30 ♡ she/her ♡ real life version of Jekyll & Hyde ♡ One Piece Blog ♡ daydreaming about OP dilfs ♡ unhealthily obsessed with Beckman, Shanks & Sir Crocodile ♡ but also having a sweet spot for the Whitebeard Pirates ♡
side blog: newworldnavigator
🏴☠️ This is a One Piece fanblog where I will post some of my own writing from time to time. (Sfw and nsfw) I am currently writing mostly f!reader but i will try to write more gn
🏴☠️ Masterlist under the cut (I appreciate every kind of feedback/like or whatsoever.)
🏴☠️ Please be aware that english is not my frist language, unless you want to talk to me in german you have to expect some flaws in my communication/writing skills.
🏴☠️ Feel free to ask away but if you're not able to be respectful then get the f out.
🏴☠️ I will try to post one of my works each Friday or Saturday
🏴☠️ REQUESTS ✅️ OPEN
To do list for requests:
Firstly check if request are open
Please be specific and don't be afraid giving me as much info as possible
Want it nsfw or sfw
Give me a reader - only F!Reader or GN!Reader
I'm comfortable writing Ace, Beckman, Crocodile, Kid, Killer, Law and Shanks and maybe Marco, Rayleigh, Whitebeard and Zoro (if you can convince me enough), requests for other characters than those mentioned might get declined. Sorry.
you can also give me a song you think would fit one of the characters above and I'll write something (songs only in english or german please)
keep in mind that it might take some time for me to finish
Here's the current WIP List
🏴☠️ sideblog: newworldnavigator where i reblog people's amazing art skills
Masterlist
here's the link for the collected song prompt challenge
here's the link for the collected Kikitober2024
here's the link for Mimi's "Nightmares"
⚠️🔞 = nsfw, MDNI. 💔 = angst/death/hurt.
🔥🔥🔥 Ace 🔥🔥🔥
🚬🚬🚬 Beckman 🚬🚬🚬
🐊🐊🐊 Crocodile 🐊🐊🐊
🦾🦾🦾 Kid 🦾🦾🦾
🍝🍝🍝 Killer 🍝🍝🍝
🩺🩺🩺 Law 🩺🩺🩺
🐦🔥🐦🔥🐦🔥 Marco 🐦🔥🐦🔥🐦🔥
🍺🍺🍺 Shanks 🍺🍺🍺
🐋🐋🐋 Whitebeard 🐋🐋🐋
⚔️⚔️⚔️ Zoro ⚔️ ⚔️⚔️
👓🤡🦩❤️🔥💛🍩👨🏻🍳 Others 🥀🌫🦅🐆✨️🌋
(these are all exceptions and i don't plan on writing regularly for them)
A/N: thanks for this nice request Anon about either Beckman x reader x Rayleigh or Beckman x reader x Sir Crocodile. And since i already did Beck and Crocodile I decided to go with Beck and Ray this time sorry it got so long. I changed quite a few bites during editing so if anyone finds any mistakes please let me know
Word Count >8.000
Plot: you are working at Shakky's bar and have a "special" work relationship with her and Ray and when one day the Red Hair Pirates come by a certain First Mate catches your attention and who would say no to some fun with the Dark King and the First Mate of the Red Hair Pirates
Warnings: NSFW, fingering, oral (receiving and giving), use of toys (slightly), p in v, threesome/double penetration (front+back), teasing?, overstim, slight edging, spanking in the bonus part, MDNI ⚠️🔞
Characters: Beckman x FReader x Rayleigh, cameo by Shakky
The bell above the door of Shakky’s Rip-off Bar didn't chime for the Red-Hair Pirates, it seemed to groan under the sheer weight of the power rolling off the men entering.
In the main lounge, the party was already starting. Shanks’ laughter was booming and the clinking of mugs signaled a long, expensive night for the Red-Hair crew. But at the far end of the polished mahogany bar, in the "family" corner, the atmosphere was different.
You were mid-pour, the amber liquid swirling into a glass, when a warm, calloused hand settled firmly on your hip. You didn’t need to look up to know the scent of sandalwood and aged rum.
"Careful, darling," Rayleigh’s voice rumbled near your ear, his breath a puff of heat against your skin. "You’re pouring a bit heavy. Though, I suppose I’ve always liked how generous you are with your... spirits."
He leaned in closer, his silver hair brushing your temple as he reached around you to claim his glass. His other hand stayed on your hip, his thumb tracing a slow, possessive circle over the fabric of your clothes, a familiar touch that sent a practiced shiver straight to your knees. He knew exactly what he was doing, he had seen you come undone in the private quarters upstairs enough times to know your rhythm.
"Ray, leave the girl alone for five minutes so she can actually work," Shakky called out from the other end of the bar, though her smirk told a different story. She exhaled a cloud of smoke, her eyes shifting to the man standing just behind her husband. "Besides, we have a guest who’s been waiting for a drink. And he looks like a man with very specific tastes."
Rayleigh didn’t pull away. Instead, he turned slightly, keeping you tucked against his side as he looked at Benn Beckman.
The First Mate of the Red-Hair Pirates didn't look like the rest of his rowdy crew. He looked like a storm held in a bottle. He pulled a cigarette from his lips, his dark, hooded eyes traveling from Rayleigh’s hand on your hip, up your spine, finally settling on your face with an intensity that felt like a physical weight.
"Specific is one word for it," Beckman said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that seemed to vibrate in your chest. He leaned his elbows on the counter, the scent of sea salt and expensive tobacco paired with a hearty cologne filling your senses. His presence was cutting through the familiar warmth Rayleigh provided with something sharper, cooler and undeniably predatory.
"I’ve heard stories about this bar," Beckman continued, his gaze never wavering from yours. "And the young lady working here."
Rayleigh chuckled, a low sound of pure amusement. He squeezed your hip, a silent acknowledgment of the challenge. "Careful, Beckman. She’s seen every trick in my book. You’ll have to do better than a compliment if you want to impress her."
Beckman’s lips quirked into the faintest, most dangerous smile you had ever seen. He reached out, his fingers hovering just an inch from your chin, waiting for you to bridge the gap.
"I'm not interested in tricks, Rayleigh," Beckman murmured, his eyes darkening. "I’m interested in seeing if the legends about her are as true as the ones about you."
The air in the bar suddenly felt too thin. Between Rayleigh’s hand sliding from your hip to your thigh, bold and knowing, and Beckman’s heavy, calculating stare, your breath hitched. Especially knowing that Rayleigh could make you come undone right here if he wanted to while Beckman seemed like a man who had already figured you (and your needs) out.
Shakky’s sigh was the final permission. She didn't even look up as she wiped down the counter, waving a hand toward the beaded curtain that led to the private lounge. "Go on, then," she murmured, a smirk playing on her lips. "The boys are clearly going to be useless until they’ve had their fill. I’ll handle the rowdy ones."
Rayleigh’s fingers danced at your hairline, a silent encouragement. "Shall we show him how we spend our quiet nights, darling? Or should we let Mr. Beckman show us how a First Mate handles his business?" he purred into your ear.
You looked from Rayleigh’s crinkled, smiling eyes to Beckman’s hooded, intense gaze. Your breath hitched, trapped in your throat by the sheer weight of their collective focus. Rayleigh didn’t pull away, instead he stepped closer, his chest against your back now. He took the rum from your limp hand and set it on the bar, effectively dismissing your role as an employee. "She’s a creature of feeling, aren’t you, love?"
Beckman took a final drag of his cigarette and crushed it out in a nearby tray, never taking his eyes off you. "Good thing I'm a man who enjoys making a pretty lady feel everything," he rumbled and you felt a rush of heat run through you. He slowly and deliberately reached out, his fingers were cool as they brushed the stray hairs away from your neck, his touch a stark contrast to Rayleigh’s lingering heat. "The tension in your shoulders… it’s a crime."
"A crime we're happy to help solve," Rayleigh whispered against your ear. He leaned down, his silver beard tickling your skin just enough to send a shiver racing down your spine. He didn’t kiss you, not yet. He simply breathed against the sensitive hollow behind your ear. "Remember what I told you last time? About letting go? You trust me, don’t you?"
"I…" Your voice failed you, coming out as a faint, shaky breath. Oc course you trusted him but right now you were completely overwhelmed by their sheer presence and the power they seemed to hold over you.
"Look at me," Beckman said firmly. It wasn’t a shout, it was that low, steady tone that commanded attention, even within the rowdy crew of the Red Hair pirates. You obeyed, meeting those dark, intelligent and knowing eyes. "You’re safe here. But you’re also going to be completely ruined by the time the sun comes up. I think you should decide right now if you’re ready for that."
Rayleigh’s hand slid from your neck down to your waist, his palm broad and warm, pulling you back against him until you could feel the steady thrum of his heart against your spine. "She’s ready, Beckman. She’s been ready since you walked through that door."
"Is that so?" Beckman’s thumb traced the pulse point on your wrist, feeling the frantic, hummingbird beat of your heart. A ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Then let’s stop talking. I’ve always preferred a more… hands-on approach to negotiations."
Shakky sighed again looking between the three of you. "How much longer are you going to stand here? If you don't leave now I'm going to take (Y/N) back there myself while you two can do the work here" she said taking a drag from her cigarette.
Rayleigh just chuckled before he finally steered you toward the back, his hand never leaving the small of your back, guiding you with a practiced ease. But it was the heavy tread of Beckman’s boots following close behind that made your heart hammer against your ribs.
As the door clicked shut, the muffled roar of the Red-Hair Pirates vanished, replaced by the sudden, deafening silence of a room occupied by two of the strongest presences on the sea.
Rayleigh moved first, claiming the velvet chaise longue and pulling you down between his legs before he even sat. He didn't wait, instead he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. "You're shaking, darling," he vibrated against your skin, his voice thick with a dark, melodic amusement. "And we haven't even started."
"She’s overwhelmed, Rayleigh," Beckman’s voice cut through the haze. He didn't sit, he stood over both of you, shedding his heavy coat to reveal the broad shoulders and scarred arms of a man who had survived everything the Grand Line could throw at him. He looked down at your flushed form, trapped between Rayleigh’s knees and completely exposed to his gaze.
Beckman reached down, his large, calloused hand cupping your cheek and forcing you to look up at him. His thumb dragged across your lower lip, pulling it down to reveal the damp heat inside. "Rayleigh knows how to make you sing," Beckman murmured, his eyes scanning your face like he was mapping a new territory. "I can see it in the way you lean into him. You’re used to his touch. You’re comfortable." He leaned down, his face inches from yours, the scent of tobacco and his cologne rolling off him. "But you aren't comfortable with me yet, are you? You don't know what I like. You don't know how I take what I want."
Rayleigh’s hands slid under your shirt, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your ribs, making you gasp into Beckman’s palm. "Don't worry, sweetheart," Rayleigh whispered, his lips brushing your earlobe. "Beckman just wants to see if you can handle two of the strongest first mates at the same time. I told him you were more than capable, and you know I'd never let anyone close to you who I wouldn't trust to treat you right."
Beckman’s eyes darkened at Rayleigh’s words, a silent challenge passing between the two men over your head. He didn't try to pull you away from Rayleigh. Instead, he dropped his hand to the buttons of his shirt, his gaze never leaving yours. While Rayleigh cupped your breasts, his calloused palms catching your weight just right, a sharp gasp escaped your lips, echoing in the quiet room.
"Show me," Beckman commanded, the word a low, vibrating rumble as he discarded of his shirt. "Show me exactly why the Dark King won't share you with anyone else besides his wife."
The sight of Beckman’s bare chest, a map of scars and hard-won muscle, was enough to make your head spin and your knees weak. The scars and that broad chest, combined with those strong arms was doing things to you. The fact that another fucking handsome and hot man was right behind you didn't help either. Beckman kept his eyes locked on you as if he could read your thoughts.
"So many layers," Beckman remarked, his voice dropping an octave. His large, steady hands reached for the top button of your shirt as Rayleigh’s own moved down from your breasts to your waist. Beckman didn’t fumble, his fingers moved with the same surgical precision he used to clean a rifle. "A bit formal for a private party, don’t you think?"
As the first button gave way, Rayleigh’s arms tightened around your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck. He inhaled sharply, a low groan vibrating through your skin. "She always did like to keep herself tucked away for the thrill of the game," Rayleigh chuckled, his teeth grazing the sensitive cord of your neck. "But she melts so beautifully once you get past the surface."
"I can see that," Beckman murmured as he flicked the next button open, his knuckles occasionally brushing the swell of your breasts. Each touch was light, almost testing, but the heat behind it was scorching. "You’re flushed. All the way down to your chest."
As the last button popped open he parted the fabric, exposing you to the cool air and their burning gazes. Rayleigh’s hands moved higher, his thumbs tracing the underside of your bra, while Beckman’s eyes never left yours.
"There she is," Rayleigh hummed against the pulse point of your neck, his thumbs slipping into your bra and flicking over your already stiff nipples with a rhythm that told you he knew exactly how much pressure it took to make your back arch. "Always so responsive for me."
But as you leaned back into Rayleigh’s chest, Beckman moved in. He stepped between your spread knees, his presence a towering wall of muscle that blocked out the rest of the room. He reached down, his hands sliding firmly up your thighs, his fingers digging into the soft skin there to keep you grounded before letting one single finger trail over the damp fabric between your legs.
"You're already so slick, even with him just touching your top half," Beckman noted, his voice a low, analytical drawl that made your face flush crimson as his finger brushed over your clothed core. He wasn't just looking, he was mapping your reactions to see what would drive you insane. "I wonder... if I do this" he stopped and slid his hand higher his fingers hooking into the waistband of your bottoms and pulling them down just enough to expose you to the cool air and his scorching gaze "...does your heart rate skip like the reports say it should?" He smirked already knowing and seeing the answer as he looked at your dripping core.
"Look at you, so completely under our spell. You’re body can’t hide how much you like this sweetheart," Beckman said, his voice a soft command. He reached out, his rough palm cupping your cheek. "Doing so good, sweet little lady. Just keep breathing for me."
"It’s the way she feels so completely undone, being unraveled and worshipped while at the same time reminded that she’s exactly where she belongs," Rayleigh whispered, his hands covering your nipples, his warmth seeping through your skin. He squeezed gently, a firm, grounding pressure that made a soft whimper break from your lips.
"Is that so?" Beckman’s smirk was dangerous as he made quick work of the rest of your clothes. He stepped back for a brief second to admire you, his silhouette broad and intimidating in the dim light. "Then let’s make sure she doesn’t forget. Rayleigh, hold her steady."
"I’ve got her," Rayleigh promised, his voice thick with a sudden, raw hunger that discarded the Dark King persona for something much more primal. "I’ve always got her."
Beckman stepped back into your space, his hands finding the skin of your thighs, sliding upward with a slow, agonizing deliberateness. "Good. Because I want to see exactly how long it takes for that composure of yours to shatter completely."
The shift from undressing to preparing you for what was to come next, was handled with the kind of methodical intensity only two men of their experience could possess. They didn’t rush, no, they treated your body like a fine instrument they were tuning to a pitch only they could reach.
Rayleigh guided you back onto the chaise, his hands firm on your hips as he settled you against the cushions. He didn’t leave you, though, he hovered over you, his silver hair catching the low light as he trapped you with his weight. Meanwhile, Beckman knelt at the foot of the lounge, his presence a heavy, grounding anchor.
Beckman took your left leg into his and then leaned down and began trailing kisses from your ankles up to your thighs. "Rayleigh," Beckman said his voice low as he reached out, his large hands sliding up the insides of your thighs stopping there, forcing them wide. "She’s already shaking. Look at her."
"Of course she is, she’s a needy little thing," Rayleigh murmured amused. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that tasted of high-end rum and his pure, unadulterated silver-fox charm. It wasn’t a frantic kiss, no Rayleigh never did that. His kisses were always deep, slow and possessive, claiming your breath as his own. His tongue was sweeping against yours and you immediately responded by letting your own move against his.
While Rayleigh occupied your senses above, Beckman’s focus was entirely below. He didn’t look away as his fingers found the center of your heat. "So wet, sweetheart," he noted, his tone conversational, as if he were discussing the weather rather than the way you were falling apart under his touch. "But we’re going to make sure you’re more than ready. I don’t like to see my ladies struggle…..unless it’s for the right reasons."
He slid one finger inside, testing the tight, pulsing honey of you. You arched off the velvet, a sharp gasp breaking through the seal of Rayleigh’s lips, your hips already grinding towards Beckman.
"Patience," Rayleigh whispered against your skin, his hand moving to grip your wrists, pinning them gently above your head. "Beckman is going to do the first part of the warm up. We want to make sure you can take every bit of us."
Beckman added a second finger, stretching you with a slow, rhythmic deliberation that made your head light. He used his thumb to circle the bundle of nerves at your core, his movements steady and unrelenting. "Relax for me," he commanded, his dark eyes flicking up to watch the way your features contorted in pleasure. "Let go and open up. Trust us to take care of you."
You were caught in a vice of pleasure. Above, Rayleigh was a whirlwind of sensation, his mouth on your collarbone, his fingers expertly teasing your breasts until you were whimpering. Below, Beckman was a steady, relentless force. He began to work at your center with a clinical precision that was somehow more erotic than any frantic touch. He moved his fingers like a man who knew exactly how to make a lady feel good.
"Rayleigh, she’s trembling," Beckman murmured, his eyes locking onto yours as his fingers began a slow, rhythmic intrusion that made your hips jerk involuntarily.
"I know," Rayleigh chuckled, his hands squeezing your breasts and toying with your nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers. "She’s a delicate thing, Beckman. But she can take a lot more than she lets on. Can’t you, sweetheart?"
"haa — ye—" you couldn't even form a real sentence. You were already on the edge, vibrating between Rayleigh’s teasing touch and Beckman’s intense, focused exploration. Every time you tried to focus on the pleasure Rayleigh was giving your nipples, Beckman would shift his pace, a low, knowing smirk tugging at his lips as he watched your pupils dilate.
They weren't competing, they were harmonizing, which was worse (or better). Rayleigh provided the foundation of pleasure you knew, while Beckman added layers of intensity you weren't prepared for, leaving you utterly undone in the space between the Dark King and the First Mate of the Red-Hair Pirates.
Rayleigh followed the trail of Beckman’s work, his hand sliding down to cover your stomach, pressing down slightly to help you meet Beckman’s rhythm. "That’s it… just like that," Rayleigh encouraged, his voice a warm hum in your ear. "See how well he takes care of you? He’s making space for both of us, darling."
The sensation was overwhelming, the friction of Beckman’s calloused fingers stretching you open, coupled with Rayleigh’s mouth wandering down to your throat, to your nipples licking and sucking there, marking you as theirs was driving you insane. You were being unraveled, layer by layer, until there was nothing left but the raw, aching need they were so carefully cultivating.
"She’s close, Rayleigh," Beckman grunted, his pace quickening just enough to make your hips stutter. He curled his fingers, finding the exact spot that made your toes curl into the velvet and letting a loud moan escape your lips. "She’s perfectly ready."
Rayleigh pulled back, his eyes dark with a hunger that promised no mercy. "Then I think it’s time we stopped being quite so… patient."
You were lost in heaven. They were driving you to the edge and within seconds Beckman's fingers pumping inside you hitting that sweet spot over and over while Rayleigh bit and licked your nipples just right made you cum for the first, but definitely not the last time.
The world was a blur of silver hair and dark eyes as you were carried to the bed in the next room, your back hitting the cool familiar silk of the sheets. The air in the room was stifling, saturated with the scent of your own orgasm and the heavy, masculine musk of the two men orchestrating your undoing and it was intoxicating. Rayleigh moved with the practiced ease of someone who knew your limits better than you did, opening the drawer of the nightstand. You knew exactly what was in there, knew every little vicious toy that Rayleigh and Shakky used on you during your nights together.
"You know the rule, sweetheart," Rayleigh murmured, his eyes twinkling with a dangerous sort of affection. "I never start the main event until I’m sure you’re well and prepared enough and since Beckman is our guest tonight, I think we should let him choose. What do you think, darling?" Rayleigh asked with a smirk and you simply nodded, a bit nervous and curious but at the same time eager for them to continue.
Rayleigh, took the nipple clamps then looked at Beckman and stepped aside letting Beckman pick a toy, while he lay down next to you tracing a finger over your skin. Your chest was still heaving and your skin flushed a deep rose from that first, explosive peak, Beckman’s gaze drifted to the nightstand. His eyes narrowed slightly, then a slow, dangerous smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. He reached out, his long fingers trailing over the various toys, glass, silicone and polished wood in all sizes and forms that lived there for your nights with the Dark King and his wife.
"Well, now," Beckman murmured, his voice like gravel over velvet. "It seems I’ve been underestimating just how much 'training' you’ve had with Rayleigh and Shakky."
Rayleigh laughed, a low, rumbling sound as he propped himself up on one elbow, his hand sliding down to rest possessively over your stomach. "Shakky and I believe in variety, Beckman. Though, I think she’d agree that we haven't found anything yet that she enjoys quite as much as the real thing."
Beckman picked up one of the toys, weighing it in his hand before putting it back down for now. He crawled onto the bed, looming over your legs like a predator. "The real thing is good," Beckman agreed, his voice dropping an octave as he moved back into your personal space. "But I’ve always been a fan of using every resource to achieve the desired result. And the result I’m looking for..." He paused, his hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, his thumb pressing firmly against the sensitive bundle of nerves that was already thrumming from Rayleigh tracing his fingers over your stomach down to your hips and back up again. "...is to see exactly how many times we can make you lose your mind before the sun comes up."
Rayleigh moved behind you, pulling your back against his chest so you were sitting up slightly, supported by his strength. He reached around to cup your chin, forcing you to look at Beckman. "He’s a perfectionist, darling," Rayleigh whispered against your ear, his breath hitching as he felt your body react to Beckman’s touch while Rayleigh's free hand put the first clamp down on your nipple making you hiss. "He won't stop until he’s mapped out every inch of you. And I? I’m just here to make sure you’re well-taken care of while he does it." Rayleigh kissed you softly and then tilted your chin back to make you look at him as he attached the second clamp, both connected through a small band that Rayleigh teasingly kept pulling at.
Beckman didn't wait, especially not since your hips arched toward him. He moved with the precision of a man who had spent his life calculating trajectories, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of your inner thigh while his hands moved to coordinate with Rayleigh’s.
You were trapped in a masterclass of pleasure. Rayleigh provided the rhythm and the safety, his hands and mouth wandering your upper body, pulling the string connecting the clamps like a harp player and he did it with a lover's familiarity, while Beckman provided the raw, focused intensity of a man who had finally found a puzzle worth solving. And he decided it was more fun to bully your pussy with his tongue, occasionally biting your clit softly not hurting you but making it stinging and your hips jolt.
You were moaning and gasping as Beckman’s tongue was relentlessly driving you to an orgasm and Rayleigh kissed you deeply while toying with your nipples. When you got close though, so damn close, they stopped. The shift in the room was instantaneous. One moment, you were a chaotic mess of sensation already giving in to the orgasm building up and the next, there was a void.
Beckman withdrew just enough to leave you feeling hollow and Rayleigh pulled his hands and lips back just an inch, his silver beard grazing your skin as he wore a look of mock-innocence. The sudden absence of friction made your breath hitch in a pathetic, high-pitched whine.
"Now, now," Rayleigh murmured, his thumb tracing the edge of your areola and tugging at the clamp, keeping the fire simmering but refusing to let it catch. "Where are your manners? We’ve been such attentive guests, haven't we, Beckman?"
"Remarkably attentive," Beckman agreed, perched between your legs, looking down at you with a gaze that was cool, dark and utterly dominant. He didn't look affected by the heat of the moment, he looked like a king waiting for a tribute. "But I think she’s forgotten who’s in charge of her pleasure tonight."
Your face was on fire, your vision swimming with need. Your hips gave a small, involuntary twitch, trying to find the friction that had been so cruelly stolen. You looked at Rayleigh, pleading, but he only gave you a wink, the same look he gave you when he and Shakky were about to push you to your limits.
"Please," you whispered, the word breaking in the middle. "Please... Ray, Beckman... I need... please."
"Please what, sweetheart?" Beckman asked, his voice a low, vibrating growl. He reached over to the nightstand, his fingers wrapping around a small, sleek glass toy that shimmered in the low light, holding it up enough for you to see. "Ask us nicely. Tell us exactly what you want us to do to this beautiful, trembling body."
You swallowed hard, your pride dissolving into the sheets. "Please... use it. Please, Beckman... put the toy in me and... Ray, please don't stop. I want you both to push me over the edge. Please."
Beckman’s smirk was sharp enough to cut steel. "Good girl."
He didn't waste another second. While Rayleigh surged back forward to capture your mouth in a bruising, possessive kiss and tormenting your nipples in the best way possible, Beckman’s hand guided the cool glass toy to your center, spreading your labia carefully and then tracing the toy along the newly exposed skin. The contrast of the chilled glass against your oversensitive, burning heat made your entire body lock up for a split second before the first vibration hummed through the device.
Rayleigh’s hands slid under your hips, lifting you to meet Beckman’s renewed, relentless pace. With the toy buzzing against your entrance hitting your walls and Beckman’s heavy, rhythmic deep-circles he drew with his thumb on your clit, the world didn't just blur, it shattered.
"That's it," Rayleigh groaned into your ear, his calm gentlemanly persona finally slipping into something raw and hungry as he felt your internal muscles clench around Beckman. "Take it all. Show him how well we taught you to cum."
You were a symphony of undone hitches and broken cries, caught between the veteran who knew your soul and the strategist who had just conquered your body. Your body was on fire and you were a mess of moans, gasps and curses.
"Fuck — haaa – shit – I’m gonna – hnng – cum" you cursed and moaned as you came hard crying out and arching off the bed as good as you could. You felt the rush run through your veins and as if you were losing your breath (and maybe mind too).
Rayleigh carefully removed the clamps and kissed each nipple almost lovingly while Beckman finally withdrew the toy to reveal how slick and prepared you truly were, smirking as he looked from the toy down at your spent and beautiful form.
"Are you ready for more, darling? Or do you need a moment before we let Beckman have his gift while I make sure you’re nice and stretched for both of us?" Rayleigh asked genuinely, in the way a lover would. Because after all Rayleigh didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable or hurting at any moment.
“I’m f-fine. We can c-continue” you breathed before you shifted and got on all fours, waiting, offering yourself, like you usually did when it was you, Ray and Shakky.
That was all Rayeigh needed from you. He moved behind you and adjusted his grip on your hips, tilting you upward. With a slow, merciless pressure, he began to tease your entrance with his cock, leaving you whining and whimpering for more. He traced the tip through your slickness and every now and then pushed slightly into you before pulling back out again.
"A gentleman is savoring such moments, not rushing them, darling" he chuckled deeply at your whimpers, making you groan, hating when he did that. "Besides I need you focused on Beckman first, it'd be rude to ignore our guest don't you agree?" He teased as he looked at Beckman and nodded with his head towards the headboard.
Beckman, who had been watching with a dangerous and hungry smile, moved like a shadow. He settled himself on the bed, his broad back against the headboard, and guided your head toward him. "A gift, he says," Beckman grunted, a rough, appreciative sound as he unfastened his trousers. "I’ve always admired your hospitality, Rayleigh."
As Rayleigh finally stopped tormenting you and pushed inside you, mimicking a deep, relentless pace that stretched you to your absolute limit, Beckman’s hands tangled in your hair tilting your head till it was eye level with his hard member. He didn’t force you, he didn’t need to, he simply guided you, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. You stared at his length, heavy and big. Your mouth watered and you were already in a daze from Rayleigh working your pussy.
You opened your mouth carefully taking the tip inside at first, tasting the precum. Then you took in more, slowly like Rayleigh had taught you, adjusting to him. Thanks to Rayleigh who had put you through some deep throat training you had less trouble than you feared. Their cocks seemed to be of similar size which was in fact really helpful right now but at the same time making this even more thrilling and hot.
The world narrowed down to two distinct, overwhelming sensations. Below, Rayleigh was systematic. He used his cock like a weapon, finding every internal curve that made you moan while one of his hands splayed across your lower abdomen to feel the way your muscles spasmed around the intrusion and occasionally flicking your clit the way he knew was making you feral.
"Look at how she takes it, Beckman," Rayleigh praised, his voice low and vibrating against your thigh. "Stretching so wide for us. She’s almost there."
Above, Beckman was a different kind of storm. As you started to bop your head he let out a long, shuddering breath, his fingers tightening slightly in your hair. His dark eyes watching the way your throat worked with a look of pure, predatory satisfaction. He moved his hips with a slow, grinding rhythm that forced you to focus on the taste of him, the salt and the smoke, even as Rayleigh pushed you toward a screaming peak.
"Good girl," Beckman rasped, his eyes hooded as he looked down at you. The calm gentleman was fraying at the edges, his breath hitching as your tongue worked against him. "Take it all. Show me what Rayleigh taught you."
Between Rayleigh's cock inside you hitting your G-spot perfectly and the filling presence of Beckman hitting the back of your throat, you were being stretched thin, your mind fraying, tears of overstimulation falling down your cheek. Rayleigh increased the tempo, his thrusts becoming shorter and sharper, hitting the sensitive entrance of your womb until your vision sparked.
"She’s close," Rayleigh warned, moving his thumb over your clit in a steady, maddening pulse that synced perfectly with the vibrations of Beckman deep in your throat.
The friction was absolute. Beckman groaned, a low, guttural sound that seemed to vibrate against your tongue as he felt the tremors of your impending climax beginning to ripple through you. Rayleigh felt it too, his pace quickening, his Haki flaring just enough to make every nerve ending in your body feel like it was glowing.
Your body buckled and a scream tore through you that was muffled by Beckman’s cock in your mouth, the vibration making him grunt lowly. You were trapped, pinned by Rayleigh’s weight, filled by his cock and silenced by Beckman’s length. You didn't just cum, you shattered. The world turned into a kaleidoscope of stars as you reached a peak so violent it left you sobbing into Beckman’s skin. You felt yourself clench down so hard on Rayleigh that he followed you shortly after filling you up, not letting go of you until every muscle in your body had stopped twitching.
"There she goes," Rayleigh muffled against your lower back, his voice thick with triumph. "Give it all to us, darling."
The tension in the room didn’t break with your climax, it only thickened, turning heavy. Beckman wasn’t finished with his 'gift' and Rayleigh, ever the attentive host, wasn’t about to let your nerve endings rest for even a second nor his guest left unfinished.
"Don’t drift off yet, darling," Rayleigh murmured, his voice a low, grounding hum as he pulled out of you. "Beckman isn’t quite finished with you."
Above you, Beckman’s breath had turned into a series of jagged, controlled growls. His hands stayed firmly anchored in your hair, his gripmfirm but not painful. His hips started a final, heavy press. He was a man who took what he wanted with a silent, devastating efficiency. You felt the shift in him, the way his muscles corded, the sudden heat of his skin.
"That’s it," Beckman rasped, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. With one final, deep surge, he filled your mouth completely, his body shuddering as he claimed his release.
You choked back a whimper, your eyes watering, but Rayleigh’s hand moved to the back of your thigh, softly tickling you to keep you present and at the same time soothe you. "Take it darling," Rayleigh encouraged softly. After a long, silent moment, Beckman slowly pulled back, but only enough to look down at you. His thumb hooked into the corner of your mouth, prying your lips open.
"Show me, pretty lady" he commanded. It wasn’t a request, it was an order from a man used to being obeyed across the Grand Line, yet it didn't sound like one. You obeyed, revealing the evidence of his climax pooling on your tongue. Beckman’s gaze was dark and clearly satisfied. "Good. Now swallow every drop. I don’t want you to waste a single drop I've so kindly given you."
You swallowed, the salt and heat of him sliding down your throat, making you feel marked from the inside out. Beckman let out a slow, appreciative breath, his hand softening as he stroked your cheek. "Well done sweetheart" he breathed
Rayleigh chuckled, his fingers never ceasing their light ticklish movements up and down the back of your thighs, before leaning down to kiss along your spine making you shiver. "She’s a treasure Beckman and I think that she’s ready for the main course"
You exhaled deeply, yourbody collapsed forqrd o to the sheets, feeling like it was on fire but still tingling for more because this was completely different from the times you had spent with Rayleigh and Shakky. Where Shakky had that female finesse these two had the experience of unraveling enough women during their young years, Beckman probably still having enough women knocking on his door for a good time, to make you never want to leave this room.
You looked over your shoulder and smiled faintly. A wordless confession that you were ready, that you wanted them to take you, to claim you, to finally mark you as theirs once and for all. Rayleigh smiled back at you and kissed you deeply, a kiss that wasn’t just lust or need but of trust, love and care. Beckman watched you both and he leaned down too, kissing your cheek softly. "You are indeed very special, sweetheart." he whispered gently.
Rayleigh and Beckman exchanged a wordless look, words were unnecessary anyways before the transition from 'warm-up' to the main event started and it was a masterclass in slow, delicious torment. These were not men who fumbled or rushed, they moved with the terrifyingly smooth coordination of two predators who had cornered something precious.
Rayleigh settled between your legs again, his large, warm hands parting you with a reverence that felt almost holy. He didn’t enter you immediately. Instead, he leaned down, his silver hair brushing your skin as he whispered against your shoulder. "I know that shiver, darling. I know exactly where you’re aching and me and Beckman are going to make sure you feel like the most precious thing in the world."
True to his word, he entered you with a single, agonizingly slow thrust. It wasn’t just a physical act, it was a reclamation. He hit that specific spot he had discovered during your nights with him and Shakky and stayed there, grinding his hips in a slow circle that made your vision white out.
Beckman moved behind you, his massive frame bracketing you. He didn’t just watch, he conquered. His large, calloused hands roamed over every inch of your skin, kneading your breasts, tracing the line of your ribs, and finally finding your mouth again this time though it was his thumb that pushed past your lips, making you suck on it as Rayleigh drove deeper.
"You’re over-sensitive here," Beckman observed, his voice a low vibration against your ear as his other hand found the sensitive skin on your sides, squeezing just enough to make your hips buck and let out a few squeaks. "And your pulse… it’s screaming for more, isn’t it?" He added, more as a matter of fact, as his tongue swept over your neck.
"W-want m-more" you muffled against his thumb, making both men smirk.
"In that case who would we be to deny you such a request," Beckman growled as Rayleigh picked up his pace and Beckman began to trail biting kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing your shoulder blades until you were sobbing from the overstimulation from both of them.
The dual assault was relentless. They left no part of you spared. If Rayleigh wasn’t kissing you, Beckman was. If Beckman’s hands weren’t mapping your curves, Rayleigh’s were. You were caught between the two legends and they were showing you exactly why their names were whispered in awe across the Grand Line.
The atmosphere in the room reached a fever pitch, the air so thick with the scent of sex and salt that it felt like a physical weight. Rayleigh’s rhythm was a steady, deep-seated thunder, but it was the silent understanding between the two men that truly signaled your total unraveling.
Beckman moved with a quiet, devastating intent. He didn’t ask, he simply took. His large, calloused hand slid beneath your hip, tilting you upward to expose the delicate, untouched heat of your back entrance. He spent a few agonizing moments stretching you with his thumb, a deliberate, methodical preparation that had you sobbing into the crook of Rayleigh’s neck.
"You’re doing so well, sweetheart," Rayleigh whispered, his voice a gravelly caress to calm you down. He leaned up, capturing your mouth in a deep, tongue-tangled French kiss that tasted of hunger and victory, muffling your cries and distracting you from the stretch as Beckman finally pushed himself inside your ass.
The sensation of being filled by both legends was beyond anything the human mind could categorize. It was a complete invasion, a total occupation of your body. Your back arched, your fingers digging into Rayleigh’s back as you were caught between the Dark King’s relentless, thrusts into your pussy and Beckman’s steady, unforgiving power from behind.
To them, your screams weren’t just noise, they were music, a symphony of their combined mastery. Of your surrender and at the same time of their care and need for you. They worked you like a finely tuned instrument. Beckman’s hands were everywhere, kneading your breasts with a firm, possessive grip while his thumbs caught your nipples, pinching and rolling them until you were seeing stars. Rayleigh, meanwhile, focused on your neck and collarbone, his teeth grazing and biting, leaving dark marks that would serve as a map of this night for days to come.
"Look at her," Beckman rasped, his voice vibrating through your spine as he pushed deeper. "She’s vibrating. I think she’s reached her limit, Rayleigh."
"Not quite," Rayleigh chuckled, a dark, predatory glint in his silver eyes. "I know her better than that. She’s got one more break in her."
For the finale, Rayleigh decided to be mean. While they both kept up a punishing, synchronized pace that left you breathless and blind with pleasure, Rayleigh’s hand slid down between your bodies. He didn’t offer the soft, swirling caress from before. Instead, he pinned your clit between two fingers, applying a sharp, vibrating pressure that was pure torture. He toyed with you, stopping just as the wave hit, then doubling the intensity the moment you tried to catch your breath.
"Please," you sobbed, your head thrashing against the cushions. "Ray, please!"
"Please what, darling?" he murmured, his thumb clicking against your sensitive core with a ruthless rhythm. "You want me to stop? Or do you want to show Mr. Beckman exactly how loud you can scream when you finally break?"
"C-cum — haaa — want to c-cum" you screamed though the words were a stutter.
The combination of the double penetration and Rayleigh’s merciless attention to your clit was the final blow. Your body locked, your internal muscles clenching around both men in a desperate, rhythmic spasm. You screamed, a raw, high-pitched sound of total surrender, as your world shattered into a thousand jagged pieces of light.
They followed you shortly after, two titans of the Grand Line pouring their strength into you, claiming every inch of your spirit and flesh as their own. As the room finally fell into a heavy, ringing silence, you were left trembling and utterly spent, a beautiful, broken masterpiece held between the two men who had just rewritten the meaning of gentleman.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of three ragged breaths syncing up in the dim light of the room. You lay there, breathless, your skin flushed and slick. The world was still spinning and your mind was a hazy fog of pleasure.
Bonus:
Rayleigh withdrew slowly, the absence of his heat making the air feel suddenly sharp. He sat back, running a hand through his silver hair, while Beckman remained looming behind you, a dark, silent shadow of satisfaction.
The Dark King watched you for a long moment, waiting. He watched the way your chest heaved, the way your eyes struggled to focus. But as the seconds ticked by and you remained silent, drifting in the afterglow, his expression shifted from soft affection to something a bit more… instructional.
"Beckman," Rayleigh said softly, his voice regaining that calm, gentlemanly authority. "I think our girl has forgotten her manners in all the excitement."
Beckman’s hand, which had been idly tracing the curve of your hip, stilled. "Is that so? I’d hate to think she’s ungrateful after we went to such lengths to make her comfortable."
You blinked, the fog in your brain clearing just enough to realize your mistake. Your heart, which had just begun to slow, kicked back into a frantic rhythm. Rayleigh and Shakky had a very specific rule after sex - gratitude was a requirement, not a suggestion.
"I… I’m sorry," you breathed, your voice barely a rasp. "I—"
"A sorry isn’t a ‚thank you‘, young lady," Rayleigh interrupted gently. He leaned over you, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. He looked disappointed, which was far more terrifying than if he had been angry. "And a late thank you… well, that requires a reminder. Wouldn’t you agree, Beckman?"
"Absolutely," Beckman grunted. He reached out and gripped your waist, flipping you over onto your stomach with effortless strength. The sudden shift made your head swim. "If she’s too tired to speak, maybe we should find another way for her to show her appreciation."
Rayleigh reached for a crop near the nightstand. He didn’t look like a monster, he looked like a teacher about to deliver a necessary lesson.
"Since you’ve lost your voice, we’ll give you something else to focus on," Rayleigh murmured. "Ten for the house, and ten for our guest. And you’ll count every single one, won’t you? To show us you’re paying attention."
Beckman leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. "Start counting, darling. And make sure we can hear you. We wouldn’t want to have to start over."
The air in the room grew clinical, the kind of quiet that precedes a storm. Rayleigh stood over you, the crop held loosely in his hand, while Beckman’s heavy weight shifted. The Dark King didn’t look angry, he looked focused, his silver hair catching the amber light as he prepared to deliver the 'house’s' portion of the lesson.
"Ready, darling?" Rayleigh asked softly and younjust exhaled deeply.
The first snap of the crop against your ass was sharp and stinging, a sudden shock to your over-sensitized skin but you'd be lying if you said it was unpleasant.
"One," you gasped out, your fingers clutching at the sheets.
"Louder," Rayleigh prompted, his tone as calm as if he were ordering a drink.
Snap. "Two!"
He worked his way through the count with a rhythmic, steady hand, each strike a hot brand that pulled a sharp cry and a number from your lips. By the time he reached "Ten" your skin was tingling with a fierce heat, and your breath was coming in ragged gasps.
"Good girl," Rayleigh murmured, dropping the belt and leaning down to kiss the back of your neck. "That’s for the house. Now, Beckman… it’s your turn to collect."
Beckman didn’t reach for the crop. He let out a low, thoughtful hum that vibrated through your thighs. "The rare is a bit impersonal for a first meeting, don’t you think, Rayleigh?"
Before you could process his words, Beckman’s strong hands gripped your hips and hauled you backward. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled you over him, positioning your aching, swollen core directly over his face. You were suspended there, pinned by his strength, looking down at the legendary First Mate.
"I think ten of my own style will stick in her memory much better," Beckman rasped.
The first lick was a revelation his tongue was broad, hot and rough like sandpaper. He didn’t just taste you he used his tongue to deliver a forceful, agonizingly slow stroke from your bottom to your clit.
"One," you wailed, your back arching.
"Sorry sweetheart but I didn’t quite hear you," Beckman teased against your wet skin, his breath sending a shiver through you.
Then came the suction. He caught your clit between his lips and gave a sharp, demanding pull and your world tilted. "Two!" you screamed, your hands flying back to find purchase on his shoulders.
He proceeded with a torturous deliberation. Each lick was a deep, punishing slide of his tongue that felt like it was trying to map your soul, followed by a suck that felt like he was trying to draw the very life out of you.
"Five… Six…" you moaned, almost obscenely, your voice breaking, your body unable to stay calm and your chest heaving unevenly.
Every time you tried to close your legs or pull away, Rayleigh was there, his large hands on your knees, holding you wide and open for the guest’s inspection. Rayleigh watched with a scholar’s interest, his thumb occasionally stroking your cheek as you fell apart.
"Seven… Eight…"
By the ninth, your body was on fire. Beckman’s tongue was unrelenting, flicking with a precision that drove you toward a peak you didn’t think you could survive, after everything that had happened before.
"Nine! Fuck!"
"Last one, sweetheart," Beckman whispered. He didn’t just lick you, he buried his face against you, his tongue pushing inside while he sucked with a ferocity that finally broke the dam.
"TEN! TEN! TEN! OH FUCKING HELL"
You collapsed against his chest, your body a shattered mess of tremors. Beckman’s punishment had been far more effective than any spanking could have been. You were entirely spent, your mind a blank slate where only their names were written.
Beckman chuckled, a deep, gravelly sound that rumbled against your chest. He looked up at Rayleigh, a dark smirk on his face. "I think she’s learned her manners now."
Rayleigh smiled, leaning down to brush a stray, tear-soaked hair from your face. "I think you’re right. Now, let’s get her cleaned up. We wouldn’t want Shakky to think we didn’t take proper care of her. She can get really angry when the young lady isn’t treated right afterwards."
The shift in the room was instantaneous. The heavy, oppressive weight of the 'lesson' evaporated, replaced by the soft, expert care that defined both men when the storm had passed.
Rayleigh sat up, pulling your limp, sweaty body against his chest, while Beckman leaned over you, a fresh cigarette held unlit between his lips. He reached out, tracing the line of your collarbone where he had left a deep, purple mark earlier.
"Shakky’s going to have a lot to say about this tomorrow," Rayleigh chuckled, his voice raspy as he pressed a lingering, stinging bite into the curve of your shoulder, marking his territory right next to Beckman’s.
Beckman smirked, leaning down to press a final, firm kiss to the center of your forehead, his thumb smearing a bit of stray moisture from your cheek. "Let her talk," he murmured, his eyes lingering on the map of bruises and bite marks they had painted across your skin. "I think we left enough evidence to let her know she shouldn't have left us alone with her favorite girl."
You were tucked between them, a warm, marked prize of the Grand Line's greatest legends, drifting off to the scent of rum, tobacco, and the lingering heat of a night that had changed everything.
Taglist: @jintaka-hane @fleetadmiralsoffice @hakiofdreams @welcome-to-the-grandline @sailing-to-laugh-tale @legends-of-the-grandline @devilfruitdiaries @waannty @luna-the-moon-guardian @sweetsaltygingerbitch (once again I'm just reminding you that if you want me to stop tagging you please tell me or if someone wants to get added)
A/N: Thank you Anons for requesting "yandere beckman x a young reader first time please" plus "Beckman has a fetish for corrupting his shy virgin fem!reader" I decided to throw them together because I felt that worked pretty well. I hope it's okay. I swear my writing muse decided to go on a very long vacation and I hope this turned out well.
Word count >4500
Plot: you used to work at a flower shop till Beckman offered you a thrilling life on the sea. Little did you know that Beckman wanted more than just to show you the world.
Warnings: NSFW, yandere Beckman, corruption kink, shy younger reader, Beck calling reader Petal, first time, Beck being a bit "mean", some praising, p in v, some fingering, some oral (receiving), handjob, not proofread, MDNI ⚠️🔞
Characters: Beckman x FReader
The salt wind whipped strands of hair across your face, stinging your eyes. You hugged your arms, not just against the chill, but against the sheer, overwhelming vastness of the ocean stretching to a horizon you never knew existed. This wasn't the neatly trimmed, rose-scented world of your past. This was the Red Force, a floating testament to chaos and freedom.
A week ago, you had been meticulously arranging peonies in Mrs. Gable's flower shop, the scent of damp earth and blossoms clinging to your apron. That day, a tall, silent man with silver hair and an aura that commanded attention had walked in. He hadn't asked for flowers. He had asked for you.
"You have a quiet sort of beauty," Benn Beckman had observed, his voice a low rumble that had made the delicate glass vases tremble. He hadn't threatened you, he didn’t need to. He had simply presented a world beyond your small town, a world with him at it's center, twisting your quiet longing for something more into a desperate need for his attention. He had woven a narrative so compelling, so focused on your unique fragility, that you had somehow found yourself agreeing to leave everything behind. He called it an invitation. You knew deep down, even then, it had been something different.
Now, that "invitation" had fully materialized. He stood beside you at the railing, a silent, imposing shadow. The cigar smoke curling from his lips was a familiar scent, a constant reminder of his presence. His arm was casually draped over the railing behind you, a territorial gesture that went unnoticed by the boisterous crew but felt like a physical weight against your back.
"Lost in thought, Petal?" His voice, deep and calm, always made your stomach clench. He had taken to calling you "Petal" soon after you had boarded, a nod to your past and a constant reminder of the bloom he intended to pluck.
You flinched, startled from your reverie. "Just… thinking about home."
A low chuckle vibrated through him. "This is your home now." His hand moved, slowly, deliberately, to rest on your waist, his thumb tracing small, possessive circles against the fabric of your dress. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, delivered with the quiet authority of a man who never expected to be defied. "You belong here. With us. With me."
He watched the subtle tremor that went through you, a tiny flicker of fear that he seemed to savor. "Don't you agree?"
You swallowed, the salt in the air suddenly thick, suffocating. You didn't dare look into those calculating, intelligent eyes. "Yes," you whispered, the word barely audible over the creak of the ship.
"Good girl." The praise was soft, intimate and utterly chilling. He squeezed your waist gently, a silent warning, a promise of what he intended to unravel, petal by agonizing petal. You were no longer just a florist, you were his newest, most delicate possession.
In the week that followed, Beckman didn’t just share your space, he began to build a new reality just for you.
He started by subtly orbiting around you almost 24/7 always making sure that he was your center, that he was the one on your mind and you found yourself subconsciously listening for the strike of his lighter or the heavy, rhythmic thud of his boots, anticipating it.
He summoned you into the office later one evening, nothing unusual you spent many hours there with Beckman teaching you how to read maps. The "lesson" Beckman had planned this time though wasn't about navigation or star charts. He had cleared the central table, leaving only a single candle flickering.
"You're falling apart, Petal," he murmured, standing behind you in the cabin. He didn't touch you yet, but the heat radiating from his body was a magnet. "The sea is too much for someone so delicate. You’re starting to realize that, aren't you?"
"I... I just feel out of place," you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs.
"Because you're trying to hold onto a girl who doesn't exist anymore," he said, finally leaning in. His chest pressed against your back, and for the first time, the fear felt like a relief. "The florist is dead. You're a pirate's woman now. My woman. Stop fighting it and the shaking will stop."
He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Tell me you want to stay here. In this room. Where it's quiet."
Beckman made sure you craved the cage he was building for you and you were too sweet to see it or maybe too shy to say something. "I want to stay," you breathed, leaning back into his solid frame. You were addicted to the very thing that was consuming you.
The air in the cabin was thick with the scent of tobacco and the impending storm outside. Beckman hadn't let you leave his side all day. He had been feeding you small sips of his heavy, dark liquor, fueling a heat in your blood that you didn't know how to extinguish.
He walked over to the leather chair and sat down, pulling you to stand between his knees. His large hands rested on your thighs, the callouses catching on the fabric of your dress.
"You've never been touched like this, have you?" he asked, his voice a gritty caress. He knew the answer. He had studied your history like a map.
"No," you whimpered, your face flushing a deep crimson.
"Good. I want to be the one to teach you everything. I want every thought you have about pleasure to be tied to my face, my voice, my hands." He stood up, towering over you, the sheer physical power of the man forcing you to look up. "I’m going to ruin that shy little heart of yours and you’re going to thank me for it. But since I'm in a good mood we're gonna start slow" he smirked predatory as he hinted at his belt.
Ypu swallowed hard and your fingers trembled violently against the cold metal of his belt buckle. You had never touched a man like this, let alone a man who looked at you like you were a prize he had spent a lifetime hunting.
Beckman didn’t help you. He leaned back into his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest, watching your struggle with a dark, patient amusement.
"Fingers shaking that much?" he hummed, his voice dropping an octave. "You’re making me wait, Petal. That’s a dangerous game to play with a man like me."
With a small, frustrated sigh, you finally managed to undo the leather. The sound of the buckle clinking felt like a gunshot in the silent room. Beckman's hand suddenly shot out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you flush against him. The sudden closeness made you feel small, fragile and utterly consumed by his presence.
"Since you're so shy," he whispered, his breath hot against your lips, "we’ll start with something you will be able to do without crying, something.......under the 'covers'."
He guided your hand beneath the fabric of his pants, forcing your palm against his member. Your eyes went wide, a gasp escaping your throat that was far too loud for the quiet room. He was solid, hard, pulsing and terrifyingly real. You felt the veins around his thick length and it made you involuntarily bit your lip.
"Look at me while you do it," he commanded, clearly amused by your shy little bite of your lower lip, as he began to move your hand in a slow, agonizing rhythm guiding you. Teaching you how to please him like this. He made your hand move slow at first adjusting your grip around him whenever you slacked, all while making sure you were looking into his eyes.
"Just like that Petal" he grunted as he urged you to move your hand faster and faster until you heard him growl deeply and suddenly felt something warm and wet cover your hand.
"Good girl," he praised as his breathing began to even out again and you slowly pulled your hand away staring at the mess on it and he chuckled.
"That's the evidence that you are ready for more" he explained though you weren't so sure about it but at the same time his voice, his presence and this feeling, the cum on your hands made you feel a strange sensation deep inside you.
"But not tonight, tonight you'll be sleeping in my bed and tomorrow your next lesson will begin, don't worry sweet Petal I'm taking good care of you, but first you better clean your hand and if you're doing it properly I'll keep you nice and warm for the rest of the night," he said and you wanted to go wash your hand but he stopped you with a dark chuckle.
"No Petal, not with water use your tongue show me how good you can be, how much you cherish what I give you" he smirked and you looked wide eyed at him before starting to lick his cum off and he loved watching you.
Only when you were finished did he pull you into his arms carrying you into his room where he indeed didn't try anything more and simply held you close his hand between your thighs but not at your core and you were truly believing that Beckman was really just trying to make sure you were save and cared for.
The next day Beckman kept you close throughout the whole day whipsering into your ear that you were expected in his cabin after you had finished your duties.
When you were finally done with today's work and a hovering Beckman never leaving you out of sight for too long you entered his cabin, your knees feeling weak already. Beckman was already there, leaning against the far wall with a cigarette between his lips. He didn't move as you approached, but his eyes followed every frantic beat of the pulse in your throat.
"Sit," he commanded, gesturing to the chair.
As you sat, Beckman moved behind you. He didn't touch you at first, he simply stood close enough that his heat radiated through your thin shirt.
"A pirate’s life is about taking what they want," he murmured, his voice a low vibration. "But you... you wait to be given permission to even breathe, as you proofed last night. It’s not very pirate like but it's incredibly arousing."
He reached over your shoulder, his large hand splaying flat against your stomach, pulling you back against his hard chest. You let out a small, broken whimper, your hands fluttering uselessly over his.
"Shh," he hissed against your ear. "Next lesson. Your body isn't your own anymore, not after yesterday, not after you showed me you were ready to be mine. It's an instrument. And I’m the only one who gets to play it."
Beckman’s other hand moved to the top button of your dress. He didn't undo it, he just toyed with the fabric, his knuckles grazing your collarbone.
"I want to hear you," he whispered. "I want to hear every shameful sound you’ve been swallowing down since you joined this crew. If you try to stay quiet, I’ll just make it harder for you."
His hand on your stomach slid lower, his palm pressing firmly against the heat gathering between your thighs. You gasped, your head falling back onto his shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut.
"Look at me," he ordered.
You forced your eyes open, meeting his dark, predatory gaze in the reflection of a glass-fronted cabinet across the room. You looked wrecked, cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes wide with a mix of terror and a blooming, traitorous heat and need.
"You like being handled like this, don't you?" Beckman’s thumb began to move, a slow, rhythmic pressure through the fabric of your dress that made your toes curl. "The shy girl act is just a mask for how much of a mess you are underneath."
He finally undid that first button, then the second, exposing the pale skin of your chest to the cool air. His hand slid under the fabric of your dress and just like last night, his calloused palm was cupping you with an agonizingly possessive weight, grinding down, making you shiver and wet.
"I'm going to ruin that innocence, piece by piece," he promised, his teeth grazing the sensitive shell of your ear. "By the time I'm done with you, you won't even remember how to be shy. You’ll only know how to crave the way I touch you."
You tried to speak, but all that came out was a high, thin moan as his thumb found its mark.
"That’s it," Beckman growled, his grip tightening as he felt you begin to tremble in earnest. "Let the crew hear you if they want. Let them know exactly who is breaking you in. You’re mine, Petal. Every cry, every blush, every drop of sweat. All mine."
His thumb circled your clit rapidly and firmly and you bucked in his grip, back arching and feeling ashamed of the sounds leaving your lips. Beckman on the other hand was savoring each little moan and gasp coming from you as he praised you. He moved harder until you came for the first but definitely not last time that night.
"Very good Petal, this was a small warm up now we're going to move on to the real fun," he growled into your ear.
He pulled you toward the bed. It wasn't a struggle, it was a surrender. He watched every flinch, every gasp and every tear with a terrifyingly sharp intellect, ensuring that your first experience was branded into your mind as an act of total ownership.
The mattress dipped under his weight and for a moment the only sound was the rhythmic creaking of the ship’s hull. He didn’t rush. He watched you closely as you sat on the edge of the bed, your fingers twisting nervously in the fabric of your dress that kept slipping down your shoulders.
"Look at me," he commanded. It wasn't loud, but it pulled your gaze up instantly.
He reached out, his hand engulfing yours, forcing you to go still. "This is the part where you let go of the shame. You think you’re losing something, don't you? That purity you’ve been hoarding like a prize?" He leaned in, his silver hair catching the dim lamplight. "It’s just a weight, Petal. Let me take it from you."
When he began to undo the rest of the buttons of your dress, his movements were surgical and calm. His eyes never left yours, pinning you in place more effectively than his hands ever could. As the cool air hit your skin, you shivered, but he was quick to replace the chill with the heat of his palms.
"So soft," he rasped, his thumb dragging across your collarbone. "I wonder how long it'll take for me to leave my mark on you. To make sure everyone on this ship knows who you belong to without me saying a word."
As the last of your clothing fell away, you instinctively curled inward. Your arms crossed over your chest, knees pressing together, your face burning with a heat so intense it felt like a fever. You had spent your life draped in modest linens and aprons, to be this exposed and under the gaze of a man like Benn Beckman, felt like standing in the middle of a firing line.
"I... I can't," you whispered, your eyes squeezed shut, unable to bear the weight of his scrutiny. "Please, turn the lamp off."
A low, rumbling chuckle started deep in his chest. He didn't move to the lamp. Instead, he stood up from the edge of the bed and began to shed his own layers with a casual, terrifying lack of shame. You heard the heavy thud of his boots, the rustle of leather and denim, and then the silence of a man who was perfectly comfortable in his own skin.
"Open your eyes, Petal," he said firmly but you couldn't.
"I said, look," he repeated. It wasn't a shout, but the sheer authority in his voice forced your eyelids to flutter open.
He was standing right in front of you, completely unclad and unbothered. He was a map of a life on the sea, countless scars crisscrossing a frame of hardened muscle, his skin bronzed by years of sea sun and his member bigger than you had imagined, not that you had imagined anything.
Seeing him like that, so raw and powerful, made your breath hitch. He was exactly the man you had always shyly and innocently dreamed about. Your blush deepened, spreading down your neck and across your chest, a vivid pink that stood out against the white sheets.
Beckman grinned, and it wasn't the comfort of a lover, it was the bared teeth of a wolf who had finally cornered his prey and was going to enjoy devouring it.
"There it is," he rasped, his eyes roaming over every inch of your trembling form. "You’re practically glowing. Do you have any idea how adorable you are when you’re this undone? Like a little flower trying to fold its petals back up after the sun’s already caught it."
He reached out, his large, rough hand hooking under your chin to tilt your face up. He forced you to look at him, then down at yourself, and then back at him.
"You're blushing because you're naked," he noted, his thumb dragging across your bottom lip. "And you're blushing because you're looking at me. You’ve never seen a man like this, have you? Never felt the weight of one?"
"N-no," you gasped, your heart hammering so hard he could likely see it beneath your skin. The sheer size of him was terrifying, but the way he looked at you, with a hunger that was both primal and deeply calculated, made a traitorous heat bloom in your chest.
"Good." His grin widened, dark and possessive. "I want you to stay exactly this red. I want you to feel every bit of this shame, because by the time I’m done, the only thing you’ll be embarrassed about is how much you’re begging me not to stop."
He leaned down, his heat enveloping you as he crowded you back into the pillows. "Don't hide. I want to see everything I’m about to ruin."
He kissed a path from your neck over your collarbone and stopped at your breasts licking over one of your nipples and you whimpered and closed your eyes again the sensation just too overwhelming.
"Don't close your eyes," he whispered as he leaned up and kissed your lips, his voice a low, vibrating growl. "I want you to see exactly who is doing this to you. I want you to remember the weight of me when you're dreaming and the feel of me when you're awake."
Beckman moved with a slow, agonizing deliberation, ensuring that every second of your shyness was exploited.
He pinned your wrists above your head with just one of his hands, his grip like iron manacles. It wasn't to hurt you, but to keep you from hiding, forcing your body to remain open and vulnerable beneath him. The contrast was startling, your soft skin against his scarred, calloused palms.
"Still trying to shrink away?" he murmured, his voice vibrating against the sensitive skin of your neck. He nipped at the junction where your shoulder met your throat, a sharp sting that made your toes curl. "You’re too soft for this world, Petal. You need to be hardened. You need to learn how to take what I give you."
He reached down to trace a finger over your wet slit moving it up and down looking down at you. "So wet for me, pretty little Petal" he mused as he pushed his fingers slightly between your labia and to your entrance and your back arched and your breathing became ragged.
"Beckman please—" you whimpered and he just leaned down till his breath burnt against your ear.
"Patience Petal just making sure I'm not hurting you" he whispered and pushed a finger inside you making you gasp at the stretch before he added a second and you tensed closing your eyes slightly while your heart rate was going up.
"Just breath Petal, you're going to love this, you're going to drop that shy act of yours and you're gonna show me what a bad girl you can be" he purred as he moved and scissored his fingers till he deemed you prepared enough.
He looked at his fingers and shoved them between your lips making you taste the wetness before you felt him nudge your entrance and then finally moved to bridge the final gap between you, the air in your lungs seemingly vanishing. It was an overwhelming invasion of space and spirit. You let out a sharp, broken sound that was something between a sob and a gasp as the reality of him hit you.
"Shhh," he hushed you, though his eyes were bright with a dark, triumphant heat. He didn't pull back. Instead, he leaned down until his forehead rested against yours, forcing you to look into the depths of his eyes. "Stay with me. Don't go back to that flower shop in your head. Stay right here, in this bed, feeling exactly what I’m doing to you."
He began to move, a slow and steady rhythm that felt like the tide, inevitable and powerful. Every time your eyes tried to roll back or close, he would growl a command for you to look at him. He wanted to see the moment your shyness broke, he wanted to witness the exact second your innocence turned into a desperate, clutching need.
He whispered dark, possessive things into your ear, praising the way your body was starting to react despite your mind’s protests.
"That's it," he rasped, his voice thick with his own rising heat. "Forget about being good. Forget about being pure. You're mine now. Every gasp, every tear, it's all for me. Tell me. Tell me you belong to me."
"I... I'm yours," you choked out, the words feeling like a seal on a contract you could never break. He groaned clearly satisfied with your words and picking up the pace, the sound of skin hitting skin filling the room louder and louder as you felt yourself nearing a heavy orgasm.
Your fingers, finally freed from his grip, didn't try to hide yourself anymore. Instead, they scratched desperately at the corded muscle of his back, anchoring yourself to the man who was systematically dismantling the girl you used to be.
"Beck — haaa — I —" you stammered not able to finish the sentence as you felt him hit just the right spots and as one hand tightened it's grip almost painfully on your hips the other pinched and rolled your nipple and it was the final movement that shattered you and you came hard and loudly, almost sounding obscene and definitely not like the shy girl anymore.
Beckman though didn't let up. He watched your face go through the transition from shock to a blurry, tear-streaked pleasure that you didn't know how to handle as he rode his own orgasm out till his hot seed filled you.
When it was over, he didn't move away. He stayed heavy on top of you, his heart thudding against your chest like a war drum. He reached up, wiping a stray tear from your cheek with a calloused thumb, his expression one of absolute, terrifying satisfaction. He had successfully taught you that pain and pleasure, fear and safety, all began and ended with him.
"There," he breathed, a ghost of that wolfish grin returning. "The florist is gone. Now we can really begin."
The cabin was silent save for your ragged breathing and the distant creaking of the ship’s timber. You lay there, trembling and flushed, trying to pull the tangled sheets over your chest to regain some semblance of the girl you had been an hour ago.
But Beckman wasn’t finished. He sat back on his heels, watching your frantic movements with a look of cold amusement. He reached out and snatched the edge of the sheet, yanking it down to your waist with one effortless tug.
"Don't cover up now, Petal. We're past the point of modesty," he rumbled. He leaned over you, his shadow swallowing you whole. "You’re shaking. Is it because you’re scared, or because you’ve never felt anything that good in that dusty little shop of yours?"
"I... I don't know," you whispered, turning your face into the pillow to hide the tearful heat of your blush.
"Liar," he countered, his voice dropping to a dangerous, silken register. "You liked it. You liked the way I ruined that pure little image you had of yourself. Admit it."
"N-no... I couldn't," you stammered, your throat tight with a mix of shame and lingering pleasure.
Beckman’s eyes darkened. He liked the resistance; it gave him an excuse to be thorough. "Still too shy to be honest? Fine. I’ll help you find your voice."
Before you could protest, he moved. He slid down the bed, his large hands gripping your hips to hold you firmly in place. When you realized what he intended, your breath hitched in a panicked gasp.
"Beckman, please—"
"Quiet," he commanded.
He was a man of immense patience and terrifying precision. And as he began spreading your legs and holding them like that you whimpered. The moment his tongue made contact with your pussy to explore the most sensitive parts of you, he did so with the same calculated intent he used to win battles at sea. He was teasing the truth out of you, stroke by agonizing stroke or lick by lick.
The sensation was overwhelming, a sharp, wet contrast to the rough heat of before. Your back arched off the mattress, your fingers knotting into the silk sheets as a fresh wave of heat crashed over you. Every time you tried to close your legs or hide, his hands tightened on your thighs like iron bands, pinning you open for his inspection.
"Say it," he murmured against your skin, his hot breath sending shivers through your entire frame. He moved back up, hovering just inches from your center, making you ache for the contact he was now withholding. "Tell me you liked how I broke you. Tell me you want me to make you cum again."
"I... I did," you sobbed, the last of your shy walls crumbling. The shame was still there, but it was being drowned out by a desperate, newly awakened hunger. "I liked it. Please... Beckman... I liked the ruining."
He looked up at you then, a look of pure, predatory triumph on his face. He reached up, pushing his fingers into your mouth making you suck them as he kept lapping at your clit till you came all over his tongue.
"That's my girl," he rasped, his voice full of a dark, possessive pride. "See? Honesty suits you much better than that shy act. Now, since you liked it so much, let’s see how much more you can take before the sun comes up."
He had officially turned your own body against your conscience. You weren't just his captive anymore, you were his through and through craving him, his touch, how he unraveled you and the look in Beckman’s eyes told you he would never, ever let you go.
Taglist: @jintaka-hane @fleetadmiralsoffice @hakiofdreams @welcome-to-the-grandline @sailing-to-laugh-tale @legends-of-the-grandline @devilfruitdiaries @waannty @luna-the-moon-guardian @sweetsaltygingerbitch (once again I'm just reminding you that if you want me to stop tagging you please tell me or if someone wants to get added)
Hey! You seem like cool and level headed person! I really love your writing but honestly wanted to ask if you have any unpouplar one piece opinions that many people may disagree with??👀
oh my thank you 😊 you're making me blush.
Well i do have some things i could think of but I'm not so sure if they're considered unpopular and I'm not sure if a lot of people wpuld disagree with them but here we go:
1. Usopp has so much more potential.
I really think Usopp could be used for so much more than always being the scared one or the comic relief. Don't get me wrong, I love his personality and what makes him Usopp, but with all the buildup he has had — especially his Observation Haki (let's not forget about that!) — I feel like there is so much more that could be done with him. Maybe something more is still coming, and I really hope it does because I think he has incredible potential.
2. Please don't hate me, but I don't ship Frobin. 🙈
I love Robin. I like Franky. But romantically, they just don't work for me. I completely understand why people ship them and I see why the dynamic appeals to so many fans, but for me personally, the chemistry isn't there. 🙂
3. Speaking of Robin... I like her more than Nami.
I really like Nami, she is an amazing character, but Robin is just more my type of character. I love her intelligence, her design, her backstory, and especially that she is a little strange and morbid in the most charming way. Maybe it's because I feel like Robin and I would actually get along really well. 🤭
4. The Croco-mom theory
I actually enjoy seeing fan art and theories about it because honestly, some of the ideas people come up with are hilarious and creative. And just to be clear: I have absolutely no problem with Crocodile being trans if that were ever confirmed. But I do hope that whatever secret Ivankov has over Crocodile is something bigger than just "Crocodile used to be a woman." After all these years, I would love for the reveal to be something nobody expected. Maybe the gender bend could be part of the secret, but not the entire thing. 🤫
5. Admiral backstories.
Yes, I'm talking about Kuzan, Borsalino and even Sakazuki. I want to know what shaped them into the people they are today. What made them choose their versions of justice? How did they meet? Were they friends? Rivals? What was their relationship like before everything changed? Especially Borsalino. He is still such a mystery to me. 🙈
Honorable mention: Why are the Whitebeard Pirates the House Stark of One Piece?
Seriously, why introduce them as this powerful family and then make them suffer so much? 😭 The Payback War especially still bothers me. Yes, they lost. I understand that. But what happened afterwards? I'm happy we found out Marco is alive, I really am, but what about everyone else? Don't just tell me there was a Payback War, the Whitebeard Pirates disbanded, and then move on. Give me something small! Tell me Vista became a sommelier. Tell me Fossa owns a cigar shop. Tell me Jozu is selling diamond engagement rings. I don't care. 😂 I just want to know they are okay. And please... stop making Marco suffer so much. 🥺
Ooof so still not sure these are unpopular opinions but well all i could think of. You're very welcome, sweet anon to hit me up with your own opinions if you want to 😉
hi lovely dreamer ! i simply have to know about The Blooming One ! i love Midsommar so much, and the title (of course hehe) appeals to me ♥ lots of love ! -bouquet
Thank you for asking dear 💕
Oh god i swear that movie messed so damn with my head and i just had this thought about the whitebeard pirates
Okay I don't have much just some brainstorming ideas but i thought about something like you meeting marco and him inviting you to go meet his family for midsommar and it will be yandere and dub-con probably but like reader being the one to become may queen but unlike in the movie she gets offered to pops for some breeding......writing it down makes it sound so weird 😂
A/N: thank you @missbeckman for asking for a nsfw yandere/dub-con Beckman story. I'm gonna be honest this got darker than I had planned when I started it (I had to edit it again after i realized it got a bit too dark), sorry and there will be a totally unnecessary second part 😅🙈. I still hope you like it because i sure as hell had fun
Part 2
Plot: you were a journalist who publiced a story about some underground dealings and mentioned Beckman, a hitman, and he doesn't like the fact that you put his name into the light and kidnaps you. (that plot is so bad, I'm so sorry)
Warnings: modern AU, nsfw, dub-con, yandere, Beck is really mean, oral (receiving, giving), facesitting?, fingering, p in v, restraints, not proofread 🔞⚠️ MDNI ⚠️🔞
Characters: Beckman x FReader
You knew the risk when you wrote it.
Every name in that article was redacted. Every source blurred, every quote carefully chosen to protect the story. Except one. A single sentence, seven goddamn words, that would damn you.
"Rumors trace them to a ghost: Beckman."
You had heard the warnings. Your editor told you to leave it. Even the underworld informants, hardened criminals who laughed in the face of guns, went quiet when you asked about him. Some went missing. Others refused to speak again.
And now, as you woke to the taste of blood in your mouth and something biting into your wrists, you realized, you should have listened.
The room was dim, cold and sparse. The windows were covered letting no light simmer through. The hum of a small fridge, the soft creak of an old floorboard was all ypu heard, and the faint scent of smoke that felt dry, bitter and choking filled your nostrils.
Then you heared it.
The click of a lighter.
A flicker of flame lit the shadows and there he was, sitting calmly in a chair opposite you. Legs spread, elbows resting on his thighs, cigarette dangling from his lips. Gray hair slicked back, his eyes half-lidded and unreadable. There was a gun and a rifle propped against the wall next to him. On the table beside it your phone, your notes, and a printed copy of your article, highlighted and marked.
“You shouldn’t have written my name.”
His voice was low and measured but not angry just...a strange mix of fascination and disappointment.
You swallowed, dry-mouthed. “You're Beckman,” you stammered.
He let the silence hang, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. “You know, for someone who investigates shadows... you’re not very hard to follow.” He nodded towards thecorner of the room.
There were photos on the wall and you were on each of them.
Getting coffee. At your desk. Walking home. In your bathroom.....your fucking bathroom!?!? What the fuck?!?!
You flinched seeing this. “You’ve been stalking me.”
Beckman didn’t blink. “I’ve been observing. Big difference. Didn't expect you to look like this when I started observing but I don't mind that at all,” he mused face unreadable though you swore you saw something close to hunger in his eyes.
You tugged at your wrists, instinctively trying to pull free but it was to no avail. He watched without moving, like a wolf watching prey exhaust itself. He finally exhaled, letting the smoke curl around his lips like a threat.
“Could’ve just killed you,” he murmurred. “Cleaner that way.”
“Then why haven’t you?” you asked, voice sharper than you expected. Braver, or probably just stupid. Maybe both.
He got up slowly, moving closer towering over you. Each step echoed with calculated weight as he approached. Black denim jeans highlighting toned thighs and his black shirt with sleeves rolled up hinting at strong arms and the topmost buttons undone giving you a glimpse of that muscular chest underneath it. The leather shoulder holster cut across his chest like a shadow, silent and lethal. Every piece of his outfit screamed authority, the kind that didn’t need words to demand attention. He didn’t have to touch you to make the chair feel smaller, to make your body betray you with heat where there should only have been fear.
He crouched in front of you, gloved fingers curling around your chin, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. The smoke from his cigarette drifted between you, forcing you to breathe him in, tobacco and danger curling at the back of your throat.
“I read everything you’ve ever written,” Beckman explained. “Even the trash you posted before you got hired. You write like you’re desperate to be understood, desperate to get attention.”
You gritted your teeth trying to yank your head away. The words hit harder than you expected. Where you really doing this to be understood? To make people see you? No, no, you did it because you wanted to unravel those shady actions right, to be the one to reveal the hidden deals, the underworld, to be......the one in the spotlight for uncovering it.
You tensed as realization hit you and you felt anger coil inside you. “Let go of me.”
“I don’t think you get it yet,” he said, voice dropping to a growl. “You made me real the second you printed my name. You pulled me out of the dark. You called me into the light.” His thumb brushed your bottom lip, and you shivered.
“And now,” he breathed, “you’re mine.”
Your heart pounded in your chest. His touch was rough, claiming like you were indeed already his. The air felt too hot, too close. You hated him, you fucking feared him. But your body was just too overwhelmed and didn’t know the difference between adrenaline and arousal, not under his gaze.
He smiled faintly as if he could see that flicker of confusion on your face. “There it is,” he whispered. “You feel it too, don’t you?”
You shook your head but you didn't pull away because your body just didn't move.
You didn’t flinch when he touched you again. That should have scared you more than it did but truth was a messed up part of you did in fact crave the attention.
He removed his gloves slowly finger by finger, one hand after the other before taking one glove and slapping it across your cheek, not too hard to bruise or hurt but enought to sting, making you wince more from shock then from pain though.
His calloused hand brushed your cheek where he had struck you, thumb grazing your lip like he was feeling out the edge of a blade. “You keep looking at me like you’re confused,” he murmured, voice low and steady. “But your thighs keep pressing together like they're hiding something.”
You gasped, instinctively pulling away, but he caught your jaw again, fingers pressing firmly but not painfully into your skin. “That’s the part you hate, isn’t it?” he said. “That you want this. That your body’s already answering for you.”
“I don’t—”
He cut you off with a scolding like tap to your cheek with his hand. Not hard, not violent. Just enough to stop your mouth and burn shame into your skin.
“Don’t lie,” he said. “Not to me. Not when I’ve watched the way you chew your pen when you’re stuck on a line. Not when I witnessed how much you craved attention during your conversations with your boss and co-workers. Not when I've seen how you touch yourself after every confrontation, agter every new crumble of information you received about me. You like danger, sweetheart. You beg for it with every breath.”
Your face burnt at that. He had been stalking you enough to not only see you in your bathroom but apparantely also in your bedroom because the shameful trith was you had indeed touched yourself after every day you wrote about him, every time you gathered new information about him, always imagining how he'd look, how he'd speak, how he'd smell and now, now the man you had been thinking about, writing, hell even dreaming about without ever seeing him, was standing right in front of you.
He chuckled, low, rumbling and mean as he studied you. “Good girl,” he murmured, as your breathing stuttered. “Now. Be still.”
You didn’t even resist when he moved to spread your thighs wider than the chair you were tied to. He knelt in front of you with the patience of a man unbothered by time, dragging your legs apart despite the trembling in your muscles. Your skirt rode up and you felt the air on your skin.
You squirmed in the chair, wrists straining against the zip ties. “What are you doing?”
He cocked his head. “Teaching you what happens to little reporters who poke around in the wrong corners.”
You opened your mouth to object, to say something, anything, but the words caught the moment his fingers pushed your panties aside and your breath stuttered.
You were wet. Embarrassingly so.
Beckman saw it and smiled, that was exactly what he had hoped for. Your own body betraying you.
“Fuck. I knew it,” he muttered, voice half-wrecked with desire and disgust. “You’ve been aching for it. Should’ve just knocked on my door and asked.”
He dipped down, licking a slow, deliberate stripe up your cunt almost like a threat making your whole body jolt.
“Nnh—!”
You bit your lip hard, trying not to make a sound but that only seemed to encourage him. His hands pressed your thighs wider as he settled lower, mouth hot and deliberate between your legs.
“You taste like guilt,” he growled against your skin. “Guilt, attention and need.”
His tongue was ruthless. Deep, slow drags up your slit, flicks over your clit with cruel precision. He didn’t care if you wanted this. He only cared that your body was responding to him and it definitely did. Shamefully. Visibly.
You tried to close your legs, to buck your hips away, but he just tightened his grip, one big hand pressing your stomach down as his mouth worked you open.
“You’re gonna cum,” he said between strokes. “And then I’m going to remind you what it means to belong to someone. You don’t write about me. You don’t run. You don’t think without my permission.”
“I—I hate you—”
“Yeah?” he murmured. “Then cum on my tongue and prove it.”
His mouth latched onto your clit and sucked and your back arched as good as it could in your restraints. He kept lapping and sucking and it became pretty fast too much for you and you shattered.
White-hot pleasure rushed through you, dragging a cry from your throat you didn’t know was in you. You came hard, gasping, thighs trembling around his head. Your eyes fluttered open and he was staring at you the whole time, drinking in every twitch, every moan, like a starving man.
When you slumped back in the chair, breathing ragged, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood.
“Thought so.”
He unbuckled his belt, slow and unhurried.
“You wanted a story,” he muttered, letting his pants fall low on his hips, cock already half-hard. “Now you’ll live one.”
Your breath was still ragged when he rose, belt undone, cock hard and heavy in his hand. He was fucking thick, bigger than you expected, bigger than you had hoped for and you instinctively tensed when he gripped your chin, forcing your head back to meet his gaze.
“Look at that,” Beckman murmured, stroking himself lazily as he watched you. “Tied up, dripping, ruined and still pretending you’ve got pride. All while that smart mouth of yours is still untouched.”
He tilted your head further, thumb pressing into your cheek until your lips parted slightly.
“Let’s fix that.”
You tried to turn your head, but his grip tightened rough and commanding. “No?,” he growled. “You don’t get to say no. You don’t get to say anything until I say so.”
You froze as he pressed the head of his cock against your lips, hot and heavy, slick with precum.
“Open.”
You hesitated pressing ypur lips tightly together.
That though only made him smirk and he reached up and held your nose until you gasped for air, mouth falling open.
“There’s my good little reporter,” he said, voice low and vicious. “Obedient when it counts, with a little extra help that is.”
He slid into your mouth without warning.
Your throat locked instantly, he was too thick, too deep and he didn’t stop. His hand fisted in your hair as he sank inch after inch past your lips, hitting the back of your throat. You gagged, eyes widening and tears pricking at the corners.
“Breathe through your nose,” Beckman said. “You wanted the truth, right? Wanted to find me, to see the man you've been writing for so long, been collecting so much information about and been nonstop thinking about. So.....here I am.”
He pulled out halfway, letting you gasp for a second only to slam forward again. This time deeper and a little harsher though making sure not to seriously cause you pain.
You choked. Tears spilled down your cheeks as your throat convulsed around him, spit drooling from the corners of your mouth. But he held you firm, hips rolling in steady, punishing rhythm.
“Look at you,” he growled, breath thick with smoke and hunger. “Fuckin’ made for this. You look better gagging on cock than behind a desk sucking on a pen.”
You were drowning in him, his voice, his body, his scent. Everything was Beckman. You couldn’t even think. You were reduced to heat, shame and the ache in your jaw.
He groaned, low in his chest. “Throat’s tight as hell. We're going to have to train it. Stretch you open until you can take me without a flinch.”
He pressed in deeper, hips flush to your face makingyou inhale his scent. His cock bulged in your throat, and your eyes rolled back as he held you there, no escape. Just the sound of your strangled gagging and his breathless groans. He kept fucking your mouth until you felt his hot seed fill you and only then did he finally pull out.
You coughed, drool, his seed and spit dripping down your chin as he smeared the head of his cock across your lips.
He looked down at you, marked, ruined, crying and smiled.
“Perfect,” he whispered. “No voice left to ask questions. Just a mouth to take what I give.”
You were panting, trembling but even now, your thighs clenched, soaked and aching and to make matters worse he saw it and he loved it.
“Still wet after all that?” he mocked. “God, you dirty little thing.”
He leaned down, his mouth brushing your ear.
“I’m not gonna let you cum again tonight,” he said, soft and cruel. “Not until your throat can take me without gagging.”
You whimpered and he kissed your temple.
“Don’t worry. We’ve got time. You’re not going anywhere, you're mine now. Isn't that what you wanted? Attention? Because now you've got it, completely,” he whispered in your ear, his breath burning against your skin in the worst or maybe best way possible.
He straightened and smirked lazily before grabbing a cigarette and leaving you tied as he began cleaning you up.
Beckman said nothing at first. Just unzipped a duffel bag, removed a damp towel and a small bottle of antiseptic, and crouched beside you like a soldier inspecting a broken weapon. His touch was clinical but his eyes were hungry.
He wiped your chin first, fingers brushing along the raw line your spit carved down your jaw. Then your cheeks followed by your swollen lips. His thumb pressed into your mouth, definitely not necessary, sweeping your tongue like he owned it.
“Messy girl,” he murmured.
You flinched slightly, but he tuted. “Don’t start pulling away now. You did so well.”
He moved lower, slipping the towel between your legs, cleaning the slick that still clung to your thighs. The fabric was rough, and he was far from being gentle. But somehow the motion felt... intimate and attentive. It was as if you were being tended to like you were something special.
“You’ll get used to the ache,” he said, as if comforting you. “Jaw’s gonna stay sore. But don't worry we’ll work on that.”
He tossed the towel aside, then leaned in close, his nose brushing your temple, his breath hot, smelling of smoke, sweat and something feral.
“You’re not going back to that shitty apartment of yours,” he muttered. “Not that life. You dragged my name into the light. You wanted to write a story that would change your boring life forever,” he chuckled, deep and low. “This is it. Right here. Under me. Mine, you will finally get all the attention you wanted to achieve with your stories.”
You were too weak to fight but part of you wonderd if you even wanted to anymore. There was something terrifyingly warm in how he looked at you now and you hated yourself for noticing it. You hated yourself that deep down you knew he was right. That you wanted recognition, wanted people to see you, wanted to break out of your boring life with a breathtaking and shocking story but you didn’t expect the story to change so drastically and have you become the protagonist of it.
You were ripped out of your thoughts when Beckman undid your restraints without a word.
Your arms fell slack to your sides, angry red marks left on your wrists as they tingled with returning blood flow. He took both of them in his hands and almost gently kissed them, like he was trying to soothe the ache in them. You should have bolted, screamed, fought but before you could do anything he had already lifted you into his arms.
And worse of all, you let him because deep down it felt.....good.
He carried you to the bed tucked in the far corner. The sheets were rough and they smelled faintly of gun oil, tobacco and something earthy. He lowered you onto the mattress and pulled the covers over you like you were something precious. Then, to your confusion, he removed the leather strap across his chest, then bgean undoing all the buttons of his shirt before taking it off and finally slipped out of his boots and dropped his denim jeans.
You didn’t want to watch him but somehow you couldn’t tear your gaze away from him. You saw the scars on his back, chest and arms now fully and you knew that each one of them told a story, some of them you had uncovered or learnt about during your investigation others seemed older, harsher.
He placed his clothes neatly on the chair near the bed before he walked back to you and slowly lowered himself down, the mattress dipping as he lay down next to you, pulling you into him, tucking your head beneath his chin.
You were too stunned to move or say, hell even think, anything. All ypu could do was feel the solid muscles of his chest underneath you, feel the warmth of his skin against yours and inhale the scent of him.
“You’re not ready to sleep alone, not while there is still some fire left in you,” he said softly while his fingers stroked your hair, rhythmically and slowly.
“Gotta break the old habits gently,” he added. “You’re gonna be spending every night like this now. Curled up where you belong.”
The moment he felt you tense he only pulled you tighter against him.
“Shh. Don’t fight it. Wouldn't want me to have to punish you would you?” His voice dropped, rough and yet somehow warm as you froze. “You’ll thank me eventually. When the world forgets you. When you forget it. When all that’s left is me. When all you crave is my attention.”
Your breath hitched at how calm and final he said that but you tried to force your body to relax not wanting to be punished.
“That’s it. Breathe. We’ll start again after you rested,” he said and kissed your hair.
At one point you drifted off, your body exhausted, pressed to the chest of the man who was already rewriting your reality.
And he watched you sleep like you were the most precious thing in the world, like you were the one thing he didn't want to give up, the only thing he wanted to keep forever.
You dreamt of heat and warmth, hands exploring your body. Squeezing your boobs, flicking and pinching your nipples and your body reacting to every touch. You felt your body arch into those hands, that were strong, much bigger than yours, callouses and scars on them. You felt your breath hitch and your heart slam against your ribs as you tried to speak, to whimper, anything but no sound came out.
One hand began descending downwards over your bare stomach down your hips, caressing your inner thighs before you felt one finger dragging slowly and deliberately over your folds making your back arch while the other hand kept toying with your nipples. You felt like floating, heat pooling inside you. You opened your mouth to scream for more, scream for release but again, no words came out. Your fingers dug deep into the sheets as your breath came in gasps. It felt just so good you felt two of his fingers now trace through your slick folds and without warning push inside, spreading you open and that was when you woke up.
But the feeling didn't disappear because when you opened your eyes you were met with Beckman's overwhelming scent as he hovered above you and to your shock one hand pinching and flicking your nipple the other between your thighs, two fingers deep inside your cunt.
He was naked now himself and his cock, hard, thick, leaking, was pressed to your belly before you could even speak.
“You’re finally awake,” he said, voice flat and heavy with intent. “Good. Now let's continue where we left off.”
You didn't get a chance to obey. His fingers curled just right inside you hitting that sweet spot over and over again while his thumb circled your clit in a maddening pace. His other hand moved from your nipple to grip your hair, yanking your head back against the pillow, only for his lips to attack your throat, sucking and biting the tender skin.
You were a moaning mess by now, back arching into him as you felt yourself getting closer and closer to your orgasm but just as you were about to teether over the edge he stopped and pulled away from you.
“Not yet sweetheart,” he mused smirking. “You gonna earn it first,” he added and moved up to cage your face between his thighs. His cock hard and already leaking pressed against your lips. “Open,” he commanded and this time you obeyed.
Your ovedience was rewarded with him pushing slowly past ylur lips, inch by inch, no teasing, no commands. When his cock hit the back of your throat you gagged immediately making him groan like it was music to his ears.
“Throat’s still tight,” he muttered, hips snapping forward. “Guess we’ll keep working on it but you're doing better sweetheart.”
You clawed weakly at the sheets as he fucked your face like it was owned to him, like your mouth was made to be his. Your jaw ached instantly, spit soaking your chin, nose pressed flush to his pelvis.
“Try biting,” he growled, voice cold and amused. “See what happens.”
You didn't, didn't dare to. He used your mouth like it was entirely his, rutting deep and rough until your eyes watered and your throat convulsed around him with every thrust. You felt yourself go hazy, floaty, like your body was slipping away from you.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “Look at you. You used to be a decent writer. Now you’re mine, my pretty good girl.”
You could’t respond. Your mouth was too raw. Your limbs were trembling. But something low in your stomach tightened at the words, ashamed, humiliated and so embarassingly wet again and your tongue, it carefully and shyly caressed his cock inside your mouth. His hum told you that he definitely approved of that.
“Oh, you cheeky little thing, such a good girl,” he murmured, suddenly pulling out before he finished and immediately moved down your body again.
In one swift motion, he grabbed your thighs, flipped you onto your stomach, and dragged your hips up. You cried out in surprise, cheek pressed to the mattress, wrists pinned under you by his knee. His fingers found your cunt and he growled.
“Soaked again?” he snarled. “After all that?”
He slapped your ass, once, twice, three times until you cried out and jolted under him a heat pooling between your thighs, heart racing from a mix of embarrassment, tension and utter need. Before you could linger on the sting on your ass you felt his cock against your cunt, pressing into you, stretching you open. He buried himself to the hilt making you scream out.
He groaned into your neck, teeth sinking into your shoulder hard enough to leave his mark.
“Gonna own you,” he panted. “Fuck a new purpose into you. Make you forget you were ever anything but mine, you ever thought about anyone else but me.”
He rutted into you viciously, pace unrelenting, the sound of skin slapping against skin obscene in the dim room. You moaned louder and louder, body jolting forward with every thrust, his grip bruising your hips.
“You’re gonna take every drop,” he snarled and then he found your clit.
He rubbed it hard and fast, forcing the orgasm out of you like a weapon. You shattered with a cry, body shaking, twitching under him but he didn't let up.
He kept going, fucking you through it, pounding into you like your orgasm was an insult, like your body's surrender was just the beginning.
You were gasping, shaking, overstimulated and raw and still he kept pushing.
“Cum again,” he demanded, voice savage. “Now.”
You did, screaming his name.
And that was when he followed. With a grunt and a bruising thrust, he emptied himself deep inside you, hot, thick and obscene, groaning like he was breaking something as he spilled everything into you.
He didn’t pull out, not right away, just leaned over you, cock still twitching inside, his breath ragged at your neck.
“Good girl,” he whispered calm as always before he kissed your shoulder, gently and sweet.
You though were panting, body aching, feeling exhausted and humiliated from how much it had turned you on, how much you had enjoyed this, how good he had felt inside you.
“You did so well, my perfect darling, you're mine,” he murmured, while his cum leaked down your thighs as exhaustion took over you and you drifted off again.
You woke to the smell of cigarettes and coffee.
Your limbs ached, deep, bruised, stretched in ways they weren’t meant to be. Your throat burnt, your thighs were still sticky and the sheets beneath you were damp with sweat and cum. You shifted, groaning softly feeling the soreness between your legs. The dull, aching throb of overstimulation.
You blinked, eyes adjusting to the low light. You were still in his bed, still naked and now marked by him.
And Beckman was sitting beside you. Now dressed except for his shirt and leather holster. Reading a newspaper like this was the fucking Sunday after church. A mug in one hand and a cigarette between his lips.
He glanced down at you. “Mornin’, sweetheart.” His voice was casual. Affectionate. Like he didn’t just use your body like a toy and filled you to the brim hours ago.
You sat up slowly, painfully, and the blanket fell off your shoulders. His eyes tracked your chest, your bruised hips, the bite marks on your throat.
“You’re leaking,” he said, like he was talking about the weather.
You instinctively tried to cover yourself, but he clicked his tongue. “Don’t. Let me look at what’s mine.”
His eyes were half-lidded, dangerous and calm causing you to press your thighs together but that only made him chuckle.
“I’ve got breakfast.”
He gestured to the nightstand. There was a tray with eggs, toast, fruit, a bottle of water and even painkillers.
You eyed it warily not quite trusting it.
Beckman smiled like he was amused by your suspicion. “It’s not drugged,” he said. “You’re already not leaving and you'vebeen very obedient, so there's no need for it.”
You still didn’t move, so he set the tray on your lap and plucked a strawberry from the plate, holding it to your lips.
“Open.”
You hesitated causing him to raise an eyebrow.
“You let me fuck your throat raw,” he said, voice dropping. “You can eat from my hand.”
Your lips parted automatically and he pushed the fruit between them, brushing your cheek with his thumb, watching you chew.
“Good girl,” he cooed and you choked on the taste of humiliation.
He took a long drag of his cigarette and exhaled slowly. “You’re adapting faster than I expected,” he mused. “Thought I’d have to keep you restrained another day or two.”
You stared at him. “You’re insane,” you managed to say.
He shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m the only man who’s ever seen you for what you are, the only one who knows how to make you feel good and give you what you want.”
You opened your mouth to argue but he was already leaning in, his voice soft and low and terrifyingly tender. “You spent your life chasing danger. Writing about violence. Peeling back the skin of the world just to see what bleeds. You wanted to be devoured, wanted someone to see you, someone who saw more than a pretty face, you threw yourself into danger to be acknowledged, respected, show what you are capable of. You wanted someone to claim you as his.”
He paused and kissed your forehead. “I just listened.”
You trembled under the weight of it, that was not true, you were not seeking out acknowledgement, you weren’t out to be devoured, not to be in danger you just loved the thrill, the thrill of it, the thrill of exposing something, the thrill of almost getting caught, the, the praise ypu received after a good story, the thought of someone claim— wait, that was exactly what he meant....but that couldn't be.....no that wasn't the reason.....it wasn't. No, no, no.
Or maybe yes....
He set his coffee down and stroked your hair. “No more deadlines. No more editors. No more people looking down on you, laughing when they saw a pretty face wanting to uncover something, overlooking you because your skirt wasn't short enough. Just me. This bed. Maybe someday… a collar.”
You froze.
“Mm. That’s got you clenching. Fuck, you’re so easy to read, I love it.”
His hand slipped under the blanket and right between your legs. He groaned when he found you still wet, still messy.
“Can’t believe you’re already open again,” he muttered. “You want more?”
You shook your head though not as convincing as you wanted it to be because deep down you weren't if you really didn't want more.
“That wasn’t a real no,” he mused leaning closer. “but don't worry first we finish breakfast, everything else can wait, it's not like we're in a hurry” he added grabbing your chin gently and kissing you deeply.
You looked into his eyes utterly confused and lost and Beckman, calm and authoritative Beckman grinned into the kiss like....... a man in love.
Taglist: @jintaka-hane @fleetadmiralsoffice @hakiofdreams @welcome-to-the-grandline @sailing-to-laugh-tale @legends-of-the-grandline @devilfruitdiaries @waannty (once again I'm just reminding you that if you want me to stop tagging you please tell me or if someone wants to get added)
Fully Human, Ch. 27 (Sci Fi AU, Marco x Reader, DARK, humans as pets)
18+ MDNI | on Ao3 | the other chapters
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Marco POV
“So you’ll be on your own for a while yoi. The other Commanders and I are going to be in an important meeting for quite some time. You should contact me if there’s an emergency, but otherwise I will not be checking my controller. I also have it set not to alert me of your vitals unless there is a dire medical emergency. Do you understand?” Marco asked you. You were standing outside the door to the Commander’s lounge, where their meeting would shortly be taking place. You blinked up at him with your large human eyes and smiled.
“Of course. I’ll be fine, Marco. I’m not gonna do anything,” you asserted with a small roll of your eyes. Marco smiled back at you fondly, wishing he could caress you one last time. Well, one last time for now. He would shortly be separated from you for an unknown length of time, but he would recover you. There was no way you’d get away from an Emperor’s crew, not really. But even so, the thought of you not being around him all the time had his heart in a vice. He wanted to throw you over his shoulder and lock you in his room but instead he gave a short trill.
“Goodbye, Luna,” Marco said, trying to hold back the emotions in his voice. He shouldn’t have said it at all, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d mentioned that he wasn’t tracking your vitals so you wouldn’t worry that your anxiety or fast beating heart rate would attract attention. They wanted your “escape” to be as smooth as possible, so you’d be able to lead them to the human colony. But frankly, you didn’t appear to be worried at all.
“See ya,” you said, giving him a quick hug around the middle. Marco sputtered, surprised by your actions, before embracing you in return. He held you tightly, his cheek resting on the top of your head.
“Tch, stop. Lemme go,” you whined with a roll of your eyes, pushing at his chest. With that, you turned around and walked away without so much as a backwards glance. Marco lingered by the door, watching you until you turned the corner and he could no longer see you. If he and Izou hadn’t confirmed that you were leaving today, he would have thought everything was normal. But based on the footage they’d seen, you were at your most ready.
Marco entered the Commander’s lounge, where everyone was already waiting. They did have a meeting right now – everyone was gathered to watch you make your escape. It was almost like a live event, with multiple lenses on multiple screens tracking you as you moved down the hallways. Marco made his way to the front of the chairs, plopping down just as you were rounding the hallway towards his room.
Marco was curious about your plans to “get away,” even though they were helping you to escape. The other Commanders wanted to watch as well, and were also interested in seeing Lafftale, the nearly fantastical location so close to being found. Everyone knew it would take some time to get to, but the excitement was nearly palpable as the Commanders gathered round to watch the screens.
“Right on time for the show,” Ace said, slinging an arm around Marco’s shoulders. Marco shrugged him off – he wanted to watch you every second to make sure you weren’t harmed.
“He’s not in the mood, Ace,” Izou chided, sitting down primly next to Marco. Izou was sipping on a cup of hot tea, like he was watching some vid on the screen.
“Nothing’s happened, though,” Ace said, his tail flicking.
“It’s about to, look. She’s entering Marco’s room,” Izou said, a tentacle pointing towards the largest screen.
“Are you sure she’s gonna escape? She seems so chill right now, maybe she’s just gonna relax,” Thatch said, already on the edge of his seat. If there was someone who was more anxious than Marco, it was Thatch.
“I’m certain. Watch –” Izou encouraged before taking another sip. Marco watched you as you moved through his room with familiar ease, stopping for a moment to press your small hand on his bed. You made a wistful sigh before making your way to the small container of your belongings that Marco had given you. Rifling through it briefly, you grabbed the satchel that Ace had given you, checking its content before slinging it over your shoulder.
“Aw, she’s taking the bag I gave her!” Ace said happily, bouncing in his seat.
“And the flower I gifted her as well. And a feather from your plumage as well I see,” Vista said with approval as you shoved the Eternal Romance flower he had given you into your bag along with the feather Marco had. Marco hummed, pleased to see you taking a reminder of him with you. At least now he knew you’d be thinking of him, not just hoping.
“Aw, but not any of the bows. Maybe she didn’t like the colors. I tried so hard to guess what she would like, but I musta guessed wrong,” Jiru said sadly as you rifled through the contents of the box, tossing out the myriad bows you’d been given over the weeks. “Didn’t you give her one too, Izou?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t surprise me she isn’t taking them,” he replied with a smile. “Oh? What’s that she’s grabbing?” Izou asked, his tentacles wriggling. Marco licked his lips as he watched you delicately put the rose toy on top of everything and patted it gently. You were much more careful with the rose than you had been with the priceless flower Vista had given you.
“What is that item?” Izou asked, his eyes flashing with amusement.
“It’s a toy yoi,” Marco replied, trying to keep interest to a minimum. Izou hummed as his tentacles curled tighter, but Marco ignored it for the moment.
You grabbed a containment cube and tapped on its screen, making it follow behind you. There was a clear plan in your mind as you worked quickly, taking item after item and putting it in your container. You took the protective suit Marco had given you for Kyuka, as well as your red blanket, and Marco’s pillow. Your eyes flicked to Marco’s blanket, and you paused in your motions. Seconds ticked by before you rolled it up and put it inside the container.
After a few moments, you gave everything in the room one last look before nodding to yourself and heading out the door. Marco’s heart fell in his chest – you really were planning on leaving. At least you would have something that smelled like him, Marco thought to himself.
Next, you headed towards Marco’s lab. Marco wasn’t surprised in the slightest, he knew you would want the vaccines and medicine. There was chattering among the Commanders, but Marco could only focus on you. And just as he had anticipated, you beelined for the cabinet that held the syringes and vials. You scanned the vials slowly, your finger under each word as you sounded it out. You licked your lips and nodded before carefully wrapping all the vials in your blanket and putting it back in the cube. It seemed you took every single vaccine and treatment Marco had left out for you. You didn’t know they were fake, but it wouldn’t matter. Marco would be there with you to treat all the humans, and it wouldn’t hurt them if they received a shot anyway.
“She learned to read!” Blenheim exclaimed. “Good job, Luna.”
“Yes, she’s been working quite diligently at it yoi,” Marco said absently. He watched you take your Eurt glass and wrap it in his blanket with a small smile to yourself. Marco would have to get more glasses made, since you liked them so much. Even though you were trying to leave him, Marco couldn’t help but think of ways to make you happier upon your return. Once all the humans were safe and secure, Marco was sure you’d settle down. With no more worries about your friends and companions, you’d be much more open to living on the Moby, far from the harsh conditions of Lafftale.
“Learned faster than me,” Ace said, like he was proud of your achievement.
“It’s not a competition. You already knew some other language, but not Common,” Curiel said consolingly. Ace just laughed. You continued raiding his cabinets, taking nearly all the supplies within them. Gauze, bandages, salves, thermometers, wound cleaner – anything that you thought might be useful was tossed into your container. It made Marco wonder – what was going on in Lafftale? He supposed he would find out soon enough.
“But what’s she up to now?” he asked, his ears perking up.
“I’m not entirely sure,” Marco replied honestly. You were rummaging around in his cabinets, clearly looking for something. You quickly placed gauze and bandages on the counter, but you continued to search for something else.
Suddenly you stood up straight, pleased with yourself. Marco strained to see what you had in your hands…it was the fabric cutter he had used on your original Wapolium suit. Without hesitation, you turned it on and began slicing off the protective youngling suit that Marco had put on you all those weeks prior. To Marco’s growing horror, you were naked within moments, the suit falling to the floor in shreds.
“Woo hoo! Go Luna!” Namur exclaimed. Marco’s face flamed – what on Eurt were you up to?! You needed the suit! It was both protective and soft against your skin, how were you going to cope without it?
“Alright, I don’t think we need to watch –” Marco stood up to block some of the screens, not wanting everyone else to fawn over your nude body. Yes, he had sent a video of you nude before, but that was different. That was scientific, whereas you being nude now was lewd torture for everyone. You put away the fabric shears but were still nude as you shuffled around, looking for something else.
“Move, Marco,” Rakuyo muttered, shoving Marco back to his seat with a heavy hand on his shoulder. Marco grumbled, but didn’t really have a rebuttal. Everyone was there to watch your escape, and he supposed this was part of it. Marco crossed his arms and looked away – this wasn’t how your escape was supposed to go.
“Aww, her pussy hair grew back,” Thatch cooed, looking up at the screen.
“It’s called pubic hair,” Marco grumbled.
“It’s quite sweet,” Izou chimed in. “I would never shave it off if I had a human. Perhaps trim it,” he said speculatively.
“Oh, but her foot-fingers aren’t painted anymore,” Thatch pointed out with a sad sigh.
“Toes,” Marco supplied. “And no, it wore off.”
“Her tummy is rounder now,” Vista commented. “She looks much healthier. Great work, Thatch.”
“Thank you, I’ve been feeding her meat non-stop –” Thatch responded happily, but Marco was still annoyed that you were nude on screen for everyone to see. You were now bent over, looking at something in a lower cabinet, and Marco didn’t think he’d seen the Commanders paying such rapt attention to anything since they fought the Roger pirates.
“It’s not a tummy, she is an adult human female yoi. It’s her stomach,” Marco tossed out petulantly. Secretly, he did think of it as your tummy, but that was private!
“I love it. It’s soft and squishy and cute. It’s definitely a tummy,” Vista retorted.
“What about her ass? Much rounder,” someone pointed out, to a round of general approval.
“I’m lookin’, but not at her tummy. Look at that sweet cunt, doesn’t it make you want to bury your–”
“ENOUGH,” Marco barked, completely unwilling to listen to any further commentary on your body. By now, you had moved on to doing something else. Marco frowned, you had already surprised him by cutting off the suit, what else could you have in store? Hopefully the rest of your plan aligned with what they had laid out for you and he could stop stressing so much.
Now you were prodding and squeezing your shoulder blade, right where…your tracker was…. But you couldn’t be thinking of doing that, could you? Marco exhaled a shaky breath, he needed to compose himself. After all, there was no way for you to get it out from underneath your skin. Marco had purposely taken all sharp objects out of the lab in order to prevent you from obtaining a weapon. Marco didn’t think you could hurt any of them, but he didn’t want to risk the possibility of you hurting yourself either.
“Ooh she got one of your talons, Marco,” Atmos squealed. Marco’s attention snapped to the screen, his sulk gone. And indeed, you had pulled one of his talon ends out of your satchel and set it on the lab table. Marco’s mouth hung open, that was what you wanted his talon for!? Had you been planning as far in advance as Kyuka? His hand itched to spank you on the spot for being so naughty.
You wiped your skin with rubbing alcohol, like you’d done this action hundreds of times before. Marco watched in growing horror as you squeezed your skin and tapped the middle of the area with your finger. You kept your eyes on the spot, grabbed Marco’s talon and took a deep breath. You wouldn’t…. you couldn’t… Marco couldn’t tear his eyes from the screen as you exhaled, your eyes filled with determination.
“HELL YEAH LUNA!” Haruta cheered as you sliced into your skin with Marco’s talon. You had unerringly cut right where the tracker was. Red blood immediately welled from your wound as you pushed your finger into the incision, digging around for the tracker. The crew applauded you as you mutilated yourself, your precious blood running in rivulets down your arm.
“She really is like one of us –”
“Whoa, her blood is red. So weird –”
“LUNA!” Marco yelled, his mouth open in abject horror. How could you do this to yourself? You were hurt, you’d get an infection, you would – he need to get to –
“Hold him,” Izou said calmly, still drinking his tea. Ace’s warm limbs were immediately wrapped around Marco, pulling him back down onto the soft couches. Marco hadn’t even realized he had stood up, he was so engrossed in watching you.
“Stop it!” Marco barked, trying to push Ace off him. But for all his faults, Ace was one of the best grapplers on the ship, and frankly better than Marco. Marco could not disentangle himself from Ace's capable limbs, no matter how hard he tried. It felt like the more Marco struggled, the more entangled he became.
“Nah, Izou warned us this might happen,” Ace said cheerfully, his tail shifting positions to wrap around Marco more securely. “You need to relax - we want her to get away, right? To find the other humans, yeah? She’s got a small cut, she’ll be fine,” Ace said, his voice calm.
“But she –”
“But she’s fine. We’re all watching her. If something goes wrong, we can help her. Nothing too bad has happened. I even made that new pod look like her old one for her. 10-5 is ready and able to be controlled remotely,” Ace reasoned with Marco.
“Chill, man,” Ace said as you finally pulled the tracker out of your shoulder with a shudder. You held it triumphantly before your eyes before narrowing them at the small device. Frankly, Marco was surprised you remembered about the tracker. He purposefully hadn’t mentioned it to you in a very long time, hoping you’d forget all about it. It was one of his failsafes to ensure they never lost you completely, that there was always some tether between you and him. Luckily, your controller was still locked on you, and he didn’t think you’d figure out a way to get it off. It was only a pressure lock, but still, you couldn’t produce enough force to make it unlock.
You held the tracker between your fingers for a moment, as if you were considering what to do with it. Setting it down on the table, you put a medical patch on your shoulder and allowed it to adhere to your skin. At least you were taking care of yourself a little bit, Marco thought, slightly mollified by the self cleaning patch.
Next, you reached for the secondary suit Marco had given you for Kyuka. You pressed the textile disc onto your chest and waited for the tougher suit to wrap over your body. There were manifold groans in the room as your body was soon covered and no longer available for their visual perusal. Marco groaned because he was concerned the Wapolium suit was going to shred your sensitive skin. It was of a higher quality than the one he had found you in, but was still too rough for you to wear directly on your body. Why would you do that? You weren’t going to be able to sit for a week after he got you back.
You grabbed the tracker and left the lab, the containment cube following closely behind you. Passing by Marco’s room once again, you opened the door and tossed the tracker in without a second glance. By now Marco had calmed down enough that Ace had loosened his grip. Ace was now leaning on Marco, and Marco looped an arm around Ace. Maybe he did need a little bit of emotional support.
“Clever. So if you were tracking her, it would show she’s in your room. She’s doing really well,” Blamenco praised you. Marco frowned, he didn’t want you to be doing well, he wanted everything to go smoothly so there were no hiccups. Still, it did give him some measure of pride to see you accomplishing your goal so intelligently.
The Commanders watched eagerly as you made your way to the kitchens, stopping momentarily when a crew member hailed you. You pretended nothing was amiss, smiling but quickly walking away. Marco gritted his teeth, the crew had been explicitly told not to bother you, but you were too interesting for your own good. Soon you made your way into the kitchen, going straight for the cupboard that Thatch had shown to you.
“Oh! She remembered! I’m so glad,” Thatch cooed as you piled all the food trays into your container. Unbeknownst to you, they’d also stocked pod 10-5 with human safe food, but Marco was glad to see that you were seriously preparing for your journey. Lafftale must be quite far, because you were taking every single human-safe item that was in the cabinet.
“Tch. ‘Course she remembered, she’s not an idiot. She’s smarter than y’give ‘er credit for. She made it in space by herself for a while before we met her,” Fossa grumbled. You’d spent more time with Fossa recently, Marco had heard about your forays into the engineering bays. Apparently you had a keen interest in the workings of the ship and had quizzed Fossa about the ship for a few hours. You must have made quite the impression on Fossa, Marco reflected. The Commander was known to be fair and reasonable, but not always so lavish with praise.
“Barely,” Marco muttered, watching you close the door to the cupboard again. “She was quite sick when I found her. Nearly dead. I worry she may be nearing that state soon yoi.”
“She will be completely fine. Release and catch,” Izou assured Marco, a tentacle patting Marco’s knee.
“But where’s she going? The escape pods aren’t that way,” Ace commented, his ears twitching. “She’s going more towards the center of the ship, but how’s that gonna help her?” And, indeed, you were walking closer and closer to the central spoke of the ship. Since the kitchen and dining hall was designed to be accessible, it was located in the middle of the ship. You walked with purpose to the main mast from which all other levels and floors emanated, your fingers trailing along the wall as if looking for something.
Everyone fell into silence as they watched you stop, feeling the groove of where the maintenance hatch was. You looked up and tapped at your controller nonchalantly, like you were sending a message to Marco. Perhaps Marco had been correct in his initial assessment of you – humans were excellent liars it seemed.
“What’s she –” Jiru’s sentence was cut off as you brought up a picture of you and Fossa standing next to each other on the engineering deck, both of your hands up in the air facing the camera. You were smiling brightly and Fossa was allowing the picture to be taken, so he must have been in a fabulous mood. Using your nimble fingers, you zoomed in until Fossa’s hand was the only image available on the picture. Tapping on the hatch had a screen popup asking for authorization. You held up the picture to the scanner. Everyone leaned forward in their seats, watching you attempt to override their complex security.
“Tch. This little liar told me it was a human gesture,” Fossa grumbled, crossing his arms.
“Me too. I took one just like that with her,” Ace commented, scratching his chin.
“What she’s doing won’t work,” Jozu stated as he watched you intently. “The tech is advanced, it will recognize that it is an image of Fossa’s hand, not his actual –”
“It didn’t,” Izou noted cooly as the scanner chirped happily. The hatch popped open, granting you access to the main spoke of the ship. Jozu’s mouth hung open as your hand went into your satchel.
“But - it - I -” Jozu stammered before typing on his controller, presumably to his division. “That’s not - she –” Outwardly, Marco was shocked along with the rest of the crew. Inwardly, he was both proud as well as felt a growing sense of vindication. Now the crew would see your ingenuity and cleverness, how much trouble you really were.
Marco watched as you threw a few handfuls of something from your satchel down the mast. Afterwards, you also tossed one handful up, small tinkling sounds resounding as whatever that was spread through the main mast.
“Ugh foreign debris is so annoying to get out of the spoke. And Fossa’s spiderlings can’t always understand what we’re looking for. I bet we’re gonna have to go in there,” Ace whined. “Whaddya think she threw in there? Incendiary material?” You shut the door to the hatch carefully and patted it twice, like it was a friend to you. Shortly thereafter you walked away, your cube still trailing behind you.
“Is that her whole distraction? I don’t think that will –”
Loud booms resounded through the ship, but nothing strong enough to trigger any kind of panic for the general crew. There was always something happening on the Moby, and these explosions weren’t particularly strong.
“Heh. Smart, but not gonna work. The masts are fire resistant from the inside. Actually, they’re designed to snuff fire out. So if she put some kind of bomb –” but Fossa’s words died as he started getting pings on his Controller. The Commander bit his cigar as he started reading. His compound eyes moved rapidly, his satisfied grin quickly changing to a scowl.
“Fuck,” Fossa swore, swiping through rapidly incoming messages.
“Those aren’t bombs, those are –”
“FUCK!” Fossa repeated, puffing on his cigar furiously.
“Ace, come with me,” Fossa ordered, despite being of equal rank. “It’s fucking pop green. Massive vines are rapidly growing in every power shaft on the ship. We need to clear them out before they choke out the tech. They’re not going to damage the power or air, but they’re currently expanding at an exponential rate in the main drive of the ship. As I just said, we can’t use fire to get them out and apparently they’re hearty and still fucking growing,” Vista explained hurriedly to the assembled Commanders.
“Oh, fuck. That’s actually – wow, good for her, but this is like, actually bad. If there’s no main drive, the ship can’t move –” Ace exclaimed, running after Fossa. Marco raised an eyebrow. A warning signal went off in the ship as Fossa’s gravelly voice resounded through the ship.
ALL ENGINEERING CREW REPORT TO THE MAIN ENGINEERING DECK REPEAT ALL ENGINEERING CREW REPORT TO THE MAIN ENGINEERING DECK
“She’s – that’s – d’ya think she’ll actually get away?” Haruta asked, admiration in his tone.
“No,” Izou and Marco said simultaneously. Marco’s nerves were frayed, but he could calm down by reminding himself there were still many safe guards to make sure that you remained under their supervision. The warning alarms and lights didn’t phase you at all as you made your way down to Navigation. The crew was swarming around, almost completely ignoring you as you walked… right past the new escape pod deck.
“Ace did destroy her old pod, correct?” Izou said, putting down his tea as his attention remained fixed on the screens. Was Izou getting nervous? Marco nodded, he had made sure that heap of junk was destroyed. Marco’s heart rate quickened as you swiftly made your way to the old escape pod bay. His eyes narrowed – you’d been in there before. How had you known what was there? You quickly opened the door and darted inside, looking wildly around the bay before running to an old pod in the back of the bay, starting and stopping in the shadows as if someone was lurking there.
“Hey, her running is better. She’s not as out of breath,” Thatch pointed out. Marco resisted the urge to preen. See? He knew you needed cardiovascular activity.
“Wait, why isn’t she using the new ones like Ace told her to?” Atmos asked, tugging on one of his horns. “Aren't they safer?”
“She’s likely suspicious we would track her. That, or is more familiar with the old tech. We will destroy all of those pods shortly,” Izou said primly, already tapping on his own controller. Marco’s lips pressed together as you rounded on one of the pods, still trying to stay in the shadows. Your running may have improved but luckily your hiding hadn’t. At least they’d be able to find you easily if they needed to.
“Yeah, but they’re better. And the old ones don’t work,” Atmos continued.
“Mmm. Most of them do, actually,” Izou corrected, sitting on the edge of his seat. “But I don’t think she’ll be able to start them. They’re complicated to operate and besides, she would need someone’s biosignature –”
“Like the one from Ace she just used?” Blamenco asked, pointing at the screen. You were now in the pod, gearing it up to fly. Jozu swore loudly, standing up to stride quickly out of the room.
“I’m dealing with it now,” he gritted to the assembled Commanders. “She won’t be able to do that again –” a cacophony of responses burbled from the crowd, everyone tossing in their opinion on your escape.
“If there is a next time -”
“Shut up. She can't outrun us-”
“She's already outsmarted us–”
“She’s amazing!”
“We shoulda let her be on the crew, I’m telling you –”
“Thatch and Izou, let’s go yoi,” Marco ordered, already halfway to the door. The three Commanders already planned to follow you in a smaller ship, but the stakes were higher now. The pod you had selected wasn’t trackable, and wasn’t able to be controlled remotely. Therefore, they’d have to follow you directly if they wanted to know where you were going rather than the remote capability the 10-5 offered. And if the Moby was unable to move, they couldn’t follow you once you were off the ship. Marco rubbed his temples. You had created enough of an issue to where it wasn’t completely unfeasible that you might escape them for a short time.
Fuck.
Luna POV
You had been sweating bullets as you flew away from the Moby, the giant ship receding from your vision. Your biggest gamble when escaping was using one of the old pods rather than the one that was obviously able to be tracked. Yes, the features on the new pods were cool and yes you really wished that you had cloaking capabilities, but it wasn’t worth the risk. You didn’t put it past these fucks to make the pod able to be controlled remotely. Besides, you had trained on a pod almost exactly like this one so the tech was familiar to you.
You had immediately plugged in the coordinates of the ponyglyph that you’d memorized, the ship now on autopilot until you got there. You were going the fastest speed short of hyperdrive that the ship could handle. Luckily, just as you had suspected, the Moby had been headed the right direction, so you would be there in a matter of hours.
Even so, now that you were in the pod you were still sweating, and it wasn’t just because the stupid suit was chafing your skin. There was one more piece of your plan, and it was the most nerve wracking part of the whole thing. Everything else had been a cakewalk. You’d planned everything down to the very last detail, completely sure that your plans would work.
And they had.
Actually, some of what you planned worked out even better than you had anticipated. The pop green really seemed to like the environment of the ship and had grown much larger than you had predicted. Not only that but the tracker wasn’t as difficult to remove as you thought it would be and the hand photo trick had worked on everything you had wanted it to. Really, the Whitebeard Pirates weren’t as formidable as they thought they were if one small human female could escape without much trouble. Sure, they were in part allowing you to escape, but those alarms had been real. Even so, you were thankful they were letting you leave the docking bay, because that would have been a real bitch to figure out yourself.
There were a few pieces left in your plan that still needed to be enacted, and that was what was causing you the stress. The final pieces were the most risky and once you left, well, you were severing your connection to the Whitebeard Pirates and to Marco permanently. You were absolutely sure they were following you right now (and maybe even watching you), just as you had been sure Marco was watching your escape attempt. It had been a fun game of cat and mouse but it was time to get back home. A sickening feeling was growing in your stomach – something was happening on Lafftale and it wasn’t anything good.
You took a deep breath, ready to enact the final parts of your plan. But first things first – you wanted to be comfortable while you were actively destroying the peace. Pressing on the textile disc removed the protective suit, something you relished in. You never thought taking off your own clothes would be a big deal, but nothing in your life had prepared you for the experience of being with Marco.
You tutted as you looked over your poor skin, nearly all of you red and raw from the harsh material of the suit. If Marco saw me like this… you let out a snort imagining the apoplectic lecture you would get. The healing would have been worth it, you thought wistfully, rubbing your backside. You did like that soft suit, but there was probably some kind of tracker in it. Even if there wasn’t, you weren’t going to continue wearing something you couldn’t take off yourself.
After wrapping yourself in Marco’s blanket, you synced your controller to the ship. Marco’s scent tickled your nose as you began looking through the modules on your controller. The thick, large blanket had been a last second decision to bring, but you were glad you did. Not only was it comfortable as fuck, but you’d gotten used to his scent. The smell would fade in time, but at least you had it for now. Not that you needed it, of course, but it was definitely better than the smell of the engines.
You patted your controller fondly as you began working. It was too bad you had to get rid of this thing, it actually was pretty cool once more features had been enabled. You flicked through the screens quickly, selecting your own medical examination vid and uploading it into the pod’s computer. That was really all you needed before you dumped the thing into the airlock and shot it into space.
But as you flicked through the screens, you saw the picture of Marco you’d taken on Kyuka. Unlike all the other photos, which had mostly been means of access to the ship, this one had no ulterior motive. You were smiling, the real light hitting your skin giving you a lovely hue. Marco looked surprised but happy, his arm wrapped around you. You thought about the feeling of safety, his warmth, the fish, the sunset… it was a fond memory of a life that you could no longer access. Licking your lips, you made the split decision to upload that pic into the computer as well. You could always delete it later, but you wouldn’t be able to get it back. There would be ample time for reflecting over all your actions, but it wasn’t now.
Now that the video was on the ship, you pressed on the small area on the underside of your controller as you had seen Marco do before. It was tricky and took a lot of tries, including you trying to step on your own arm but eventually the controller popped open like it had for him as well. You chucked it into the airlock and promptly shot it off into space. You rolled your head on your shoulders – now the real fun was about to begin.
Marco POV
Almost immediately after you entered your pod, Marco, Thatch, and Izou were in one of the smaller ships, following you while cloaked. Thankfully, the older pods weren't able to cloak, so they would be able to follow you while you navigated to your next destination. Izou had somehow been able to wrangle a low quality audio / visual feed of you inside the pod, but that was about the extent of their ability to see where you were going. They couldn’t even read your computer screen since the feeds coming in were so poor.
“Now we'll be able to see if she was lying and does know where Lafftale is. She certainly input her coordinates quickly,” Izou huffed. Marco hummed but didn’t reply. He knew Izou was already upset about Luna escaping and causing unforeseen problems. Izou prided himself on knowing all information pertaining to the crew, and yet Luna with her limited resources had somehow managed to outsmart him.
“I don’t get why we’re going this way,” Thatch said, tugging on his goatee. “There’s nothing out here.”
“I don’t know. I suppose we’ll find out. Like Izou said, Luna has a clear direction of where she’s going yoi,” Marco mused, his stomach already twisted in knots. He had a feeling something bad was going to happen, and he didn’t like it one bit. Frankly, he hoped Lafftale was wherever you input the coordinates. He wanted this adventure to be over as soon as possible, and you back in his room on the Moby.
Marco crossed his arms as he watched remove the protective suit you were wearing. Not only were you nude in front of other Commanders again but your skin was irritated, chafed, and even bruised in some places. He wished he could heal you, the blooming marks already marring your lovely skin. Marco was never going to let you out of his sight again he decided, independence be damned.
“What is that? Why’s she mottled?” Thatch asked as you rubbed your bottom.
“She’s not mottled, she’s bruised. It indicates she has mild internal bleeding yoi,” Marco remarked as you took his blanket out of storage and wrapped it around yourself. At least you weren’t naked anymore. He had long known humans didn’t prefer nudity as a general rule, and he was glad to see that at least that was still true. Marco kissed his teeth as he watched you sync your controller.
You plopped down in the chair in front of the computer, rolling your head on your shoulders. After so much time together, Marco knew that meant you were tense, and he wished he was there to heal you and massage you, no matter how much havoc you had wrought. At the end of it all, you were still a vulnerable human no matter how smart or capable you proved yourself to be.
Marco struggled to make sense of what he was watching you do. You uploaded your medical examination? You knew it wasn’t the only copy, so why were you taking it with you? To show the other humans? His heart surged as you flicked to the photo of the two of you on Kyuka, your eyes lingering over it. Marco’s heart soared as you licked your lips and uploaded it to the pod as well. He hadn’t been wrong, you did harbor feelings for him. His intention to become yours had come to fruition as –
As you pummeled your controller with your small fists in an attempt to take it off. The three Commanders watched as you struggled to open it, even trying to stomp on it with your foot. To Marco’s horror, the controller eventually opened with a small pop, your arm now naked as the day he found you.
“I thought you said it was locked,” Thatch said as they watched you triumphantly smile.
“Much will have to change when she is recaptured,” Izou said stiffly, his tentacles curling and uncurling as you nonchalantly tossed your controller into the airlock and sent it into space. You stretched, the blanket falling momentarily before you tucked it around yourself.
“I’m scared to ask what she’s doing now,” Thatch mumbled as you sat in the singular seat and began typing on the computer. You were working on something for a while, clicking and watching intensely on your screen, only pausing to change positions so your legs were tucked under you. Marco remembered the many times you’d sat that when immersed in your Common lessons – whatever you were doing had your full concentration. Finally, you reviewed your screen for a moment before nodding and… hitting the distress beacon on your pod. As was intended, a blast went out from your pod to all nearby ships. But what they heard wasn’t a distress signal.
It was a call to action.
The Whitebeard Pirates have a 100% fully human fertile female aboard.
The Whitebeard Pirates have a 100% fully human fertile female aboard.
The Whitebeard Pirates have a 100% fully human fertile female aboard.
The Whitebeard Pirates have a 100% fully human fertile female aboard.
The “distress” beacon continued to sound in their ship, along with a short clip of your medical examination, showing you naked and squirming on Marco’s examination table. You were completely bare, all of you on display to the entire universe. Izou’s tentacle snapped the button to turn off the beacon so harshly the button broke.
The cabin was silent.
You had leaked the information of your own existence to every single ship that its signal could reach. Even if they deleted the distress message now, it would be too late. The information would be shared rapidly throughout the galaxy no matter what they did.
What had you done?
The only sound that could be heard was the humming of the ship’s engines.
“I – I –” Izou was at a loss for words, his body looming over the control panel. Izou’s tentacles were wild, spreading and snapping every few seconds. Marco couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Izou this angry, perhaps not since Ace ruined his fine silk kimono. Izou’s fingers balled into fists as messages began flooding all their controllers.
This was bad.
More than bad.
This was a catastrophe.
“Oh my fuck. Why would she – why would she do that?!? Doesn’t she understand she’s in danger now?!” Thatch roared, finally upset with your actions.
“She absolutely understands. That’s why she did it. She’s no longer there but now we have to go deal with the fallout. We’re about to have to fight off any crew that thinks they can take our human – and there’s bound to be many. She wanted us to be unable to follow her. Not only that, I’m not certain the main drive is operational yoi,” Marco explains, completely taken aback by your actions. In all his wildest dreams, he could have never imagined you would leak your own video to the public.
“We gotta go back to help. We’re gonna be swarmed with shitty crews, it’s gonna be non-stop,” Thatch said, already reaching for his twin swords.
“No. We must continue following her. The crew is strong enough to take on any current dangers and once the drive is fixed, they’ll go into hyperspace. The Marines will likely not engage at this point. We’ve fought in more challenging situations. Right now Luna is our priority. She cannot be allowed to evade us,” Izou hissed, his tentacles pressing more buttons on the ship’s computer than Marco’s eyes could follow.
The ship remained tense as they followed you hurrying through space towards some unknown destination. Marco, Thatch, and Izou were kept abreast of all the happenings on the ship, including the number of ships that had come to try to claim the human for themselves. Luckily, there were no casualties on the side of the Whitebeard Pirates, but the sheer number of challenging crews had threatened to overwhelm the crew. Pops had stepped in and settled a few matters, and Fossa had finally been able to clean the engines and tech of all the pop green. Everyone exhaled a sigh of relief as the ship entered hyperdrive, evading all the crews who would try to take them on. It would be a consistent problem, but Marco couldn’t concentrate on any of that. Right now you were his sole focus.
“I will have a few things to say to Luna upon her recapture,” Izou intoned, his shoulders finally relaxing from around his ears.
“I don’t think my current punishments are enough yoi,” Marco chimed in. His own hand twitched at the thought of spanking you for your disobedience. But this wasn’t disobedience, this was sedition. He would never hurt you, but perhaps some back to back sessions of orgasm denial and overstimulation – over the course of days – would help you rethink some of your actions.
“I assure you, they are not,” Izou hissed, exhaling out his nose. Marco wasn’t sure what Izou had in mind, but he was sure it would be an experience you wouldn’t forget.
“But really, you were the ones helping her escape. And she told us she wanted to go home, many times. We underestimated her, that’s on us,” Thatch said, ever ready to rise to your defense.
“By quite a bit,” Izou gritted through clenched teeth.
“You’re right Thatch. We should have been more diligent yoi,” Marco sighed, rubbing his temples. Of course he was angry about your actions, but he reminded himself you were acting in the best interest of your fellow humans. They were sick and dying and you wanted to save them, it was understandable that you’d do anything for them. He would have done the same for his brothers.
Suddenly, your ship stopped… in front of nothing. There was one of those enigmatic ponyglyphs, but that was about it. Other than that, there were no planets, no stars, nothing that would indicate they were at Lafftale or any location whatsoever.
“There’s nothing here yoi,” Marco said, more perplexed than anything else. They watched you squint at the ponyglyph, circling it several times slowly in your ship. You kept looking up at the ponyglyph and back down at the keyboard to type into your computer. Were you… getting coords from the ponyglyph?
For the thousandth time that day, Marco wished he would have never agreed to this foolish plan.
“Oh my gods. The ponyglyphs are written in human. They have the coords to Lafftale. It was in front of everyone the whole time,” Izou whispered, his hand over his mouth. “Marco, was human ever translated into any other language?”
“No, it was never formally recorded yoi,” Marco said as your ship changed the direction of its boosters. His breath caught in his throat, he was struggling to breathe. “She’s preparing for hyperdrive yoi,” Marco croaked, his head whipping around to look at his brothers, his eyes wide.
“If she goes into hyperdrive, we won’t be able to follow her,” Thatch said, your full plan finally dawning on them. “She – she got everyone busy and found a way to leave. Luna won.”
“Get her coords. GET HER COORDS YOI –”
“You can’t get coords from an escape pod! They’re for escaping! It doesn’t –”
“The feed! Use the feed!” Marco yelled, grabbing his brother by his upper arms. Marco’s vision was swimming, he felt like he was waterlogged and drowning. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t – they had made sure – you were supposed to – this wasn’t going to happen –
“The feed can’t see the computer, Marco! Luna’s – she –”
Marco’s mouth hung open in shock as his hands pressed impotently on the window of the pod.
“LUNA!” Marco yelled at the top of his lungs. There was no way for you to hear him, but that didn’t stop Marco from pummeling the ship’s window with his fists. “LUNA!” he bellowed again, followed by a shrill screech of panic.
Your ship powered up to its full pwoer and shot to an unknown location, leaving behind only a small cloud of exhaust. Into the vast universe, where Marco would never be able to find you. To Lafftale, the mythical home to the last of the human race.
No fucking way!!!!! Luna finally escaped?!?! I can't believe it like I've been dying for this moment for quite some chapters now but that was peak, chef's kiss i swear 💕💕💕
This chapter got me so damn hooked. Like my heart's still racing i didn't think she'd make it till the last second. Wow just wow.
Now i fear for her well being though, like broadcasting that video......it was a really crazy move and i did not think she'd pull that one.
I feel kinda bad for Marco, i know i shouldn't he was really mean to her well not always but still, I'm also so fucking scared if they ever catch her again 🫣🫣🫣
For now i hope luna makes it safely to sol and get there in time to help her. 🙏🏻
So i got tagged by two wonderful, talented and simply amazing people who always bring a smile to my face whenever I see their works on my dashboard @quinloki and @bouquet-bride
Rules: post your wip titles no matter how silly or nondescript, then tag as many people as you have wips. Peeps can come into your ask box and ask for more details if they want =3
I'm still recovering from surgery but I feel like getting some work done, finally. So fingers crossed these stories get released soon
Here we go
Flickers of Memory Part 4, 5 and 6 (Shanks)
Broken Wings (Marco, modern AU)
The Strangers (Shanks, modern AU, insp. by the movie "The Stranger")
Fright Night (Marco, modern AU insp by Fright Night)
Undying Love (Mihawk, insp by Dracula)
The Blooming One (Whitebeard, insp by Midsommar)
Out of the Shadows Part 2 (Crocodile)
Refresher Course Part 2 (Rayleigh)
The Cabin in The Woods? (working title, incubusRayleigh)
Unsaid Things (working title, angsty Law)
No Reception (working title, Beckman)
On - Off - On Again? (working title, Kid)
My Favorite Recipe (Sanji)
And a few more that don't even have a title or anything other than a few notes
No pressure tags: @jintaka-hane @ye-old-hermit-woman @mapachito @armiliadawn and whoever wants to (tag me so i can see it)
A/N: thanks Ann for asking for a fluffy story with Shanks who is getting on the readers nerve until she agrees to go on a date with him, hope you like it.
Plot: you're trying to avoid your incredibly charming captain but he wouldn't let up until he gets what he wants
Warnings: none, just a fluff-ish story
Characters: Shanks x F!Reader cameo by Beckmann, Hongo, Yasopp
You were busy working on the deck of the Red Force, focused on your task as the sun shined down, the wind was gentle, the crew was bustling around you, and the day should have been peaceful. But, of course, nothing was ever peaceful when Shanks was around.
"Need a hand?" Shanks’ voice suddenly drawled from over your shoulder. You felt him lean in, his breath brushing against your ear. His tone was smooth, that familiar teasing edge made your heart skip a beat.
"I’m fine," you said, trying to keep your voice steady as you felt a flush creeping up your neck.
Shanks didn’t budge. "Are you sure? It looks like you’re having a hard time... concentrating." There was amusement in his voice, and you could feel his grin without even looking at him. He leaned even closer, practically invading your personal space.
From the other side of the deck, you heared Yasopp snicker. "C’mon, captain, don’t be shy now. You know she can’t resist your charm."
The rest of the crew burst out laughing, clearly enjoying the show.
You shot Yasopp a glare, but Shanks seized the opportunity, lowering his voice so only you could hear it
“They know you like the attention.”
Your face turned even redder, and you opened your mouth to protest, but he was already standing up straight, looking incredibly pleased with himself.
"How long until she cracks? I give it two minutes," Yasopp said loudly.
"Two minutes? I say less!" Hongo shouted, and soon, the entire crew was placing bets on how long it’ll take for Shanks to get under your skin.
Shanks winked at you, stepping a little closer again.
“We’ve got an audience now. Care to make this interesting?” His voice was playful, but there was a challenge in his eyes.
The whole crew was watching, waiting for you to crack, while Shanks stood there, all charming smiles and relentless teasing.
The longer you tried to keep your composure, the more impossible it became. Every little word, every glance, just added to your growing fluster, and Shanks knew it. He was enjoying every second of it.
Finally, when you couldn't take it anymore, you shoved the papers into his chest.
"You want to be helpful, Captain? You finish the paper work then!"
The crew erupted in laughter as Shanks held up his hands in surrender, but his eyes sparkled with victory.
After days of enduring Shanks’ relentless teasing, you decided to take matters into your own hands.
Every time you stepped onto the deck, it seemed like Shanks was there—ready with a smirk, a flirty comment, or some harmless touch that sent your heart racing.
You needed an escape, so you started spending more time in the infirmary, assisting Hongo with medical supplies, or helping Beckman sort through the endless stacks of paperwork.
"If you keep hiding in here, the crew's going to think you’ve suddenly developed an interest in medicine," Hongo said with a raised brow.
"I'm just avoiding.....distractions." you said with a sheepish grin.
"Sure. But you know he's going to find you in here right" Hongo replied with a small chuckle.
And he was right. It didn't take long until Shanks entered the infirmary.
"There you are. Already feared you would have gone overboard" Shanks joked.
"I’ll leave you two to it.” Hongo said glancing between you and Shanks, smirking as he left.
"What’s this? Playing nurse now?” Shanks teased, his eyes gleaming with amusement.
"Just offering a helping hand" you muttered not meeting his gaze.
"Seems you've been developing some sort of helper syndrome lately. Or is this part of your strategy to avoid me"
"No.....I'm just being helpful" you said as you felt that familiar warmth in your cheeks as he stepped closer again, clearly not buying your excuse.
"Sure you are" he said his tone full of amusement. "But you can’t avoid me forever, you know."
Unfortunately for you he was right. Everytime you were hiding in Beckman's quarters helping him with the paperwork Shanks would enter the room. Dropping a playful comment, teasingly poke your side or stand too close to you all while Beckman chuckled under his breath.
It seemed like there was just no way to escape your captain's teases.
After he left you flustered again Beckmann smirked.
"You know he’s not going to stop, right? Might as well face him head-on.” he said amusement in his voice.
You sighed feeling the need to find a better tactic.
Next day you told yourself that you would just blend your captain's advances on you out. Which worked at the beginning pretty well but not for long cause Shanks isn’t easily deterred.
“What are you working on so hard that you can’t even look at your charming captain?” he called out, his voice loud enough for the whole crew to hear.
You ignored him, focusing intently on the chart in front of you, pretending it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. The laughter of the crew filled the air, and you could feel their eyes darting between you and Shanks, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
“Is she playing hard to get?” Shanks teased looking at his crew. “I like a challenge.”
You refused to glance up, but you couldn’t suppress the smile threatening to break through. You heard the crew chuckling, and you wished they would have just let this go.
"C’mon, sweetheart! Just a smile for your charming captain?” Shanks persisted, leaning over your shoulder, his presence made it increasingly difficult to concentrate
"I’m busy, Shanks!” you exclaimed, shooting him an irritated look.
The crew bursted into laughter, clearly relishing the interaction.
Shanks raised his hands in mock surrender, but the playful glint in his eyes remained. “Busy? Or trying to ignore me?”
“I’m trying to get work done!” you replied, trying not to chuckle.
"You know you can’t ignore me forever, right? I’ll always be right here, waiting for you to crack.” His teasing tone sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach, and you turned back to your work, determined not to let him get to you.
But you could feel the tension in the air, the crew’s eyes watching the unfolding drama with glee and you knew you couldn't resist him much longer.
------
You were sitting at the table playing cards with Beckmann, Yasopp and Hongo enjoying the peace without the captain. You were determined to finally win, not realizing Shanks approaching.
The other men at the table already grinning as they saw their captain carefully sneaking up to you.
You jumped in your seat as you felt him poke your side. "Fuck" you cursed, breath hitching.
"You should definitely work on your observation haki" Yasopp teased you with a smile.
"I hate you all" you said not able to supress the smile on your face.
"Maybe the captain can help you win before I'm starting to feel sorry for how bad you are at this game" Hongo stated making the others chuckle.
"Sounds fair" Shanks replied as he pulled you off the chair, sitting down on it and pulling you onto his lap. You could feel your cheeks flush almost immediately, your body was on fire.
"Show me those cards" he motioned for your hand to hold the cards up. He rested his chin on your shoulder oberserving the cards while you had a hard time to hold your hand still and keep it from shaking.
You could feel the other three staring at you knwing that they were amused by your 'misery'. Shanks clearly enjoying your discomfort and the way your body tensed.
"Maybe this was a bad idea it seems you're about to lose again" Yasopp teased smirking at you.
And he was right of course you lost. Shanks seemed too observed with you sitting on his lap and you were busy to keep your body from shaking.
Shanks sighed.
"Sorry for that I was sure we'd win. But I'll make it up to you, we will dock tomorrow. I know this quiet little place on this island that serves the best drinks. You’ll love it. Good food, good atmosphere..you and me" he said smoothly, voice dropping to that low, almost-too-charming tone he used when he was up to something.
"Wait what?" You asked getting off his lap.
"Just some......relaxation after I've been annoying you" he continued.
Yasopp, Hongo, and Beckman were watching with amused expressions, clearly catching on to Shanks' real intent, but they didn’t say a word. They just sat back, watching as the realization slowly dawned on you.
"Fine but you have to promise to leave me alone until then" you said. You could really use some time off and a good drink.
"Deal" Shanks winked, then stood up, heading off with that casual, confident stride of his.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Yasopp let out a low whistle while Hongo chuckled lightly. You looked at them confused.
"You do know he just asked you out right" Beckman said a small smirk playing on his lips
"What!?!" You almost yelled. You froze, blinking as it hit you.
You glanced at the others, who were all smirking knowingly.
Hongo glanced at you a mocking grin on his face. "Looks like his strategy worked. In the end he got what he wanted"
A/N: my experiment at writing "new" chatacters continues the idea for this came from a good friend - so if it sucks it's her fault 😅 it got way longer than planned and i don't know why i did that but yeah...oh and i kind of "ignored" the extreme size difference so Kata is tall but not like super duper giant tall
Part of Mimi's Nightmares
Speak to me, sing to me, bare your soul to me
Step through the mirror, join me inside
Run to me, stay with me, till eternity
Show me the face that you hide
Plot: you see a man in your mirror who haunts you even in your dreams until one day you feel like he reaches through
Warnings: use of Y/N (once), "horror", Kata is a Demon, i have no idea what to put here it's kinda a gothic romance story maybe, Modern AU
Characters: Demon!Katakuri x GnReader
Your life had been more or less fine, you had a decent job that got the bills paid and more, your apartment was cozy, your car had been running for 3 months without anything breaking or needing to be replaced - which was a fucking miracle - and the only thing that might have been missing was a partner but it was okay for you. You liked to refer to your single life as being "free".
Though deep down you often felt lonely but you always drowned that small traitorous thought with something else.
You stood in your bathroom brushing your teeth, from outside you could here some game show from your tv. Just as you spit out and got back up you saw a man in the mirror.
"The fuck" you shouted jumping and instinctively looking over your shoulder - nothing.
You turned back to stare at the mirror - nothing either.
You cocked a brow and kept staring at the mirror before you sighed.
"Oh god so stupid" you said laughing. You had probably been imagining it - too little sleep and too many "bloody mary" videos on youtube.
You turned off the bathroom light and shuffled into the living room. The game show host on the TV was laughing too hard, like someone had told a joke that wasn’t funny. You grabbed the remote and clicked it off. The sudden silence made your apartment feel hollow.
Still, you shrugged it off. Just tired.
You went to bed.
The next night, it happened again.
You were flossing this time and when you glanced up, he was there again. Only this time, he didn’t vanish.
He was watching you. Big. Still. The kind of man that made you think of ancient statues: too massive, too still, too real. His mouth was hidden under a scarf that rippled as if caught in a breeze you couldn’t feel. His eyes locked with yours like he was staring through the glass and into you.
You blinked.
He didn’t.
The floss slipped from your hands.
You turned around again, nothing, of course, but your hands were trembling now. When you looked back at the mirror, he was gone.
But the surface was fogged up.
You hadn’t taken a hot shower.
And five long indents had appeared in the condensation, dragging slowly downward like the mark of fingers from the other side.
You touched the glass to try to rub the marks away but nothing changed and the moment you touched the glass it felt extraordinary cold. Sure glass was cold but that one was almost too cold.
"Okay you know what who needs mirrors, maybe....yeah I maybe I just put a towel over it." You said to yourself as you reached for the biggest towel you had and drapped it over the mirror even taping it so it couldn't fall off.
"Yeah nothing out of the ordinary a lot of people hide their mirrors" you told yourself trying to convince yourself that you had seen nothing, that there was no man in the mirror that left marks on the glass - from the inside.
You went to bed and decided to sleep with the light and the tv on. Not because you were scared.....no of course not.....ghosts or men living in a mirror weren’t real right? Right?
You groaned as you crawled into bed and pulled the sheets up despite the night being kinda warm. After staying awake for what felt like hours sleep finally overtook you the dream you had though was far from comforting or sweet.
You were standing in your bathroom again.
Only it wasn’t your bathroom.
The walls stretched too tall, the tiles too slick, too dark - like obsidian. The light flickered overhead, casting sharp shadows in impossible directions. The mirror, that mirror, stood bare, the towel gone.
Your feet moved on their own. You approached.
You didn’t want to look, but your body didn’t care.
And there he was again.
But this time, he moved.
He raised a hand, long fingers wrapped in dark fabric, too big for a human man. He pressed it to the glass. You stopped just a breath away, your heart slamming against your ribs like it wanted out.
“Why do you hide me?” a deep voice rumbled, not aloud, but inside your head. It was calm. Curious.
His eye glowed faintly, red in the dimness.
You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
The glass began to bend, like water, rippling outward from where his hand pressed. His fingers sank into it. Then his wrist. Then his arm. His entire form began to emerge, slow and fluid, like the mirror was birthing him.
“I see you every night,” he whispered. “I wait.”
You backed up. Your heels hit the edge of the tub, you fell, scrambled, your voice caught in your throat as the man stepped fully through the mirror, towering and silent. His scarf fluttered unnaturally despite no breeze. His silhouette was massive. Wrong.
You opened your mouth to scream—
And woke up.
You shot upright in bed, drenched in sweat. Your sheets clung to you, the TV screen frozen on static.
Across the room, the bathroom door stood slightly ajar.
The towel you taped?
Crumpled on the floor.
And the mirror was bare.
After that night you took the mirror down and turned it around and used your phone to do your hair, make up and all that stuff. But it didn’t help.
You began seeing him on every reflecting surface no matter where no matter what and soon your whole apartment was covered in towels, blankets and cardboards or papers. But even that didn't help because then you began hearing his voice.
It started soft.
Barely a whisper, like a thought that wasn’t yours.
When you brushed your teeth:
“You looked better yesterday.”
When you washed your hands:
“I miss seeing your eyes.”
When you closed the fridge:
“Don’t you want to look at me again?”
You started turning off anything reflective - TV screens, phones, even utensils that caught too much light. But he was still there. Sometimes, in the reflection of your pupils in the bathroom selfie camera, you could just make out the shape of his scarf.
You stopped going to work.
You stopped going out altogether.
And then… the voice changed.
It grew clearer. Closer.
“You tried to erase me. Hide me. Why?”
“I was content to watch, but you made me feel ignored.”
“I want to be seen. I want you.”
He was everywhere now. Reflections in windows you passed. In puddles outside. In the shine of your kettle. Sometimes, even in your dreams, he stood at the foot of your bed, never blinking, waiting for you to invite him in.
One night, after days of this torment, you cracked.
You tore the towel off the mirror and screamed, “What the hell do you want from me?!”
Silence.
Then, his figure appeared—clearer than ever. Tall. Sharp. Broad-shouldered. His lone eye glowing beneath his scarf.
And he answered.
“I want freedom.”
He tilted his head, like a dog studying a wounded thing.
“And I want you.”
You stumbled back. “Freedom? I—I don’t know how to—”
“You already opened the door, little mirror. The moment you looked.”
Your lights flickered.
The mirror began to ripple again.
And his hand reached out, fingers brushing the air just past the glass.
Then—
You woke up.
Except this time… you weren’t in bed.
You were kneeling in front of the mirror. The towel at your feet. Your hand flat against the glass, mirroring his.
He was smiling, the scarf around his neck gone to reveal a scarred mouth and sharp teeth yet it didn't scare you the way it should have.
Suddenly you felt it - his hand it started to wrap around yours. No this couldn't be it was just a dream, no imagination or hallucination. He wasn’t real this wasn’t real.
You couldn’t.....his fingers had fully wrapped around your hand and your hand.....it was no longer on the mirror glass no it was inside the mirror. You tried to pull at it but he tightened his grip.
"No! Don't!" you yelled frantically.
His hand - his real, solid, warm hand - tightened around yours like a vice, yet it didn’t hurt. It was firm, possessive, like he was afraid you’d vanish. The mirror rippled around your wrist, swallowing your skin with a liquid shimmer that defied all logic.
Your breath hitched.
“No! What are you doing? Let go of me!” you shouted, yanking back as panic took full control.
But he didn’t let go.
His eye narrowed slightly, not with malice—but with longing.
“I’ve waited too long to lose you now,” he said, voice velvet-dark and quiet. “You saw me when no one else ever did. You called me forth.”
“I didn’t mean to!” you snapped. “I never wanted this—whatever this is!”
“You wanted to be seen,” he murmured, leaning closer to the barrier. His breath didn’t fog the mirror, it darkened it. “You whispered it every night, even when you didn’t say it aloud. I only answered.”
You shook your head, eyes wide with disbelief as your arm slid further in. You could feel his world, cold air, static and wrong, brushing along your skin. “This isn’t fair—this isn’t real!”
His brow furrowed slightly. That ever-present scarf fluttered, and for a brief moment you saw the barest glimpse of a scar at the corner of his lips—something human beneath all the terror.
“I was not made to be real,” he said, almost sorrowfully. “But you... you changed that.”
Then, softer. “Come with me.”
You froze.
“Come into my world. You won’t be alone. I’ll give you everything. No more hiding. No more being overlooked. You’ll be mine, and I’ll be yours. Forever.”
The grip around your hand loosened slightly not letting go, but giving you a choice.
“Step through,” he whispered. “Or walk away. But if you leave me now, I will never appear to you again. I will vanish from every mirror, every dream, every reflection. I will not haunt you. I will not love you.”
The glass cooled. Still. The silence between your heartbeats stretched.
You looked at him really looked at him and even with his scarf gone and his scarred mouth and sharp teeth you felt less and less scared of him. But could you step through, and moreover what did that mean for you.
"I will not love you" those words they were spoken so real almost painful as if he feared you would decide to walk away. Your heart ached you were torn between fear, curiosity and a strange ache inside you
You stared into his eye, deep, scarlet, endless, and for the first time, you didn’t see a monster.
You saw loneliness.
Eons of it. Years, maybe centuries, spent behind glass, whispering to no one, watching people live lives he could never touch. He didn’t beg. He didn’t demand. He offered choice, even knowing what it might cost him.
The scarf had slipped entirely. His mouth was scarred, his teeth sharp—but his expression wasn’t cruel. It was vulnerable in its own terrible way. He was not human. You knew that. And yet…
You were tired too. Tired of being alone in rooms that echoed. Tired of being seen, but never truly understood.
And that ache in your chest - it pulsed louder now, synchronized with the way he held your hand. Gentle. Waiting.
“I…” you whispered, eyes searching his face, “If I step through… what happens to me?”
His gaze softened, and his fingers caressed the back of your hand like silk.
“You will change,” he said simply. “You will not be what you were. But you will be known. Loved. Kept safe. No more mirrors between us.”
His thumb traced over your knuckles, reverent. “But you’ll never return to your world. You’ll be mine. Entirely.”
You trembled. You should’ve been terrified. But instead, you whispered:
“…And you’ll be mine?”
A pause.
“Forever.”
You swallowed hard, chest tight.
There was the door.
And he was the key.
You took a single step closer.
You took a deep breath your body grazing the mirror and part of you teethering between both worlds.
"I don't even know your name" you said softly so close now that he could have pulled you inside if he wanted to
His expression shifted, barely, a twitch at the corner of his scarred mouth, as if your words struck something deep within him.
The glass between you pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
“You’re the first to ask,” he said, voice quieter now, almost reverent. “The others screamed. Cursed. Prayed.”
His hand, still holding yours, rose to your cheek, fingers gliding through the rippling barrier like water. Cold, but not cruel.
“I had no need for a name before you,” he murmured. “But if it is a name you want… then I will give it to you.”
He leaned forward. His lips nearly touched the mirror, nearly touched yours.
“…Katakuri,” he whispered, and though his name sounded strange in your world, it felt right in your bones. Familiar, like a memory that wasn’t yours. “You may call me that. Or anything you wish… if you stay.”
He paused. “And you—what shall I call you little mirror?”
You stood there, suspended between two realities, your breath fogging the mirror that refused to stay cold.
Your name on his tongue.
Your hand in his.
His world reaching out to swallow you whole.
And still… you had not yet stepped through nor had he forcefully pulled you through.
"Y/N but you can keep calling me little mirror" you answered softly still on the edge between both worlds.
His eye softened at your name but even more as you allowed him to keep calling you "little mirror", like it was something sacred, something he had etch into every surface of his mirrored prison if it meant keeping you close.
“Little mirror it will be,” he repeated, slow and deliberate, tasting it like a vow.
Then he leaned in, his forehead brushing the glass, no, not the glass, your forehead, as if the barrier no longer dared to separate you.
And he whispered, voice like velvet and winter rain.
“I have watched you for so long… even when you didn't know me. I’ve memorized the way you sigh when you’re tired, the way your smile fades just before it fully forms… You think you're invisible in your world, but to me, you’ve always been the only one.”
Your heart clenched, breath caught in your throat.
“I would burn through every reflection, shatter every mirror, just to hold you without glass between us,” he murmured, voice aching. “Let me show you what it means to be wanted. Truly wanted. Not as a fantasy… but as a soul worth worshipping.”
You swayed toward him, the space between you no longer clear where one world ended and the other began.
“Say yes, little mirror,” he breathed. “And be mine.”
And this time…
You didn’t step away.
You stepped through.
The moment your whole body had slipped through the mirror behind you seemed to close off and it was clear you weren't getting out of here again. But part of you didn't mind.
Katakuri was even taller than you expected and the mirror world was - strange, wide, a bit cold and most importantly lonely. You looked up at him smiling warmly.
"You've been here all alone? And i always thought i was lonely" you observed heart aching at the thought of him.
Katakuri stood still for a moment, as if stunned by your presence - your real presence - in his world.
No longer a fleeting image. No longer a shadow behind glass.
His crimson eyes met yours, wide and reverent, and he reached out as if afraid you’d vanish if he moved too fast. His hand gently brushed your cheek again, warmer now, the barrier gone and you felt it - the trembling in his fingers, the way he held his breath like this was a dream he didn’t want to wake from.
When you spoke, he lowered his head slightly, shame flickering across his scarred face.
“I have always been alone,” he admitted. “My world was built from echoes and silence. I learned every crack in the glass, every corner of this hollow place… but none of it ever saw me.”
He looked down at you then, really looked. “Until you.”
Your smile warmed him in a way no fire ever could.
“I used to envy the people in your world,” he continued. “They passed by without fear, without knowing how precious their voices were, their warmth, their freedom. I hated them… and pitied myself.”
He stepped closer, and this time his arms wrapped around you with care, massive, protective, gentle. His head rested briefly against yours.
“But now… if I had to wait a thousand years just to hold you once, I’d do it all again.”
Around you, the mirror world shimmered, long halls of silver light, vast dark skies that reflected nothing. You could see distant doors that led nowhere, corridors that twisted, rooms built of frozen memories and phantom reflections. It was lonely. But not anymore.
You nestled into him, whispering softly, “Then I guess we’re not alone anymore.”
Katakuri’s breath hitched, and for a long, quiet moment, the mirror world felt a little warmer.
Time passed differently here. Days bled into nights without ever truly changing, like the mirror world existed just outside the edge of reality, quiet, suspended, timeless.
And yet, somehow… with him, it never felt stagnant.
Weeks, maybe months, passed in that strange, shimmering place. You stopped counting. Katakuri showed you pieces of his world slowly, always watching your reactions with near-painful attentiveness, as though your comfort mattered more than anything else. And it did, to him. You were his world now.
The rooms changed when you touched them, responding to your emotions. Places he had long thought empty began to bloom with warmth, light, and fragments of beauty that hadn’t existed until you arrived. A mirrored garden that shimmered with petals of glass and silver. A quiet, cathedral-like chamber filled with memories of dreams. A bedroom that molded itself to your liking - the softest bedding, faint starlight through curved walls, and a hearth that glowed with gentle, blue fire.
And him.
Katakuri.
Never pushy, never demanding but always there.
Loyal. Fiercely protective. Gentle beyond words. The terrifying, stoic mirror demon… who brewed you tea and sat with you in silence when you missed the hum of real wind. Who let you fall asleep against his massive shoulder, tracing the lines of his scars with your fingertips, while he held you like something fragile and beloved.
He kissed you for the first time under the illusion of a thunderstorm. Rain drumming softly on mirrored rooftops. He cradled your face like he had spent lifetimes wondering how to deserve the feel of you. When his lips touched yours, it wasn’t possessive. It was reverent. Like a vow. Like he'd never take such a gift for granted.
And from that moment, it was no longer a haunting.
It was a love story.
He no longer hid his face from you. Not even his scars. You knew every inch of him. The sadness buried in his silence, the gentle ache in his chest when you laughed at something he didn’t understand but wanted to. He traced poems across your skin at night, in languages forgotten by time. You whispered your fears to him, and he never tried to fix them, only held them with you.
One day it began with music. Soft, ethereal, drifting through the halls like the echo of something that had once been human. You had no idea where it came from. Maybe the world itself had learned how to sing just for the two of you.
You stood near the edge of a silver lake, its surface reflecting not the sky, but you. Dozens of you twirling in still water, your figure gently mirrored in a hundred delicate ripples.
Katakuri stood behind you, watching.
He rarely spoke during these moments. Words weren’t needed. The way his fingers grazed yours, the way his eyes followed your every breath it told you everything. And tonight, there was something in the air. A quiet ache. A yearning.
You turned to him, hand outstretched. “Dance with me.”
His brow lifted faintly, uncertain. “I don’t know how.”
You smiled, stepping close, placing his hand on your waist. “Then let me show you.”
It was clumsy at first. He was so tall, so careful, so aware of every inch of you as though he feared breaking something precious. But then… he let go. Just a little. Let the music move through him. Let you lead.
You laughed softly, breath catching when he finally moved in rhythm with you. His hand pressed at the small of your back, and his other fingers tangled with yours. You swayed beneath the shifting light of the mirrored stars, warm and close, until there was no space left between your bodies.
His forehead pressed to yours. His lips hovered above your own.
“Little mirror…” he whispered, voice low, unsteady. “I’ve never known peace… until you.”
You cupped his cheek. “And I’ve never known love until you.”
His breath hitched. And this time, when he kissed you, it was no longer careful.
It was hungry. Desperate. Worshipful.
He lifted you with ease, your legs curling around his waist as he walked you back into the silver grass, laying you down with such tenderness you could cry. His hands trembled at your hips, scarred mouth tracing along your throat, your collarbone, your heart.
The mirror world shimmered around you, responding to the sacredness of it all.
You were his. And he was yours.
Not a demon.
Not a reflection.
But a man.
And he loved you with every haunted, aching part of his soul.
A/N: the idea for this came from a friend along with the song suggestion, sorry it's probably longer than it needed to be
Say, go through the darkest of days
Heaven's a heartbreak away
Never let you go, never let me down
Don't you give up, nah, nah, nah
I won't give up, nah, nah, nah
Let me love you
Summary: you watch your captain being in a dark mood, the past pressing heavily on him and you decide to approach him, showing him that he is not alone (horrible summary sorry)
Warnings: kissing, mention of Cora's death, Law might be a little ooc, use of y/n (once), maybe some sexual tension , not proofread
Characters: Law x GnReader
The Polar Tang sailed through the dark sea, a shadow among shadows, cutting through the endless expanse of water.
You leaned against the railing, watching the man in question—Trafalgar D. Water Law—as he stood alone at the end of the deck, his back to you. His expression was as unreadable as always, but there was something different tonight. The usual stoic demeanor, that cold edge of indifference, was cracked, just slightly. His shoulders were tense, his eyes distant as he gazed at the horizon, lost in thought.
You hadn’t missed it. The subtle shift in him. The way his normally sharp eyes had softened, glazed over with something deeper. Darker.
You were always drawn to him. Not just because of his reputation, not just because of his cold, almost dangerous aura, but because there was something about him that made your blood hum. His darkness called to yours, a magnetic pull you couldn’t ignore. You knew it had always been there, lurking beneath the surface, an unspoken connection, a shared understanding of chaos and loss.
It was why you had joined his crew in the first place. You were reckless, impulsive, too hotheaded for your own good, always leaping before you looked, but Law’s darkness… that pull… it intrigued you. You wanted to know the man behind the cold surgeon, the one who carried the scars of his past like a heavy weight, who buried his pain beneath layers of apathy. You wanted to see the cracks.
You took a few steps forward, not caring if your boots made noise against the deck. You didn’t care about sneaking up on him, he knew you were there long before you even approached.
“Why so broody, Law?” Your voice cut through the stillness, sharp and teasing, but underneath was an edge of something more, something deeper. The kind of wildness you didn’t bother to hide.
He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze still locked on the horizon, but his body stiffened, a subtle tension tightening his posture. Law was always guarded, but tonight, there was an extra layer. You could feel it.
“I’m not brooding,” he muttered, his voice low, gravelly, like it was the last thing he wanted to admit.
You smirked, stepping closer. "Then what’s got you staring at the sea like you’re trying to figure out how to drown in it?"
His eyes flickered to you, dark and calculating, a fleeting moment of vulnerability passing over them before he regained his composure. “It’s nothing.”
You weren’t buying it. You had been watching him for weeks now, noticing the little things, the way his eyes would cloud over in silence, the way he would occasionally rub the back of his neck as if fighting off an unseen pain. You knew something was eating at him, something from his past. The more you watched him, the more you realized that the legendary surgeon wasn’t just a man of death; he was a man shaped by the darkness he carried.
“I don’t believe you,” you said, your voice teasing yet insistent. “C’mon, tell me what’s really bothering you. You’ve got that look again, the one you get when you’re lost in memories that you don’t want anyone to know about.”
He turned fully now, his eyes locking with yours, and for a moment, the ice around him seemed to crack, revealing something raw, something human.
“Cora…,” Law murmured under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear. The name was a ghost, a shadow in the air, and the soft, mournful way he said it made something shift inside you. "I've been thinking about him more lately. His death…is still haunting me."
You knew the story - knew about the man who had meant so much to Law. The man who gave up everything to help Law, who had died saving him, protecting him. You knew what it did to him. The weight of Corazon’s death was something Law would carry forever, and it was something he never let anyone see. Never let anyone touch.
You stepped closer, ignoring the voice in your head that told you to back off, to give him space. This wasn’t about his reputation or the dark aura that surrounded him. This was about the man beneath all of it, the man who had been broken, stitched back together, and never allowed to heal.
“I don’t know what you see when you look out there,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the distance between you, “but I see a man who’s gone through hell and made it out the other side. You’re not that broken. And Corazon would be proud of you."
He let out a hollow laugh, but it was different from the usual sarcastic chuckle. This one was tinged with bitterness, with regret.
"He died because of me." Law muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
You weren’t sure what came over you then, whether it was the wild streak in you, or the pull of your own darkness, but you stepped forward, closing the remaining distance between you, until there was nothing but the heat of his body, the intensity of his presence.
"He died for you because he chose to. He died to save you because he saw someone worth saving," you said, your voice low and fierce. "You might not see it yourself but you are special Law, you were special to him, you are special to your crew and you're special to me. And I know your pain I know the feeling of loss and I'm not asking you to forget because I know that won't happen and I don’t need you to move on from your past. I just want you to see that you'renot alone, you don'thave to carry this weight by yourself, I'm here Law. Right here. And I’m not going anywhere."
He looked at you then, really looked at you, eyes piercing through you, as if searching for something, something buried deep inside both of you. The silence stretched between you, heavy and palpable.
"You’re too wild," he finally said, his words low but edged with something else. "Too reckless. Too much. You’re going to destroy yourself someday."
You didn’t flinch. In fact, you smirked, leaning in closer until your lips were just a breath away from his ear.
"Maybe I like it that way," you whispered, a wild thrill running through you. "Maybe I like being the one who pushes you to the edge. Maybe… I like the idea of watching you fall with me."
Law’s hand shot out, catching your wrist with surprising force, pulling you closer. There was nothing gentle about his touch, but you didn’t expect it to be. His breath was warm against your skin as his lips hovered just inches from yours, his eyes dark, unreadable.
"You’re twisted and messed up," he muttered, his voice rough, but there was something else behind it. Something deeper. "But that’s why I can’t stay away from you."
You smiled, your heart racing as his grip tightened, pulling you closer, the distance between you shrinking until there was no space left. The storm outside might have passed, but in this moment, you were both riding on the edge of something much more dangerous.
“Then stop fighting it, Law,” you whispered against his lips, your voice a quiet command. "I won't give up on you"
The weight of everything seemed to press against him but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he kissed you - hard, hungry, as if he were trying to forget the past, or maybe embrace it. And for a moment, you both forgot about everything but the fire that burned between you, the chaos that was always in reach, but never enough to tear you apart.
Not tonight and maybe not ever.
Law's lips moved against yours with a desperation you hadn’t expected. He was always so composed, so in control, but now, now he was gripping you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. Like, for once, he didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to drown in his own ghosts.
You didn’t resist. You let him take, let him pour whatever storm raged inside him into the kiss. Because you understood. Because you knew what it was like to hold onto darkness like it was the only thing keeping you alive.
His hands tightened around your waist, fingers digging into your skin, and you gasped against his lips, your body pressed flush against his. The cold night air did nothing to cool the heat between you. The Polar Tang rocked gently beneath your feet, but neither of you moved away.
When Law finally pulled back, he didn’t let go. His forehead rested against yours, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts. He didn’t speak, and neither did you. The weight of whatever this was between you hung thick in the air, charged and fragile all at once.
Then, barely above a whisper, he spoke.
"You don’t know what you’re asking for." His voice was rough, his grip still firm, like he was debating whether to push you away or pull you even closer.
You smirked, tilting your head slightly, your lips still brushing his. "Then show me. Make me understand."
Law let out a quiet, bitter chuckle, but there was no amusement in it. His thumb traced absentmindedly over the inside of your wrist, as if memorizing the feel of you. "I destroy things y/n. I don’t build them. I don’t love. I don’t—"
You cut him off before he could finish. "You don’t have to. I’m not asking you to be anything you’re not." Your voice softened, though your eyes still held their usual fire. "I just want you. The man beneath all that steel and silence. The man who still carries his past like a wound that never healed."
Law’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might step back, put up his walls again. But then -
He kissed you again.
It was different this time. Slower. More deliberate. Like he was memorizing the way you tasted, the way you felt against him. His hand moved up, fingers threading through your hair, tugging slightly, making you gasp into his mouth. He drank in every sound, every movement, as if trying to carve the moment into his very bones.
And then, just as quickly as he started, he pulled away.
His grip loosened, his breathing still uneven, and when he looked at you, his eyes were unreadable. "If you stay, you’ll regret it."
You smiled, defiant as ever. "That’s not your decision to make."
Law exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You’re insane."
You grinned. "And you like it."
He didn’t deny it.
Instead, he let out a heavy breath, running a hand through his hair, and without another word, he turned back toward the sea. But he didn’t tell you to leave. He didn’t push you away. And in Law’s world, that was as close to surrender as you were going to get.
The taste of him still lingered on your lips. The ocean stretched before him, vast and endless, a perfect mirror to the distance he kept from everyone including you.
But you weren’t everyone.
You weren’t the type to tiptoe around the edge of something you wanted. You weren’t the type to let him run just because he thought he should.
So you stepped closer, your body brushing against his as you reached for him again, your fingers ghosting along his arm and flinched slightly but he didn’t pull away. Not yet at least.
"You keep looking out there like you’re searching for an answer," you murmured, your voice softer now, laced with something heavier, something undeniable. "But you already know it’s not in the sea."
Law’s breath hitched, but he kept his gaze locked forward. "You don’t get it," he muttered, voice rough with something you couldn’t quite place. "This, whatever this is, it’s not going to end the way you think."
You tilted your head, smirking. "Who says I’m thinking about the end?"
That made him turn. His eyes, sharp and guarded, searched yours like he was waiting for you to realize something, waiting for you to see the wreckage he carried. The damage. The weight of everything he wasn’t saying.
And you did see it.
You just didn’t care.
"You’re making a mistake," he said, his voice dropping lower, more strained. His fingers twitched at his sides, like he wanted to touch you again but was forcing himself not to. "I don’t—"
"You don’t what?" you interrupted, stepping closer, pressing against his resistance like a fire against ice. "You don’t feel anything? You don’t want this?" Your voice dipped, teasing, taunting. "Because I think we both know that’s a lie, Law."
His jaw clenched, his breath uneven. You were pushing him, pressing him right up against the edge, and you knew it. But you also knew he needed this. He needed someone who wouldn’t let him run, wouldn’t let him drown in his own guilt and hesitation.
"You think I don’t know what I’m getting into?" you continued, your voice fierce, unwavering. "You think I don’t see the way you look at me when you think I won’t notice? The way you try to keep me at arm’s length, like that’ll actually work?"
Law exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You’re insane."
You grinned, wild and untamed. "And you’re still here."
Silence stretched between you, thick with tension, charged like a storm ready to break.
Then, finally his control snapped.
His hands were on you before you could react, grabbing your face, pulling you into another bruising, desperate kiss. This wasn’t careful. This wasn’t slow. This was messy, raw, the kind of kiss that left no room for hesitation. His fingers tangled in your hair, gripping like he was afraid you’d slip away, even though he was the one who kept trying to leave.
You let him take, let him drown in you, but you weren’t just letting him have control. No, you pushed right back, kissing him with all the reckless, fiery passion he always tried to pretend didn’t affect him.
When you finally pulled away, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed shut. His grip on you hadn’t loosened.
"I don’t know how to do this," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
You smiled, hands trailing up his chest, fingers curling into his coat. "Then let me show you. Let me love you"
Your fingers moved slowly, tracing along the edges of his coat before slipping beneath it, palms pressing lightly against his chest. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heart, the way it pounded beneath your touch, betraying every single word he hadn’t spoken.
"You don’t have to run," you murmured, your voice softer now, almost coaxing. "Not from me."
Law exhaled sharply, like he wanted to argue, but no words came.
You let your hands travel higher, up to his shoulders, fingers brushing against the nape of his neck, playing with the dark strands of his hair. He tensed, but he didn’t stop you.
"You act like letting someone in is some kind of weakness," you continued, voice barely above a whisper, your lips brushing the corner of his jaw. "Like it makes you fragile."
His grip on you tightened, but he still didn’t pull away.
"But it doesn’t, Law." Your breath was warm against his skin. "It just makes you human."
His jaw clenched, and you could see the war raging inside him the instinct to retreat, to push you away before you could dig any deeper.
But you weren’t letting him go.
Not now.
"You've already let me in more than you realize," you whispered, pressing a slow, lingering kiss just beneath his ear, feeling the way his breath hitched. "Every time you look at me like I’m something you can’t afford to lose." Another kiss, trailing lower, teasing. "Every time you let me get close, even when you swear you won’t."
You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers moving to cup his face, forcing him to look at you, to really see you.
"Let me love you."
The words hung between you, soft but unwavering. A plea, a challenge, a promise.
Law swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, his grip on you still firm, but his resolve was cracking you could see it in the way his eyes darkened, in the way his fingers trembled against your skin. He wanted to push you away. He wanted to tell you this was a mistake.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he stared at you, silent, his breathing uneven. You could feel the hesitation rolling off him in waves, the way he fought against something he had already lost.
Your thumbs brushed against his cheekbones, tracing the faint stubble along his jaw. "You don’t have to say anything," you murmured. "Just don’t pull away."
His breath hitched.
Your hands slid lower, fingertips pressing against the rapid pulse at his throat before trailing down, over the tense muscles of his shoulders, the steady rise and fall of his chest.
"You act like this is something you can control," you whispered, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the corner of his mouth, barely touching, barely giving him the escape you knew he was searching for. "Like it’s something you can stop just because you’re afraid."
Law’s eyes squeezed shut, his grip tightening at your waist like he was at war with himself. "I don’t know how," he admitted, voice strained, raw.
Your lips ghosted over his again, soft and patient. "Then let me show you."
"You’re reckless," he murmured, his forehead pressing against yours, his voice rough with something unspoken. "You don’t think things through."
You smirked. "And you overthink everything."
His lips twitched, but the tension in his body hadn’t eased. He was still fighting it, still fighting you.
So you pushed further.
Your fingers slipped beneath his coat, past the fabric of his shirt, pressing against warm, taut skin. The contact made him inhale sharply, his whole body tensing, like he wasn’t used to being touched like this, like he didn’t let himself be touched like this.
"You’re not alone in this," you whispered against his lips, your hands moving slowly over the hard planes of his chest, feeling the unsteady rhythm of his heart beneath your palm. "You don’t have to carry it all by yourself."
Law’s grip on you tightened, desperate, conflicted. "You don’t know what you’re asking for," he muttered.
You leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips, not demanding, not taking, just offering.
"Yes, I do."
For a moment, he didn’t move. His breath mingled with yours, his body rigid, like he was still deciding whether to surrender or run.
Law had always kept his distance, always held himself back. Even now, with your hands on him, with your lips still tingling from the bruising press of his, you could feel it - the hesitation, the weight of something he refused to put into words.
You knew what it was.
You saw it in the way he looked at you, in the way his hands shook when they touched you, like he was afraid you’d disappear the second he let himself believe you were real.
Like it happened once before with Cora.
You reached up, brushing a strand of dark hair from his face, your fingertips lingering against his skin. "You think this will end like before," you murmured, your voice steady, unwavering. "Like I’ll be ripped away from you."
His throat bobbed, his fingers flexing against your hips, but he didn’t deny it.
You exhaled softly, sliding your hands up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms. "I’m not leaving, Law."
He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he couldn’t bear to hear it. "You can’t promise that."
Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him closer. "I can. And I will." You tilted your head, pressing a lingering kiss just below his jaw, whispering against his skin, "Not now. Not ever."
His breath stuttered, his hands tightening on you.
"If I fall, I’ll take you with me," you promised, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes burning with determination. "But tonight, I want something else."
He swallowed, his eyes locked onto yours, searching, waiting.
Your thumb brushed over the inked letters on his fingers, your voice dropping into something softer, something more vulnerable.
"Let me love you," you whispered. "Every part of you."
Law sucked in a breath, his grip on you shaking now. You could feel it that last bit of control, the last bit of restraint holding him back.
For a moment, the world was silent. Just the two of you, standing at the edge of something deeper, something that could destroy you both if you let it.
Then, finally Law exhaled, something breaking inside him.
And this time, when he pulled you in, there was no hesitation.
A/N: this is just a silly story i wrote while having a few drinks myself, so sorry if it sucks
Plot: you and Shanks had too many drinks and now you're completely losing it much to the crew's amusement.
Warnings: drunk Reader and Shanks, use of (Y/N), not proofread
Characters: Beckman x GnReader, Shanks and cameo by Yasopp
The Red-Haired Pirates had docked on a quiet island for the night, the crew taking advantage of the peaceful surroundings. The ship was anchored, and the night was filled with the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses from the deck. As usual, the crew had gathered to unwind, and the alcohol was flowing freely.
You were in a good mood, feeling the warmth of the night air, the camaraderie of your crew mates, and, of course, the constant presence of your lover, Beckman. He was sitting next to you, looking as relaxed as always, with his usual smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
At some point you and Shanks were engaging in a friendly drinking contest that left you both more than tipsy - much to the crew's amusement.
Beckman, ever the calm presence, was quietly amused, leaning back with his drink in hand while watching you two spiral deeper into silliness.
Your gaze fell to his hand resting on the table, and for some reason, it seemed to captivate your attention. Slowly, you reached out and pressed your palm against his, lining up your fingers. Your brows furrowed in exaggerated concentration before your jaw dropped in mock surprise.
“Beck!” you gasped, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Your hand is huge! Look at this!”
He raised an eyebrow, glancing between you and your hands before letting out a soft chuckle. “You’re just noticing this now?”
Ignoring him, you whipped your head to Shanks, grabbing his hand and pulling it into view.
“Shanks, look at this! It’s massive!”
Shanks, caught up in your drunken energy, gasped in mock shock. “No way! That’s ridiculous!” He grabbed Beckman’s hand, comparing it to his own, and squinted. “Wait a second... mine’s almost as big as his!”
You gasped again, clutching your chest as if Shanks had just revealed the secret to life itself. “Then what does that mean about my hands?!” You held up your own in dismay, staring at them as if they’d betrayed you.
Shanks leaned closer, inspecting your hands with a faux-serious expression. “It means... your hands are tiny! Like... baby tiny!”
This sent both of you into fits of laughter, your heads practically colliding as you leaned into each other.
“Baby hands!” you wheezed, clutching your stomach.
Beckman shook his head, muttering under his breath, “Unbelievable.” But the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying his amusement.
Yasopp, clearly enjoying the spectacle, chimed in. “Hey, Shanks, does that mean she can’t hold a drink properly with those ‘baby hands’?”
Shanks immediately perked up. “Oh, you’re right! How has she been drinking this whole time? Do you need, like, a tiny cup?”
You gasped dramatically, picking up your mug with both hands to prove him wrong. “I’ll have you know, these hands are very capable!”
“Sure they are,” Shanks teased, grabbing the mug and pretending to inspect it. “Is this even full-sized, though? It looks smaller in your baby hands.”
Another round of laughter erupted, and even Beckman let out a low chuckle as he leaned back in his chair, shaking his head at the ridiculousness unfolding around him.
But it didn’t stop there. At one point, you stared intently at the sky, poking Shanks in the shoulder.
Yasopp snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, you two are definitely cut off after this.”
“Cut off?!” you exclaimed, clutching your chest dramatically. “Yasopp, how could you? You can’t silence the truth!”
Beckman finally let out a deep laugh, shaking his head at the two of you. “You’re questioning everything except how much you’ve had to drink.”
"Hey, [Y/N], you know what I just realized ?" Shanks slurred, leaning in a little too close, already clearly feeling the effects of the alcohol.
You raised an eyebrow, not trusting him, but intrigued. "What?" you quipped asShanks whispered in your ear that he thinks the moon is trying to seduce Beckman.
You were shocked to hear that and immediately wrapped your arms around Beckman and rested your chin on his shoulder. "Beck, Shanks said that the moon has it's eyes on you probably because you are so handsome but you're not going to leave me for it right?" You pouted
Beckman raised an eyebrow, his cigarette perched lazily between his fingers as he glanced at you over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The moon, huh?” he said, clearly amused but playing along. “Well, that’s some tough competition.”
The rest of the crew, especially Shanks, burst into laughter at your ridiculous concern, Shanks dramatically wiping tears from his eyes. “I mean, who could resist the moon, really? It’s got the whole ‘mysterious, always watching’ vibe going on!”
You tightened your arms around Beckman’s neck, your pout deepening. “Don’t joke about this, Shanks! Beck, promise me you’re not going to leave me for the moon.”
But Shanks too drunk to think straight kept pushing. "It’s... it’s totally hitting on Beckman. Look at it! It’s all... shiny and glowing. Maybe it’s... you know... trying to get his attention."
Beckman chuckled softly at Shanks' antics and when he saw the panic in your eyes, he decided to play along, leaning back and crossing his arms casually.
"Maybe Shanks is right," he said, looking up at the moon with mock seriousness.
"It is rather... full tonight."
You turned sharply to him, your eyes wide with horror. "You can’t be serious, Beck! You’re mine!"
You tightened your grip around him, your voice rising a little too dramatically as you started panicking.
"That moon can’t just come in here, floating around like it owns the place, trying to... to flirt with you! You belong to me! Not the moon, not anyone else!"
Shanks burst into laughter at the sight of you nearly choking on your words, and Beckman raised an eyebrow at your overreaction, his smirk widening into a grin.
"Easy, love," Beckman said, chuckling softly. "You’re overthinking this. The moon doesn’t even have a mouth. What could it possibly say to me?"
But your panic was only just beginning to grow. "Don’t you see? It’s subtle!" you exclaimed, your hands waving wildly as you pointed up at the moon. "It’s got that mysterious glow, that charming shine like it’s trying to... to seduce you! Beck, it’s too much! What if it comes down here and... and—"
You stopped yourself, realizing you were actually taking the situation seriously, and suddenly you burst into laughter at how ridiculous you were being. "Oh my god," you muttered, realizing you had gotten way too worked up about an inanimate object in the sky. "I’m so drunk."
Shanks, still giggling, leaned in close, his face lighting up with mischief. "No, no, I think the moon has definitely made its interest clear. It is coming for you, Beck. What will you do?"
He dramatically placed a hand on his chest, as if shocked by the moon’s sudden advances. "How will you reject such a... glowing beauty?"
You groaned, slumping into Beckman’s side, your face turning red in embarrassment. "Oh, please, Shanks. You’re not helping. I’m just—"
Before you could finish, Shanks seemed to have another revelation eyes widening. "Maybe the moon’s been watching Beckman from a distance for years. I mean, the guy’s got that mysterious, dark brooding thing going for him. The moon's just waiting for the right moment to swoop in."
You turned to Beckman in a mix of affection and dread, your eyes wide. "Beck, tell me you’re not actually entertaining this!" you demanded, poking him in the chest. "You’re not going to be swayed by the moon, right? You wouldn’t—"
Beckman’s grin only grew wider, his voice dripping with amusement. "Well, I don’t know. Maybe the moon’s got a thing for me. Can’t say I blame it."
You stared at him in disbelief, and even Shanks looked with wide eyes and a shocked expression at Beckman's words.
Beckman just shook his head, smiling with affection as he leaned over and kissed your forehead. "Alright, alright," he said softly, "the moon’s not a threat, [Y/N]. You’re the only one for me, no competition."
Still tipsy and laughing at yourself, you leaned into Beckman, your mind still spinning from the ridiculousness of it all.
"You better mean that, Beckman," you muttered, a smile tugging at your lips. "Because if the moon tries anything, I’m taking it down."
Shanks just as drunk as you laughed slightly. "You're right (Y/N) and I'm helping you with it" he said rather seriously.
You weren’t sure what came over you as you suddenly bolted upright, eyes wild.
"That’s it!" you declared, grabbing a nearby bottle that had once contained a half-empty drink, and you stood on your tiptoes, holding it up toward the sky. "You wanna play this game, moon?" you shouted, feeling the alcohol hit you hard and fast. "Back off, alright?! Beckman belongs to me!"
With all the dramatic flair you could muster, you hurled the bottle at the moon as if to prove a point.
The bottle sailed through the air and clattered harmlessly on the deck. The moon, of course, didn’t respond.
Beckman’s jaw dropped, eyes wide, as he reached out to catch you before you took a tumble from your impromptu tantrum.
"What the hell are you doing?" he laughed, his voice mixed with amusement and disbelief.
Shanks, almost doubled over with laughter at the absurdity of it all, wiped a tear from his eye. "I think you just threw a drink at the moon... and it dodged it. Looks like the moon's really into Beckman, huh?"
You huffed, crossing your arms and giving up on trying to salvage any dignity. "The moon can take its glowing, creepy ass back where it came from. Beckman’s mine, got it?" You said as you wrapped your arms around his waist and nuzzled your face into his chest.
Beckman shook his head with a grin, his hand resting on your waist his smirk never fading. "Don’t worry, love. No celestial body, no matter how shiny, is gonna take me from you."
