Summary~ You're angry at him for declining to see Luffy in Wano.
Tags~ Angst to fluff
Word count~ 1k
✧ Masterlist ✧ Dividers from @diviniyae
You stomped over to where Beckman and Shanks remained seated at the corner of the deck, the sound of boots clicking against the wooden floor echoed in the silent atmosphere, which was otherwise too silent for a crew as rowdy as Red-haired pirates.
What transmitted the crew members to silence? Well, it is your foul-mood. It wasn't uncommon to see you upset over some things, this, however, was different. Because you are deeply disaffected with Shanks' choice.
How could he not meet Luffy when we are so close?
It felt wrong to you, every muscle in your body radiated with infatuation at the man, you plopped in the empty chair. Your arms crossed, eyebrows knitted together in fury. You stared straight head, not meeting Shanks' gaze.
Shanks' demeanour shifted at your presence, and even more, as he noticed the anger in your eyes. He figured what it was, but played feign like always.
“What's wrong, sweetheart?”, he asks feigning knowledge over your foul-mood. As if he didn't know what he did.
Your head snapped in his direction with a glare, “You know exactly what's wrong! Don't give me that”, you spat out and go back to staring straight head, again.
“Come on, don't be like that”
“…”
No response is heard from you as he goes on to spout nonsense.
Your mind relays the scene which occurred a few moments ago.
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You merrily approached the Red-haired man from behind who glazed at the country over the waterfalls in front of them. You and Lucky Roux had the same question in your minds, for which you along with the man approached Shanks.
“Let's go meet Luffy!”
You suggested enthusiastically, eager to meet the stupid rubber boy after years of separation. The image of his idiot-like wide smile replayed in your head. Even though, it's been years, it was still as clear as day in your memories.
The little boy who used to run around you and Shanks like a little duckling. A wide smile formed on your face as you recalled the days spent in the Foosha Village with the boy.
However, Shanks' reply was blunt, “I have no intention of seeing Luffy”, he said with a smile on his face.
“…”
For a moment, silence engulfed the air and then, everyone squeaked in shock, “What?!”, whereas Yassop sighed from relief.
Your smile wavered, “What?! But—”
“Think about what's going on in our territories”, his voice casual, there's no underlying seriousness to it.
“Shanks, We are so—”
。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。
Thus, the situation came to be like this.
Shanks tried to uplift your mood with a joke, which sounded rather unfunny to you at the moment. “I want to see him”, you simply stated.
“I'm sorry, not right now”, he replied straightforwardly but there was no remorse evident in his tone.
Anger flared through your veins, how could he decline to meet Luffy?
You smashed your fist on the table, “It makes no sense to come so close and leave without meeting him”
Shanks gaze avoided yours, stayed on the table where your fist met the wood. He exhales deeply, “We will have plenty of chances to see him in future”, he relayed.
“That's not the point. What's wrong with seeing—” him right now?
His voice broke off your sentence without ever fully being conveyed, “Y/n”, his voice cut through the air. The gravity of his voice as he called out your name told you enough.
“You and I do have a relationship but here, as a crew member, you listen to my orders”
Silence fell over the deck and everything stilled in the moment as if the time itself had frozen. It's a very known fact that Shanks adores you and he hasn't used his authority as a captain over you, no matter how dire the situation may be. He is cool-headed and soft man, though high-maintenance but never unkind, not to you.
Everyone's breath caught in their lungs as they waited for either side to break the ice. No one dared to speak after that statement of Shanks and it's very pretty obvious why.
You rose from your seat, and walk off without uttering any further words. The sound of your boots clicking against the wooden flooring echoed in the silence that hung over the deck.
Click, click, click.
Your form disappeared into the shared of you and Shanks. Still, no one dared to speak almost as if their breathes were caught.
“Don't mind us, continue”
Shanks waved a reassuring hand towards his stiff crew mates. And finally, everyone exhaled, relaxing their forms and continuing their previous tasks.
Shanks let out a low chuckle, “Seems like I made her angrier. Not the right of choice of words, perhaps”, he joked lightly but stress lied underneath calm exterior. A turmoil coursing through his heart and mind as he swirled the glass.
Beckman looked at his captain who feigned goofiness, “You should talk to her”, the man advised.
Shanks hoisted his body up and made his way to the room, his heart thumped loudly in his chest.
Thump, thump, thump
He could hear his own heartbeat at this point. The noise from the deck dulled into a background. Is she even going to let me in now?
He pondered for a moment before finally turning the handle of the door. The idea of just letting it be crossed his mind but he knew that was a temporary solution. The door creaked open.
He stepped inside, surprisingly she didn't threw something at his face right away. She looked at him with surprisingly tender expression. Confusion crossed his features.
But nevertheless, he had to do what he came for..
“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have talked like that”
Your and his voice overlapped each other's followed by a burst of laughter from both of you having chosen the exact same words.
For a moment, laughter filled the room which died down subtly and slowly. An awkward silence hung between you two.
“So, Am I allowed to sleep on the bed or are you still evicting me out of the luxury?”, he joked in hopes of lighting the mood.
The words did earn him a light chuckle from you, “I'm still thinking”, you joked back.
“Is that so? Throwing out your captain now?”
A/n~ I don't know how it came out. I'm sorry, I don't know how to write Shanks. It's my first time writing him. Also, I hope the fic is understandable because it goes from past to present and then shifts perspectives as well.
Summary: “I think we need to talk about the fact that I’m in love with you and also that I’m pregnant.”
Song: ALL MINE - Brent Faiyaz
Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶
The wind off the East Blue sea was warm, smelling faintly of salt, wild grass, and the lingering residue of cheap port wine. It was a lazy afternoon on the deck of the Red Force, the kind of afternoon where the entire crew usually collapsed into a drunken, sun-drenched stupor. But today, the deck was unnaturally quiet.
Or rather, it was quiet in a way that made your skin prickle.
You stood by the ship’s railing, your fingers lightly tracing the weathered wood. Across the deck, sitting on an upturned barrel with his legs crossed and his straw hat tilted down to shield his eyes from the glare, was Shanks.
He looked entirely at ease. A half-empty bottle of sake dangled loosely from one scarred hand, his iconic red cloak draped casually over his broad shoulders, and his infamous, terrifying aura of a Yonko completely tucked away, leaving only the disarming, lopsided charm of a man who just wanted a nap.
For months, you had rehearsed this. You had practiced it in the privacy of your hammock under the pale glow of a lantern. You had muttered it to the crashing waves while leaning over the bow in the dead of night. You had tried every dramatic variation, every witty retort, every casual, nonchalant delivery imaginable.
None of it mattered now. The reality of it was pressing against your ribs, heavy and undeniable, and the silence of the deck was daring you to finally break it.
You took a deep, steadying breath. You turned away from the horizon and crossed the deck.
With every step you took toward him, the ambient noise of the ship—the distant clatter of pots from the galley, the soft creak of the rigging—seemed to fade into a hollow hum.
Shanks didn’t move at first, but you knew he knew you were there. He always knew. As you drew closer, the brim of his hat tilted up.
Those sharp, dark eyes, usually crinkled with mirth or narrowed with the terrifying focus of a conqueror, met yours. A slow, lazy smile spread across his face, the familiar scar over his left eye stretching slightly.
"Hey," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly purr that had a humiliating way of making your stomach flip. He lowered the bottle slightly. "You’ve been pacing all morning. Everything alright, Captain's orders aside?"
You stopped right in front of him. You didn't smile back. You didn't give him your usual playful, exasperated sigh. You just looked down at him, letting the gravity of what you were about to do settle over your shoulders like a physical weight.
“I think we need to talk about the fact that I’m in love with you,” you said simply.
The words hung in the warm air between you, startlingly plain, stripped of all the poetry and panic you had spent weeks weaving around them.
For a fraction of a second, the world stopped spinning.
Shanks froze. The easy, half-drunken smile vanished from his face as if it had never been there. The bottle in his hand slipped an inch before he caught himself, his grip tightening instinctively on the clay. His eyes widened just a fraction, the dark irises dilating as his brain scrambled to catch up to the sheer audacity of what you had just uttered.
For a man who ruled the seas, who faced down admirals and rival emperors without batting an eye, Shanks looked entirely, spectacularly derailed.
"You…" he started, his voice dropping an octave, rough around the edges. He pushed his hat back completely, staring up at you with a gaze so intensely focused it felt like a physical touch. "You what?"
You didn't blink. You didn't look away. You held your ground, though your heart was hammering a frantic, violent rhythm against your ribs. You had crossed the Rubicon. There was no turning back now.
And because you were already standing on the edge of the cliff, you decided you might as well jump all the way off.
"And also," you continued, your voice frighteningly steady, "that I’m pregnant."
The silence that followed was absolute.
It wasn't the comfortable, sleepy silence of the Red Force anymore. It was a vacuum. A suffocating, dead-air vacuum where time seemingly ground to a halt.
Shanks didn't move. He didn't breathe. The color seemed to drain out of his face for a terrifying second, leaving him startlingly pale beneath his tan, his eyes locked onto yours with a terrifying intensity.
You watched the gears turn in his head. You watched him process the first sentence—I'm in love with you—and try to map it out. And then you watched him collide violently with the second sentence—and I'm pregnant—and watch his entire universe tilt violently on its axis.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Shanks stood up.
He was taller than you, a towering wall of muscle and dangerous warmth. He dropped the sake bottle—it didn't matter that it shattered against the wooden deck, spilling sweet liquor across the planks, because neither of them cared.
His large, calloused hands came up, hovering just an inch away from your shoulders as if he were terrified that if he touched you too hard, you might shatter, or worse, that you might turn out to be a hallucination born of too much sun and bad rum.
"Say that again," he whispered. His voice wasn't loud, but it vibrated through the deck, heavy with an emotion so raw and unpolished that it took your breath away. "The… the last part."
"I'm pregnant, Shanks," you repeated, your voice softening just a fraction, though you refused to let your gaze waver from his. "It's yours. Before you ask stupid questions."
A sharp, ragged breath hitched in his throat.
And then, the mask cracked completely.
The terrifying Emperor of the Sea, the man who could make grown men faint with a single glare of his Conqueror's Haki, let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. It was a shaky, ragged sound, born of sheer, unadulterated shock.
His hands finally made contact, sliding up your arms, his fingers trembling—actually trembling—as they gripped your shoulders, pulling you in until there was barely a breath of space left between you.
"Pregnant," he breathed, the word tasting foreign and miraculous on his tongue. His eyes searched your face, scanning every micro-expression as if looking for the punchline, looking for the trick. When he found only the stark, undeniable truth staring back at him, his expression crumpled into something so painfully tender that your own eyes stung.
"You're… you're serious?" he asked, a fierce, protective instinct flaring up so brightly in his aura that you could practically feel the air ripple around him. "You're not… this isn't a joke?"
"Do I look like I'm joking?" you murmured, a ghost of a smile finally touching your lips, though your heart was still doing acrobatics in your chest. "I’ve been trying to find a good way to tell you for two weeks. Turns out, there isn't one. You just rip the bandage off."
Shanks stared at you, his chest rising and falling heavily. And then, slowly, a massive, brilliant smile broke across his face—not the lazy smirk he gave the crew, but a blinding, beautiful grin that reached all the way to his eyes, crinkling the corners and making him look younger, wilder, and entirely wrecked with joy.
"You're in love with me," he said, zeroing in on the first part with a sudden, overwhelming surge of triumph that eclipsed everything else. He let out a breathless, barking laugh, pulling you flush against his chest so hard it knocked the wind out of you. "By all the gods, you're in love with me. And you're having my kid."
"Don't sound so surprised," you muttered, resting your forehead against his solid, warm shoulder, letting the familiar scent of cedar and sea salt wash over you. "It wasn't exactly a secret to everyone else on this ship."
"Luffy's going to throw a fit," Shanks muttered into your hair, his voice thick with emotion as his arms wrapped entirely around you, locking you in a cage of unbreakable, fierce warmth. "Or he's going to demand to be the godfather. Knowing him, it'll be both."
"Let him try," you murmured, closing your eyes as you let yourself sink into the embrace you had secretly craved for months.
Shanks pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands sliding down to rest gently, reverently, over your stomach. His touch was feather-light, as if he were afraid his calloused hands might somehow damage the fragile, miraculous secret hidden beneath your clothes. His thumb stroked a slow, soothing circle against your shirt.
"Hey," he whispered, his dark eyes shining with an intensity that made your throat tighten. The playful pirate was entirely gone, replaced by a man who had just been handed the most precious treasure in the world—far greater than any One Piece or ancient weapon. "You know what this means, right?"
"What?" you asked softly.
"It means," Shanks said, his voice dropping into a fierce, absolute vow, "that I'm never letting you out of my sight again. Not on islands, not on the ship, nowhere. We're going to have to do a lot of talking about the future, you and me… starting with the fact that I've been hopelessly, stupidly in love with you since the day you stepped onto this damn ship."
You blinked, a genuine laugh bubbling up past the tightness in your chest. "You have?"
"Are you kidding?" He rolled his eyes, a fond, exasperated grin pulling at his lips as he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. "I've been losing sleep over it for a year, trying to figure out how to tell a stubborn, brilliant pain-in-the-ass like you without ruining everything."
"Well," you whispered, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze, a small, triumphant smile finally settling on your face. "Looks like we're both terrible at keeping secrets."
Shanks didn't answer with words. Instead, he cupped your face with one hand, his thumb brushing your cheekbone, and pulled you in. The kiss was deep, desperate, and overflowing with a year's worth of unspoken longing, sealing the terrified confessions into something unbreakable.
Above them, somewhere up in the crow's nest, a muffled cheer erupted, followed by the sound of someone frantically losing a bet of beris.
Shanks groaned against your lips, pulling back just enough to shoot a lethal, glowing glare up at the rigging, though he couldn't hide the wide, delirious grin splitting his face.
"Benn!" Shanks bellowed across the deck, his arm remaining firmly wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his side where you belonged. "Break out the good sake! We've got a lot of celebrating to do!"
You let out a soft laugh, resting your hand over his where it still guarded your stomach, feeling the steady, thrumming beat of his heart against yours.
The sea stretched out infinitely before you, bright and wide and terrifyingly unknown, but for the first time, you knew exactly where you were supposed to be. . . .
Benn Beckman always gives you his full attention. Always. Grey eyes tracking every expression you make, focused as if you were briefing him on the New World order while you ramble on for whatever reason.
He's the most in-demand man in the Red Force; without him, emperor Shanks wouldn't be the man he is, and the crew never stops reminding him of it. "Hey Becks, the cannon's busted", or "Beck, we need more flour", or "Beck, we're out of anesthesia and the cap'n fainted", or the occasional "Beeecks, we're being bombarded, looks like a whole Marine fleet out there". But none of it moves him. Not when you're talking to him. His eyes stay on yours, and his lips never tighten around his cigarette in a pull of impatience.
"Alright darlin', don't you worry. As soon as we make port we'll find you another dress in your size, aye?" he says once you're done.
"Thank you, Becks."
"Anytime, love," he rasps, winking at you in that way that always makes you giggle
He smiles at you, thick fingers tapping you lightly under the chin to ask for your forgiveness. "Give me a sec, alright love? These lot won't leave me alone."
"Of course, Becks."
His smile holds just long enough before he turns to find Yasopp looking at him with apologetic eyes.
A/N: thank you anon for requesting "Beckman with a chubby f reader who has stretchmarks but he secretly loves her weight a lot and is turned on by it (nsfw)". I hope you like it. i have to admit i think i rewrote this like 4 times so i hope i didn't mess it up now 🙈
Word Count: >6000
Plot: you feel really self-conscious because of your curves but Beckman is there to assure you that you are perfect to him
Warnings: NSFW, insecure reader, p in v, use of (Y/N), fingering, oral (receiving but not really described) MDNI ⚠️🔞
Characters: Beckman x Freader
The deck of the ship swayed gently under your feet, the salty breeze tugging at your clothes as laughter echoed around you. Life with the Red Hair Pirates was loud, chaotic, and warm… almost too warm sometimes.
Especially when he was nearby — Benn Beckman. He leaned lazily against the railing, a cigarette resting between his lips, sharp eyes half-lidded as if nothing in the world could surprise him. But you knew better because those eyes missed nothing. Least of all you.
You were the crew’s sweetheart, sure, but in a world of sleek warriors and smart navigators, your mind often lingered on the soft curve of your stomach and the silvery stretchmarks etched across your stomach, hips and thighs. To you, they were flaws you tried to hide behind oversized shirts and high-waisted trousers.
You were leaning against the railing, the sun catching the lines on your skin peeking through a gap in your shirt. You quickly tugged the fabric down, a familiar pang of self-consciousness hitting your chest.
“You’re doing that thing again,” a deep, gravelly voice rumbled behind you.
You didn't need to turn around to know it was him. The scent of expensive tobacco, sea salt and a cologne smelling like sandalwood gave him away every time. Beckman stepped up beside you, leaning his elbows on the railing, his dark eyes tracking the horizon before settling on you with a heavy, unreadable intensity.
“Doing what?” you mumbled, crossing your arms over your middle.
“Looking at me” he teased.
“I wasn’t!” you insisted, cheeks already burning.
A smirk tugged at his lips as he straightened, strolling closer with that unhurried confidence that made your stomach twist. “Yeah? Then why’re you starin’ at me like I hung the stars?”
He moved closer to you, too close. Always so damn close. His gaze dipped, not in a crude way, but in a way that made you hyper-aware of yourself, of your body, the softness of your stomach and thighs and the faint lines along your hips you always tried to hide.
“I should get back to—” you started but a hand caught your wrist cutting you off.
“Hey,” Beckman murmured, tone shifting just enough to make your chest tighten. “Why’re you running?”
“I’m not running,” you said quickly, avoiding his eyes. “Just… busy.”
“Busy avoidin’ me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“…No.” you stammered, swallowing hard.
He tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle he already knew the answer to. “You’ve been dodging me all week.”
He wasn't wrong about this to be honest. Truth was you were head over heels for this man but every time you looked at him, you remembered how easy he was with women, how effortlessly they laughed at his words, how different they looked compared to you. “I just…” you hesitated, then forced a shrug. “You’ve got plenty of women to flirt with. Don’t need to waste time on me.”
For a moment, there was a heavy silence and then he suddenly chuckled. Not mockingly and definitely not cruelly just surprised it seemed. “Waste time?” he repeated, stepping even closer. “That what you think this is?”
Your heart was pounding loudly in your head because you couldn't make sense of this situation right now. “Isn’t it?” you asked confused.
His hand slipped from your wrist to your chin, lifting your face just enough that you couldn’t look away anymore. “You're always doing this, making yourself smaller, shrinking away and thinking you're not special just because you're looking different than others” he said calmly, taking a drag from his cigarette. “It's a waste of breath and you're just running that pretty head of yours into overthinking which ain't necessary” he added.
You felt your face heat up. It was typical Beckman. He was charming you even now, always knowing what to say, it was like this was part of his DNA. He had a girl in every port swooning over him. A wink for every barmaid, so why would he actually care about a chubby crewmate like you?
“Beck, stop. You don’t have to do the charming First Mate routine with me,” you sighed, looking down at your hands. “I know I’m not exactly the type of woman you usually... you know.”
Beckman straightened up, his playful aura vanishing instantly. The sheer size of him was intimidating, but it was the look in his eyes, sharp, focused and utterly predatory, that made your breath hitch.
“You think I’m playing a part?” he asked, his other hand coming up to rest firmly on your hip, his thumb grazing the exact spot where your stretchmarks began. “You truly doubt what I just said?”
“…I’m not doubting,” you tried, weakly.
“Yeah,” he said dryly. “And I don’t smoke.”
“You don’t make any sense,” you huffed, looking away again and fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.
“Neither do you.”
That made you look back at him because something in his voice was making you realize that he wasn't playing a game.
“You think I just throw words around?” he asked, leaning in a bit.
“…Don’t you?” you asked quietly, breath hitching as the scent of his cologne hit you with full force and damn it was intoxicating.
His brow lifted slightly. Not offended, just… surprised. “No.” That single word hit harder than anything else. “I don’t waste my time,” he continued, voice steady. “And I don’t repeat myself unless it matters.”
You felt your chest tightened again and ypur knees started to buckle a bit. You studied his face trying to find something, anything that would show you, proof to you that this couldn't be true but you found nothing.
“So when I say I’m watchin’ you,” he added, stepping just a fraction closer, your chests now only inches apart and you felt the warmth of his body against ypurs. “it’s because I am.”
Your breath hitched and you bit your lower lip almost shyly. You didn't know what to say right now, nor what to do because you just weren't prepared for this. You were pining for this man for weeks, god probably months now and hearing him talk to you like this made your heart swell.
“You think I don’t notice how you shrink into yourself?” His gaze softened, but it didn’t lose its intensity. “How you look away when someone gets too close? When I get too close? Or how you tug at your clothes like you’re tryin’ to hide somethin’ that was never a problem to begin with.”
“I just—” you started, then faltered fingers curling instinctively tighter around the hem of your shirt. “I don’t look like the others.”
“There it is again,” he muttered, almost sounding like a sigh.
Before you could react, his hand gently but firmly caught yours interlacing his fingers with yours and you tensed. But he didn’t let go. Instead he pried your hand away from your hem. “Look at me,” he said.
You exhaled deeply and then slowly, hesitantly, you did. His expression wasn’t teasing now. Not playful, no he looked certain. He looked like he usually did when he was about to teach you something, which he kind of did right now except this time it wasn't about maps or fighting, this time it was about yourself.
“You really think I’d waste my breath on someone I didn’t want?” he asked, making your heart skip. “I could have anyone, I flirt a lot, you’re right about that.” he continued bluntly and you flinched a bit at these words. “But I don’t look at just anyone the way I look at you.”
Your breath caught and you felt like your heart was fluttering out of your chest. “I don’t wait for just anyone to walk on deck.” His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, absentmindedly but grounding. “And I sure as hell don’t keep comin’ back just to hear myself talk.”
“Then… why me?” you whispered, your thoughts spinning now, struggling to keep up and process what he was saying.
For a moment, he just looked at you, really looked at you. Like he was deciding how honest he could be without you questioning it again. “Because you don’t try to be what you’re not. You think I don’t see through the others?” he added. “All that charm, all that effort to impress… it’s easy.” His grip on your hand tightened just slightly. “You’re not easy.” That sent a strange warmth through your chest. “You’re real,” he said again, softer now. “And you don’t even realize how much that stands out.”
“You're the only one I wait for to walk on deck.” His eyes flicked over your face, your shoulders, your body, lingering, appreciative, hungry in a way that made your pulse stutter. “The only one who gets this worked up just from me talkin’.”
“I—I don’t—”
“You do,” he said, a smirk ghosting back. “You turn pink every damn time.”
“That’s not—” you tried to protest but you felt your face burn hotter and hotter.
“And those things you try so hard to hide?” he added quietly, his fingers brushing lightly along your side, not intrusive, just there, grounding. “They drive me insane.”
“What…?” you whispered, your breath catching completely and your eyes wide and confused.
“Every curve. Every line. You think I don’t notice?” He said his voice dropping, sounding rougher now as he gave a faint shake of his head. “Hell, it’s the first thing I notice.”
“That’s not funny,” you said, but your voice wavered.
“I’m not joking.” he replied firmly. There was no teasing in his expression now. None, just certainty. “You’re real,” Beckman murmured. “Soft, warm and kind. Not like the rest.” His thumb brushed your cheek. “And I like that. You think anyone could look at you and not want to touch you?” he said quietly, his voice husky with something close to awe. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me.”
“But I don’t look like the others,” you said once again and it started to feel like you were using it as a shield.
“Good,” he said immediately, making you blink startled. “Means you’re not the others. You’re not supposed to look like anyone else. You’re supposed to look like you.””
“I…” you hesitated, then admitted in a small voice, “I don’t know how to believe you.”
A faint smile touched his lips, not mocking, not smug, just… patient. “Fine, but stop assuming I’m lying just because you don’t see the beauty that I see when I look at you.”
You stared, wide eyed, eyes watering and your hands shaking slightly. It was actually the sweetest thing someone had said to you in a really long time without trying to make fun of you. It almost felt surreal but Beckman just smiled at you and decided to close the finally gap between ylur bodies, his chest brushing yours now and one hand wrapping around your waist and digging softly and gently into your curvy hip, his fingers feeling the soft texture of your skin through the fabric.
"I’ve seen the way you look in the mirror when you think no one's watching," he whispered, leaning down so his lips brushed your ear. "You see flaws. I see curves I want to sink my hands into. I see those marks on your skin and all I think about is how beautiful they’d look under me."
Your heart was drumming against your ribs like a trapped bird and your face was now the color of a ripe tomato. "Beck..."
"I'm a man of many vices," he murmured, his eyes dropping to your lips before returning to yours with a terrifying sincerity. "And every single piece of you is my favorite one. Don't ever let me catch you hiding from me again."
He rested his forehead against yours and you felt like you were going to pass out because your heart was racing like crazy. He pulled back slightly and his lips brushed your temple before he let go just enough to give you one of those devastating, slow smirks, the one that usually meant trouble for the rest of the world, but today, it was just for you.
He finally stepped back and then flicked his cigarette over the side before he leaned in to whisper in your ear “Meet me in my cabin tonight, I wanna see you, all of you.”
You froze, your brain was short-circuiting. Did he just invite you into his cabin, just you?! Inwardly you were screaming, you were completely gone and he just chuckled as he looked at you and then took your hand, gave it a kiss like a gentleman and walked like a king below deck. While you remained there, trying to process what just happened.
Later on you found yourself standing in front of your bathroom mirror in just your underwear. The marks on your thighs, hips and stomach, the lightning bolts that made you feel so insecure, clearly visible and for a moment you closed your eyes wishing they'd be gone when you opened them again but of course life didn't work like that — unfortunately. You sighed unsure if you should really go to see Beckman, after all you didn't feel like you were worth it or if you'd be enough for him. You ran a hand over your face before you put on your clothes again and with all your courage decided to go see him.
The walk to his quarters felt longer than usual, every step shadowed by the nagging urge to turn back. You smoothed the fabric of your shirt, over-aware of how it sat against your skin, hiding the "lightning bolts" you had just been mourning in the mirror. You wondered if he’d see the hesitation in your eyes before he even saw your body, Beckman was observant like that and he saw everything.
When you finally reached the heavy wooden door of his cabin, you paused, your fist hovering inches from the surface. The Red Force was relatively quiet, the distant sound of laughter from the deck muffled by the evening salt air. You took one last breath, grounding yourself and knocked.
“Come in,” his voice rumbled, deep and steady.
Pushing the door open, you found him sitting at his desk, the faint scent of tobacco and sandalwood clinging to the room. He didn't look up immediately, finished marking a map before setting his pen down. When he finally shifted his attention to you, the air in the room seemed to thicken. He didn't say a word at first, he just watched the way you stood there, slightly defensive, your arms crossed loosely over your middle.
He rose from his chair with a slow, deliberate grace, closing the distance between you until the heat radiating from him was palpable. He could clearly sense the storm of insecurity brewing behind your gaze. Without a word, he reached out, his large, calloused hand settling firmly on your hip, anchoring you to the spot.
He made you look up into his eyes, his gaze heavy and dark. Beckman was a man who appreciated strategy and substance. He had never been interested in the fragile or the fleeting. To him, every curve of your body was an indulgence, a testament to a life well-lived and a beauty that felt grounded and real. His hand slid downward, his palm flattening against your stomach. He didn't shy away from the texture of your skin, he leaned into it. His fingers traced the faint lines on your skin like he was reading a map he had long ago memorized.
“Beck,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “The marks... the weight…”
“Are perfect,” he interrupted, his voice dropping an octave. “Do you have any idea how much I crave this?” He squeezed the soft flesh of your waist. The look in his eyes wasn't just affection, it was hunger. It was the look of a man who had finally found exactly what he wanted and had no intention of letting it go. “You’re mine,” he growled, his lips ghosting over yours. “Every inch of you. Don't you dare think I want you any other way, don't you dare think you are not enough because you, sweetheart, definitely are everything I want.”
He lifted you up, his hands supporting your weight with effortless strength like you weighed nothing, his eyes never leaving yours as he carried you toward the bed. He loved the way you felt in his arms, so warm, so soft and entirely his. He gently placed you down on the and hovered over you smirking down at you and brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear before letting his finger trace down the side of your face and to your chin tilting it up and kissing you slowly before he pulled away to your stunned face and then with a gentleness that betrayed his built he began to tug at your shirt lifting it up.
The shirt was discarded as an afterthought, fluttering to the floor like a white flag of surrender. As the fabric cleared your upper body, the cool air of the cabin hit your skin, but the heat radiating from Beckman's gaze was enough to keep you flushed.
Out of habit you wanted to cover yourself but Beckman didn't let you, stopping your movement with just a look. “Don't, let me see you, all of you. Every beautiful little curve, every perfect inch of your skin.” He braced his weight on his forearms, boxing you in. His eyes traveled over you with a slow, deliberate hunger, taking in the swell of your breasts, the soft curve of your belly, and the intricate, shimmering lines that mapped your hips. To anyone else, they were marks maybe even flaws but not to Beckman. He let out a low, guttural growl, a sound that started deep in his chest and settled right in your bones. It wasn't a sound of frustration, annoyance or disdain, no it was far from it, it was of pure, unadulterated want.
“Stop looking so stunned” he murmured, noticing your wide eyes and parted lips. He ghosted a thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly. “I’m a man of appetites, (Y/N). And you’re the only thing that satisfies them.”
His large hand descended, his palm spanning the width of your stomach. He didn't just touch you, he kneaded the soft skin there, his fingers sinking into you with a firm, worshipping pressure. He watched the way your flesh gave way beneath his touch, his smirk deepening into something darker, more predatory. “Look at you,” he rasped, his voice thick with a sudden edge of heat. “There’s so much of you to hold. So much of you for me to sink into. You think these marks are flaws? I think they’re a goddamn invitation.”
He lowered his head, but he didn't go for your lips this time. He pressed his face into the side of your waist, inhaling the scent of your skin. His stubble grazed your softest parts, a delicious friction that made your toes curl into the sheets. He traced the ‘lightning bolts’ on your thighs with his tongue, a slow, damp heat that made you gasp and arch your back. “I like the way you feel under me. Don't you ever try to hide from me again.” he whispered against your skin, his breath hot and igniting your nerves.
He shifted, his heavy frame settling between your thighs, and you could feel exactly how much his words weren't just talk. He was hard, his body reacting viscerally to the sheer abundance of yours. He wanted to lose himself in you, to be surrounded by your warmth and the soft, beautiful curves.
He leaned up, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was no longer slow or gentle. His tongue was moving against yours in a kiss that felt like a deep devotion. It was demanding, tasting of tobacco and a desperate, burning need. He wasn't just loving you for how you were, he was devouring you for it. The air in the cabin grew stiflingly hot, charged with the electric friction of his skin against yours. Beckman’s kiss was an anchor, heavy, grounding and deep. His tongue swept against yours with a rhythmic, possessive confidence, mirroring the way his hands began to work over your body with practiced ease.
He didn't fumble. Even with the size of his hands, he moved with a surgical precision born of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. The snap of your bra echoed in the quiet room, and a moment later, he was sliding your pants down over your hips. He didn't rush the process, he let his palms graze the fullness of your thighs, his touch lingering on the softest parts of you as if he were savoring the texture of a fine silk.
When you were left in nothing but your panties, the cool air hit your damp skin, but the chill didn't last. Beckman’s hands immediately found the weight of your breasts, tracing a teasing fingertip softly over the flesh and your nipples, making you gasp into the kiss and arch into him. He broke the kiss just an inch, enough to watch your face, but close enough that his hot breath hitched against your lips. You let out a broken moan, your head tossing back against the pillows as his large, calloused fingers began to knead. His hands were rough, scarred from years of sea-faring and combat, making the pillowy softness of your chest feel even more delicate in comparison. He didn't just touch, he claimed. He used his thumbs to roll over your nipples, his gaze darkening as he watched them peak and harden under his care.
“Listen to that,” he growled, his voice a low vibration that seemed to come from the floorboards. “The sounds you make when I handle you... that’s my favorite song on this entire ocean.”
He squeezed the soft sides of your breasts, pushing them together, his eyes fixed on the way your skin yielded so perfectly to his strength. He was a man who appreciated the ‘more’ of you, the way your body reacted to him, the way you filled his hands and the way your curves spilled over his fingers. “You're shaking,” he noted, a smudge of a smirk returning to his face. He leaned down, his lips catching a stray tear of pleasure from your cheek. “Is it too much? Or is it because you finally realize how much I've been wanting to get my hands on all this? That I wasn't just talking but that I really meant what I said?”
He didn't wait for an answer because he knew. He could feel your heart hammering against his palm, a frantic rhythm that matched his own. He lowered his head, his mouth replacing his fingers on one aching stiff nipple, his tongue swirling around the tip before he wrapped his lips around it, taking it fully into his mouth and sucked deeply. The sensation sent a jolt straight to your core, a needy moan escaping your lips, your hips instinctively bucking upward against his heavy thigh. Beckman let out a muffled grunt of approval, his hand sliding down from your chest, over the soft slope of your belly, and hooking into the waistband of your lace.
The friction of his stubble against your breast was a sharp, intoxicating contrast to the wet heat of his mouth. As his mouth focused on your breasts, one of his hands didn't just hover, it slid beneath the elastic of your lace, his fingers finding the slick, sensitive heat of your slit. He moved with a slow, agonizing rhythm that made your vision blur, each stroke a silent promise of what was coming.
By now you were a mess of soft whimpers and frantic pleas, your fingers knotting into the bedsheets until the fabric groaned. When he finally pulled his mouth away, your skin felt cold where he had been until he replaced the sensation with the searing heat of his gaze. “Patience, sweetheart,” he rumbled against the skin of your neck, his voice like gravel and velvet. “I told you. I want every bit of your beautiful body.”
With a single, fluid motion, he hooked his thumbs into your panties and dragged them down your legs, tossing them aside without a backward glance. Now, you were completely bare beneath him, your body laid out like a feast he had spent years craving.
Beckman moved lower, his heavy frame shifting between your knees to give him a full view. Most men might have rushed to the finish, but Beckman was a lover, he enjoyed the journey. He leaned in, his eyes tracing the silvery, jagged lines across your outer thighs, the marks you had spent years trying to hide. He didn't just look, he leaned down and pressed a lingering, reverent kiss to the center of a stretch mark on your hip. “Beautiful,” he muttered against your skin, his breath hitching as he felt you tremble. “Like lightning on the water.”
While his mouth worked a slow, worshipful path across your curves, kissing the soft dip of your belly and the lush fullness of your thighs, his hand remained exactly where it needed to be. His fingers stayed buried in your heat, circling and pressing with a calculated pressure that kept you on a razor's edge.
You cried out, your back arching off the mattress as his tongue followed the path his hand had set. The combination was too much, the worship of your body, the weight of his presence and the relentless, expert movement of his fingers had you feeling dizzy from pleasure. “Beck... please…” you gasped, your hands moving from the sheets to catch in his hair, pulling him closer.
He let out a dark, satisfied chuckle against your thigh, his hand spreading your soft flesh wider to give his mouth better access. “I’ve got you,” he growled, looking up at you with eyes that burned with a fierce, protective lust. “Just let go. I’m right here to catch you.”
The world shattered into a kaleidoscope of heat and light as Beckman pushed you over the edge. His mouth and fingers worked in a relentless, synchronized rhythm until you were sobbing his name, your thighs trembling against his shoulders as the first powerful wave of an orgasm crashed over you. He held you through it, his large hands anchoring your hips to the bed, making sure you felt every spark of the fire he had built.
As the tremors began to fade into a heavy, delicious aftermath, Beckman finally pulled back. He didn't move far, just enough to sit back on his heels at the foot of the bed. He watched you with a look of pure, unadulterated pride, like a king surveying his most prized territory.
“Look at you,” he rasped, his voice thick and dark. “Flushed and ruined. Just how you're supposed to be.” He didn't give you long to catch your breath. With a slow, deliberate grace that seemed impossible for a man of his size, he began to undress. He kept his eyes locked on yours, making the act feel like a deliberate challenge.
He shrugged his heavy dark coat off his shoulders, letting it thud heavily to the floor. Next came the shirt, pulled over his head to reveal the sheer expanse of his torso. You had seen him work on deck, but here, in the dim light of the cabin, he was breathtaking. His chest was a roadmap of scars and hard-earned muscle, the dark hair on his chest tapering down into a tantalizing line. His hands moved to his belt, the leather creaking in the silence. When he finally stepped out of his trousers, the sight of him made the air leave your lungs all over again.
He was built like a mountain, solid, scarred and imposing and so damn manly and hot. As he looked at your soft, plush curves waiting for him on the sheets, his expression softened into something almost reverent. He knew the contrast between you was stark, his hardness against your softness, his jagged scars against your silvery marks. “Your turn to watch,” he murmured, his smirk returning as he saw your eyes travel over him. He crawled back onto the bed, the mattress sinking deeply under his impressive weight.
He moved over you again, but this time there was no fabric between you. The feeling of his rough, hot skin against your soft breasts and his erection against your belly was an electric shock. He was heavy, deliciously so, and he made sure you felt every bit of him as he settled between your thighs. “You still think I'm looking for someone else, pretty girl?” he asked, his hand sliding under your hip to tilt you up toward him. “When I have you to sink into?”
Your fingers trembled as they made contact with his chest, toying with the hair there, traveling along the skin, the texture of it a stark contrast to your own. His scars felt like raised ridges of history beneath your fingertips, smooth, hardened and permanent. You traced a particularly long mark over his pectoral, feeling the iron-solid muscle jump beneath your touch. Beckman let out a low, vibrating hum of approval, his eyes hooded as he watched you explore him. He didn't move to stop you, instead, he leaned into your hand, a predator enjoying the attention of his favorite person.
“That's it,” he encouraged, his voice a gravelly whisper. “I'm all yours to map out, sweetheart.”
But Beckman wasn't a man who stayed still for long and his hunger flared back up. He reached down, his large hand wrapping almost entirely around the thickest part of your thigh. The heat of his palm felt like a brand against your soft skin. With a sudden, deliberate movement, he ducked his head. He didn't kiss you this time. Instead, he sank his teeth into the tender, plush flesh of your inner thigh, right over one of the silver stretch marks you had been so worried about.
It wasn't a nip of pain, but a firm, possessive pressure that sent an electric shock of pure white heat straight to your center. You let out a sharp, high-pitched gasp, your hips jerking upward as your legs instinctively tried to wrap around his head. He stayed there for a long moment, his hot breath fanning against your skin before he licked the mark he had just made. He looked up at you from between your legs, a dark, triumphant glint in his eyes.
“Mine,” he growled, the word vibrating against your thigh. “I want to leave my mark all over these curves. I want everyone on this sea to know who you belong to without me saying a damn word.”
He slid upward then, his heavy chest dragging against your sensitive nipples, the friction making you whine into the crook of his neck. He used his knee to nudge your legs wider, settling his weight firmly between them. The sheer size of him was overwhelming in the best way possible, a solid, unshakable force that made you feel safe and completely consumed all at once.
“Wrap those beautiful legs around me,” he commanded, his hand sliding behind your head to tangle in your hair. “I want to feel every bit of your weight pressing back against mine.” The moment he finally pushed inside you, the world narrowed down to just the two of you. He moved with an agonizing, delicious slowness, his jaw tight as he buried himself deep within your heat. You let out a long, shuddering moan, your head thumping back into the pillow as your body stretched to accommodate his impressive size.
“God, you're so tight," he rasped into your ear, his voice breaking with the sheer force of his restraint. "Like you were made just to hold me.” Beckman didn't just stay still once he was inside. He settled his full weight onto you, his massive chest pressing your soft breasts flat against him. He wanted to feel the friction of your skin against his, the way your plush curves cushioned his hard angles. As he began to move, slow, deep thrusts that hit every nerve ending, his hands remained busy. One hand stayed tangled in your hair, guiding your head for his devouring kisses, while the other descended to your hip.
His calloused thumb traced the silver trails of your stretch marks with a rhythm that matched his thrusts. It wasn't just a touch, it was a worship. He loved the texture, the way your skin felt like velvet and silk under his rough palm. He trailed his mouth down from your lips to your collarbone, leaving dark, blooming marks in his wake. Then lower, to the swell of your breasts, catching a nipple between his teeth and tugging just enough to make you cry out.
You wrapped your legs as tightly as you could around his waist, your ankles locking behind his back. The extra weight of your thighs pressing him closer only seemed to spur him on. Every time your hips rose to meet him, he let out a low, animalistic grunt of approval. “That's it,” he groaned, his pace quickening as the friction built to a fever pitch. “Take all of me. Show me how well you can hold me, sweetheart.”
The cabin was filled with the sound of his heavy breathing, the rhythmic creak of the bed, and the wet, slapping sound of skin hitting skin. You felt completely surrounded by him by his intoxicating scent, his crushing weight, and the absolute certainty that, in this moment, there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be than lost inside the softness of your body.
All of a sudden though he decided to switch positions and the shift was sudden and powerful. One moment you were looking into his smoldering eyes, and the next, his large hands were under your hips, effortlessly flipping you onto your stomach. The feeling of the cool sheets against your front was a sharp contrast to the furnace-like heat of his body as he settled over your back.
Beckman let out a sound that was half-growl, half-sigh as he took in the sight of you from this angle. He didn't just see a body, he saw a masterpiece of soft curves and shimmering silver lines, making you shiver as he trailed a hand down your spine till he reached your ass giving it a squeeze that made you jolt and squeak. He let out a low chuckle before he guided himself back inside you with one heavy thrust that made you cry out into the pillow, your fingers clawing at the fabric. From this position, he was deeper, hitting spots that made your toes curl and your head swim.
His large, scarred hands reached around your waist, his fingers digging into your love handles. He didn't just hold them, he squeezed them with a possessive intensity, his thumbs tracing the soft dip of your waist and you were sure he'd leave marks. He leaned down, his chest crushing against your back, and began a trail of damp, biting kisses along your shoulders and spine while one hand squeezed the back of your thighs, right where your marks were most prominent.
He reached forward, his arms wrapping around you to grope and knead your breasts from behind. He was definitely enjoying the way you felt in his hands and before you knew it you cried out when you felt his teeth sink into your left butt cheek. “Listen to you,” he rasped against your ear, his voice thick with the coming storm. “So loud for me. I want the whole ship to know how good you feel. I want them to know I’m never letting you go.” Every time he thrust forward, his palms would squeeze your chest, his rhythm becoming more frantic, more primal.
You were lost in a haze of sensation, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress, the delicious sting from his bite, the friction of his rough palms on your soft skin, and the way he worshipped every ‘imperfection’ you had once hated. He made you feel like a goddess, a woman of beauty that a man like him would go to war for to protect.
His pace shifted from calculated to desperate. He began to pull back almost entirely before snapping home, his hips slapping against the plush curve of your backside with a wet, heavy sound. You were sobbing now, your breath coming in short, ragged hitches as the tension coiled tight in your gut.
“Beck—Beck, please!” You gasped voice raw.
“I've got you,” he growled, his hands shifting from your breasts to your hips, steadying you so he could drive even deeper. “Cum for me, (Y/N). Let me feel you break.”
The tension snapped like a mast in a hurricane as Beckman drove into you one final, soul-searing time, his body went rigid. You felt the hot, pulsing evidence of his release fill you at the exact moment your own world dissolved into white light. You screamed his name into the pillow, your hips trembling uncontrollably as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. Beckman buried his face in the crook of your neck, a low, guttural roar vibrating through his chest and into your very bones.
For a long minute, the only sound in the cabin was the heavy, synchronized thrum of two hearts trying to find their rhythm again and the ragged sound of air returning to lungs. Gently, Beckman shifted his weight. He didn't pull away immediately, he stayed draped over you for a moment, a protective mountain of warmth, before sliding out and pulling you back against his chest in a spooning position. He tucked the duvet around both of you, his large arms wrapping around your waist, pulling your back flush against his front.
His calloused hand settled right back on your stomach, his thumb lazily tracing the soft skin he had so thoroughly worshipped. “You're quiet,” he murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble against your ear.
"Just... thinking," you whispered, the old flickers of doubt trying to resurface in the cooling air. “About everything you saw. Everything you touched.”
Beckman didn't let you spiral. He turned you in his arms until you were facing him, his hair a bit messy, his eyes soft with an intimacy he rarely showed the world. He took your hand and pressed it to his heart, then moved his other hand to rest firmly on your hip, his fingers dipping into the curve of your flesh.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly. When you met his gaze, there was no smirk, only a terrifyingly honest devotion. “I’ve spent my life on the sea, (Y/N). I know what’s valuable and what’s just flash. You think these marks or this weight are things to hide? To me, they’re the best parts of the map. I love your stretch marks. I love your thighs. I love your stomach. You… you’re mine. And I’m never letting anyone tell you you’re not desirable, because you’re exactly what I want.”
He leaned in, kissing your forehead, then your nose, then the corner of your mouth before finally pressing his lips fully against yours.. “There is nothing wrong with you. Not a goddamn thing,” he rasped. “I don't want any other woman. I want you. I want this. I want the way you feel in my arms at night. If you ever feel ashamed again, you remember how I looked at you today. Because I’m never going to stop wanting every single inch of you and I'm never letting you go again."
You felt a lump form in your throat, the weight of his words finally sinking in. He wasn't just saying it to be kind, Benn Beckman didn't have a dishonest bone in his body. He truly, deeply loved the skin you were in. He pulled the covers higher, tucking your head under his chin. “Now rest,” he grunted, though his touch was incredibly tender. “I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere, love.”
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)
thinking about how shanks would be like when you’re pregnant with his child…
he’d be a mix of quiet strength and mischievous warmth - the same way he commands his crew but softens completely around you. everyday, he watches you carefully, like you’re the most precious treasure he’s ever laid eyes on.
not just you, but the life blooming inside of you, too.
he fusses over your every need, but never like you’re fragile - more like a captain tending to his crew:
when you stand too fast, he’s instantly there, steadying you with his hand and a teasing grin, brow raised, “careful, you’ve got precious cargo now.” and even as he jokes, his eyes never leave your face, always alert, analysing it for any sign of discomfort or pain.
the crew? they’re on high alert, benn carries your plate before you can even reach for it, lucky roux tries to sneak in healthy meals (which shanks secretly finds hilarious), and hongo stands watch like a loyal guardian, waiting to leap into action with his medical tools if you sneeze wrong.
your nausea though, hits hard sometimes, and shanks tries everything - singing off key sea shanties to your belly, offering lemons and pickles (sometimes both at once, just to see your reaction), and holding your hair back with the gentle patience of a man ready to be a father.
he’s hopelessly earnest, but it makes your heart ache with endless love every single time.
at night, when the world is quiet and the ship sways gently on the waves, he pulls you close, resting his hand over your bump whispering stories about luffy - the stubborn, fiery kid, his voice softens, warm and full of pride.
you smile against his chest, feeling a peace you never knew you needed.
this is the family he’s always dreamed of, and he’s ready to protect it with everything he has.
a/n: you could never convince me that he's a deadbeat
Can you write some headcanons about being the only female crewmate in red hair pirates?
Being the only fem!pirate on the Red Hair Pirate crew
Masterlist
It was a weird vibe at first.
Half of them were really awkward with you, trying not to be too manly cause they think that would make you uncomfortable.
The other half treats you like you are one men more and that can cause some really strange situations.
It was a matter of getting adjusted to the situation and having you around.
One example was the brothel parties, of course they made you a little uncomfortable at first, but you tried to cope with it cause you are the newest member.
Shanks realized this and aproached you one night that you were on the bar drinking.
You talked a little and he realized that it wasn't the best idea to do that, in fact, he realized some things that he didn't know about the brothel industry... cause you said it to him.
You thought the crew would hate you cause Shanks stoped the brothels parties, but when Shanks opted with pub and bar nights, they were all happy.
And so you could breathe happy and relieved.
The other thing that just made you laugh is that they didn't quite know period and all the things that come with that.
Yassop came one day with 6 packs of tampons and asked for your pussy size.
You laughed like crazy but seeing all their stunned faces made you realize that this was going to be a tough talk.
You were really embarrased talking to all these men for a whole hour about how periods work... but they got it now.
One thing that they really love about having you aroudn is that you make their looks improve.
The amount of times that Yassop, Shanks or Benn asked you for a fit check is almost hilarious.
Also, when they first saw you using a face mask they got really scared, it was dark at night and with no lights.
Then one day you found one of them with the same masks, and that was the start of the make up and glow up nights.
Where you help them trim their hair and beard, you do face masks and drink detox juices.
They really became drama queens and got some of your features.
They are more than glad to have you around, cause you are amazing and you are their girl.
Even though sometimes thay can be really awkward, but they love you a lot.
