay beside him on the figurehead, watching the horizon.

He turned his head toward you. “Are you gonna leave?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You look like you’re saying goodbye.”

You looked away. “I’m not. Not yet.”

He was quiet for a while. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to either.”

He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and didn’t let go until you both fell asleep.

ou made time for everyone else too.

With Nami, you spent lazy afternoons in the library, pretending to study charts. She taught you how to draw maps. You traced the oceans of the world with your fingers and imagined places you’d never see.

“You’re getting good at this,” she said.

“I want to leave something behind,” you murmured.

She didn’t understand then. But she would.

Usopp was a light in the dark. You asked for bedtime stories, exaggerated tales of heroism and romance. He performed them with full sound effects, arms flailing, voice booming.

“You always laugh now,” he noted one night.

“It’s easy, when I’m with you.”

He blushed, scratching the back of his head. “You’re acting like I’m the best part of your day.”

You smiled. “You are.”

Robin gave you quiet comfort. She didn’t ask questions. She simply read to you, let you rest your head in her lap, brushed your hair back from your face.

“You’re calm,” you told her.

“You’re storming,” she replied.

You didn’t deny it.

Franky built you a swing on the back of the Sunny, facing the sea. You spent hours there, feet brushing over the waves, eyes on the endless blue.

“Super chill, right?” he said, adjusting the ropes.

You nodded. “It’s perfect.”

He caught your hand before he left. “You’re not okay.”

You looked up at him. “No.”

“Okay,” he said, voice tight. “You don’t have to be.”

Brook played lullabies for you. Sweet, simple things. You danced with him once, slow and clumsy.

“If I still had a heart,” he said softly, “I think it would ache.”

You rested your head against his chest. “Mine already does.”

Chopper was breaking. Every day, he looked at you like you were already fading. You caught him crying in the storage room once, holding one of your jackets.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered.

“You’re stronger than me,” you said, hugging him.

“I hate lying.”

“I know.”

You waited until they docked at a small island for supplies.

You left at dawn.

Left behind the stargazer chair. The flowered book. The slingshot. The meals. The love.

Left behind a stack of letters in Chopper’s room.

When the crew realized you were gone, Luffy panicked first.

“They wouldn’t leave! They’d never leave!”

Zoro was already on the dock, scanning the shoreline. Sanji lit a cigarette with shaking fingers.

They searched the island. They waited at the ship. They called for you until their voices cracked.

You didn’t come back.

That night, Chopper gathered them in the infirmary.

“I didn’t want to break the promise,” he said, voice trembling. “But… they’re gone. They were dying.”

No one moved.

“…What?”

“They only had a month. They asked me to let them live… without pity.”

Nami burst into tears. "They should’ve told us,”

Zoro punched the wall.

Luffy stood in stunned silence, until he screamed your name into the ocean wind.

They read your letters together. All huddled in the infirmary, hearts shattered.

“To Sanji — You made me feel wanted, even when I felt like a ghost.” “To Zoro — You were my anchor. I always knew where I stood when I was beside you.” “To Luffy — Thank you for being the sun. I needed the light more than you’ll ever know.” “To the Crew — You made me part of a family. You made me more than a dying story.”

They held a quiet vigil on the deck.

Brook played your song one last time. Robin scattered petals into the sea. Chopper lit a lantern and let it drift across the water.

They stayed on that island for days.

Then, they sailed forward—quieter, heavier—but with your memory in their hearts.

You were their nakama.

You were their heart.

You always would be.

[dragonanon]

Okay, but please consider being a Zoan Cat user and accidentally getting “adopted” by a pirate crew after being mistaken for a regular ass cat. You honestly thought they knew you were a human at first, and by the time you realized they didn’t, it had been long enough that revealing yourself would’ve been awkward af, and you were then curious about how long it would take them to figure you out. So instead you stfu and be a relatively good lil’ ship cat.

You get free food, plenty of comfy places to nap in, and lots of scritches and attention from big men who’re surprisingly giddy to have a tiny cat on board. Why on Earth would you want to ruin that??

You get away with it for months. And the ONLY reason you get caught is because someone does something so unbelievably dumb that you absentmindedly say out loud “Damn, we’re really reaching new levels of stupid here.” You could hear a mouse fart in stunned silence that followed as you realize your inside thought did NOT stay inside, and now you want nothing more than to just disappear into the floor.

Shockingly enough, you’re forgiven and continue on as the ship cat; except now you can properly converse and interact with everyone. HOWEVER you’re still subjected to being picked up and held out towards everyone like Simba whenever you’re fully transformed into a cat lmfao

[2b4st4r]

lookkkkk what if Shanks accidentally showed his very clingy side with reader infront of his crew? I mean shanks would probably be the type who wouldn’t mind to display public affection but maybe he was just too drunk and starts acting clingy in a way(or maybe different types of actions)that the crew would not expect?

hopefully this could give you some ideas!!<33

The Red-Haired Pirates Love

Shanks x reader

Words: 4,794

Warnings: alcohol consumption, vomiting, mild language, threat of violence, and caregiving themes.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The gentle rocking of the Red Force was a familiar lullaby, one you’d grown accustomed to over your years with the Red-Haired Pirates. It was a life of salty air, boisterous laughter, and an unspoken understanding that wove through the crew like the threads of a well-worn sail. And at the heart of that understanding, for you, was Shanks.

You never needed to announce it. There were no grand declarations, no whispered confessions overheard by nosy crewmates. Instead, your relationship with Shanks was etched into the very fabric of daily life aboard the ship. It was in the way his hand would subtly find the small of your back during a heated discussion, a quiet anchor in the midst of the chaos. It was in the almost imperceptible press of his lips to your forehead when he thought no one was looking, or the soft brush against your cheek that felt more intimate than any passionate kiss. These weren't constant displays of affection, but rather fleeting moments, stolen glances, and quiet touches that spoke volumes. The crew had seen it all—the way he’d pull you a fraction closer when you were standing side-by-side on deck, his fingers lightly grazing your arm, or the almost absentminded way he’d press his lips to yours, a soft, comfortable gesture that meant more than any word.

And then there were the conversations. "Oh! That reminds me of when you wake up," Shanks might chuckle, a wide grin spreading across his face as he recounted a particularly chaotic morning escapade involving Benn Beckman and a misplaced map. The crew would glance between the two of you, a knowing glint in their eyes, before turning back to their drinks. Or perhaps you'd be admiring a particularly vibrant sunset, a rare moment of quiet contemplation, and find yourself saying, "Shanks would love that," knowing full well the kind of joy such a simple beauty would bring him. It wasn't just your words; it was the way you’d both speak of each other, not as separate entities, but as intertwined halves of a whole. Everyone saw it, everyone felt it. You were Shanks's, and he was yours, in a way that needed no formal title or public display. The crew just knew.

The night was a symphony of celebration, the red haired pirates alive with the raucous joy of the crew. Sake flowed like a river, laughter boomed, and the aroma of roasted meat mingled with the salty sea air. You, however, were an island of sobriety in the boisterous sea. Your glass remained untouched, a silent sentinel beside you. You knew all too well the consequences of Shanks's enthusiastic drinking—a charming, albeit headache-inducing, whirlwind of a man who would need your care later, and even more so in the harsh light of morning.

Your gaze, seemingly casual, drifted towards him every few moments. He was a vibrant blur in the center of the revelry, bottle after bottle disappearing down his throat with alarming speed, his booming laugh easily cutting through the din.

"And so I told Yasopp," Benn Beckman rumbled, a thoughtful puff of smoke curling from his cigarette. You were supposedly discussing the finer points of long-range marksmanship and the surprising resilience of certain sea kings. "A true sharpshooter relies on instinct, not just aim. A calculated risk, you understand?"

"Mhm," you murmured, your eyes flickering back to Shanks just as he clinked bottles with Lucky Roo, a spray of sake arcing into the air. He was already leaning heavily on Yasopp, his arm slung around the sniper's shoulders.

Benn’s observant gaze followed yours. He took another slow drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing like a tiny ember in the dim light. "He's certainly... in his element tonight," he drawled, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Worried about the hangover, are we?" It wasn't a question, more an acknowledgement of the unspoken duty you always took upon yourself.

You let out a soft laugh, a small, knowing sound that was almost lost in the din of the celebration. You brought a hand up to your temple, pressing your fingertips against your forehead as if already warding off the phantom headache that would undoubtedly be yours tomorrow. "You know it, Benn," you sighed, shaking your head good-naturedly. "He'll be a complete mess. Demanding hot towels, complaining about the light, probably swearing off sake until the next port." You glanced at Shanks again, who was now attempting to dance a jig with a rather bewildered Rockstar, nearly tripping over his own feet. "Someone's got to keep him from sailing us into a storm cloud, right?"

Benn took another slow drag of his cigarette, his eyes, usually so sharp and analytical, softening just a touch as he watched you. "It’s a tough job," he finally said, his voice a low rumble, "but someone’s gotta do it." He paused, a flicker of something akin to admiration in his gaze. "He’s lucky to have you, you know. Most people would have thrown him overboard by now, especially after a night like this." He chuckled, a dry, raspy sound. "He’d probably still be smiling, mind you, even as the sharks circled."

He extinguished his cigarette butt in a nearby ashtray, the faint hiss swallowed by the surrounding merriment. "It's more than just the hangovers, though, isn't it?" Benn mused, his gaze drifting towards Shanks, who was now attempting to lead a singalong, albeit off-key. "You keep him grounded. He flies so high, he needs someone to remind him where the deck is." He looked back at you, a knowing glint in his eye. "He trusts you. More than anyone else, I reckon."

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, a quiet acknowledgment of the unspoken bond you shared with the boisterous captain. It was true. You were his anchor, and he, in turn, was your unwavering compass. You wouldn't have it any other way. Even if it meant another morning spent coaxing him out of bed with strong coffee and a steady hand.

Both you and Benn watched Shanks for a few moments, a brief lull in your conversation as the captain continued his boisterous revelry. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, Shanks suddenly stilled. The wide grin faltered, replaced by an ill, greenish tinge that spread across his face. His eyes widened slightly before he bolted, a desperate dash to the edge of the ship. He leaned over, a retching sound tearing from his throat as everything he'd consumed that day, and likely much of the day before, violently exited his stomach.

"Oh, for crying out loud, Shanks," you muttered, already moving. You were there in an instant, pulling his long, red hair back from his face with one hand while the other rubbed soothing circles on his shaking back. "Rough night, huh, Captain? Just get it all out." Your voice was soft, laced with a familiar blend of exasperation and concern. "You’re going to hate yourself in the morning, you know that?"

The crew, who moments before had been roaring with laughter and song, fell into an abrupt, almost comical silence. Lucky Roo paused mid-bite, his drumstick still in his mouth. Yasopp lowered his tankard slowly, his eyes wide. Even Rockstar, who had been tangled in Shanks’s ill-fated dance, seemed to freeze in place. They knew this routine. It was a common, albeit pungent, side effect of their captain's boundless enthusiasm for sake. A few of the more seasoned members merely sighed, shaking their heads in a mixture of pity and amusement. Others, younger and less accustomed to Shanks's dramatic exits, exchanged wide-eyed glances, trying to stifle their snickers. Benn Beckman simply watched, a faint smirk playing on his lips, as if to say, told you so.

Shanks heaved a few more times, his shoulders shaking with the effort. Finally, he straightened up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. A slow, almost triumphant smile spread across his face, completely oblivious to the green tinge that still lingered on his cheeks.

"Alright, that's enough of that!" he declared, his voice a little hoarse but already regaining its usual booming quality. He pushed off the railing, swaying slightly. "Now, where were we? The party's still going, isn't it?" He looked around at the still-stunned crew, who were slowly beginning to resume their previous activities, albeit with a new, cautious energy.

You let out a long, slow sigh, a mix of exasperation and profound affection. You were just about to scold him, perhaps suggest he consider a glass of water, when his eyes, still a little glazed from the alcohol and the recent exertion, met yours. A slow, impossibly cheeky grin stretched across his lips, the kind that always managed to disarm you, even when you were at your most annoyed. He knew exactly what he was doing.

Shanks's eyes, previously a swirling mess of drunken cheer, suddenly sharpened, focusing entirely on you. The cheeky grin softened into something profoundly tender, a look you knew intimately but one the rest of the crew rarely, if ever, witnessed. He took a wobbly step towards you, then another, until he was standing just inches away. His hand, warm and calloused, reached out, not to steady himself, but to gently cup your cheek. His thumb brushed softly over your skin, a feather-light touch that sent a shiver down your spine.

"There you are," he murmured, his voice surprisingly low and clear, completely devoid of the earlier slurring. "My anchor." His gaze held yours, deep and unwavering, filled with an affection so potent it felt like a physical presence. "Always there to pick up after my messes, aren't you?" He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours, and you could feel the warmth of his breath on your lips. "What would I do without you, my love?" he whispered, a hint of genuine vulnerability in his tone that made your heart clench.

A hush fell over the ship, deeper than before. The last vestiges of drunken chatter died out. Every single member of the Red-Haired Pirates, from the usually oblivious Lucky Roo to the ever-stoic Benn Beckman, was frozen, eyes wide, staring at the intimate scene unfolding before them. This wasn't the subtle touch or the knowing glance they were used to. This was raw, open affection, a side of their captain they had never witnessed. Shanks, the boisterous, carefree emperor, was openly displaying a profound, loving devotion to you. It was a sight that would be etched into their memories, a testament to the quiet, powerful love that bloomed between their captain and the woman who was his world.

Shanks, still with that uncharacteristic tenderness in his eyes, didn't just lean away. Instead, he tightened his grip on your cheek, his thumb continuing its gentle caress. Then, in a move that startled even you, he pulled you closer, wrapping his other arm around your waist and effectively pinning you against his chest. His head dipped, resting on your shoulder, and you could feel the soft brush of his hair against your neck.

"Don't leave," he mumbled, his voice a low, rumbling vibration against your ear. It wasn't a demand, but a plea, thick with drunken sentimentality. He tightened his embrace, pressing his face into your hair, inhaling deeply. "You smell like… home."

He nuzzled closer, a happy, almost childlike sigh escaping his lips. His grip became even more possessive, as if he feared you might vanish if he loosened his hold even a fraction. He swayed slightly, and you had to brace yourself, hands coming up to his back to keep both of you steady.

The crew remained utterly silent, their gazes glued to the scene. This was beyond anything they had ever witnessed. Their fierce, independent captain, reduced to a clingy, affectionate mess in your arms, openly showing a vulnerability that was startling. Lucky Roo nearly dropped his drumstick, and Yasopp’s jaw hung slightly agape. Benn Beckman, for the first time in a long time, looked genuinely surprised, a flicker of bewildered amusement dancing in his usually unreadable eyes.

You were, for a few long seconds, utterly frozen. Not from discomfort, but from sheer surprise. This level of overt affection, especially in front of the entire crew, was unprecedented. Your mind raced, caught between the instinct to gently push him away and the overwhelming warmth that spread through you at his desperate clinginess.

Then, as his head settled more firmly on your shoulder and his mumbled words of "home" echoed in your ear, you relaxed. A soft sigh escaped your lips, and your hands, which had been hovering uncertainly, finally settled on his broad back. You began to rub gentle circles, a familiar, soothing gesture. He was heavy against you, his familiar scent of sea salt, sake, and something uniquely him filling your senses. You leaned into his embrace, letting yourself be enveloped by his unusual neediness.

"You're impossibly drunk, you know that?" you murmured, the words soft against his hair. A small, knowing smile played on your lips. It wasn't a question, more an observation laced with boundless affection. "Absolutely, hopelessly drunk, Captain."

Shanks mumbled a soft, "I know," his voice muffled against your shoulder. He pushed his face further into the crook of your neck, his lips pressing a series of warm, lingering kisses there. Each touch was soft, tender, and deeply affectionate, a stark contrast to his usual boisterous demeanor. You felt a shiver ripple through you, a pleasant warmth spreading from where his lips met your skin.

Then, he slowly lifted his head, his eyes, still a little unfocused but now with a sharp glint, sweeping over the astonished faces of his crew. His arms, which had been wrapped around your waist, tightened possessively, pulling you even closer until there was no space between you.

"What are you all looking at?" he demanded, his voice suddenly back to its familiar roar, though it held an edge of something new—a possessive challenge. A wide, almost feral grin spread across his face, daring anyone to comment. The crew, who had been gawking openly, flinched back, some quickly averting their gazes, others pretending to be deeply engrossed in their drinks. The silence that had fallen over the Red Force moments ago transformed into a palpable tension, thick with unspoken questions and newfound understanding.

You could feel the heat radiating from Shanks, both from his body pressed against yours and the sheer intensity of his gaze on the crew. It was a clear warning, a declaration of ownership that made your cheeks flush. Yet, despite the public display, you couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth. This drunken, clingy Shanks was surprisingly endearing.

"They're just surprised, Shanks," you murmured, patting his arm. His embrace, however, only tightened.

He grunted, still glaring at his stunned crew. "Well, they shouldn't be. You're mine," he declared, his voice booming across the ship, leaving no room for misinterpretation. He then buried his face in your hair again, letting out a contented sigh. "My lovely, beautiful Y/N."

The crew, having taken their cue, quickly scattered or found something intensely interesting to stare at in the opposite direction. The previous boisterous party atmosphere slowly began to filter back in, but now with an undercurrent of new understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the captain's unspoken, yet now very much spoken, relationship.

You shook your head, a soft laugh escaping your lips. "Yes, yes, I'm yours. Now, how about we get you to bed before you decide to declare war on the moon?" You tried to gently extract yourself from his grasp, but he held firm, a stubborn weight against you.

"No, stay," he whined, sounding remarkably like a giant, affectionate child. He pulled back slightly, his eyes half-lidded, and leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. It was a slow, tender kiss, full of the kind of unspoken devotion that had always existed between you two, now laid bare for all to see.

When he finally pulled away, a triumphant, if still very drunk, smile played on his lips. "See? Much better than dancing with Rockstar."

You rolled your eyes, a smile of your own blooming across your face. "Come on, you big oaf," you said, finally managing to guide him away from the railing and towards the captain's quarters. "Let's get you cleaned up. And tomorrow, you're getting a very strong talking-to about your alcohol intake."

Shanks just chuckled, leaning heavily on you as you steered him through the lingering festivities. "Anything for you, my love," he slurred, before promptly tripping over his own feet, nearly taking you both down. You braced him, a familiar rhythm of support and unwavering affection that had always defined your life with the Red-Haired Pirates, and with him.

Navigating the bustling, still-celebrating deck with a half-conscious, overly affectionate Shanks was a familiar challenge. You chuckled softly as he mumbled about forgotten treasures and the bravery of seagulls, his weight a comfortable burden against your side. Finally, with a surprising amount of effort and a few gentle shoves, you managed to get him through the door of the captain's quarters.

The cabin was dimly lit, the only light filtering in from the single porthole, casting shifting shadows on the familiar maps and discarded coats. You maneuvered him towards the large, comfortable bed, his momentum almost toppling you both onto the soft mattress. He collapsed onto it with a contented groan, sprawling out like a starfish.

You sighed, but it was a soft, fond sound. You pulled off his boots, then his coat, tossing them onto a nearby chair. His movements were slow and sluggish now, the last vestiges of adrenaline giving way to the heavy pull of sleep. He shifted, reaching out a hand, blindly searching for you.

"Y/N?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

"I'm here, Shanks," you replied, gently pushing his unruly red hair back from his forehead. You slipped off your own clothes, leaving them in a neat pile. The cabin air was cool, a welcome relief after the warmth of the crowded deck.

When you slid under the covers beside him, the mattress dipping with your weight, he immediately shifted, rolling onto his side to face you. His arm snaked out, pulling you close, tucking your head under his chin. His breath, smelling faintly of sake, ghosted over your hair. He pressed a soft, sleepy kiss to your temple.

"Stay," he whispered, his voice barely audible now. It was a primal request, born of deep comfort and a profound sense of belonging.

You nestled deeper into his embrace, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your back. The rhythmic creak of the ship, the distant muffled sounds of the lingering party, all faded into a soothing background hum. You closed your eyes, a peaceful smile on your lips. Being here, with him, was exactly where you were meant to be. Drunk or sober, boisterous or tender, he was your home, and you were his. And as sleep claimed you both, you knew, with absolute certainty, that tomorrow, even with the inevitable hangover, would begin exactly where today left off: in the quiet, comforting embrace of your shared world.

The first rays of morning sunlight, usually a welcome sight, felt like daggers against your eyelids. You stirred, a familiar ache thrumming behind your eyes, a ghost of Shanks's impending hangover. He was still dead to the world, a heavy, warm weight beside you. His arm was still slung possessively around your waist, his head buried in your hair, his breathing deep and even. He looked utterly peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaotic, vibrant man he usually was, and certainly a marked difference from the drunken mess he'd been mere hours ago.

You carefully extracted yourself from his grip, a feat that usually required a surprising amount of stealth. He mumbled in his sleep, a soft, indistinct sound, but didn't wake. After slipping out of bed, you pulled a loose shirt on and padded quietly around the cabin, gathering the strewn clothes from the night before. His boots lay haphazardly by the door, his coat draped over a chair like a fallen hero. The faint scent of stale sake still clung to the air, a testament to the previous night's revelry.

You glanced back at him, a fond smile touching your lips. He was completely oblivious, sprawled across the bed, one leg dangling off the side. You knew what the morning would bring: the groans, the complaints about the light, the desperate pleas for water and strong coffee. But for now, in this quiet, peaceful morning, he was just Shanks, your captain, your lover, lost in a deep, well-deserved sleep.

You slipped out of the cabin, closing the door softly behind you. The deck was still mostly deserted, a few early risers already tending to their duties, their movements quiet and purposeful. The fresh morning air was a welcome contrast to the stale warmth of the cabin, and you took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the inevitable chaos of a pirate ship waking up.

Your first stop was the galley. You pushed open the heavy wooden door, the familiar scent of simmering stew and fresh bread washing over you. Yasopp was already there, perched on a stool, nursing a steaming mug of coffee. He looked surprisingly spry for someone who'd been partying just hours ago. He glanced up as you entered, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face.

"Well, well, if it isn't the Captain's personal nursemaid," he chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Rough night, huh? Sounded like our captain had a real good time." He leaned back, taking a sip of his coffee, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "Though, I gotta say, never seen him quite so... open about his affections before. Quite the show for the crew."

You rolled your eyes, heading straight for the pantry to grab some crackers and then to the water barrel. "Oh, hush, Yasopp. He was drunk off his skull. You know how he gets." You filled a tankard with cool water and found a small pouch of painkillers in the medical kit usually kept in the galley.

"Drunk, maybe," Yasopp conceded, "but that didn't stop him from practically stapling himself to you, did it? And that little speech about you being 'his'..." He let out a low whistle. "Pretty sure the entire Grand Line heard that one." He leaned forward, his grin widening. "So, when's the wedding?"

You threw a cracker at him, which he expertly caught mid-air with a laugh. "You're lucky I'm too tired to chase you around the ship right now, Yasopp. Just get back to your duties before Benn finds you loafing around." You hoisted the tray with the water, crackers, and painkillers, ready to make your escape back to the cabin and your very hungover captain. "Some of us actually have a job to do."

Just as you were about to make your escape, the galley door swung open again, and in strode Benn Beckman, a fresh cigarette already lit and dangling from his lips. He took one look at Yasopp, then at you with the tray, and a faint smirk played on his usually stoic face.

"Morning, Y/N," he rumbled, his voice low and even, a sharp contrast to Yasopp's boisterous teasing. "Looks like you're already earning your keep this morning." He paused, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. "Captain giving you trouble?"

"Just the usual," you mumbled, a flush creeping up your neck. You knew there was no escaping the crew's observations.

Yasopp snickered. "She's just mad because I called her the Captain's nursemaid, Benn. And asked about the wedding."

Benn raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Wedding, huh? Well, after last night's performance, I'd say it's about time. He certainly made his intentions clear." He glanced at the crackers on your tray. "Crackers, though? For him?"

You sighed. "It's all I could grab quickly. He's still dead to the world, and I just want to get him something before he starts demanding it."

Benn shook his head slowly. "He'll want toast. Thick, buttery toast. Always does after a night like that." He gave you a look that said, you know this.

"Crap," you muttered under your breath, realizing he was absolutely right. Shanks loved toast. You knew this. You just hadn't thought of it in your sleepy rush. Turning on your heel, you marched back to the counter where the bread was kept, already pulling out slices. "Alright, fine, toast it is. Happy now?" you grumbled, half to yourself and half to the two grinning pirates behind you.

"Just make sure it's nice and toasted, Y/N," Yasopp called out, still chuckling. "He likes it practically burnt sometimes, remember?"

"Oh, I remember!" you shot back, already sliding the bread into the galley's well-used toaster. "I remember a lot of things about him that I'm sure he'll regret remembering himself later today." You grabbed a butter knife, intending to spread butter on the eventual toast.

"And make sure you slather that butter on," Benn added, a smirk playing on his lips. "He needs his sustenance after such a… vigorous night."

"You two are absolutely insufferable," you muttered, turning to face them, the butter knife pointed playfully in their direction. "One more word, and this butter knife is going to find a new home in your respective eyeballs."

Just as the words left your mouth, the galley door creaked open. In a flash, a pair of hands were around you, pulling you back against a familiar, warm chest. You tensed, ready to fight, but then a low groan rumbled against your ear, and the scent of stale sake and Shanks's unique musk filled your nostrils.

"My head," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep and a burgeoning hangover. He buried his face in your hair. "And you shouldn't threaten the crew, Y/N. They're good lads." His arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you closer still, his chin resting on your shoulder. The butter knife still clutched in your hand felt suddenly ridiculous.

Yasopp burst into outright laughter, quickly joined by Benn's deeper snicker. You felt a mortified flush creep up your neck, heat spreading to your ears. Shanks, oblivious in his hungover haze, simply tightened his grip, burrowing his face further into your neck.

The toaster dinged, signaling the readiness of the toast. You carefully twisted within Shanks's embrace, his grip surprisingly pliant when you moved with purpose. You managed to butter a thick slice, the rich aroma filling the galley. Turning back to him, you held the toast up to his face.

"Here," you said softly, pushing a piece into his mouth.

He grumbled around the mouthful, his eyes still closed. "Not hungry."

"I know, baby," you replied, your voice gentle but firm. "But you can't take painkillers on an empty stomach, or you'll feel even worse." You waited patiently as he slowly chewed, the motion of his jaw a silent testament to his reluctance.

Once he had swallowed, you handed him the tankard of water. He took a long, grateful gulp. Then, you offered him the painkillers. He swallowed them without complaint, still leaning heavily against you, his familiar weight a comforting presence despite the morning's chaos.

With the painkillers swallowed, Shanks finally let out a long, shuddering sigh, the worst of the immediate nausea seemingly abating. He sagged against you, a dead weight, but his grip remained stubbornly firm.

"Better?" you asked, gently rubbing his back.

He nodded, a barely perceptible movement against your hair. "Still feels like a sea king's trying to dance on my brain."

Yasopp and Benn, who had been quietly observing the entire exchange, exchanged a glance. Yasopp cleared his throat. "Alright, Captain, glad to see you're still in one piece. We'll, uh, leave you to it." He winked at you, a mischievous glint in his eye, before he and Benn discreetly exited the galley, leaving you and Shanks alone.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. "They'll never let you live this down, you know."

Shanks just grumbled, burying his face deeper into your neck. "Worth it," he mumbled, his voice already drifting. He shifted, his body relaxing against yours as the painkillers began to take effect. You could feel him sinking back into a lighter sleep, the heavy weight of his hangover beginning to lift. You stood there for a few more moments, cradling him, the quiet hum of the ship your only company. It was a familiar comfort, this dance of chaos and calm, of boisterous adventures and tender mornings. With Shanks, it was always an unpredictable journey, but one you wouldn't trade for anything.

[badgerbl00d]

you've reached situationship central!

☆ characters: akagami no shanks (pt. 2)

☆ up next: TBA

☆ summary: being stuck in an on again off again (very indulgent) relationship with the notorious red haired shanks is not for the faint of heart..

☆ content: angsty, happy ending, nsfw, smut, complicated relationship drama, 18+ mdni

☆ a/n: hi my loves!!!! i am knee deep in midterms right now but as we all know, one piece smut is more important so here i am. will try to have another fic up next sunday <3

#i would tolerate a concerning amount of disrespect from this man wc: 5k oops 🙈

Never in his life had he so clearly felt jealousy. What was, an hour ago, a small, weak fire in his chest had grown into something more sinister– the thick, heavy heat spreading throughout his body. His mind was fogged by an onslaught of nauseating images- his hands on your waist, fingers digging into your plush, soft, forgiving flesh. His lips on your neck, placing light, arid kisses against your sensitive skin. Your pliant, charitable attention being focused on him, his face, his words, his touch, his authority. 

It was blinding, Shanks felt as though he was losing control of himself. He fought against his own wandering thoughts, trying to focus on the drink in front of him. The sickening sound of your gentle laughter filled his ears, you were so enraptured by the trivial, pointless conversation you found yourself caught in. The sound of your voice, of your focused occupation, your precious attention should be directed at Shanks and Shanks alone.

He pounded back the small cup filled with whiskey; never in his life had this kind of possessiveness taken him over so quickly. White hot jealousy wrapped its hands around him and he could not struggle out of its grasp. Of course, there had been moments with past flings and more-than-casual acquaintances that left him feeling a twinge of jealousy, a hint of what he now felt. He was always well aware of the nature of these relationships, they were meant to be fleeting, unsustained. Sweet, induglent moments in the otherwise chaotic uncertainty of his life. His reputation preceded him, in both bed and in battle he was ruthless, commanding, completely in control. To be rendered so weak, so desperate by the sweetest, most docile woman he’d ever met in his life was… he wasn’t sure what it was. Karmic? 

A degree of it, he supposed, was shame. Embarrassment at his own past actions as the realization dawned on him that he has most likely made countless others feel the same. He’d always brushed it off as the inevitable nature of these things– they were, at their core, impermanent, unserious. You weren’t any different, he’d supposed. 

Perhaps, he thought, he was incredibly naive. You were different– in every possible way! You weren’t only a lover but a member of his crew. He implicitly and absolutely trusted you with his life, the lives of Beckmann, Yasopp, Lucky, his family. You were family. 

Glimpses of your time spent together within the last few weeks flashes through his whiskey-addled mind: 

The way your cheeks squished against his chest when you obliged his requests to spend the night in his room, “I sleep better with you, sweetheart,” he’d explained. The softness of your voice in the morning, asking him, “Ten more minutes, Captain?”

The small, soft smiles you’d give him when you crossed paths on the ship.

Never had he felt so entitled to ownership of a person. 

The sound of your laughter once again caught his attention, and worsened his mood. Your friend was smiling with pride, clearly happy to have elicited such a sweet sound from you. It was his last straw. He quickly stood, leaving more than enough money on the counter to pay for his drinks, and walked over to you.

It was difficult to not notice when a man with Shanks’ energy was directing all of it toward one, unfortunate person. As he walked, he began drawing the attention of most of the other patrons in the bar. 

“Y/n,” he said, his voice more stern now than it had ever been with you, “Let’s head back. It’s late.”

Your lips parted in shock, and you slowly looked up at him. 

Ignoring the man in front of you was easy– child’s play. But ignoring the surprise and confusion on your face at his tone– not his words, but the harsh, indifferent manner in which he said them– was something he wished he’d never have to do again.

“So soon?” you asked, voice soft, “Benny said he’d let us know when he wanted us back–”

“Now.”

You sharply inhaled, and closed your mouth. Blinking up at him, taking a second to process whatever this sudden change in personality was. 

Your friend was silent, the evident awkwardness of the situation earning an uncomfortable pause in sound from the three of you.

“That’s alright, Y/n,” your friend said, “I was… just getting ready to head home myself.”

Shanks clenched his jaw, refusing to look at either of you. 

“Well, alright,” you said, gathering your coat and standing, “Thank you for the drinks, lovely to see you.”

He shook your hand, placing a soft kiss on the back of it– a soft pink hue began to color your cheeks.

“Write to me,” he said, putting on his coat before offering you a half-smile and leaving.

Shanks grabbed your arm, practically dragging you out of the bar into the cold of the night. Your breathing was fast, white clouds forming in the winter air with every exhale. He was walking quickly, his grip now firmly settled on your wrist– you were struggling to keep up, practically jogging as he half-dragged you behind him. 

“Shanks,” you yelped, “Slow down– Please!”

He ignored you, maintaining his pace. Your wrist was beginning to ache, “Shanks!”

Another pointless plea. Your frustration was increasing and had begun to boil into anger.

Though it took a lot to get a rise out of you, your Captain’s behavior was starting to seriously upset you.

Your wrist ached, badly now, and you were tired. Your body had not properly adjusted from the warmth of the bar, the dim yellow lighting and strong drinks had spread a soft heat throughout you and the sudden cold of the deep blue winter night you were now being dragged through was an unwelcome interruption. It was no later than half past nine and you knew that his excuse about it being late was complete bullshit. You couldn’t even count the number of times Shanks had come back from a night out at noon the following day. 

You came to a sudden stop, planting both of your feet firmly in the snow and yanking your hand out of his grip with a cry.

Shanks turned, taking a deep breath– the anger on his face only upsetting you further. 

“What is wrong with you?”

He laughed, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration, “With me? You were practically fucking that guy in front of me and you have the audacity to ask what’s wrong with me?”

Your eyes widened at the harshness of his words, completely taken aback by his attitude. Never had he spoken to you so obscenely. You gasped, partially from the shock of his speech, and tears welled in your eyes. 

It was overwhelming, to have a man of his size and notoriety talking to you in such a filthy, angry manner. But, after all this time, Shanks was an idiot to think you would crumble so easily to harsh language– you were, after all, one of the stronger members of the crew. 

“What did you just say?” you bit back, your tone just as venomous.

“You heard me,” Shanks scoffed, “Laughing at his jokes, accepting the drinks he bought you, promising to write him back? At this point just fuck him.”

You were completely infuriated. How dare Shanks– the most notorious womanizer on the ocean– reprimand you for flirting. Since when was your relationship a marriage?

You inhaled, carefully calculating what to say to piss him off even more, “Okay. I will, then.”

You turned and started walking quickly back the way you came, slightly unnerved when you didn’t hear his footsteps following behind you.

You ignored the absence of sound and held your head high as you walked back toward town.

“Y/n,” Shanks said your name once, a clear warning.

You ignored it and picked up your pace. Your vision was blurred with tears, and your nose bright red from the cold. You steeled yourself– now wasn’t the time to let your Captain know how badly his words hurt you, how shocking it was for him to speak to you so cruelly. 

You barely heard the flurry of his footsteps by the time he’d caught up to you, turning you around to face him.

You avoided making eye contact with him, not wanting to dignify his insults by showing the tears that resulted from them.

“Get off me,” you said, but your voice had significantly weakened.

Shanks’ grip on your arm loosened, an effect of guilt. He hadn’t expected you to cry.

“Fuck you,” you said, “Don’t act like we were ever exclusive.”

Shanks swallowed, you weren’t wrong. In the year you had been seeing one another he’d had multiple encounters with past and new flings– all less important than you of course, but your point remained. 

“Not once,” you continued, pushing through despite your wavering voice and sore throat, “Have I ever been with anyone since we started… this. But you?”

He let go of your arm, hoping now that you’d turn away. 

“You have forfeited any right to jealousy, Shanks. Don’t you dare fucking tell me who I can and can’t sleep with. Have I ever said anything to you about your dozens and dozens of partners in the past year?”

You emphasized your point with a harsh jab at his chest.

He was silent, guilt beginning to wrack through his quickly sobering mind.

“Well?” you insisted.

“Y/n,” he started.

“No,” you said, answering yourself, “I haven’t.

And do you think it was easy? To watch someone I cared about so much– Someone I love toss me to the side repeatedly over and over and over? Week after week, month after month, you’d use me and entertain me when it convenienced you just to put your hands, your lips on someone else the next day. Treat me like I was something to you, play the role of a husband, a lover, a friend and then do the same to another woman right after?”

“I didn’t realize–”

“Of course, not,” you choked out, “Of course you didn’t. Until I had a conversation, a fucking conversation with someone else. That’s all I had to do to finally get you to want me? Talk to someone? I wish I would have known that a year ago, you fucking asshole.”

Your tears flowed freely now, the cold not helping hide the emotion on your face. Your cheeks were a deep shape of pink, your lips puffy from the cold. 

Shanks was overcome with guilt and regret. He was an idiot, as you had so graciously confirmed. What could he do? What could he say? 

“You acted so indifferent,” he responded, “We’d spend a week in love and then… when I did start to entertain someone else, at a bar, or party, or wherever, you’d act so indifferent. Like you didn’t care at all.”

“What else could I do? What right do I have to you?”

“Every right,” he gasped, sinking to his knees in front of you, wrapping his hand firmly around yours. He looked up at you with a sort of reverence that momentarily took your breath away. But that was what he did, he treated you like a goddess, like a divine creature one moment, and like anyone else the next.

“They were all distractions from you. I thought that if you cared so little for me I might draw something out of you with them– jealousy, anger, hatred, anything.”

“You succeeded,” you whispered, sniffling.

“No, no I haven’t,” he said, “I’ve done the opposite. I’ve guaranteed your indifference now.”

You sighed, not even trying to fight the tears now, “I’ve tried, Shanks. I’ve tried to be indifferent. 

I tried, tonight, to spark up old affections for someone else. I used to be in love with him, you know? He’s a writer and a good man. And despite all of that, despite his intelligence and wit, despite his kindness, despite how handsome he is I found myself sitting in that wretched chair drinking and thinking about you. Your touch and your lips and your voice.”

You broke out into a sob, falling against Shanks who gently picked you up and started the walk back to the ship. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, tucking your face into the crook of his neck placing a kiss against it. You were helpless, you’d realized. You were in love with Shanks. 

The walk was short, ten minutes at most. Shanks spent it half-delirious, cursing himself in every way possible for having done you such harm as he felt the crook of his neck getting more and more soaked with tears. 

For the first time in his life, he deeply wished that he were religious so that he might directly ask a higher power for forgiveness. You felt so light in his arm, your figure so perfectly wrapped around his that he realized, at the very least, he would spend the rest of his life making it up to you. 

How many times had he flirted pointlessly with a girl at a bar, at a port, on an island leading her back to his room hoping to get a reaction out of you that would confirm your feelings for him just to be welcomed with your indifference and send her home anyway? 

If he’d doubted his love for you earlier it was undeniable now, pressing against his ribcage like a rabid caged animal– hungry and desperate, willing to cling on to anything offered to it. 

Your confession fed it, not enough, not even close, but enough to sate it for the time being. 

You loved him, Shanks reminded himself as he carried you on board the ship and started to walk toward your room. 

“Shanks,” you whispered, tugging at his collar, “Let me sleep in your room. It’s warmer.”

He redirected his path toward his own bedroom, quietly opening the door and placing you in his bed. He helped you take off your coat and shoes before removing his own and crawling into bed next to you. 

He racked his brain for the words with which to start his apology. 

You wouldn’t even look at him. 

“Y/n,” he said, “Please look at me. Talk to me.”

You slowly turned, scooting yourself closer to him.

“I’m tired.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he brought up a hand to your face, “Can I hold you?”

You paused for a moment and then gave him a small nod. He situated you on his lap, and slowly placed a soft, chaste kiss on your lips. 

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, as he finally conjured up the bravery to begin his apology.

“In the past year,” he started, “The women, the girls, all of them were just to elicit a reaction out of you. When you’d ignore it, or act indifferent I’d just send them home. I never… slept with them.”

He felt pathetic, it was a humbling admission to say the least. 

You pulled him in for another gentle kiss. “I know,” you whispered against his lips, “I figured after I accidentally ran into one leaving just a few moments after you’d shown up on board with her. But it wasn’t just the sex that was hard, Shanks. It was having to watch you talk to them, charm them, and for them to all fall for it so easily. Like I did. Like I am right now.”

He nodded, wiping away the tear that had begun to make its way down your cheek, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It was all just a terrible way to try and… to get you to love me back, I suppose.”

“But I do! I do, Captain, I have since I first set foot on board this ship, from the moment our eyes met. I can’t even entertain the thought of anyone else. It makes me sick to think of anyone that isn’t you–”

He crashed his lips into yours, he could no longer bear the passion that had been slowly burning inside him. His hand came up to the base of your neck, tangling itself in your hair gently tugging your head backwards leaving your neck open to him.

He nipped at it, leaving small bites and sucking it– the warmth was addicting, inebriating.

You melted into his touch, your back arching into him– sweet moans pouring from your mouth.

“Mmmh,” you whined, nails digging into his shoulders, “Shanks, I need you. I need you.”

His lips found their way back to yours and he freed his hand from your neck, helping you take your shirt off, unclasping your bra. You tugged at the hem of his shirt, lifting it over his head, pouting when the cloth forced your lips to leave his. They quickly reattached, your mutual desperation increasing. 

He palmed your tits in his large hand. Your body was so warm, so soft and buttery, melting in his grip. His palms were still cold from the harsh temperature and the walk back home, the coolness earning him a gasp as he brushed his palm over your nipples. 

The heat between your thighs was increasing, your slick arousal beginning to dampen your panties. You moaned into the kiss, welcoming his eager tongue into your mouth, gently sucking on it as he teased your nipples, now pinching and flicking. 

“Mmmmm,” you moaned.

He pulled away, his hands never stopping their ministrations on your sensitive buds, a heart-stopping smirk on his handsome face, “What’s that?”

“More,” you panted, a small string of saliva hanging from your swollen bottom lip, “Please.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, an expression of desire and want settling on your face.

“I could never say no to you, sweetheart,” he said, running a finger under the band of your pants, “Let me make everything up to you. Please let me earn your forgiveness.”

You nodded, granting him the permission he so desperately sought. 

Shanks worked quickly, a man who greatly concerns himself with how you spend your time did not want to waste any of it.

Your pants are quickly removed and you lie back on his bed, left in only a pair of pink panties. 

He leaves his own pants on, and lies on his stomach pressing soft kisses to your feet. He started working his way up your body, giving equal attention to right and left sides, peppering you with kisses, gentle bites, and soft licks. He spent a frustrating amount of time on your inner thighs, biting hard enough to earn a yelp or two, leaving possessive marks in the shape of his teeth. He kissed the wet spot on your panties, that was now dripping onto his sheets, expertly avoiding the spot where you wanted to feel him so badly.

He gently sucked at the fabric, eyes shutting as he savored your taste, “This is for me?” 

“Y-yes,” you whimpered, “Shanks…”

You brought a hand to your pussy, to attempt to move your panties to the side.

“Tsk, tsk,” he warned, “Hands above your head.”

You were far too sensitive and pliant to disobey now.

Your hole throbbed, earning a kiss from your Captain, “Very cute. Stay still, sweetness.”

His tongue tucked itself beneath the side hem of your panties, and pushed them to the side. You gasped at the split second of contact his warm tongue made with your pulsing clit. His finger replaced his tongue to hold your panties out of the way, and quickly, without any kind of warning whatsoever, he began to ravish you.

His tongue expertly licked from your hole to your puffy clit, generously spreading your arousal over your pussy. He sucked and licked, he wasn’t just eating you out– he was making out with your pussy. You let out a soft cry and your hands found themselves tangled in his hair and your chest heaved with rapid, desperate breaths. Your moans filled his room, you were completely overcome by the sensation of his tongue against you. He was as close to eating you as he could be without hurting you. The sounds coming from his mouth against your pussy were disgustingly obscene, like a starved dog eats without second thought your Captain feasted on you– savoring the proof of your love and affection. 

Your eyes rolled back and your lips parted to form a perfect ‘O’ as he slipped a thick finger into you, and then another. 

Shanks had fucked you before, how many times exactly you had lost count of. You were more than familiar with each others’ bodies and, in truth, this was far from the first time that he had made you feel so good. But something was different this time. 

Knowing now that it was you that brought him down to this level of depravity allowed you to release completely– give him full control over you, your body, your thoughts. 

It felt sinful, wrong, terrible to reduce him to such a state of animalism. You felt as though you, minxlike and tempting, had corrupted a great man, led him to a point of such violent desperation that you were the only thing that could sate him. 

You gave him this illness and now, cruelly, were also the only person who could cure it. 

Your arousal coated his fingers completely and had started to drip down his hand. He pulled back, removing his fingers to bring his hand down to his own pants. His tongue’s assault on your pussy stopped, and was momentarily replaced by kisses and he removed his pants, and stroked his leaking cock a few times, coating it with your sweet, precious arousal. 

“Ohh,” you moaned, “Please, Captain, please.”

“Please what, hm?” A soft slap landed on your cheek, “Use your words.”

“Fuck me.”

Just as quickly as you had asked, Shanks had lined up the dark pink head against your slit and was rubbing it up and down your pussy, drawing small circles on your clit letting his precum leak out onto you. 

“Perfect pussy,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, “Looks so cute painted white.”

You whined, and he made eye contact with you. It nearly broke him, to see you so desperate, so open for him. He realized, now, that you were his in every sense. Your body, your mind, your emotions and feelings– all his. 

His head pushed into your hole, a tight fit at first, drawing some soft cries from you.

“Shhh, shh,” he said, “You’ll adjust.”

Once the head slipped past, the rest followed easily– Shanks had to hold himself back to avoid bottoming out in you at once. 

The stretch was the most delicious pain you’d ever felt– even now, a year after you and your Captain first spent a night together it took you a minute to adjust yourself to his girth. 

“I can take it,” you said, bringing a hand up to caress his cheek , “I can take all of you.”

He turned his head to kiss your hand, and lowered himself slowly onto you, kissing you with an unexpected restraint. He bottomed out in you, and your breath hitched.

“Breathe, baby, breathe.”

You took a breath, eyes shutting as he began to rock his hips slowly, sliding his full length in and out of you each time.

“Good girl, take me just like that,” he encouraged, “Look at me, bunny.” 

You blinked your eyes open, tears pooling in the corners and he smiled at you.

“I love you,” he kissed your forehead, “I love you.”

He repeated it over and over, kissing a different part of your face each time, his dick throbbing and pulsing inside you as a smile began to form on your face and your cheeks darkened.

“You’re mine,” he said, “Only mine.”

Your lips parted to moan as he began to thrust faster in you, still blessing you with his full length every time. His sticky, swollen tip kissed the deepest parts of you and you could feel him in your tummy. 

“Feels so full,” you muttered, “Don’t.. stop, please, daddy.”

Shanks groaned, you were addicting. He thanked the powers that be that you came to him as a human and not a siren for he would have not only fallen into your trap but willingly jumped to his death if it meant having you for even just a moment. 

His pace was intoxicating, he had rendered you unable to form even a simple thought. Your brain was filled with the sounds of thick, wet slaps echoing in the room and the sweet musical moans that fell from your lips and his. His lips were on your neck, biting and sucking– harshly, this time. You were both close, the tell-tale sign with Shanks was when he finally shut up. So used to his teasing and jokes and wit were you that it was obvious when he was finally silent.

“Close, baby?” you asked

His eyes were shut in ecstasy and he gave a small nod as he panted.

“Cum inside me,” you whispered in his ear, running your tongue along the edge. 

That was all it took. 

A simple, dirty request from you (one he had indulged in many times before). 

Almost on command, his hips began to stutter as he filled you with weeks’ worth of pent up sexual frustration. You moaned as you felt it dripping out of you before he had even pulled out. 

Shanks collapsed onto you, kissing your cheeks and petting your head, “Let me drain everything into you, sweetheart. It’s yours, all yours.”

You hummed and kissed his forehead, speckled with sweat. 

He lied there, on top of you for another few minutes, his cock twitching inside of you erratically. 

When he had fully spent himself inside you he got up, slowly pulling out– an expression of hunger settling on his face as he watched himself pouring out of you. 

It was almost as though you weren’t there, you felt like an intruder watching as he looked at your pussy, creamed and puffy. 

He joined your ankles together in one hand and lifted your legs up to your chest, bending his head down toward your pussy.

“Ah- Shanks,” you whined.

He ignored you completely, placing his lips onto your pussy, licking and sucking his cum out of your hole. The feeling was indescribably indulgent. He gathered his cum into his mouth and bringing his head up a foot or so away from your pussy he slowly spit it out onto you, the liquid landing with a plap on your clit. You moaned, it was the filthiest thing you’d ever seen him do. 

He let go of your legs, which you were now holding against your chest, and used his hand to slap your puffy, swollen pink pussy a few times, the cum making the slaps louder than usual. Smack, smack, smack. 

Your body completely relaxed, entirely submissive to your Captain. You were his. 

Shanks’ tongue found its way back to your clit, his fingers once again resuming their place from earlier. He slowly slipped in a third finger, shushing your (weak) protests. 

In seconds your orgasm was approaching, fast and hard. You barely had time to let out a cry when a gush of liquid squirted out from your pussy, dousing Shanks’ face and hair. He growled into your pussy and kept going, earning a series of slutty whines from you as you came around him, hips bucking into his face and chest heaving.

“Shanks, too much, too much!”

He laughed against your pussy and placed one more kiss on your clit before pulling away. 

His face was soaked, and you playfully pushed him away from you with your feet when he tried to kiss you. 

He grabbed your ankle and pulled you toward him, earning a series of giggles from you as he scooped you up and rubbed his face all over you.

“Gross!” you whined, “You’re like a wet dog.”

He wiped his face with your discarded shirt before snatching you back up and lying down with you, face to face. 

“You’re hard again, aren’t you.”

He chuckled, burning his face in your shoulder, “No.” 

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Only with you,” he confessed, sitting up, “C’mere.”

He pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arm firmly around your waist. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, gently kissing you, “I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, okay? I promise.”

You cupped his face with your hands, scooting in on his lap closer to him, so your chests were touching, “I know. So am I. That guy… he doesn’t mean anything to me. I just wanted to make you jealous.”

“It worked,” he admitted, a sheepish smile settling on his face, “If I had drank any more I probably would have punched him.”

You smiled, surprising him, “Is it bad that I’d like to see you fight someone over me?”

He laughed, kissing you again, “No– and I will, if it ever comes to it.”

“So…” 

“Hm.”

“What do we do now?”

“Well,” he glanced at the clock on his bedside, “It’s only eleven. Got another round in ya?”

You rolled your eyes, “I’ve got at least two more in me, but I’m talking about us.”

“Oh,” he said, smiling, “Didn’t I tell you my plan?”

You shook your head.

“We’ll get married.”

Your eyes widened and you smiled, “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down. Why don’t you ask me to be your girlfriend first.”

“Mm,” he pretended to think about it, “Not good enough. You’re my wife.”

You sighed, his cock was rubbing up against your pussy and you were quite ready for a second round. 

“Alright,” you conceded, starting to grind your hips into his, “Let’s talk about it tomorrow morning.”

He caught onto your little game immediately, hands coming up to start groping at your tits, “Alright, sweetheart. Tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock. My bed.”

He winked at you and you smiled, your lips finding each other for the millionth time tonight. 

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

[softlypossessive]

♡･ﾟ𓏸 One Piece General Romance HC – Crew Adjacent Edition 𓏸･ﾟ♡

♡ Characters: Jinbei, Ace, Law, Kidd, Shanks, gn!reader ♡ Warnings: Fluff, emotional softness, light spice, use of Y/N

𓏸⋆｡˚☁️˚｡⋆𓏸

🌊 Jinbei

Protective in that “ancient sea creature who loves you deeply” kind of way

Treats you with deep reverence; you are part of his honor now

Not big on PDA, but his presence is grounding and warm

Holds your hand like it’s a sacred act—slow thumb strokes every time

Lets you lean on him while he meditates; steady, warm, soft

Brings you ocean treasures—shells, coral, sea glass, pearls—you cherish every one

Tells you quiet stories of the sea, Fishman folklore, legends of old

Touches your face like you might vanish if he’s not gentle enough

Holds you through your tears, letting you cry with unwavering patience

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

The sun hasn’t risen yet, but the sea is already awake—its gentle breath misting across the deck in a fine silver spray. You’re wrapped in a blanket, curled beside Jinbei as he sits in quiet meditation. His presence is steady, anchoring. His hand rests over yours, thumb brushing in slow, sacred circles. You don’t speak, and neither does he—until he shifts and reaches into the folds of his robe.

“I found something,” he murmurs.

In his palm sits a polished shell, pink and gleaming like it was made of blushed glass. “It reminded me of you.”

Your heart stutters. You take it carefully, like it might break from too much love.

Jinbei smiles softly, eyes still closed. “I hope the ocean brings you peace.”

In this moment, as the world holds its breath, you think maybe it already has.

🔥 Portgas D. Ace

Warmest boyfriend—literally and emotionally

Constantly touches you: forehead kisses, arms around you, hand on your thigh

Smacks your butt randomly and then blushes when you react

Tries to act chill but turns beet red when you flirt back

Loves naps with you in hammocks, crow’s nests, random sunny spots

Kisses you like he’s scared it’ll be the last time (ow, Marineford)

Looks at you like you’re the sun, the warmth he orbits

Secretly insecure; needs soft reassurance and gentle words

Gives the best cuddles—full-body warmth and sleepy mumbles

Jealous? Kind of. Possessive? A little. Worshipful? Completely.

So genuinely caring, it breaks your heart a little

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡

You find him napping—again. Shirt half-off, freckles glowing in the late-afternoon sun, hat tipped back, lips parted just enough to make you ache. He doesn’t flinch when you settle beside him, just hums contentedly and snakes an arm around your waist.

“Nap time’s better with you,” he mumbles, already pulling you close.

You curl into the warmth of him, all sun and fire and boyish charm. His fingers trace idle shapes on your spine. Then, out of nowhere—

“Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

You blink, heart thudding.

He’s not smiling now. His eyes are wide and vulnerable. “I mean it.”

You cup his cheek gently. “I’m not going anywhere, Ace.”

His breath shudders out as he hides his face in your neck, arms tightening around you like the world might take you away if he lets go.

⚕️ Trafalgar Law

Pretends he’s too busy for romance—he is absolutely lying

Secretly craves your presence; you are his peace and chaos

Loves when you quietly sit in his office and read while he works

You bring him meals when he forgets, press kisses to his temple, and rub the knots from his shoulders

Mutters “stay close” before battles—thinks he’s subtle (he is not)

His crew teases him constantly for being so obvious

Gets angry when you’re hurt—not because he’s mad, but because he was terrified

Brushes your hair from your face when you sleep; his touch is featherlight

First “I love you” came in a near-death moment, whispered like a secret

Trusts you, but has low-key possessive tendencies

Would destroy anyone who disrespects you—no hesitation

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

“You skipped lunch again.”

You set the tray down beside him—rice, miso soup, a soft-boiled egg you know he secretly likes. He doesn’t look up at first, eyes glued to the papers in front of him, fingers drumming against the table.

Then you press a kiss to his temple, and his hand stills.

“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” you murmur, reaching to knead the tense knots in his shoulders.

He exhales slowly. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

He turns then, slowly, taking your wrist in one hand. He lifts your fingers to his lips and presses a soft kiss there.

“Don’t leave,” he says, and it’s not a demand—it’s a plea. “You make everything quieter.”

You smile, brushing his hair from his eyes.

“Then let me take you to bed, Captain. Let me be your quiet for a while.”

🔩 Eustass Kid

Love language: feral rage for your protection

Loud, rude, snarly—but completely yours

Only soft for you (and even then, it comes with grumbling)

Jealous? YES. Will fight over eye contact

Started multiple bar fights because someone brushed past you

Holds you like you’re fragile, even though you’re not

Makes secret gifts: metal roses, gadgets, a bed that doesn’t squeak

Acts annoyed but loves when you hang out in his workshop

Lets you rub balm on his missing arm—hates the vulnerability but melts under your hands

Allows you to do his makeup if you’re nice (and kiss him after)

Says “I’m not cuddly” then locks you into a furnace-level spoon at 2am

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

The workshop smells like hot metal and grease, and you’re sitting on a stool swinging your legs while Kid wrestles a stubborn bolt into place.

“You’re gonna strip it,” you call.

“Don’t tell me how to bolt my own damn arm,” he growls—but takes your offered tool anyway.

You grin. “You’re welcome.”

He grunts something noncommittal, but you see the flush rising in his ears. He’s not good with thank-yous. Never has been. He’s better with fists and fury and fire. But later, when he finally collapses beside you in bed, limbs heavy and tangled in yours, you feel the quiet love in the way he tucks your head under his chin.

You spot the tiny, twisted piece of copper on your nightstand. A rose. Crude, imperfect, heartfelt.

He didn’t mention it. But he didn’t have to.

🍷 Shanks

Smooth, flirty, charming—but his love is deep and steady

Makes you laugh when you least expect it, just to see you smile

Winks at you from across the room like it’s your inside joke

Dances with you at parties; slow dances later when the crowd fades

Wears your gifts—bracelets, beads, rings—like royal treasures

Talks about forever like it’s already decided

Tells you stories, songs, and legends between kisses and laughter

You tamed the playboy—and he loves to brag about it

When drunk: handsy, clingy, PDA monster. Kisses you in front of the crew without shame

Ideal night? You in his lap, drinks in hand, music playing, crew laughing, your head on his shoulder

♡｡ﾟ☁︎｡♡ﾟ

It’s late. The music has softened, the stars have spilled across the sky, and most of the crew has settled into laughter and drowsy singing.

You’re leaning against the rail when Shanks appears behind you, a bottle in one hand and that lopsided smile on his lips.

“Dance with me?” he asks, already wrapping an arm around your waist.

You laugh. “You’ve danced with everyone tonight.”

He leans in close. “I saved the best for last.”

He sways with you, slow and easy, your bodies pressed close as the ocean hums beneath you. His fingers trace lazy circles on your back.

“You made this pirate fall hard, y’know,” he whispers. “And stay fallen.”

Your cheeks burn, and he kisses your forehead before raising his drink toward the crew.

“To the one who stole my heart and won’t give it back.”

They cheer. You hide your face in his coat.

He just laughs and holds you tighter.

𓏸⋆｡˚☁️˚｡⋆𓏸

[fanaticsnail]

Dreaming of You

Series Masterlist

Word Count: total 2,600+

Synopsis: They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. NSFW, mdni, 18+

Themes: Red Hair Pirates, gn!afab!reader, wet dreams, same reader different ending, Shanks, Beckman, Hongo, mdni, NSFW, smut, 18+

Notes: Happy birthday @loganwritesprobably! I wanted to give you some Beckman for your birthday, but he's always got his crew with him. I hope you enjoy this edition for the series!

“Ah, ah, ah,” his voice rasped out, slowly drawing his hand to hold the base of your neck, coaxing your head further down his shaft as your lips formed a perfect ring around him, “All the way. There you go.” He felt his mushroomed tip press at the back of your throat, head lulling back as he gave over to the pleasure you invoked by swallowing around him.

Bobbing your head up and down, he peeked out of the corner of his eye the position he had you in. Laying over his lap, completely bare as you knelt by his right thigh, forearms pinned beneath his legs and lips wrapped around his cock. He had effectively had you trapped in position, cunt leaking while he coaxed you down to make a mess of his cock with your mouth.

As he felt you come up for a reprive if air, he stroked along your spine towards your ass. Back arched in a perfect bow as you swirled your tongue over his tip, he drew down his hand in a firm clap against your left ass cheek. Yelping out, you again began bobbing your head up and down to pump his shaft with your lips. Pressing your thighs together, your hands twitched beneath his thighs as you rocked against the hand on your ass in a bid to get him to touch you.

“Oh,” he chuckled, leaning down and taking a glimpse of your cunt pulsing around nothing, “Oh, you want me to touch you, huh?” He drew his hand over the round of your ass, soothing the skin before raising it and striking it down once more. “Show me how much you want my touch.”

Immediately, you coughed and spluttered around his cock as you messily slurped at a rapid pace. Tears began to sting in your eyes from your gag reflex reacting, whining and vibrating your throat around his shaft while you held onto the underside of his thigh to anchor yourself further against him. Loud, messy, and sloppy motions against his cock had groans rolling freely from his lips. He thrust up in time with your motions, dipping his hand between your folds and gathering the slick at your entrance.

“That's good,” he praised you, slowly sinking in his middle finger past the first notch of his knuckle, “Doing such a good job for me.” He sunk his finger past the second notch, turning it within you gently while groaning out at the heat. Easily sliding in a second finger beside it, he spread your pussy apart with his index finger and pinky, pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit each time you bobbed down on his cock.

You whined around his shaft, gulping around his cock and eagerly continuing your rapid pace. He could feel the flutters of your cunt sucking him in, causing his own release to teeter on the edge. The slick sounds of your silky pussy sucking in his hand harmonized alongside the crude squelching of your mouth meeting his pubic hair on every down stroke. Each motion caused him to feel more at the precipice of euphoria.

His balls sucked up into his guts, feeling his stomach bind in a harsh knot. He increased the amount of pressure to your clit, tapping and swirling it in a harsh rapidity as your flutters got more frantic.

“You better not waste a drop,” he warned you, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as his cock began to dribble beads of sticky precum into your throat, “Swallow it. Ngghm, fuck-!”

As his eyes opened, he was met with the sight of his cabin roof. Laying flat on his back, no sight of you to behold. A dream, a facade, an illusion of your body causing him the pleasure in fantasy as his body reacted in reality.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-!” he immediately flung his blankets off his lap and gathered the closest discarded shirt or scrap of material he could. His cock began twitching, his untouched eruption coming into full fruition as he exploded in ecstasy. Hot spurts of cum shot into the air before he managed to catch it in a piece of material, sticking to his stomach and dripping down his shaft to pool beneath him.

His cock danced in rhythmic bursts, still clinging onto the falsified memory within his mind as each viscous rope shot out from the smaller slit. Slumping back on his pillow, he scrunched his eyes tightly shut, uttering a single word.

“Fuck.”

Red Haired Shanks

Glancing down at his shaft bobbing and twitching, the final spurts of his release bubbling past the tip and catching on his crotch, he couldn't help but laugh at himself.

A wet dream? Something as juvenile as a wet dream? And about you, of all the people he could've dominated: you. The thoughts swirl on in his mind, replaying his favorite moments in his head on a loop while his cock twitches in interest.

His spirits were as high as they had ever been while laughing at his own mess. Drawing up his shirt from the floor he desperately reached for earlier, he mopped himself up and discarded the shirt beside him in his wicker hamper. Laying on his back, he fixed his eyes on the roof of the red force while he grinned to himself.

A spectral visit from the Red Force’s chronicler: charged for keeping the crew on their routine, and exceptionally good at doing as such, was granted to him this night. The dance you played for him was a perfect reflection to how he would have you if given the opportunity. You were someone he had his good and bad eye on for some time, and now his mind had began to play tricks on him in his desperation for you.

Rolling over in his bed, he considered his options from this point on. He could simply walk up to you at the breakfast table and give you a play by play about it, sparing no detail and watching if your eyes go wide and sparkle with interest. He could keep the image to himself, using it when he needed a little bit of focus to tip over the edge without a playmate in his quarters, singing sweet praises of your name into his shoulder while he cums. Or he could put the image out of his mind entirely, forget it ever happened and attempt to move on.

“Sh-Shanks-!” your muffled voice echoed alongside the sloppy noises of your head bobbing up and down his shaft, “Shanks I'm gonna-!”

The red haired pirate immediately rolled onto his back, closing his eyes and furrowing his brow as his hand began to snake down his happy trail to his already hardening cock. The flushed tip still dribbled with the memory of his overnight visitor: you in your glory with your lips muffling out incomprehensible babbles while greedily slurping on his cock. Picturing this new one with your cheek flush with his, hot breath on his neck, whining and keening through your bliss while your pussy pulses with the rhythmic contractions of your ecstasy-.

“-Oh, stars,” Shanks whispered out in a breathy exhale as a smaller release erupted over his palm and trickled down his fingertips. Pleasure shot through his abdomen and twitching his cock as he pumped himself through the waves of euphoria rising throughout his body. Panting and rolling over onto his side, he reached for a towel and drew it down to the mess currently spreading to pool beneath him.

Shanks let out a small chuckle before sighed remorsefully. With a deep furrow in his brows, he began to immediately chastise himself for using you as the masterpiece within his mind's eye. He began cleaning over his shaft and down to his balls with the towel, all the while swearing a solemn promise in every motion.

“I'll make it up to you,” he whispered, gently speaking your name while he cleaned, “I'll make it up to you. I swear.”

Benn Beckman

Immediately, Beckman flung himself from his bed feeling violated by his thoughts. A cruel shudder rang through his body with those final moments ricocheting over his every pore. Sweat beaded at his temple as he looked at his bed as if it was made from flame and stinging needles as opposed to his cabin quarters.

“No,” he shook his head at the intrusive thoughts and fought them off, “No. Not you. Not like this.” He fought with his inner turmoil at the thought before strengthening his resolve and moving towards the door.

Scurrying with his sleep trousers flooding down his leg, a fresh pair flung over his shoulder with a towel, and a deepening grimace over his face, he made haste towards the crew bathroom and flung open the door. A trio of stalls for privacy between crewmates with wooden doors latching was on the leftmost corner, and to the rear was a large ovular bath able to comfortably seat five at once. The Red Force was a comfortable ship made for sailing at long lengths between ports, and the bathroom was one such luxury.

As Benn Beckman stepped into a booth, the shower beside his switched on and began to flood the room with steam. A small hum fled the lips of his shower-mate, immediately causing crescent shaped welts to form in Beckman’s palms by how hard his grip was forming.

“Chronicler,” Beckman gently rasped out with a small amount of laziness found in his tone. Your hum halted while you cheerily chirped out your greeting to him in return.

“First-Mate,” you retorted in the same manner, “And here I thought I'd have the bathroom to myself for once at this hour.” Beckman chuckled at your small aire of disappointment, only succeeding in raising a laugh of your own beside him.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

That question halted his reach for his pants as he dragged the hem over his hips and down his Adonis belt. With stuttering fingers, he hastily freed himself of the cotton material before kicking them to the edge of the booth and stepping beneath the warming water. Quickly dampening his face with the rapid flurry of water, Beckman rinsed his cotton-mouth from slumber and replied back.

“You could say that, yeah,” his voice crooned with the languid drawl of the morning, “Just not been sleepin’ as good as the rest.”

“I get it,” you admit as a few pumps and squirts from the bottle beside you fell into your hands, “We've been at sea for a while. All the faces, the same. The sea, the same. The food, unfortunately, the same. Roux tries his best to keep it interesting, but ‘brown stew’ can only be eaten so many times before my brain starts to fry.” The scent of orange peel and licorice wafted from the stand beside him, immediately swelling the mind of Benn Beckman.

He found his mind falling back into the fantasy his mind concocted of you eagerly sucking on his cock while he teased and spanked your ass, fingers slipping into your pussy and drawing out those choked sputters while he had you at his mercy. The feeling of your lips on his skin, the caress of your plush heat in his hand, the warmth of your throat taking him in-.

-He peered down at his hand, moving against his will and pumping along his cock while the other caressed his broad chest to pinch at his nipples. Shaking his head frantically, he removed his hands as if his body had burnt him and immediately stepped beneath the water. Rinsing his hair, his face, his ears, his body, he couldn't hear what you said clearly from the stall beside him.

“Sorry, head was under,” Beckman apologized with honesty, “Mind repeatin’ that?”

“I said, Benn Beckman, and please don't tell the others this,” you pleaded with a small chuckle, “I think we've all got cabin fever. I had the weirdest dream that I was fucking some crew members, and we all know that I absolutely wouldn't do that.” Beckman's hands halted their wash as you continued, “I think my mind has run away with me, using what's around me to create some kind of plot to keep it interesting. Just a bit crap that I'm left high and dry in the morning, is all.”

Taking a few moments pause to contemplate exactly what you were informing him, he inhaled before releasing an exhale with a groan hinted on his breath.

“It’s not my place to judge anyone on what shapes their dreams take,” Beckman nodded honestly while leaning against the adjoining wall where you were beside him, “And I get it. It's all the same at the moment. Next port is in a couple more weeks, we just gotta keep strong until then.”

“Aye, sir,” you uttered softly. The tap creaked off in the shower beside him at the same time Beckman did the same. As you both stepped out into the tiled hall, you both looked at the bath before looking at each other. In the silence, Beckman shook his head before looking at his toes sheepishly. Raising his head, he met your eyes with his own while both reaching the same conclusion.

“Do you want to have a bath together-?”

“-Just to keep things interesting?”

Both of you burst out into laughter before moving to the large bath. Removing your towels and stepping into the water, you and Beckman enjoyed swapping stories to break the routine of the norm, dreams but a whisper in the fictitious wind fleeing in every moment spent beside one another.

Hongo

All through his routine, his face did not change from a deep scowl mixing with complete and utter confusion. Waking himself fully up, in the shower room, at the breakfast table, in his office, back to the mess hall, taking the watch shift in the crows nest: the scowl never left his face as all thoughts eclipsed him of the night prior.

“A wet dream?” He asked himself, offended while looking down at his waistband, “I had a fucking wet dream?” He spat in disdain as his verbalised recollection fled through his mind.

Imagery began to roll from his body of the motions your spectral form made against his, halting as soon as he heard your tangible laugh below by the ropes. The smile he fictitiously fucked with his throat in his mind's eye was gracing the presence of Building Snake as he joked with you. Glancing over his glasses, Building Snake gave you a gentle shove and took the ropes from your hands in a bid to remove you if your duties for the day. Just as Hongo tried to glance away, you caught his eye from your position down below.

“Oi, doctor! Need a hand on watch?” You yelled with your hand cupping the left-hand side of your mouth, “Building Snake’s taking over deck duty, so I'm free.” Hongo shook his head as he found his smile slowly creeping up his cheek.

“You're free because you're overworked, chronicler,” Hongo mirrored your sentiment with his own hand curving around the edge of his lips, “Go to bed, read a book or something.” When he met your eyes once more, he saw that fire that meant for nothing but trouble as you took ahold of the ropes margining the top mast. Slowly beginning your climb, he scooched aside to make room beside him as your head popped through the latch.

“Shove,” you nodded your head towards the doctor, “I'm just-.”

“-Trying to do anything except go to sleep, I know the feeling,” Hongo closed his eyes and shook his head. Turning his chin onto the horizon, he reopened his eyes and looked out onto the open sea, “I know the feeling, intimately.” Now drawn beside him, you both took an elongated inhale and released a heavy exhale in unison.

“Rough night?” Your voice drew him away from his thoughts and to your side. Hazel eyes found your form, trying as they might to not see the position they placed you in last night in lieu of you before them. Hongo shook his head and upticked his forlorn smile.

“Just hanging on ‘til we get to port, is all. It's been… it's just been…”

Moving closer to him, you nudge his shoulder with your own and draw into a more familial and comfortable position. As you braced his body with your own, he leaned back into your touch and sighed out while watching the sea in its repetitive stasis. Friendship and comradery was the foremost rapport between you and the crew. Hongo was no different, and simply dwelling beside the doctor and offering him support in the ways you know how came naturally to offer him that friendship you had together.

“Next port, doc,” you nodded beside him, “First round is on me. I feel like we just need it after the time we've spent at sea.”

“The one thereafter is mine,” Hongo continued to train his steely eyes on the ocean, picturing the way he held you on his lap in his mind's eye and how natural it truly felt to hold you by his side like this, and nodded with a more genuine smile drawing to his features. “We'll need it, I think. Lots of electrolytes and water through the night, but absolutely a drink or two.”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @mermaniaa @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @ane5e

[onepieceonehitwonders]

Beast

———————————————————————————

Everything about him was so big..

You couldn’t help it when you felt your eyes roll back into your skull, choking on your spit sobbing. Everything was so overwhelming, his musk was everywhere. Every breath you took was hot.. you couldn’t fucking breathe.

You were perched on his lap so perfect and pretty.. right in-front of the mirror, there was no hiding your lewd expressions from that red haired beast. His breath behind you shuttering, heaving with anticipation, He couldn’t wait to ruin you.

He spread your thighs wide. eyes glued to his prize, watching as that sweet honey dripped out and seeped through your cotton white panties, he hissed as his mouth filled with saliva, only wishing it was the sweet juices of your pretty cunt.

“Fuuck look at youu hm..?” His rough voice rumbling through your ears waking you up from your daze, you hurried to find his burning gaze in the mirror and whimpered. It was too much.. you’d never done anything like this before, so exposed, so vulnerable. You loved it.

He held your gaze like it was a challenge, his lips in a lazy smirk “ohh I know pretty girl” he said in a pouty tone as his big calloused fist gripped the frayed edges of your night dress, ripping it from the heat of your body. Heavy breasts exposed to the bitter cold of the night, nipples turning stiff. You cried out with arms lurching forward to cover them but to no avail. He was too fast. “Don’t you fucking dare” he snarled deeply in your ear, skilfully snatching both arms with his one. and somehow wrestling them behind your back, “You’re gonna let me see it all.. you hear me sweet baby?”

———————————————————————————

@ saoirse

[hannahbarberra162]

Emperor's Prize (Alpha Shanks x Omega Reader) Part 2

18+ MDNI on Ao3

Seek medical attention for infected bite wounds.

The first chapter

The next chapter

Shanks POV

Hongo tilted his head to the side while contemplating your last statement. His mouth opened and closed before asking  “Captain, may I speak to you outside for a moment?” Shanks nodded, using his thumb to wipe away the tear tracking down the Omega’s face.

“Stay here, OK? I’ll be just outside the door,” Shanks said in your ear quietly, his stubble scraping against your cheek and earning him a shiver from you. Picking you off his lap with ease, Shanks set the Omega down on the unmade bed. You were still steadfastly looking down at your feet and avoiding eye contact with either Hongo or himself. Shanks stood up and followed the doctor, opening and shutting the cabin door gently behind him to avoid startling you. 

“Are you keeping her?” the doctor asked, letting out the breath he’d been holding.

Shanks hadn’t given it much thought in the short time he’d had the Omega on his ship. If Shanks was a better man, he could let her go back on suppressants while living in anonymity on a protected island. She’d made it years without being detected and likely could go back to doing the same. 

Or he could sell her and make a ton of Berri, maybe even equal to his bounty. This idea was dismissed as the thought of turning her over to someone who would traumatize her just as badly - or maybe worse - turned his stomach. Besides, the islands he protected were perfectly happy to supply him with whatever the crew needed. The Red Force was welcomed all over the Grand Line, Shanks had no need for more money.

“Yeah, I’m thinking about it,” Shanks said, rubbing his goatee. The idea to keep the Omega for himself had growing appeal. Your scent had started to perfume the cabin and it was taking everything in Shanks not to rub his nose on your scent glands. You had a subtle scent of lily of the valley and cedar that Shanks found incredibly appealing. With his status, power, and crew he could keep you safe from anyone else who would seek to have you. 

“Well, you’d better decide quickly. If you’re not keeping her, we need to get her off the ship immediately.”

“How much time do we have?” Shanks asked, peeking back in on your still form again. If he didn’t see you breathing and blinking, he would have thought you a statue.

“Only four to five days, and that’s if your presence around her doesn’t initiate her heat sooner which it likely will. If you’re not keeping her, we gotta put her in the infirmary, brig, or somewhere where your and Beckman’s scent is weak.” The mention of Beckman set Shanks on edge, surprising both himself and the doctor. He’d been friends with Beckman for over twenty years and this was the first time he’d ever felt anything so negative towards the man.

“How much do you know about Omegas?” 

Shanks hummed as he recalled that he had read a few books over the years, but hadn’t taken a particular interest in Omegas. He didn’t think he’d ever find one and he wouldn’t want to spend a single Berri on buying one through the slave trade. He’d bedded hundreds of Betas and even a few Alphas which had suited him just fine. “I know a little but not all that much truthfully,” he stated while looking at you through the circular window in the cabin door. You hadn’t moved an inch, your gaze still trained on the floor, sitting in the exact position Shanks had left you in. He could only imagine what Kid had done to you to train you to such a sick level of obedience. 

“We’ve got to get to an island and dock for the duration otherwise everyone’s gonna be miserable, especially Beckman. You’re not gonna want anyone else around her either.” 

“How do you know she’s going to be in heat?” Shanks asked, genuinely curious.

Hongo scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Doctor isn’t just a title, I went to a real medical school. I learned about all this and we need to get her ready. If this is her first heat like she’s saying it will be, it’s going to be intense.”

“What does that mean exactly? What do we need to do for her?” Shanks’s practical knowledge about heat cycles left something to be desired. He’d often glossed over those sections in manuscripts under the assumption that it would never apply to his situation. 

Hongo rubbed the back of his neck in thought. “If you’re keeping her, there’s a lot we need to do. First, she must bathe so I can tend to her wounds. After that, you’ll have to scent her. If you want the heat to go as smoothly as it can we need to erase any scent left from Kid and replace it with yours. That way she’s not searching for her old mate, even if they had a….bad relationship. We’ll need to get her soft, clean, unscented linens and blankets so she can make her nest. She needs to eat up - heats use a lot of the Omega’s reserves and she doesn’t have that much left. We need -”

Shanks cut off Hongo with a wave of his hand. “One thing at a time. First, let’s bathe her.” 

“After the bath, we’re gonna need Beckman,” Hongo stated.

“Beckman? Why?” Shanks was an Alpha too and stronger besides. Anything Beckman could do, Shanks could do better unless it took two arms. Belatedly, Shanks realized his feelings were the precursor to jealousy. He threw Hongo a frown before he carried on speaking in a sullen tone, “She doesn’t need him.”. 

“I’m gonna have to clean and dress her wounds,” Hongo explained.

“So? What does that have to do with him?”

“He’s gonna keep you from punching or trying to fight me. You’re not going to like watching me tend to her or hurt her, no matter if it's for her own good.” Shanks rolled his eyes at the doctor’s words.

“Pffff. It’s not gonna be like that, I can control myself. It’s not like she’s my mate,” Shanks scoffed.

“I’m getting Beckman,” Hongo stated, unmoved by Shanks’s self assuredness.

Your POV

You heard the Captain and doctor talking outside of the door but were lost in your own thoughts. You’d been off your homemade suppressants for a while but you had pointedly avoided thinking about the possibility of going through heat. You had chalked your rising temperature up to your wounds causing you to be feverish. Nuzzling into the cloak, you inhaled Shanks’s scent deep into your lungs. The velvety material and clean smell made you feel peaceful to the point of being a little sleepy. You ached to lay back on the comfortable looking bed and curl up into a ball but he hadn’t given you permission to. You wanted to pass and show that you could obey in case this was a test. Kid liked to test the limits of your obedience in creative ways and you’d learned your lessons the hard way. He would leave food out when you were hungry and punish you if you ate it, or leave out blankets when he’d told you to remain naked and enter his cabin randomly. So you sat even though you were bone achingly tired.

You tried to look about your surroundings surreptitiously while you waited. The wooden cabin was mostly tidy but well lived in. Clothes were piled on a lounge chair in the corner, a writing desk had letters, maps, and an inkwell on top, and a small bookshelf held a few tomes. A dark colored chest had more linens poking out of the corner while the bed you were perched upon was large and covered in fuzzy sheets and piled with blankets and pillows. You didn’t see any hooks or chains hanging from the walls, maybe the Alpha wasn’t going to shackle you to the bed. The room had the aroma of the Alpha and gave off the feeling of coziness, of snuggling under blankets on a cold night. It felt….homey.

The door opened and Shanks reappeared without the doctor. Watching the Emperor approach, you didn’t want to imagine his displeasure at finding you asleep on the bed when he hadn’t allowed it. Kid’s power was mind boggling to you and the Emperor had swatted him away like a fly. You would do anything to remain on the Emperor’s good side even if it was to your own detriment. You heard him approaching you and watched his sandaled feet stop in front of you. He didn’t stoop down to catch your gaze but you felt his hand land at the top of your hair. You winced, remembering all the times it had been pulled in the past. No pain came as Shanks just patted you and rubbed the strands of your dirty hair between his fingers.

“Hongo has to treat your wounds. We need to get you clean first though, yeah? And take these off too,” Shanks’ fingers left your hair as he spoke. He reached down into the cloak and pulled on the chain between the cuffs you were still wearing. Feeling the bed dip next to you, Shanks pulled one of the cuffs closer to his face to inspect the manacle. “Where’s the lock? They’re not welded shut,” Shanks noted. 

“Magnetic,” you said in your hoarse voice. Shanks’s face soured as he traced the smooth metal of the handcuff with his thumb.

“Ah.” Shanks seemed to mull your response over for a few moments before he commanded you to close your eyes. You complied immediately and heard crunching as the metal of your cuff fell off your wrists. You desperately wanted to see how the Emperor had gotten them off but you were waiting for his command. A warm and calloused hand rubbed your bruised wrist where the metal had been previously. “You can open them again,” Shanks said softly, running his thumb over your pulse. There were no weapons around and the Emperor’s sword was still sheathed within the scabbard. You could only guess the power he’d used to remove them. 

The door swung open and three men appeared, two carrying a metal tub filled with steaming water and the third with a bucket with toiletries. Shanks stood to put himself between you and the crew members, blocking them from your view. “Thanks, guys, just put it over there,” the Emperor requested, gesturing to the largest open area of the cabin. The men followed their Captain’s request carefully but a little water sloshed on the floor. Alarm shot through you at the sight of the water on the floor, and you hoped the Captain didn’t blame you or punish you for it. You nearly went to clean it but you hadn’t been told to leave the bed and the new men were still in the room.

“Is it time for introductions? I’m Lime -” one of the men began speaking in your direction.

“Ah, not now. Maybe later Lime Juice, sorry. Thanks for bringing the tub,” the Emperor said with genuine praise in his voice.

“No worries. Nice to meetcha Little Miss,” the man said easily. You didn’t reply. The men exited the cabin leaving only you, Shanks, and the piping hot bath. 

“Come on, then. Let’s get you in there while it's still hot,” the Emperor suggested. You nodded and stood up, shucking the Emperor’s cloak you’d been clutching.

Shanks POV

He shouldn’t have been surprised when you complied immediately, leaving his cloak on the bed and revealing your nude body. You’d been beaten into submission - if he told you to jump overboard he’d hear the splash shortly thereafter. His eyes raked over your form while you limped to the tub, noticing the bruising, the cuts, the marks he hadn’t before. Even in your currently broken form, you were breathtaking. Shanks’s fingers twitched with the desire to touch you but he stuffed his hand into his pocket for the time being, getting closer to aid your descent into the water.

“Why are you limping?” Shanks asked as you gripped the edge of the tub to lift yourself in. You froze in place, looking down at the water. Raising your foot behind you revealed a deep gash in the sole of your foot. Shanks crouched down to get a better look at the wound while capturing your foot in his hand. The doctor hadn’t inspected the bottom of your feet so he was sure Hongo hadn’t seen this one. The cut was clearly deliberate with how deep and uniform it was. Taking a deep breath to avoid swearing caused the tempting perfume of your cunt to hit Shanks’s nose. His first instinct was to hold you in place and run his tongue all the way up your legs till he reached your tantalizing pussy. Then he wanted to rub his nose up and down your slit until the scent of your pussy was all he could smell. Now wasn’t the time, you were shaking and tired and had a long way to go until you could rest.

“Ach. I wish you’d said something, are there any other cuts Hongo didn’t inspect?” Shanks said in mild admonishment. You licked your lips and nodded slowly. You were shaking, your shoulders hunched in to make yourself smaller. “Hey, don’t worry, I’m not mad,” Shanks said quietly, putting your foot back down and standing up, regrettably moving away from the scent of your groin. He cupped your face and rubbed his thumb over your cheek repeatably in an attempt to soothe you. “I’m not mad, I just need to know where you need medical attention. I can’t help you if I don’t have all the information, right?” You nodded, your hair obscuring your face from his view. “Where’s the other cut?” Shanks inquired while moving his hand to the small of your back.

You took in a deep breath and put your good foot on the tub, opening your legs to his eyes. At the very inner crease of your leg, where your thigh met your groin, was another infected bite mark. Shanks squared his shoulders and kept his face neutral. His first instinct had been to snarl at the offending sight but managed to restrain his response at the sight of you. Shanks saw your vacant gaze, shaking hands, and clammy skin and knew it would only make things worse.

“”S all right. We can let Hongo know later,” Shanks slipped on the mask of his affable nature as he spoke to smooth over the moment. “In ya go, Love,” Shanks said while picking you up by the waist and depositing you into the tub without warning. Shanks needed you in the water so your smell would dissipate before he lost control of himself. You hissed when your skin hit the water but otherwise made no movements. “Here you go,” Shanks said, handing you soap and a towel before dragging a stool over to sit near the tub. “You do your front, I’ll get your back.” 

You began lathering the washcloth with soap and warm water before you began rubbing down your arms and torso. Shanks maintained a steady one sided conversation while he started pouring water down your back. He was trying to acclimate you to the sound of his voice in an attempt to bring you comfort in what surely was an uncomfortable time. While lathering his own washcloth Shanks saw the formerly clear bathwater turning rust red with every swipe of your hands. As he began sudsing your back his eyes picked up faded scars he’d missed when looking over your more recent wounds. 

“I’m gonna wash your back now, ok? It’s hard to wash your own back and even harder when you only have one hand. There are more tasks than you’d think that require two hands, even beyond fighting or washing. Can you imagine how difficult buttons are to do with one hand? Or even tying boots? I have Beckman help me, that’s Benn Beckman, my first mate. You’ll meet him later, you’ll like him for sure. He looks gruff but make no mistake he’s a total sweetheart. He says that I milk it, and I do of course, but what’s the point of being a Captain if my first mate won’t hand feed me eggs every morning?” 

Shanks was acting casually but he noticed a miniscule shift in your mouth as he joked about Benn feeding him breakfast. You were close to smiling and Shank’s heart swelled with pride. He knew there was some glimmer of you buried deep within and he was going to bring you back to the surface. He finished washing your back and you’d washed your arms, torso, and legs but made no move to wash your hair.

“Do you want me to wash your hair, Love? I can if you’d like,” Shanks was trying to offer you as many simple choices as possible to show you that he wasn’t going to control every aspect of your life. You shook your head in response to his query. “Alright, go ahead then, almost done here,” Shanks said gently but to his surprise, you shook your head again. “No? I don’t mean to be rude sweetheart but your hair’s dirty, it needs to be washed.” 

“Cut it all off,” you rasped. Shanks tilted his head to the side, your request startling. Even male Omegas preferred long hair, it was simply a characteristic commonly associated with the dynamic. One of the most severe non-corporeal punishments an Omega could face was having a forced haircut. For an Omega to request a drastic haircut was unheard of. Your hair was long, indicating you’d been growing it long before Kid had gotten his hands on you even through your time being suppressed.

“Can I ask why?” Shanks questioned, picking up the soggy ends from the water. 

“Can’t be pulled,” you answered. You parted your hair in the back, showing a bald spot where your hair had been yanked out from the root. Shanks moved his stool so he was no longer sitting behind you but beside you.

“Look at me,” Shanks requested and you partially complied as you turned your head towards him. You looked at his chest but not at his face. “ Look at me,” Shanks repeated, this time with a Command. Not physically able to disobey an Alpha of his power, your widened eyes snapped to him. It was the first time he’d Commanded you to do anything, but this was important.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Not now. Not ever. You may not always like what I do, but I will never harm you. Do you understand?” Shanks said softly while stroking your cheek with his thumb. He’d done that a lot, he mused. Something about you called him to take care of you, to provide for you physically and emotionally. You nodded. “I’m gonna have to hear you say it,” Shanks said, almost sorry for forcing you to talk.

“I understand,” you stated in your ruined voice. Unsure if his Command was completed you continued looking at him. Shanks smiled at you and kissed the top of your head.

“I’ll tell you what, we’ll make a deal. I’ll wash and brush your hair for you tonight. If you still want to cut it off tomorrow morning, we will. We can have matching haircuts if you want,” Shanks said, flipping back his own hair for emphasis. A ghost of a smile turned up the corners of your lips as you nodded your consent to his deal.

Your POV

Your arms looped around your knees in the cooling water as Shanks washed your hair tenderly. You had been sincere in your wish to cut it - you never wanted to be dragged by your hair ever again. Shanks’s offer startled you since Omegas were often physically groomed to whatever standard the Alpha wanted regardless of how they felt about it. The bath had given you a lot of stress since you weren’t sure what to expect. Anything new, any deviation from the standard made you nervous since you couldn’t predict the outcome. It had been an all right experience but not as relaxing as the Emperor had anticipated. 

Shanks only had one hand but it didn’t slow him down when bathing you. He rattled on about whatever he was thinking about while you listened as he worked the soap onto your scalp and rinsed it. He was pulling the brush easily through your hair while telling you about a strange boy he’d met years before when there was a knock at the door. 

“Wait,” Shanks ordered in a tone more stern than he’d used when speaking to you. “Up, dear,” Shanks motioned with the hairbrush. The water dripping off you in rivulets left you exposed to the cold air making your skin erupt into goosebumps. Shanks quickly dried you off with a fluffy towel before he wrapped it around your body. After you were dried to Shanks’s satisfaction, he swapped the towel for a large purple robe, picked you up, and sat you on the chair by the desk.

“Come in,” Shanks said, sitting on the edge of the desk next to you. He took your wrinkly hand and held it in his own as you resumed staring at the floor. Three pairs of boots walked past and you heard them hefting the tub back out of the room.

“Blech, what’d she do? Bathe in mud?” one man said.

“Shut the fuck up,” Hongo replied calmly while coming to stand in front of you. He had his medicine kit again and you knew this part would be even less fun than the bath. Two pairs of boots stopped in front of you but you only recognized Hongo’s. The other male was also an alpha though not as strongly scented as Shanks.

“There’s a few more Hong,” Shanks said casually, stroking the top of your hand. “She’s got a cut on the sole of her foot and one on her inner thigh. Both need attention.”

“Alright, not an issue. Let’s get started,” Hongo said while setting his bag on the desk. “Over to the other side of the cabin,” Hongo ordered Shanks, who bristled immediately. 

“Nah, I’m gonna stay here,” Shanks said, keeping your hand in his own.

“No, you’re not. Go over there with Beckman. I don’t want to have to treat my own wounds in addition to hers when I stitch her up.” You cringed, waiting for the Captain to slap his subordinate but it never came. Instead, you heard a deep voice ushering the Emperor away from you.

“C’mon, Cap. ‘S for the best. We’ll be a few feet away and she’s a big girl, she can be apart from you for a minute or two.” You were guessing this was Benn Beckman, the first mate Shanks had told you about. Shanks whined in response but let go of your hand nonetheless.

“”M right here if you need me, Sweets,” Shanks reassured you as he receded. You didn’t protest but a part of you did wish Shanks was nearby. You didn’t feel all that comfortable around him but he was the person you were most familiar with. Hongo had been taking tools and liquids out of his bag in preparation for the procedures. After putting on a pair of glasses, Hongo snapped on a pair of rubber gloves.

“It’s not gonna feel great, but I’ll try to make it as painless as possible, OK? Let’s start with your neck, I think that’s the most severe. Did you wash it in the bath?” He asked, using the stool Shanks had previously occupied. You nodded in confirmation that you had followed the doctor’s orders.

“Let’s take a look, yeah?” You tilted your head to allow the doctor access to your neck. Even though you knew he was going to touch you, you still flinched when he made contact with your skin. “I’m gonna clean it and drain the pus. After I’m gonna have to stitch it,” the doctor informed you. You heard the sound of liquid moving and felt alcohol being applied to your neck. Not wanting to interrupt Hongo’s work, you stayed as still as you could even as the alcohol burned on contact with your wound. 

“See? Not even a single reaction outta me,” you heard Shanks say in the background and Beckman grunted in response to his captain.

After wiping down the area, you heard the clanging of metal as Hongo picked up a scalpel. You closed your eyes and waited for the sharp pain as the knife met your skin. Based on other wounds you’d received, you knew the doctor was trying to be gentle but you still hissed as he cut into you and pressed on the wound.

“No, sit down. She’s fine -”

“I AM sitting down, but I just wanna go -” 

“No, stay put.” You heard Shanks and Beckman arguing on the other side of the room. Hongo was right to bring the first mate, it sounded like Shanks was having a hard time watching the doctor tend to your wounds. You wondered if it was from possessiveness, like Kid, or because he didn’t like watching you being hurt. You didn’t think about it for long as a sharp pain crowded out your train of thought when the doctor began pressing on your wound to drain the pus.

“Not much more, almost there. It’s a deep wound, otherwise I wouldn’t have to stitch it.” You whimpered as the doctor pushed even harder for a moment, then covered the area with gauze. You heard scuffling again.

“Let go of me Benn, I need to - I said stop shoving me!” Shanks’ voice rose with more anger in his voice. His scent was starting to bloom, filling the air with the smell of oranges and cloves in an unconscious effort to soothe you.

“One more time and you’re out of the cabin until he’s done. Stop talking and distracting everyone. You know it’s for her own good so Let Hongo work,” Benn huffed. You couldn’t concentrate on Shanks anymore because the doctor started to stitch. You closed your lips into a thin line and screwed your eyes shut in a futile effort to block out the pain.

“Ah, relax, relax. If you tense your muscles it hurts more,” the doctor chided you gently as the needle pricked your skin over and over. You relaxed your face as much as you could. You’d had stitches before and you were no stranger to pain but the bite was in such a delicate and sensitive area you couldn’t help as a few tears escaped your eye. Finally, you heard the words you were waiting for.

“All done, just snipping the end of the thread. One more moment and we can move on.” Scissors were brought close to your face and snipped the end of the medical thread. “Look straight ahead for me?” Hongo instructed you, facing you head on. You looked forward, your neck aching with the effort. “And turn to the other side?” You turned and saw Shanks smiling and waving at you despite being held against the wall by Benn. You dropped your eyes after a moment too long.

“So what’s next? Shanks said you had a foot injury? Those are a real drag,” Hongo said, trying to make light conversation. You nodded and crossed your leg over your knee to show the doctor the sole of your foot. Hongo reached out to pick up your foot by the ankle and peered closely at the wound with his glasses.

“Knife?” he asked abruptly. You nodded. “Accident?” You shook your head. 

“Punishment. Ran away,” you said quietly. Hongo hummed and tilted your foot. You used the extra fabric of the extravagant robe to cover yourself more as Hongo lifted your leg and placed your foot on his lap. Shanks growled lightly but otherwise made no noise.

“Luckily it’s pretty shallow. Probably hurts to walk but it should heal quickly. I don’t need to suture it but I am going to wrap it,” Hongo explained. He cleaned the wound and used long nosed tweezers to get a few pieces of debris out. The digging was uncomfortable and made you try to jerk your foot back unintentionally but Hongo’s grip was tight. He finished quickly and wrapped the wound in gauze and bandages.

“Next is the leg, right? Let’s see,” Hongo offered. Your mouth twisted as you thought of having to show the wound. You pointed to the bed and hoped the doctor didn’t think you were arrogant.

“Sure, go ahead and lay down if it's easier for you,” Hongo offered. He picked you up and you heard the Emperor’s rumble returning, making you ball your hands into fists.

“Oi, you’re scaring her Redhair,” Benn said as you were placed on the bed. The rumble stopped for a moment but quickly resumed as soon as you opened your legs to show Hongo the wound. You were covering what you could with the robe but Shanks only got louder as Hongo came closer to you. As his head dipped low to look at it with his glasses, Shanks’s loud roar made you cower. 

“That’s it, we’re leaving,” Ben said, manhandling the Emperor out of the cabin. “I’m keeping this one outside. Let us know when you’re done. C’mon you,” Beckman said, still grappling with a struggling Shanks. You knew that if the Emperor really wanted to stay, no one on board could keep him out. You guessed that the Emperor was trying to allow Hongo to take care of you but the Alpha within him didn’t like the other male so close to you. You closed your eyes and willed this experience to be over as soon as possible. Hongo was touching your upper leg in a professional manner but the feeling of someone near your core had you near tears. This wound wasn’t as bad as the one on your neck since you had secretly washed it a few times. 

“All done. Good job, Omega. You did better than some of the men on board,” Hongo said before removing the gloves and putting his glasses back in their case. “You stay there, I’ll get Shanks.” No sooner had the doctor finished speaking than the door opened and the Emperor strode in, carrying a basket in his hand. You sat up and gulped, unsure how angry he would be. 

“Out,” he said to Hongo before he shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry Hong. What I meant was, thank you. And you were right about Beckman, owe ya one.”

“Owe me a bottle of booze is whatcha owe me,” Hongo said, smiling easily. “Have her eat and go to sleep. Poor thing’s exhausted.” 

“Already on it,” Shanks murmured. He placed the basket on the bed as the doctor left, taking his equipment with him. “Didn’t know what you liked, so I took a bit of everything. The crew already ate dinner and those assholes left no leftovers. Well, we didn’t really know you were coming, but Lucky’ll make you whatever you want tomorrow. For now, here’s a little snack.” Shanks reached into the basket and pulled out some cheese, dried meat, grapes, crackers, and some nuts. “I stole a bunch of this from Beckman’s cabin, he’s got good taste.” You hesitatingly reached over to the slices of cheese, taking one in your hand. Biting into it, you nearly moaned. You hadn’t had fresh food in forever, subsisting on whatever Kid remembered to bring into his cabin. 

You ate a few more slices in silence, Shanks leaning back on the bed and eating some of the mixed nuts he’d taken. “You want one?” he asked, holding a grape in his hand. You nodded and held out your hand to take one from the bowl. “Ah ah. Open,” he demanded, putting the grape right in front of your lips. You obediently opened your mouth and Shanks popped the fruit in. You didn’t know why but you felt yourself starting to blush faintly. You were wearing the Emperor’s robe, on his bed, after he bathed you, and yet feeding you a grape made you feel embarrassed? You yawned after you swallowed, your eyelids feeling heavy. You wanted to rest but were still unsure if you needed permission.

“Aw, you’re tired? ‘S alright, we can eat more tomorrow. Drink a cup of water and we’ll be off to bed,” Shanks said, pouring water into a cup from a bottle on the nightstand. Handing you the cup, your fingers brushed against his. You drank greedily, draining the cup in seconds. “More?” Shanks asked but you shook your head. He quickly put the food back in the basket and set it on the floor.

“Lay down. You look so sleepy little Omega. Come on, right here next to me on the bed, it’s nice and warm, I’ll hold you,” Shanks cooed at you. Your lip wobbled at the suggestion but you held firm and didn’t cry. You’d spent many nights on the cold floor of Kid’s cabin, your chains pulling at your weakened limbs. Crawling over to the head of the bed, you laid down on your side on one of the fluffy, feather filled pillows. The Emperor covered your body with his heavy blanket and you burrowed down into its warmth while inhaling the rich scent of the Alpha. You’d missed being warm and comfortable at night more than any other luxury, even more than eating regularly. Shanks laid down behind you and pulled you close to his body, draping his arm loosely across your torso. 

“Good night, little Omega,” he said, kissing the top of your head.

“Good night, Emperor,” you croaked, already half asleep. One thought tickled the corner of your mind before you could succumb to sleep completely. “The other ship?” You’d felt the Emperor’s boat rock earlier but you were too focused on your circumstances to notice anything else.

“Hm? Kid’s ship? Dorry and Broggy cut it in half,” Shanks mumbled while running his hand up and down your ribs. You hummed happily and let sleep overtake you.

Taglist: @mfreedomstuff @v1ennie @staarflowerr @treelogirl @rebeccawinters @nocturnalrorobin @mochiclouds @cursedforlife666 @epochal-oracle

[alexa-yukiyu]

Do you think I can do a female child reader, where they ate the mouth mouth fruit (idk if it's an actual fruit just go with the flow 😞), the devil fruit makes the user be able make mouth of any size apron there body, they can change the teeth shape if wanted, and can talk out of the mouth, the devil fruit can consume inedible objects and hide the them like a big pocket and not like digesting it, I can just imagine them not feeling well an just throwing up a vacuum or a fridge

Beckup ( Red-Haired pirates x child!reader)

A/N I don’t want to jinx it guys but how long has the streak been going on three days? I think im back! Anyhow how you like that tittle cause im really proud of it especially once you read the chapter, you’ll get it. Also guys I see your requests I see them! Im just really behind because of the month writer’s block so im still doing requests from May so give me some time 🙏🏼

Reader here is replaced by Dokucha which stands for Reader in japanese for the enjoyment of both reader and oc character reader’s enjoyment!

Dividers by @/Drinkthesky and @/firefly-graphics

“Dokucha, I need you to come out of there so I can help you,” Hongo called out with a sigh.

“I don’t need help, Papa! I’m good!”

“Then why have you found it necessary to hide in a closet?” he deadpanned

“It’s warm and cozy in here.”

“Dokucha, get out,” he ordered as he tried pulling the closet open.

“No, I’m good.”

“Do I need to get Benn?” He warned

“...You won’t!”

“Try me, Dokucha, if you don’t come out at the count of three I am calling him .

“One”

“You’re Lying!” they cried out.

“Two,” he continued

“Uncle is busy!” they tried to reason.

“Three. Alright, I’m going to get Beck,” He called.

Dokucha frowned, hearing the fading footsteps of their father as they tried to make themselves smaller and steel their resolve before the vice Captain made an appearance

They did not have to wait long as soon after the Doctor had left, the door sounded again, and two sets of footsteps followed.

“Dokucha.” Benn’s deep voice rumbled

That was all he needed; just one word was all he needed to convey what he wanted. Dokucha’s only escape at the moment was to try to stall by playing dumb, as it was only a matter of time before Benn managed to get them out. However, it was more than likely that he would manage to get them out with only his words, knowing that they knew that only worse consequences would arise if he had to remove them from the closet forcefully.

“Y-Yes?”

“Enough of this, get out.”

“I really am okay where I am,” they nervously replied

“Out.”

“Yes sir,” they muttered as they did as they were told, sheepishly standing in front of the man, avoiding both his steely gaze and the one from their father who sat ways behind, arms crossed, a frown on his face.

“Look at me.” He called

Hesitantly, Dokucha turned their head to meet his eyes, shoulders up as they tried to shrink themselves.

“Why were you hiding?”

“…”

“Dokucha,” he sighed, crouching down in front of them.

“Listen, I’m not sure why you’re hiding. I don’t know if you think it’s because you’re in trouble or because you’re hiding something, but regardless, you need to let us know.

Yes. There will be consequences if you do what you aren’t supposed to, but ultimately, we just want to know what is wrong so we can help you.”

“Alright?”

“Okey,” they mumbled.

“Mind telling me why you were hiding?”

“I overused my ability again…”

“Dokucha, it’s the third time this week; what’s going on?” Hongo called as he stood up, walking closer

“The kids in the village said my ability was useless, so I stored all their weapons and things in my pocket dimension to show them it wasn't.

“Why are you trying to show off your ability lately?” The Doctor questioned

“Because…”

“Because?” Beckman drawled, raising an eyebrow

“Because I want to show I’m doing as much as you guys!” They cried, causing the men to look at them, shocked at the sudden outburst

“What are you on about?”

“W-well, Papa is a great Doctor and always makes sure everyone is healthy and ready to go; he’s like a wizard! Making all his concoctions for any occasion! Uncle Beckman is the backbone of the whole ship not to mention he has some superb moves.” Dokucha prattled on, using exaggerated hand movements as they praised the officer’s abilities

“But then there’s me... I’m just a glorified purse. All I can do is store things and scare people by making these pop-up,” Dokucha muttered as they extended their hand, watching as a mouth materialized on top of it.

The two men looked at each other as smiles slowly broke on their faces. Hongo let a few snickers out, catching the attention of the child.

“W-Why are you laughing! This is for real!”

“Sorry, Kid, I just found it funny that the most important member of our crew would think that way."

“How am I the most important?! If anything it would be Papa, or you Uncle Beckmann, or-or uncle Lucky he always makes sure we have energy to fight! There’s also Uncle Shanks! He is the Captain and the strongest one, too!”

“What do you think, Boss?” Hongo called out, looking behind him

“You can’t possibly think that Dokucha,” Shanks called with a small, serene smile on his face as he walked into the clinic.

“U-Uncle Shanks?”

“How about this? Can you remind me what our goal is now?” He inquired as he joined Benn in crouching down to be at their level.

“To get the one piece?”

“Yes, and can you remind me what the most important thing we need to get there is?”

“Road Poneglyphs?”

“Good job. One last one, can you tell me who keeps our Road Poneglyphs?”

“I do…” they stated, extending their hand once again and watching as a mouth once again materialized; this time, however, it began to cough, eventually spouting a stack of papers that the child grabbed, showing to the Captain.

“You are our Treasurer, Dokucha; you are the key to our goal. There are a lot of strong people out there; with enough training, anyone could become like us, but you are the only one who can do what you do, So take it from your Captain: you are essential to this crew, or do you believe me to lie?” Shanks questioned

“No Uncle Shanks”

“Atta Kid,” Shanks stated as he ruffled the child’s hair, standing up to allow Hongo to approach them.

“No one can keep our treasure safer than you can.” Hongo started as he picked them up

“Forget about the kids on the village; you are the Treasurer of the Red-haired pirates, so stand tall.”

With teary eyes, she took in all the men and the pride that shone in their eyes as they spoke their words

“Yeah!”

“What did you take from them that made you overuse your ability anyway? There’s no way those kids had weapons in them, and even if they did, it wouldn’t overwhelm your ability.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Dokucha began as she pulled on their father’s clothes to be let down; he raised an eyebrow and placed them on the floor, watching as a mouth materialized on their stomach and began to cough something out

“C-Chairs?” Shanks Gaped

“And the tables!” Dokucha proudly stated as said items were coughed out from them

“That feels so much better,” they huffed as they stretched.

“Why did you take their tables and chairs?” Beckmann spoke, staring at the furniture wide-eyed that now crowded the clinic

“They made me lose my appetite when they said those things to me, so I made sure they lost theirs too.”

“By taking the place they eat from?”

“Mmmm!”

“Dokucha....,” Hongo sighed, pinching the branch of his nose in frustration

“What? I felt petty!”

Taglist:

@Imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

@hannahbarberra162

Thought I forgot about that last part din’t you Anon? I couldn’t do a fridge but I did some other large furniture instead!

[rayraelleaizawa]

They're going hard on you

TW: none i think

gn!reader

Short stories of when OP men go hard on you out of worry

Characters: Shanks, Trafalgar Law

Shanks

You sat in the captains office and looked at Shanks who was unusally quiet. You had an anxious feeling in your guts. You knew you had fucked up, but you didnt think he would be that mad.

The red hair pirates docked at some uninhabited island, and you were assigned to not leave the ship since Shanks wasnt sure how dangerous the island would be. But when you saw a strange animal falling from a tree and into a river, trying desperately not to drown and reach the shore again but couldnt make it, you left the ship and jumped into the river and helped the animal out of there. The scared animal didnt realice you only wanted to help him, and trashed around in your grip and scratched and bit you.

When Shanks and a part of his crew came back from exploring the island, and he saw that you were standing on deck, soaked from head to toe and trying to clean up your bloody injuries, his usually carefree face fell. He wore an unreadable expression as he told you to come into his cabin when Hongo was done treating your wounds.

Now, half an hour later and bandaged up, you sat in Shanks office and looked at your lap. He still had that unreadable expression on his face and you werent sure in what kind of trouble you were right now. You had breaken the rules before, nothing too bad, but he never acted like that because of you. You thought that he'd understand why you left, everyone knew that you had a soft spot for animals.

You anxiously waited for him to start talking, but he didnt even look at you. After another silent ten minutes, he finally said something.

"What did Hongo say?"

"He said that it is nothing too bad, just some scratches. I need to go check up regulary tho in case of infection and if I feel weird I am supposed to go to him instantly. Hongo checks the books right now if the animal that bit me is poisenous or not."

You gladly would have left out the last part, but you knew you shouldnt do that right now. He would talk with Hongo and find out anyway.

There was another short silence before he spoke again.

"What did I tell you to do? No, what did I order you to do?"

"To stay on the ship" you quietly said.

"And what did you do?"

"I...left the ship."

"You disobeyed my orders. That's what you did. No matter what relationship we two have, I am your captain and you have to follow my orders like everyone else on this ship."

You were quiet for some time. You didnt mean to disappoint him, but you didnt think about his orders when you saw that helpless animal fighting for its life.

"I'm sorry. I only wanted to help the-"

"I dont care what you wanted to do. You had clear orders. Orders, which were meant to protect you. Protect you from exactly those animals that hurt you. We have no idea if they are venomous, or aggresive, or a religious species for any natives that live here."

You stayed silent. The uneasy feeling in your stomach growing by the second. Sadness and fear joined that feeling too. You thought he'd understand you, but in the end you just disrespected him infront of his crew with ignoring his orders.

"I'm sorry for messing up" was all you could get out in that moment, and you heard Shanks sigh. He stood up from behind his desk and walked over to you.

"What am I supposed to do with you? Even when i try to protect you you still seem to find a way to end up in Hongos medical office. Why cant you just listen to me?"

His tone was softer than before, and you finally dared to look up at him. He had a worried expression on his face.

"I- I didnt think in that moment" you admitted as he bend his tall frame down to you, looking at your bandaged hand where that animal bit you.

"You have no idea how it felt to see you all bloody on deck. How it feels to know that you could die if that animal was highly venomous" he said, gently touching your arm.

You avoided his eyes and looked at the stump of his left arm.

"Yes I do know how that feels. I didnt want to make you experience this too. I'm sorry."

He sighed again, moving his hand under your chin and forced you gently to look him in the face.

"Never do that again. I love you too much for that."

Trafalgar D Water Law

You didn't look at him as he walked past you. You both ignored each other since the argument you had. You felt frustrated and angry at him, but mostly because he was right.

There was an emergency at the submarine, something about the boiler malfunctioning in the middle of the night. You were the closest to it so you tried to fix it, but you werent an engineer - you weren't sure what to do so you just improvised and tried your best until the persons who knew what to do came. Before that happened, hot water splashed onto your arm leaving a nasty burn on it.

Law had bandaged you up, but you noticed something wasn't right with him so you asked him. Which resulted in a heated argument between you two which ended with him snapping at you.

"If you have no idea of something then why do you even try? You're no help here, we just have more work now because of you."

Your eyes got teary when you thought back to his words, but it hurts even more knowing he was right. He had more work because he had to bandage you up, while your crewmembers probably had to fix the boiler more because you damaged it even more with your improvised actions.

You self doubted your worth on this crew now. Sure, you knew how to fight, but that was it. You could bandage up small injuries and cook, but in the end everyone knew how to do that. You had no specialty like the others.

With frustration bubbling up inside you that your captain and lover thought of you as an useless inconvinience, you started working even more. You didn't take a break, you just cleaned the Polar Tank or trained. The burn on your arm hurt most of the time, but you didn't care. You wanted to prove yourself that you weren't just on this crew because you and the Captain were dating.

You asked Shachi if he could explain to you how the boiler and stuff worked. He was perplexed as why you wanted to know that, but you convinced him with saying that next time an emergency happend you could actually help. He agreed, tho he knew that Law wouldn't be so happy about you working when you're already injured.

He explained stuff to you in the engine room and of course, no other than Trafalgar D. Water Law walked in on you two while you were trying to name some parts of the enginge. He looked displeased and coldly said your name and then just walked off.

You didn't want to follow him, but knew that he would be even more pissed if you ignored him. He led you two to the infirmary and told you to sit on the exam table. He then grabbed your hand and unwrapped your bandanges.

"What do you think you're doing, y/n-ya?" he spoke calmly, but you immediately noticed that he was holding back.

"Learning new stuff so next time i can actually help" you answered in a snippy tone.

"You won't do anything next time. I don't allow you to" he said while turning around.

You started to argue back that you just tried to be a help when he interupted you mid-sentence.

"How do you want to be of help when you cant even look after your own wound!"

"You were the one who told me I wasnt capable of anything, and now it's wrong when i try to become usefull!" you almost yelled back, tears of frustration and hurt in your voice.

"I never said you weren't capable of anything, I simply stated that-"

"You said I am no help, that I have no idea what I'm doing and that you all have more work because of me!"

A tear rolled down your face and you started shaking slightly as Law looked at you with widend eyes. He grabbed his hat and pulled it over his eyes as he looked down.

"That wasn't what I meant. I just...you got hurt on my submarine while I was present. I- you shouldn't have gotten hurt when I'm there to protect you."

You looked at him with wide eyes, the tears now streaming down your face.

"You are more than capable of sorting stuff out on your own, you are a big help to everyone on this crew. I didn't mean to insult you or tell you you aren't worthy to be here. It's just...this could have ended up bad. And now I see you working in there again. I can't have you getting injured when I'm just a few feet away" he added as he walked towards you and grabbed your face so you'd look him in the eye.

"I want you to be safe, y/n-ya. And i failed to do that. You and this crew, you're everything I have. I'm a doctor but I can't heal everything. I'm sorry for insulting you, my heart."

Your eyes softend at the last nickname he called you. It wasn't often that he used it, which made it even more special when he did. He is a big softy and constantly worried about you. You laid your head to his chest and murmured an apology, while he leaned down and kissed your hair.

[jintaka-hane]

Sit Down

Masterlist

Summary: Benn Beckman carries too much on his shoulders. The situation on board is a mess, and the weight of the stress is making it harder for him to sleep at night. As your first mate and friend, it pains you to see him so exhausted. So, when things become unbearable, you offer a drastic solution—something he’ll hesitantly end up accepting. Word count: 4900 Notes: MDNI, + 18, NSFW, xf!reader, smut, oral (Beck receiving), fingering (f!reader receiving), friends to lovers, let me take care of you thing, fluffy end, needy Beck, a lot of pet names used (darlin', doll, princess, pretty) Self indulgent? This? Nah Warning: All my stories are written entirely in Spanish and then translated into English, so I apologize for any mistakes I might make.

Clink-Crassssh!! 

The coffee pot smashed to pieces onto the wooden floor, spraying shards of glass and coffee across the mess hall. You jumped from the loud noise, almost falling off the stool, and after sharing confused looks with Roux and Hongo, your heads snapped to the side where the crash came from.

Before you stood the sad figure of Benn Beckman crouched on the floor, muttering curses as his trembling hands hurried to clean up the mess. His hair looked more disheveled than usual, his lips pursed in a tight line beneath an unshaped beard, and his usually bright eyes seemed dull, framed by deep, dark shadows.

"Becks?" You immediately set your drink down and stood up from your seat, rushing to help him.

“Ain’t gotta, darlin'...” he said in a rough, worn-out voice. "I got this."

Shaking your head, you knelt beside him and poured a clean rag into the spilled coffe. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched his fingers clumsily gather pieces of the shattered pot, his movements so slow and unsteady that you worried he might hurt himself. You tried to push the glass shards away from his hands, but when he stubbornly kept picking them up, you placed your hand over his.

"Becks, Stop. I’ll handle it..." 

"No," the bulky man muttered, giving a small tug to free his hand in such a rushed and clumsy way that it struck the edge of a sharp shard, causing him to wince as his skin split open with a jagged cut.

"Becks!" You grabbed his wrist firmly. "Would you just stop?!"

Beckman sighed heavily and, for once, complied. As blood began to bead along the cut, Hongo rushed to assist him, crouching down to help you lift him to his feet.

“It’s not bad,” the doctor said, focusing on the wound and pressing gently around the edges to ensure no glass remained. “Just needs cleaning and a bandage.”

"I got it," you said immediately.

Hongo raised an eyebrow at your quick response and ran a hand over his shaved neck to asses the situation.

For once, someone from the crew was offering to help, and he wouldn’t be the one to refuse. He gave you a short nod, and that gesture was all you needed to grab the big, wall-of-a-man first mate by the arm, and practically drag him out of the mess hall, marching down the corridor as he grumbled the whole way.

“Darlin’, I’ve got plenty of things to do…”

You grunted. Of course he had things to do. He always had things to do. And that was exactly the problem.

"... and if you're taking me to bed," he continued stubbornly, "it's not gonna work..."

You huffed and without replying, kept striding down the corridor, your fingers digging into his forearm like claws.

We'll see about that …

**********

You weren't exactly having the best time on the Red Force.

The captain was confined to his cabin, bedridden and unable to make decisions. He had caught something nasty on the last island and was under strict orders to rest, spending his days grumbling and complaining like the terrible patient he was.

Roux and Hongo weren’t faring much better. With food and medical supplies running dangerously low, the cook was growing increasingly dramatic, threatening to serve boiled underwear soup. The doctor prowled the ship’s corners, muttering to everyone that he’d soon be operating without anesthesia.

The ship herself was in no condition to help. The sails were in desperate need of patching, the masts needed reinforcement, and the cannons kept jamming at the worst moments. And to make matters worse, you were trapped in a dead calm. With the ship completely immobilized in the open sea, resupplying or seeking help was impossible, and the weather forecast offered no hope of change anytime soon.

Everything was a mess and completely out of control. And naturally, all the responsibility, worry, and pressure landed squarely on the shoulders of the ever-capable and vigilant co-captain.

But the weight of it all was beginning to take its toll.

His body rebelled, depriving him of the restorative sleep he so desperately needed. And with each passing night, the insomnia only worsened, making the once steadfast first mate slowly turn into a tired, miserable shadow of his former self.

**********

"Go inside," you opened the door to Beckman’s cabin and gave the sturdy man a gentle nudge on his back.

The moment you stepped inside, a sharp smell of tobacco assaulted your nose. Your eyes darted around the room, quickly taking in its sorry state.

The bed was unmade, with rumpled sheets and clothes scattered across the mattress. In front of a worn, cushioned armchair, his desk looked disheveled, cluttered with a mountain of papers, maps and an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. On the nightstand, a half-empty glass of whiskey sat next to a small box of sleeping pills.

A sigh slipped from your lips.

You’d always heard that a person’s cabin was a window into their mind. The sight before you was more revealing than any words could be.

Your attention shifted back to Beckman, who stood frozen in the center of the room. His injured hand was raised and curled into a fist.

"Sit down," you ordered, stepping closer and looking up at him, voice steady as you motioned toward the armchair. 

Beckman opened his mouth to protest, but before he could articulate a word you placed your hands on his shoulders, pushing him back and guiding him toward the chair.

"Sit down," you repeated in the most authoritative tone you could muster. 

Becks chuckled but complied, sinking into the cushioned armchair with his full weight. 

“Bandages and antiseptic?” You crouched down to meet his eye level, a finger raised in a questioning gesture.

“Top drawer,” he grumbled.

Without another word, you turned to the nightstand and rummaged through the drawer. Your fingers brushed past rolling papers, lighters, and razor blades before finally finding alcohol and some bandages. Supplies in hand, you perched sideways on the armrest of his chair, extending your hand to take his.

The bulky man allowed you to tend to his wound, silent as you carefully cleaned the bleeding cut. His drowsy eyes followed every move of your delicate fingers. He couldn’t help but notice how small and soft your hands looked against the roughness of his calloused skin.

"Becks..." your voice came out like a sigh. "You can't keep going like this. You need to sleep." 

His fingers didn’t flinch as you applied the alcohol to disinfect the wound. 

"I know, darlin’," he said quietly, his gaze now fixed on your face as your brows furrowed in concentration while you cut the bandage. "And I’m tryin’, but-"

"It’s too much stress and weight on your shoulders, I know..." You carefully wrapped the bandage around his hand, tracing small circles in the air.

You liked that grumpy, big-hearted first mate more than you were willing to admit. He was your friend, your confidant, your favorite person on the crew. You wanted to help him. And after all the traditional remedies your crewmates had tried had failed miserably, your mind had begun drifting toward more... drastic options.

Benn Beckman was a reserved man. But despite his discretion, you knew he had his needs. Whenever you reached port, you knew he sought comfort in the arms of willing, affectionate women, eager to spend a few hours in his company. You’d seen him share drinks with them, whisper who-knows-what in their ears while they sat on his lap, hands sensually tracing the lines of his chest in some secluded corner of the tavern. 

And every time you saw him the next morning, a cigarette between his lips, that casual smile of his, and a trail of bruises on his neck disappearing into his shirt, something twisted in your gut.

Something you couldn’t quite define.

Maybe it was curiosity… curiosity about what he did with them all night, tangled in the sheets of an inn bed.

But it had been weeks since you’d seen the first mate blow off any steam. With no wind to fill the sails, the ship had no chance of docking at any nearby port, leaving everyone deprived of the opportunity to unwind and relax with some good company on the shore.

So one idea had started to form in your mind.

At first, you had dismissed it, thinking it was crazy and inappropriate. But as you watched Beckman worsen day by day, you reconsidered. It might be exactly what he needed to forget, if only for a moment, the weight of his responsibilities. And hopefully, get the rest he so desperately needed.

The only problem? Suggesting the idea felt harder than carrying out the remedy itself.

“You’re lost in thought…” His rough voice pulled you back, his hand gently holding yours after you finished tying off the bandage.

You cleared your throat and stood up, pulling your hand away from his to return the first-aid kit to the nightstand drawer. His gaze weighed on your back, and just before closing the drawer, you clenched your eyes shut, took a deep breath and decided to take the plunge.

“I think I can help you,” you said.

You heard a low chuckle behind you, laced with disbelief rather than malice.

"Darlin’," he said, rubbing his eyes, "Hongo's tried everything. He even gave me pills to—"

“I can give you something Hongo hasn’t,” you cut him off, your voice coming out more confident than you’d imagined it would when you’d rehearsed the words in your head. When you turned to face him, though, you felt your heart pounding in your chest.

“And what’s that?” He stopped massaging his eyes, revealing his tired gaze again as he looked at you.

“My mouth.” 

The two words hung in the air, finally freed after days of being locked in your mind.

Beckman stayed silent, his gray eyes locked with yours. With your heart in your throat, you approached the armchair and placed a hand on each armrest, leaning your torso toward the wordless man. He lifted his chin to look at you, and you tried to remain stoic and unwavering as his eyes flickered between yours, studying your features as if he were trying to see beyond your skin.

"Doll," he finally said, voice deep and soft. "If you're implying what I think..."

"I am." 

His lips twitched into a wry grin.

"Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not." Your fingers unconsciously dug into the fabric of the armrest.

His smile faded, and this time, his gaze held an animal-like intensity. Frowning, and with his lips pressed tightly together, he seemed to be trying to control an internal battle inside him.

"No," he finally said, his chin still lifted so he could look you straight in the eye.

His refusal struck you like a bucket of cold water, though, in some way, you knew that’s exactly what he would say. He always treated you with a respect and care befitting a goddess. Making you lower yourself to the dirt in such a worldly way would probably be unthinkable for him.

“Becks,” you sighed, removing one of your hands from the armrest to trail it up to his stubbled chin. “You’re barely on your feet. We’re all worried about you…”

Beckman closed his eyes at the feel of your touch, his chin leaning into your hand as he allowed himself a moment of rest.

“I can help you if you let me…” you continued, “We’re adults, it’d be an agreement between the two of us… an agreement between… friends.”

His jaw tensed in your hand.

“As flattered as I am that someone like you would be offerin’ somethin’ like that to a guy like me," he said, "my answer’s still no."

This time his refusal genuinely hurted you. You pulled your hand away, and his tired eyes opened again, disoriented without your touch.

"Your stubbornness is reckless," you tried to sound composed, but the pain in your voice betrayed you. "You can't work like this. A-a crew without a first mate at his best is a crew in danger. We all need you, Beck... I-I..." Your lips trembled nervously as you spoke, "I need you."

As soon as the words left your mouth, you bit your lip. The last thing you wanted was to add even more weight to the already burdened first mate. And that was exactly what you'd just done.

Embarrassed, you straightened up and began to turn away to leave, but he stopped you, grabbing your wrist firmly and pulling you back toward him. He spread his legs to make space for your body to move closer to his.

"Girl," he said in a rough voice, locking his eyes with yours in a way that sent a spark flickering in the pit of your stomach. He frowned, and for a moment, you thought he was going to scold you, but his expression softened. "You can back out anytime. Got it?"

You nodded.

Before you realized it, his hands were around your waist, lifting your shirt and exposing the skin of your abdomen. He pressed his nose playfully against your navel, and his fingers traced the waistband of your pants.

“Becks,” you giggled as the ticklish sensation sent goosebumps racing across your body. “What are you doing?”

“I never let my partner pleasure me without takin’ care of her first,” he said, his voice muffled as he buried his face further into your belly.

Oh. 

Of course.

Benn Beckman, competent first mate and finest gentleman.

Smiling, you placed your hands on his cheeks, guiding his gaze back to yours. As tempting as the situation was, you weren’t going to let him take this turn. You were here to help him, not the other way around.

"Becks, stop... you don’t have to. I’m not asking for anything in return, understand?"

He looked at you, his hands still resting on your waist. From the expression on his face, you could tell he wasn’t convinced.

"Besides," you added, trying to find something that would make him give in, "if that ever happens, I deserve it to be with all your strength. Not like the tired wreck you are right now."

A raspy laugh rumbled in his chest, and you smiled. How you loved that rough, husky laugh.

"Alright, Darlin’," he said, still chuckling.

Your smile lingered as you slowly lowered yourself to kneel between his legs, never breaking eye contact with him. Before your knees could touch the floor, he leaned over to the bed, snatching up his pillow.

"Here," he said, placing it on the floor beneath you, "don’t go hurtin’ those pretty knees of yours."

Why was he always like this? You thought as you made yourself comfortable on the pillow, placing your hands gently on his thighs for support.

"Thank you".

Your eyes lingered on the prominent bulge at his crotch, and without thinking, you wet your lips with the tip of your tongue. Beckman’s jaw tightened, his Adam’s apple bobbing in a rare display of vulnerability for a man with his reputation.

“Hey, big guy,” you gave his thigh a comforting squeeze, "it’s just me. Relax, okay? Just let yourself go…”

The tent in his pants seemed to complain within its prison, and you didn’t want to make him wait any longer. Slidding your hands down his knees, you spread his legs just enough to create space for your head.

"Who’s undoing the belt?" you asked tilting your head and looking up at him from beneath your long doe-eyed lashes.  

"You." His tone struck you as the same one he used when handing out tasks on deck.

Your hands gripped the buckle of his belt and unfastened it, your fingers decisively pulling aside the layers of fabric that stood between you, lowering the waistband of his pants and finally freeing his painfully swollen cock.

Benn Beckman was a big man. And his dick matched him well. With a large, pinkish-red head and a prominent vein running up and down a thick shaft. Your mouth watered at the sight, lips parted as you took a moment to prepare yourself.

"Darlin’,” Beckman said, taking the moment of silence as doubt on your part, “you can back out if—Hah~" 

His words dissolved into a sharp gasp as you captured his swollen, mushroomed knob between your eager lips.

His taste was salty and strong in your mouth.

You, on the other hand, felt incredibly sweet on his cock.

Opening your mouth as wide as your jaw would allow, you slowly took him in, giving yourself a moment to breathe and adjust to him. You swallowed gradually more of his cock, eyes closed in concentration, hands anchored on his base for support, until you managed about two-thirds of his length.

He held his breath above you. His abdomen tightened with restraint when you looked up at him, your tongue pressing against the pulsing vein on his shaft, feeling the wild rush of blood running through it. Then his hand cupped your cheek, his lips curling into a smile as he traced with his thumb his own bulge inside you.

With your cheeks flushed by that smile, you began applying more pressure with your lips, rising back up to his large head, giving it a quick lick before taking him all the way down again. 

"That's it... “ he sighed. 

His hand slid to the nape of your neck, his fingers brushing your hair aside with care before settling there. You continued bobbing your head against his cock, making him groan with your upward and downward movements, trying to take as much of him as you could.

“Yeah, nice and slow princess…, just like that," he whispered, his thumb tracing small, soothing circles against your skin.

Encouraged by his sweet gesture, you decided to use your hands as well. One moved carefully up and down his hard cock, while the other dared to venture deeper into his pants. His balls felt heavy and tight between your fingers. The balls of a man who hadn’t known a partner' s warmth in a long time.

"So, so good, princess," the bulky man praised breathlessly, his eyes full of devotion as he watched your head bob sweetly between his legs.

His length twitched inside your mouth and you tasted a salty drop of precum as you ran your tongue through his slit. You smiled proudly on his cock, continuing to suck and bob, feeling sparks ignite between your thighs as your own arousal began to smolder in your core.

“Look at you... hah… so perfect… and takin’ me so damn well,” he groaned, his voice a little deeper and raspier than usual. 

His sweet praises, coupled with the slow, sensual glide of his fingers along the nape of your neck, sent a sharp jolt of desire coursing through you. Your mouth continued working up and down his shaft, increasing the pressure and speed as you felt the weight of his darkened, dilated pupils staring at you.

“Princess, open your shirt for me," he uttered with an unsteady breath.

Arching your brow, you looked at him, holding his gaze with an alluring intensity as you slowly obeyed. Your fingers fumbled with your buttons as you undid them slowly, one by one. As soon as you finished, he tugged your shirt down, baring one of your shoulders.

“So goddamn beautiful…” he whispered, the back of his fingers grazing your soft, vulnerable skin, tracing an invisible line from your collarbone to the curve of your cleavage.

His touch sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you frowned, fighting to control the raw, insistent desire building between your thighs. You continued to sweetly embrace his cock with your swollen lips, sucking him hard up and down, focused on how with each movement, his breaths grew more and more uneven.

"Ah~”  he tilted his head back, and his fingers pressed more tightly into your head, drawing you closer to his crotch. "Let's go deeper, a'right, Doll? Show me what that pretty throat can do…"

You nodded obediently, exhaling through your nose as you took his cock further, slowly swallowing his entire length inch by inch. 

“That’s it, such a good girl…” He praised you as his hands gently grabbed your head to guide you deeper into him.

His sweet words pushed you to swallow more than your throat could handle, and when his blunt head hit the back of your mouth, you couldn’t stop yourself from choking. 

"Hey, n-no," He huskily chastised you, giving you a little tap on the nose. Though he couldn’t stop himself from closing his eyes and rolling them back. "No gagging, okay? Good girls don’t gag”.

You nodded again, knitting your brows together in concentration, and let him guide you to take the rest of his cock.

“That’s it… breathe and relax for me, okay?”

You had to squeeze your eyes shut as the large tip pressed against your uvula, but once you managed the last few inches, you smiled proudly on his cock.

“That’s my good girl,” he cooed at you, letting out a heavy sigh, unable to avoid twitching over your tongue. “I knew you could take all of me…”

You continued moving your head, up and down, then down and up, always watching his reactions and listening to his breath to match the right pace. His throbs inside you became more frequent and desperate, and you began to fantasize about how his massive cock would stretch you to your limit. 

The thought did little to ease the growing, unbearable thirst inside you. The damp fabric of your underwear clung uncomfortably to your swollen folds, and you pressed your thighs together, seeking any form of relief.

Burning with desire, you increased the pace. Obscene sucking sounds filled the air as you worked your way up to his thick tip, repeating the process over and over again, making him grunt and curse above you in his frantic fight not to cum.

“G-good j-…  -ahh such a pretty good girl…” he had to shut his eyes and scrunch his brow to handle all the pleasure flooding him. “I’m so close, princess... gonna keep bein’ a good girl for me and not let me make a mess on the floor?" 

You don’t remember giving him an answer, but you do remember how your swollen pussy throbbed between your legs at his question.

You desperately wanted to touch you.

You desperately wanted him to touch you. 

And your prayers were answered.

As you whimpered in frustration, you felt Beckman's large hand slip into your pants and slide under your underwear.

“Shh, I got you…,” he soothed in that deep voice of his, his expert fingers parting your labia and pulling up the hood of your clit, circling your perfect spot with astonishing ease. “Go on, princess.” 

Gripping his hand you grounded your pelvis against it, desperately begging him to keep on those sweet circles that were taking you so quickly to the edge. He indulged, and in less than 30 seconds, he had you whimpering and mewling against his cock, eyes rolling and toes curling as you shoved his thick fingers into your clenching pussy.

Your pace bobbing your head decreased during your high, but the force increased. You hollowed your cheeks, raking him down with your mouth with so much fervor, that you had not yet come down from the crest of your orgasm when you felt his hands roughly grab your hair in firm handfuls, his cock throbbing against your palate and filling the bottom of your throat with his thick, salty load. 

“Fuck, princess, sweetheart, -ngah!, you’re too good, too much -so goddamn perfect,” Beckman moaned out a stream of mindless praises while he shoved his cock deeper into your mouth, emptying himself so hard and so deep in your throat that you gagged on his knob again. Tears began to well up in the corners of your eyes, but you continued bobbing your head against him, feeling his hand rest on your throat as if he wanted to feel your windpipe shift with each swallow of his overwhelming stream of cum.

Panting, and sweating, with your hair tousled and your cheeks flushed, you felt the last of his spend spill into your mouth. You pulled away from him, lifting your eyes and finding him as breathless and damp as you.

He smiled, and his hand ran through his gray hair in an attempt to regain his composure. But as he leaned forward and his fingers grazed your cheek, the wetness made his smile disappear.

"Oh, Darlin’… No…" His voice cracked, eyes following the tears as they slipped down your cheeks. “Forgive me… I’ve made you cry.” His large hands lifted you effortlessly from the floor, settling you onto his lap. “Damn. I’m a fucking brute…”

“It’s alright, Becks,” you whispered as you pulled your face away, but he drew you closer once more.

His lips brushed softly against your cheeks, catching each tear with tender, almost apologetic kisses. You let out a soft laugh, and turned your head to allow him more access. In doing so, your noses brushed together, making your eyes flutter shut. In that brief, unspoken moment, his lips found yours.

The kiss was slow. Softer than you’d ever expected from that grumbling, broad-shouldered man. With the calm and patience of someone who had waited for this moment for a long time.

Sighing into the kiss, you allowed yourself to be carried away by the sweet, unhurried motion of his chin. When you pulled back, your fingers brushed lightly against his cheek. Your gaze met his deep gray eyes once again and what you saw in them was a look he reserved only for you.

A look that was now hungrier than ever, as if he were staring at something that had always belonged to him.

“And?” you asked, straightening your back and raising an eyebrow.

“And?” he mimicked you, a smile grazing his lips as he looked lovingly at you. “Darlin’, you were… you are gorgeous.”

“No,” you giggled as you gave him a light, teasing tap on his chest. “I meant if you can sleep now.”

“Ah, right… okay,” he frowned and cleared his throat. “The truth is… yeah, I think I can sleep now.”

You nodded as you gave him another light tap on his chest. But when you moved to stand, his large hands tightened around your thighs, pulling you firmly back into his embrace.

“Stay with me…” he whispered.

“I can’t, Becks. I’ve got work to do,” you lovingly brushed your fingers along his stubbled chin.

“No, you don’t…”

“Yes, I do,” you teased, “and if I don’t, my first mate is gonna punish me.”

"Oh, I see," he raised an eyebrow, "that first mate of yours must be really mean."

“The meanest."

He hummed in amusement.

“Is he?” 

"You have no idea."

Clearly enjoying having you so close again, he tilted his chin towards you, and grinned as he caught the way your eyes darted to his lips. But when you leaned away out of his reach once more, his smile faded.

"Maybe he's just a man," he said, his voice rough and barely a whisper, "who believes he doesn't deserve what he truly wants."

Your eyes darted between his. “And what is that?”

He cupped your cheek and his thumb traced slowly your jawline.

"Stay with me, and I’ll tell you in the morning."

You smiled as you closed your eyes, sighing before slowly nodding to him.

Before you could even catch your breath, he had you in his arms, lifting you effortlessly as he carried you to the bed. He gently laid you down, quickly straightening the wrinkled sheets to make sure you were comfortable.

Smiling, he tossed his shirt aside and lay down behind you, drawing a giggle from you when the weight of his body made you roll toward him. His bandaged hand came to rest on your thigh, while the other slid beneath your body, wrapping around your waist and pulling you impossibly closer.

"Besides..." you heard him whisper, his nose nudging the curve of your neck, "I gotta show you what this tired wreck can do after a few hours of sleep..."

Those were the last words he spoke before letting out a long, deep sigh, his body relaxing behind you as his steady breathing signaled he had finally drifted off.

At last he was enjoying his well-deserved, soothing rest. You, however, couldn’t manage a single blink, and endured what felt like the longest night of your life.

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

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @armiliadawn @pandora-writes-one-piece @i-am-vita @eustasscapitankid @nocturnalrorobin @daydreamer-in-training <3