Show Me Your Desire Pt. 3
A/N: because a lot of you asked for more of this I decided to make a Dilf edition (other DILFs will follow here's a hint on who 🤡💨🦩🍩 and a none dilf guest with "fiery" legs 💛 )
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4
Plot: you ate the Yoku Yoku No Mi - the desire desire devil fruit - that shows you glimpses of someones deepest desires when you touch them. Therefore you made sure to avoid touches and insight into those personal moments. But things get out of hand
Warnings: none, sfw, maybe a tiny bit of angst?, not proofread, GN but written with FReader in mind
Characters: Shanks, Beckman, Marco, Rayleigh (all separately) x GnReader
Shanks
You didn’t belong here. Not at this level. The meeting was meant for powerful men, warlords, emperors, and their most dangerous commanders. But the underworld needed a liaison, and you had information they wanted.
That was your ticket in.
They called it a neutral summit, but the tension was razor-wire tight. Eyes slide over you like knives, curious, dismissive, predatory.
You kept your gloves on because there were too many people and things could spiral too fast out of hand.
Shanks entered late, laughing like this wasn’t some high-stake meeting. Coat slung over one shoulder. Hair like fire and an annoyingly charming smile that would disarm whole navies.
You pretended not to notice him but of course he noticed you.
It was at dinner. A toast was held, ironically meant to seal peace.
You didn’t drink. Not with strangers. But when your hand accidentally knocked into his glass, he steadied it and his fingers touched yours because you thought it was a good idea to keep the gloves off during dinner and now there was bare skin to bare skin.
You sucked in a breath and everything changed the vision hit you.
Not a fantasy. Not lust. A quiet moment. You. Standing beside him on the deck of the Red Force. Wearing his coat. Laughing. Eyes full of wild joy. His desire? Not to bed you. Not to control you. To love you.To choose you. A captain’s desire. Intimate. Terrifying and utterly real.
You ripped your hand back a little too fast making the wine slosh and the conversation around you dulled for a moment.
Shanks just watched you, head tilted slightly, like a man watching the sea change colors under moonlight.
And then he smiled, slow and knowing before you excused yourself and left the room.
After that incident you tried to avoid him.
You made up excuses to stay near the table’s edge, offered vague, polite nods or sometimes stood at the very back of the room.
But it was useless because the next day he found you alone at the edge of the cliff overlooking the ocean.
You didn’t hear him approach. You just felt him.
“I’m not that scary, am I?”
You kept your gloves tight and your eyes forward. “Depends, who’s asking.”
He huffed a laugh. “Didn’t think I made that bad of an impression.”
“You didn’t.”
“But?”
You bit your lip and said nothing.
Shanks stepped beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body but not close enough to touch you.
“Something changed when I touched you.”
Your stomach flipped at his words and you unintentionally brushed over your gloves.
“I felt it,” he continued softly. “You flinched. You looked at me like I had opened a door I shouldn’t have.”
Your hands lowered to the railing grip tightly around it to somehow ground you. “It wasn’t you. It’s… me.”
“That so?”
He didn’t push. Not yet but he lingered.
And his silence was somehow worse. Because the Shanks everyone always talked about was loud, lighthearted, a flirt and annoyingly charming.
This one?
This one was dangerous.
Because he was watching and he saw far too much and you knew that he wouldn’t let it slide like this forever sooner or later he would confront you again.
He caught you days later. This time in the moonlight, at the edge of the port, where the ships waited like sleeping beasts.
You went there because you needed to be alone, needed space and you didn’t expect him to join you.
“I figured it out,” he said, like a secret between you. “What it is you’re hiding.”
You froze and looked a little scared at him. “No you didn’t.”
“You ate a Devil Fruit. Didn’t you?”
You inhaled sharply but didn’t say anything.
He took one slow step forward.
“You don’t like being touched. Not because of trauma. Because of something else. Something….new.”
You kept backing up until your spine hit a post and Shanks stopped inches from you.
“And when I touched you…” He trailed off. “You looked at me like I broke something precious.”
You finally spoke, your voice cracking. “Because you did.”
His brows furrowed.
“I see it,” you whispered. “When people touch me. I see what they want. Their deepest desire. And I can’t make it stop.”
Silence.
He didn’t laugh, he didn’t scoff, he just took one slow, measured and final step forward
“And mine?” he asked.
You looked away and didn’t answer.
“Tell me,” he said, softer this time. “What did I want?”
You didn’t want to say it. Because once you did, it won’t be pretend anymore. It would be real but you couldn’t keep it in you any longer, you needed to finally say it out loud so you turned to face him.
“You wanted peace,” you whispered. “You wanted me. With you. Free. Loved.”
His lips parted.
You looked away again. “Don’t pretend you don’t remember it. Because I do. I felt it. You wanted to keep me. Not as some prize. Not for sex. Just… me.”
There was a long silence between you during which neither of you moved.
“I’m sorry,” he suddenly said.
That made you laugh, bitterly, maybe a little too bitter. “For what?”
“For making you feel like it was a crime to be wanted, not as a prize but for someone precious.”
He gave you a small smile before he walked away leaving you to your thoughts, giving you space and worse, making you feel so utterly confused and overwhelmed.
The next few days Shanks visited you again and again. He never asked anymore questions about what you saw or your powers, no more demands, just him, his presence.
Sometimes he talked and joked. Sometimes he didn’t and let the silence settle between you both but not uncomfortable anymore.
But always during these times he let you choose how close he was allowed to get. Never touching, never crowding.
And that was what broke you.
Because he didn’t act on desire no matter how much he wanted it.
He honoured it.
He waited.
Until one night, when you sat beside him under the stars.
“It doesn’t hurt when it’s you.” You suddenly said.
He looked over with a raised eyebrow.
“I mean… it still happens. I still see it. But it doesn’t hurt, it never really did.”
He reached out, very slowly, until his fingertips barely brushed your glove.
“What do you see?” he asked cautiously.
You slid the glove off and lay your palm in his.
The moment your skin touched his again, the vision flared.
You. Older. Stronger. Laughing at his side. Hands scarred. Eyes warm. A family. A future. And him, holding you close during a storm, whispering he’ll never let the world take you.
When you snapped back you blinked rapidly and Shanks just looked at you, he didn’t press you to tell him.
“I see you, me, us.” you whispered.
He smiled at you, that warm charming smile that could melt steel and yet he didn’t make another move despite how much he wanted to. You didn’t need a devil fruit to see how much he restrained himself not to lean in and kiss you, touch you, hold you.
And that was when you realized that Shanks wasn’t like the rest, he was special, he cherished you, not your powers or looks, he wanted to be with you, the real you and you had never felt so safe and desired without being used.
So you did the only thing that felt right in that moment. You placed your hand on his cheek and leaned closer.
“You sure” he asked carefully.
But you just smiled. “Yes I’m sure, you…..I saw us, I felt what it means to be yours, you are…..not like the others Shanks. I think I can finally see that and I want this vision, this desire I saw, to become true because truth is your desire had now become mine too.” You said softly.
That was all the permission Shanks needed to finally close the gap between you two. He kissed you like a man who found the One Piece. It was sweet, it was gentle and it was full of love.
And that night was the first time you fell asleep in the arms of someone else, letting someone hold you without fearing the touch, without fearing skin on skin because when you touched him there was no vision flaring up anymore because this, right here, was what he desired most.
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Marco
You didn’t ask to feel the way someone aches for you when their fingers brush yours. You didn’t ask to be the mirror that reflects desire, laid bare and raw, without their permission. Without yours.
The Yoku Yoku no Mi was a curse. A secret you’ve kept from nearly everyone, especially the men in this pirate alliance, most of whom wouldn't take kindly to knowing their most private thoughts are one brush away from discovery.
You didn’t want this power, never wanted to see others deepest desires.
But then came Marco.
The phoenix. The doctor. The man made of fire and light and the weight of centuries behind tired blue eyes.
You were even more careful around him. Always wearing gloves. Always choosing something with long sleeves. Always coming up with an excuse to stay out of arm’s reach.
Until today.
The meeting was chaos. As usual.
You had slipped out early, your skin crawling from the too-close proximity of people who wanted you too much. You headed for the far side of the deck, where night air kissed your face and silence didn’t try to touch you.
You didn’t hear him approach until he was close enough to make the hairs on your neck rise.
“You alright, yoi?”
His voice was low. Familiar. It always made you feel a little steadier.
You turned and then it happened.
You stumbled on a loose plank, not much, just a slight tilt but enough.
Marco’s hand shot out and caught your wrist right where your sleeve had ridden up and now there was what you dreaded the most skin on skin.
It hit you like a wave of flame.
His longing. A deep, aching, devastating desire to go back. To a quiet morning, with you curled beside him, sunlight painting your face. His hand in your hair. His fingers brushing your cheek like you were something precious. Untouchable. Sacred. Then another scene - a quiet beach, not far from a sleepy village. A house, washed in warm light. You were there, beside him. He had his arms around your waist, chin tucked on your shoulder, both of you watching a bonfire down below. Children were laughing. Villagers dancing. He was smiling. That soft, sad smile that meant he wasn’t hurting for once. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel whole again not after everything that had happened. Until you showed up,” he whispered in your ear like a confession, like a secret. You saw a life he never let himself want again.
The desire ran so deep it burnt. It was past logic, past time. It scorched your chest with the ghost of something he never said.
And never would because Marco never took what he wanted because he lost too much already, he was too scared to find love, hope, a family only to lose it again.
He let go the second he felt you stiffen and stepped back instantly.
Gentleman. Doctor. Saint.
“You alright?”
You nodded slowly, a lie of course and he noticed it.
“...What happened?”
You stared at him, at those kind eyes, that steady heart, that fire barely holding itself together.
You could tell him. You could say, “You want me. And not like the others do. You want peace. And a home. And me in it.”
But how did you say that to someone who’s spent his whole life burying what he wanted under ashes?
“Nothing, it’s…..let’s not talk about it” you said voice shaking before you gave him a forced smile and walked away.
It didn’t take long though till he found you again.
Back on the lower deck with the wind in your hair and your eyes on the sea.
“You’ve been avoiding me, yoi.”
You didn’t answer, you couldn’t.
He leaned beside you on the rail but didn’t touch you, didn’t pressure you.
The silence stretched long it was not uncomfortable but it was…..strange and a little awkward.
“You’re not scared of me.” He finally said and it wasn’t a question it was a statement.
“No.” Your voice was quiet. “But I’m scared of what I saw.”
“What you saw?” He asked turning slowly
You closed your eyes.
Dammit.
You didn’t mean to say that.
Because Marco was smart, infuriatingly smart, maybe even too smart for his own good, and of course he pieced it together faster than most would.
“That fruit you ate,” he murmured. “The one you didn’t want anyone to know about.”
You looked at him now, your heart was racing and your breathing increased. His face though was unreadable but you saw the firelight flicker in his eyes.
“You saw something when I touched you.”
You nodded slowly like a kid who got caught doing something wrong.
He didn’t ask what. Didn’t demand it.
But he said something worse.
“That’s not fair to you.”
You frowned totally surprised. “What?”
He pushed off the railing and ran a hand through his blond hair. He looked tired again, like the weight of his own restraint was killing him.
“You shouldn't have to carry someone else's buried feelings. Especially not mine. I can’t give you anything, yoi. You know what I’ve lost. I can’t risk losing more.”
You swallowed hard. “And what if I don’t care?”
He looked at you then with those annoyingly beautiful eyes and the mask dropped.
You saw it again but this time not through the fruit, but through him, right here, right in front of you. The want, the fear, the need.
“You should,” he whispered. “You should care. I’m not the man who gets to want things anymore.”
You stepped toward him. Slowly. Letting him pull away if he needed or wanted to but he didn’t and you stopped shortly before him.
“I’ve spent years watching everyone I love burn out,” he whispered. “Ace. Thatch. Pops. The crew scattered like ash in the wind. Every time I care, I lose. Every time I want, the world takes it,” he continued
“You do want me,” you say softly. “I saw it.”
His jaw tightened.
“I saw peace. Just… peace. You and me. It was so quiet it hurt.”
He looked like you stabbed him. Because you saw the one thing he tried hardest to bury.
“I’m not going to beg,” you said. “But I need you to know, I’m not scared of what you felt. I’m scared that you’ll keep pushing me away because you think you don’t deserve it. I know what you’ve lost, I know that you think you are not meant to be happy, that those you love and care about always end up lost but I still want this, I want to be the peace you so desperately want, need and deserve. I want to be the one to show you that you are allowed to love, to care and to be happy.”
The wind picked up leaving your words hang between you like embers waiting to land.
He didn’t say a word and just looked at you like you just shattered his whole world before he lifted a hand.
And this time, when he touched you, his warm and kind hand on your face, palm to cheek, calloused thumb brushing your skin you let him and leaned in slightly.
And there it was again.
That morning, that sunlight day, that warmth and that longing.
But this time, something changed.
Because he let it happen, he let you see, he wanted you to see.
He smiled at you, a warm genuine smile before he leaned in and let his forehead rest against yours. Voice like cracked stone.
“I don’t know how to hold this without burning it, yoi.”
You smiled, eyes stinging.
“Then burn me. If it’s you… I don’t mind the fire. Let it happen Marco, don’t be afraid, let me be yours,” you said softly and took a deep breath.
And before you knew it he kissed you like he meant it, like you were the only good thing that had happened to him since everything fell apart.
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Rayleigh
The meeting was tense, but not chaotic. The old legends were always good at hiding sharp teeth behind pleasantries.
You weren’t meant to be here, not really. You were just a courier. A quiet neutral with information too valuable to trust to a den den mushi. A few letters passed between pirate alliances, a map folded in your inner coat, and a polite nod from Shakky was all it took for you to be sitting at the bar’s edge while some of the world’s most dangerous men talked strategy.
And then Rayleigh had touched you.
Just a casual thing. A greeting. A warm palm brushing your forearm as he passed you a drink.
It should’ve meant nothing.
But it shattered you.
The vision hit with no warning.
Not lust. Not command. Not violence.A quiet home. Sunlight. Laughter. The press of fingers tangled with yours in bed after the world had stopped spinning. You saw your reflection in his memory. Laughing. Older. Softer. Worn, but happy. You felt the weight of his hand resting on your lower back while you washed dishes. His nose in your hair. His thoughts whispered with such clarity you wanted to scream. “If I’d have met her when I was younger... maybe I would’ve stayed.”
And then the feeling disappeared, like the ocean after a wave.
He had already turned away, smiling lightly, unaware that he had just torn your chest open without ever drawing a blade.
You spent the rest of the night avoiding him but he noticed it, of course he did.
Rayleigh wasn’t like the others, didn’t leer, didn’t press. But he watched. That sharp glint in his eye missed nothing especially not someone who desperately tried to stay out of his way.
You pretended to drink. Pretended to laugh. Pretended you hadn’t felt the kind of love no one ever offered you, not even in your dreams.
But you could feel him getting closer. Quietly, slowly.
You fled outside when the pressure became too much.
The back of Shakky’s bar opened into a warm summer night. Moonlight spilled across the area like silver paint. You stood with your arms folded tight, sleeves down to your knuckles, as if you could protect your skin from accidents.
“Strange place to brood.”
You froze hearing his voice but you didn’t turn around.
“Didn’t realize I was being watched,” you said quietly.
Rayleigh stepped beside you, leaving a respectable distance, hands in his coat pockets.
“You’ve been avoiding me.” It wasn’t a question it was an observation.
“I’ve been avoiding everyone,” you replied, biting your tongue. “Too many wandering hands in there.”
A moment in silence passed.
“You’re not wearing gloves.”
“Maybe I should be.” You said looking from your bare hands up to him.
Another silence. And then, ever so softly he spoke again. “You saw something”
You swallowed hard fidgeting with your fingers as you felt your heart speed up.
“I don’t know what you mean,” you lied.
He huffed a breath through his nose. Not angry. More... resigned.
“I’m not a mind-reader,” he said, voice gentle. “But I’ve been alive long enough to know when someone looks at me like they're afraid of falling.”
Your breath caught for a moment. You hated that he could still make you feel seen, still speak with that calm that cut deeper than any demand or any shouting.
“I didn’t mean to see anything,” you whispered. “You touched me. That was all.”
“And now you’re afraid of me?”
“No,” you said too quickly. “Not afraid. Just...” you looked him in the eye before turning your face away from him leaving the sentence hanging.
You stared out into the open absentmindedly toying with your fingers. “I wasn’t ready for that kind of truth,” you finally continued.
Rayleigh didn’t move nor did he reach for you. Just let the sea lap gently beneath your feet as the silence wrapped around you like a tide.
“You weren’t supposed to be,” he muttered after some time.
You looked back, startled by his words.
“I’m not a saint,” he continued. “And I’ve done more wrong than I can name. But I’ve spent the last decade trying to live quietly. Peacefully. Maybe selfishly. Maybe cowardly.”
His gaze met yours and you were surprised because there was no fire in it, it looked more like some tired warmth.
“When I saw you, I thought... maybe I’d like to share that quiet with someone again. I didn’t think it would be returned. I wasn’t planning to do anything about it. I still won’t. Not unless you want me to.”
That undid you.
The others - the pirates, the warlords, the men drunk on power - when they touched you, their desire surged like a storm. Want. Take. Claim.
You had become a prize, a secret fantasy, a weapon, nothing more.
But Rayleigh? His desire asked nothing of you.
It just existed quietly and warmly. A space in his life where you fit, if you wanted to step inside.
“I didn’t know men like you existed,” you murmured.
“They don’t. I’m retired,” he replied smiling softly.
A laugh slipped from your lips, shaky and half-wet with tears. You brushed at your eyes with the back of your hand. “You know this makes everything more complicated.”
“It always is with power like yours.”
“I hate it.”
“I would too.”
Another pause while you wiped hastily at your eyes.
“Can I touch you again?” He suddenly asked his voice barely louder than the waves.
You swallowed, heart picking up again and you started to fidget with your fingers again. “If you do... I’ll see it again. I’ll feel everything, the desire you have buried deep inside you.”
“I know.” He stepped closer not forcing, just offering.
Your fingers twitched and your heart was now hammering against your ribs.
You took a deep breath and then slowly, ever so slowly, you reached out, letting your hand slide into his.
Not even a second later it hit you again.
The same sunlit life. The warm embrace. The way he looked at you like you were the only part of his world still worth protecting. The ache in his chest whenever you smiled. The slow-burning desire that wasn’t just lust, it was wanting. Wanting to be worthy. To be chosen.
Your breath shook and his fingers curled gently around yours.
When the vision faded, you stayed where you were anchored in the warmth of his palm. Soft eyes looking at you.
“I saw it,” you said. “Again.”
“I know.”
You looked up. “Do you really want that?”
“More than anything,” he said his deep voice barely above a whisper
Your heart ached hearing those words. “Then why haven’t you kissed me?”
He smiled, and this time, there was something rougher behind it. “Because I’m trying not to be the kind of man you have to run from.”
You didn’t hesitate. You leaned in, pressed your lips to his, softly, like a question, like an answer, like a promise.
When you pulled back, your heart was racing and your hands were shaking slightly.
“You’re the only one I don’t want to run from,” you said voice trembling.
He didn’t kiss you again. Not yet.
But he touched your face like you were something breakable and sacred, and when he pulled you into his chest, your powers didn’t show you anything.
There was nothing deeper to reveal. You already knew all of it.
And for the first time since you ate that cursed fruit, you felt safe and you didn’t hate that power because Rayleigh made you feel like you were worth more than a pretty face with a rare Devil Fruit, because he saw you for you and wanted you just the way you were.
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Beckman
You had been maneuvering through the crowded meeting hall of one of the Grand Line’s more neutral territories, if neutrality could be bought with enough favors, blood, and rare alcohol. The alliance summit between rival powers had descended into low murmurs and whiskey-fueled tolerance, and the last thing you needed was to fall flat on your face.
But someone bumped your shoulder. A wine glass wobbled in your hand. And then you felt a hand at your waist right where your shirt had ridden up.
Beckman’s hand – steady, firm and warm.
It took exactly one second and the vision set in.
You saw yourself, bathed in golden afternoon light, seated between his knees on the deck of the Red Force. His hand lazily playing with your hair, your body pressed against his, legs folded together like you'd done it a thousand times. His mouth brushed the shell of your ear. Not in lust. In peace. In want. In comfort.
You snapped back to reality with a gasp.
Beckman’s hand was already gone, retracted like the brief touch had burned him too. His gaze was unreadable, all shadows and cigarette smoke. You knew better than to stare too long but you couldn’t stop your voice from catching as you straightened.
“Thanks.”
He gave a small nod. That was all. He didn’t say another word. Didn’t smile. Just turned and walked away.
Later that night you stood on the outer balcony alone. You needed the air. You needed the sea wind to clear your head.
Because what you had felt when Beckman touched you, that wasn't just attraction. It wasn’t a fleeting crush or a one-night fantasy. It was quiet. Heavy. Dangerous in its simplicity.
He wanted you and more importantly he wanted to keep you.
You gripped the edge of the railing too tightly when a voice startled you.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
You didn’t turn. “No, I haven’t.”
“Don’t lie. Not to me,” he scoffed softly. “I didn’t mean to touch you,” he said, tone unreadable. “But the way you reacted...”
You swallowed, heart racing.
“…You felt something,” he continued. “Didn’t you?”
You stayed quiet. Not because you didn’t have answers but because if you opened your mouth, you might say something you couldn’t take back.
Beckman moved to stand beside you, arms crossed. He didn’t look at you. Just gazed out over the ocean like it might offer clarity.
“You’re not normal,” he said at last and you flinched.
“I’ve seen a lot of Devil Fruit users. Most of them wear their power like a blade. Loud. Obvious. But you…” He glanced sideways at you now, eyes sharp as glass. “You’re hiding something.”
You turned finally, meeting his gaze. The wind caught your hair, whipping it around your shoulders. His eyes were a storm.
“What do you think I’m hiding?” you asked softly.
He took a drag from his cigarette, exhaled slowly, then stepped just a little closer.
“You looked at me like I had undressed you. Like I had taken something.” His voice dropped. “So tell me. What did I do?”
“I saw what you want”, you wanted to say. You saw him alone in his quarters, thinking of you. Not touching himself. Just… thinking. A man who could have anyone, imagining sitting beside you in silence. Smoking in bed while you read. His lips on your skin not in hunger, but reverence.
You weren’t sure if that made it worse. That he didn’t want you like the others did that he needed you.
“I can’t tell you,” you said instead.
“Why not?” he asked with a frown.
“Because if I do… everything changes.”
A beat passed then Beckman reached slowly out and held his hand palm-up between you, hovering inches from yours.
“If it’s already changed,” he said, “then let me see how far.”
Your throat dried. “Don’t,” you whispered.
“You’re scared of me?” he asked.
“No. I’m scared of what I want when I’m around you.”
That made him pause but he didn’t lower his hand.
“I won’t touch you again. Not unless you ask me to,” he finally said, stepping back and dropping his hand.
“Good night,” he murmured, and turned to leave.
You didn’t stop him though, you just stood there long after he was gone, heart hammering against your ribs.
The next day you had wandered just a few minutes on the docks to breathe, to feel air without tension. But then a pirate you didn’t recognize grabbed your bare arm and the vision was nasty, it was hurtful, nothing like what you saw when Beckman had touched you.
“You from that emperor crew?” he slurred, breath sour with cheap sake. “Pretty little thing… bet even Benn Beckman’d share ya for tha right—” a loud crack and the man dropped before the sentence was finished.
Your ears rang from the shot. A kneecap gone, shattered. Screams followed, echoing off the stone dock. Blood soaked the boards. The man writhed, crying out for mercy.
And then you felt it - a hand on your shoulder.
Not rough, not pulling, no it was steady and very familiar.
“You alright?” came Beckman’s voice behind you.
You turned to see that he still held the rifle one-handed, barrel faintly smoking, calm as ever. He looked past you at the man screaming on the ground like he wasn’t worth finishing off.
“I’m fine,” you managed, voice tight. “You didn’t have to—”
“I did.”
His jaw flexed.
“I saw the way he touched you,” Beckman muttered. “I saw your face.”
And you knew what he meant. He didn’t know what your power was at least not fully but he could tell by the way you reacted when the pirate touched you, how you flinched and paled, that it hurt and unsettled you.
“Come on,” he said. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m not—”
But he was already guiding you away and back to your room. His hand hovered just short over the small of your back but never touching.
Once you reached your room Beckman shut the door behind you with a soft click.
You stood there, heart still pounding not from the pirate, but from him. From the way he had pulled the trigger without blinking. From the look in his eyes as he checked you over for injuries in the dim light of your quarters.
“You didn’t hesitate,” you said quietly.
He leaned against the closed door, cigarette dangling from his lips.
“Didn’t need to.”
You looked away. “You shouldn’t have shot him.”
“He’s still breathing.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It is to me.”
That shut you up.
“You can’t just shoot everyone who touches me,” you whispered.
“Try me.”
You turned sharply.
“Don’t joke about that.”
“I’m not.” His eyes were unreadable. “I’m serious.”
And he was. That was the most terrifying part. Beckman didn’t say things he didn’t mean.
You tried to steady your breath, but your voice cracked anyway. “You don’t know what it feels like. When someone touches me and I feel everything they want. Everything they bury and that pirate…..he didn’t just simply want to hurt me.”
Beckman raised a brow.
“He wanted to… own me,” you muttered. “To show me off. To parade me like a trophy. Like I was a prize he won in a bet.”
“And me?” he asked after a long pause.
You froze, unable to look at him and Beckman pushed off the door and crossed the room only to stop inches from you.
“Tell me,” he said, voice low, “what you saw.”
You shook your head.
“I want to hear it,” he pressed. “I want to know what you felt when I touched you.”
You bit your lip. “You don’t want that.”
“I do.”
You met his eyes and gave in.
“You want me,” you said, quiet and raw. “But not like the others. You don’t want to use me. You want to hold me. To keep me safe. You want late mornings. You want to teach me how to play cards. You want me to wear your shirt and steal your bed and never leave. And that scares the hell out of me.”
Beckman didn’t move, his face was unreadable but something in his eyes shifted.
“Is that really so terrifying?” he asked, almost gently.
“Yes,” you whispered. “Because I could want that too.”
Could was an understatement though because you already did want it.
He stepped forward just slightly. Enough that your fingers brushed.
Just enough contact to flood you with that vision again but this time it felt even deeper.
You saw yourself curled under a blanket on the Red Force, rain pounding outside. Beckman beside you, reading. One arm draped across your shoulders. A quiet promise in every breath. And this time you felt that this wasn’t just a desire anymore it was something he believed could really be.
And when the image faded you realized you were crying.
Beckman looked stricken. “What—?”
“I can’t keep seeing this,” you breathed. “I can’t keep feeling things that aren’t mine.”
He reached for you but then stopped himself.
“I want them to be yours,” he said, raw. “All of them.”
You just stared at him.
He exhaled slowly. “Every thought I’ve had of you, every thing I’ve wanted it’s not just in passing. It’s not just in the dark. It’s there in the daylight. Every time you laugh. Every time you hold your damn cup with both hands like it’s sacred. Every time you walk into a room and pretend like nobody’s watching you. I am.”
Tears blurred your vision.
“I didn’t want to know,” you choked. “I didn’t want to know what you wanted because I knew the moment I did…..I’d want it too.”
“Then let yourself have it,” he said voice cracking slightly.
You stepped forward and rested your head against his chest. Letting him wrap his arms around you without shame. Letting yourself feel the weight of it, the warmth of someone who wanted not just your body, but your presence.
And he held you like he had waited years for it.
Like he wouldn’t dare let go unless you told him to.
Which obviously you didn’t.
