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The bell above the door of Shakky’s Rip-off Bar didn't chime for the Red-Hair Pirates, it seemed to groan under the sheer weight of the power rolling off the men entering.

In the main lounge, the party was already starting. Shanks’ laughter was booming and the clinking of mugs signaled a long, expensive night for the Red-Hair crew. But at the far end of the polished mahogany bar, in the "family" corner, the atmosphere was different.

You were mid-pour, the amber liquid swirling into a glass, when a warm, calloused hand settled firmly on your hip. You didn’t need to look up to know the scent of sandalwood and aged rum.

"Careful, darling," Rayleigh’s voice rumbled near your ear, his breath a puff of heat against your skin. "You’re pouring a bit heavy. Though, I suppose I’ve always liked how generous you are with your... spirits."

He leaned in closer, his silver hair brushing your temple as he reached around you to claim his glass. His other hand stayed on your hip, his thumb tracing a slow, possessive circle over the fabric of your clothes, a familiar touch that sent a practiced shiver straight to your knees. He knew exactly what he was doing, he had seen you come undone in the private quarters upstairs enough times to know your rhythm.

"Ray, leave the girl alone for five minutes so she can actually work," Shakky called out from the other end of the bar, though her smirk told a different story. She exhaled a cloud of smoke, her eyes shifting to the man standing just behind her husband. "Besides, we have a guest who’s been waiting for a drink. And he looks like a man with very specific tastes."

Rayleigh didn’t pull away. Instead, he turned slightly, keeping you tucked against his side as he looked at Benn Beckman.

The First Mate of the Red-Hair Pirates didn't look like the rest of his rowdy crew. He looked like a storm held in a bottle. He pulled a cigarette from his lips, his dark, hooded eyes traveling from Rayleigh’s hand on your hip, up your spine, finally settling on your face with an intensity that felt like a physical weight.

"Specific is one word for it," Beckman said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that seemed to vibrate in your chest. He leaned his elbows on the counter, the scent of sea salt and expensive tobacco paired with a hearty cologne filling your senses. His presence was cutting through the familiar warmth Rayleigh provided with something sharper, cooler and undeniably predatory.

"I’ve heard stories about this bar," Beckman continued, his gaze never wavering from yours. "And the young lady working here."

Rayleigh chuckled, a low sound of pure amusement. He squeezed your hip, a silent acknowledgment of the challenge. "Careful, Beckman. She’s seen every trick in my book. You’ll have to do better than a compliment if you want to impress her."

Beckman’s lips quirked into the faintest, most dangerous smile you had ever seen. He reached out, his fingers hovering just an inch from your chin, waiting for you to bridge the gap.

"I'm not interested in tricks, Rayleigh," Beckman murmured, his eyes darkening. "I’m interested in seeing if the legends about her are as true as the ones about you."

The air in the bar suddenly felt too thin. Between Rayleigh’s hand sliding from your hip to your thigh, bold and knowing, and Beckman’s heavy, calculating stare, your breath hitched. Especially knowing that Rayleigh could make you come undone right here if he wanted to while Beckman seemed like a man who had already figured you (and your needs) out.

Shakky’s sigh was the final permission. She didn't even look up as she wiped down the counter, waving a hand toward the beaded curtain that led to the private lounge. "Go on, then," she murmured, a smirk playing on her lips. "The boys are clearly going to be useless until they’ve had their fill. I’ll handle the rowdy ones."

Rayleigh’s fingers danced at your hairline, a silent encouragement. "Shall we show him how we spend our quiet nights, darling? Or should we let Mr. Beckman show us how a First Mate handles his business?" he purred into your ear.

You looked from Rayleigh’s crinkled, smiling eyes to Beckman’s hooded, intense gaze. Your breath hitched, trapped in your throat by the sheer weight of their collective focus. Rayleigh didn’t pull away, instead he stepped closer, his chest against your back now. He took the rum from your limp hand and set it on the bar, effectively dismissing your role as an employee. "She’s a creature of feeling, aren’t you, love?"

Beckman took a final drag of his cigarette and crushed it out in a nearby tray, never taking his eyes off you. "Good thing I'm a man who enjoys making a pretty lady feel everything," he rumbled and you felt a rush of heat run through you. He slowly and deliberately reached out, his fingers were cool as they brushed the stray hairs away from your neck, his touch a stark contrast to Rayleigh’s lingering heat. "The tension in your shoulders… it’s a crime."

"A crime we're happy to help solve," Rayleigh whispered against your ear. He leaned down, his silver beard tickling your skin just enough to send a shiver racing down your spine. He didn’t kiss you, not yet. He simply breathed against the sensitive hollow behind your ear. "Remember what I told you last time? About letting go? You trust me, don’t you?"

"I…" Your voice failed you, coming out as a faint, shaky breath. Oc course you trusted him but right now you were completely overwhelmed by their sheer presence and the power they seemed to hold over you.

"Look at me," Beckman said firmly. It wasn’t a shout, it was that low, steady tone that commanded attention, even within the rowdy crew of the Red Hair pirates. You obeyed, meeting those dark, intelligent and knowing eyes. "You’re safe here. But you’re also going to be completely ruined by the time the sun comes up. I think you should decide right now if you’re ready for that."

Rayleigh’s hand slid from your neck down to your waist, his palm broad and warm, pulling you back against him until you could feel the steady thrum of his heart against your spine. "She’s ready, Beckman. She’s been ready since you walked through that door."

"Is that so?" Beckman’s thumb traced the pulse point on your wrist, feeling the frantic, hummingbird beat of your heart. A ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Then let’s stop talking. I’ve always preferred a more… hands-on approach to negotiations."

Shakky sighed again looking between the three of you. "How much longer are you going to stand here? If you don't leave now I'm going to take (Y/N) back there myself while you two can do the work here" she said taking a drag from her cigarette.

Rayleigh just chuckled before he finally steered you toward the back, his hand never leaving the small of your back, guiding you with a practiced ease. But it was the heavy tread of Beckman’s boots following close behind that made your heart hammer against your ribs.

As the door clicked shut, the muffled roar of the Red-Hair Pirates vanished, replaced by the sudden, deafening silence of a room occupied by two of the strongest presences on the sea.

Rayleigh moved first, claiming the velvet chaise longue and pulling you down between his legs before he even sat. He didn't wait, instead he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. "You're shaking, darling," he vibrated against your skin, his voice thick with a dark, melodic amusement. "And we haven't even started."

"She’s overwhelmed, Rayleigh," Beckman’s voice cut through the haze. He didn't sit, he stood over both of you, shedding his heavy coat to reveal the broad shoulders and scarred arms of a man who had survived everything the Grand Line could throw at him. He looked down at your flushed form, trapped between Rayleigh’s knees and completely exposed to his gaze.

Beckman reached down, his large, calloused hand cupping your cheek and forcing you to look up at him. His thumb dragged across your lower lip, pulling it down to reveal the damp heat inside. "Rayleigh knows how to make you sing," Beckman murmured, his eyes scanning your face like he was mapping a new territory. "I can see it in the way you lean into him. You’re used to his touch. You’re comfortable." He leaned down, his face inches from yours, the scent of tobacco and his cologne rolling off him. "But you aren't comfortable with me yet, are you? You don't know what I like. You don't know how I take what I want."

Rayleigh’s hands slid under your shirt, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your ribs, making you gasp into Beckman’s palm. "Don't worry, sweetheart," Rayleigh whispered, his lips brushing your earlobe. "Beckman just wants to see if you can handle two of the strongest first mates at the same time. I told him you were more than capable, and you know I'd never let anyone close to you who I wouldn't trust to treat you right."

Beckman’s eyes darkened at Rayleigh’s words, a silent challenge passing between the two men over your head. He didn't try to pull you away from Rayleigh. Instead, he dropped his hand to the buttons of his shirt, his gaze never leaving yours. While Rayleigh cupped your breasts, his calloused palms catching your weight just right, a sharp gasp escaped your lips, echoing in the quiet room.

"Show me," Beckman commanded, the word a low, vibrating rumble as he discarded of his shirt. "Show me exactly why the Dark King won't share you with anyone else besides his wife."

The sight of Beckman’s bare chest, a map of scars and hard-won muscle, was enough to make your head spin and your knees weak. The scars and that broad chest, combined with those strong arms was doing things to you. The fact that another fucking handsome and hot man was right behind you didn't help either. Beckman kept his eyes locked on you as if he could read your thoughts. 

"So many layers," Beckman remarked, his voice dropping an octave. His large, steady hands reached for the top button of your shirt as Rayleigh’s own moved down from your breasts to your waist. Beckman didn’t fumble, his fingers moved with the same surgical precision he used to clean a rifle. "A bit formal for a private party, don’t you think?"

As the first button gave way, Rayleigh’s arms tightened around your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck. He inhaled sharply, a low groan vibrating through your skin. "She always did like to keep herself tucked away for the thrill of the game," Rayleigh chuckled, his teeth grazing the sensitive cord of your neck. "But she melts so beautifully once you get past the surface."

"I can see that," Beckman murmured as he flicked the next button open, his knuckles occasionally brushing the swell of your breasts. Each touch was light, almost testing, but the heat behind it was scorching. "You’re flushed. All the way down to your chest."

As the last button popped open he parted the fabric, exposing you to the cool air and their burning gazes. Rayleigh’s hands moved higher, his thumbs tracing the underside of your bra, while Beckman’s eyes never left yours.

"There she is," Rayleigh hummed against the pulse point of your neck, his thumbs slipping into your bra and flicking over your already stiff nipples with a rhythm that told you he knew exactly how much pressure it took to make your back arch. "Always so responsive for me."

But as you leaned back into Rayleigh’s chest, Beckman moved in. He stepped between your spread knees, his presence a towering wall of muscle that blocked out the rest of the room. He reached down, his hands sliding firmly up your thighs, his fingers digging into the soft skin there to keep you grounded before letting one single finger trail over the damp fabric between your legs.

"You're already so slick, even with him just touching your top half," Beckman noted, his voice a low, analytical drawl that made your face flush crimson as his finger brushed over your clothed core. He wasn't just looking, he was mapping your reactions to see what would drive you insane. "I wonder... if I do this" he stopped and slid his hand higher his fingers hooking into the waistband of your bottoms and pulling them down just enough to expose you to the cool air and his scorching gaze "...does your heart rate skip like the reports say it should?" He smirked already knowing and seeing the answer as he looked at your dripping core.

"Look at you, so completely under our spell. You’re body can’t hide how much you like this sweetheart," Beckman said, his voice a soft command. He reached out, his rough palm cupping your cheek. "Doing so good, sweet little lady. Just keep breathing for me."

"It’s the way she feels so completely undone, being unraveled and worshipped while at the same time reminded that she’s exactly where she belongs," Rayleigh whispered, his hands covering your nipples, his warmth seeping through your skin. He squeezed gently, a firm, grounding pressure that made a soft whimper break from your lips. 

"Is that so?" Beckman’s smirk was dangerous as he made quick work of the rest of your clothes. He stepped back for a brief second to admire you, his silhouette broad and intimidating in the dim light. "Then let’s make sure she doesn’t forget. Rayleigh, hold her steady."

"I’ve got her," Rayleigh promised, his voice thick with a sudden, raw hunger that discarded the Dark King persona for something much more primal. "I’ve always got her."

Beckman stepped back into your space, his hands finding the skin of your thighs, sliding upward with a slow, agonizing deliberateness. "Good. Because I want to see exactly how long it takes for that composure of yours to shatter completely."

The shift from undressing to preparing you for what was to come next, was handled with the kind of methodical intensity only two men of their experience could possess. They didn’t rush, no, they treated your body like a fine instrument they were tuning to a pitch only they could reach.

Rayleigh guided you back onto the chaise, his hands firm on your hips as he settled you against the cushions. He didn’t leave you, though, he hovered over you, his silver hair catching the low light as he trapped you with his weight. Meanwhile, Beckman knelt at the foot of the lounge, his presence a heavy, grounding anchor.

Beckman took your left leg into his and then leaned down and began trailing kisses from your ankles up to your thighs. "Rayleigh," Beckman said his voice low as he reached out, his large hands sliding up the insides of your thighs stopping there, forcing them wide. "She’s already shaking. Look at her."

"Of course she is, she’s a needy little thing," Rayleigh murmured amused. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that tasted of high-end rum and his pure, unadulterated silver-fox charm. It wasn’t a frantic kiss, no Rayleigh never did that. His kisses were always deep, slow and possessive, claiming your breath as his own. His tongue was sweeping against yours and you immediately responded by letting your own move against his. 

While Rayleigh occupied your senses above, Beckman’s focus was entirely below. He didn’t look away as his fingers found the center of your heat. "So wet, sweetheart," he noted, his tone conversational, as if he were discussing the weather rather than the way you were falling apart under his touch. "But we’re going to make sure you’re more than ready. I don’t like to see my ladies struggle…..unless it’s for the right reasons."

He slid one finger inside, testing the tight, pulsing honey of you. You arched off the velvet, a sharp gasp breaking through the seal of Rayleigh’s lips, your hips already grinding towards Beckman.

"Patience," Rayleigh whispered against your skin, his hand moving to grip your wrists, pinning them gently above your head. "Beckman is going to do the first part of the warm up. We want to make sure you can take every bit of us."

Beckman added a second finger, stretching you with a slow, rhythmic deliberation that made your head light. He used his thumb to circle the bundle of nerves at your core, his movements steady and unrelenting. "Relax for me," he commanded, his dark eyes flicking up to watch the way your features contorted in pleasure. "Let go and open up. Trust us to take care of you."

You were caught in a vice of pleasure. Above, Rayleigh was a whirlwind of sensation, his mouth on your collarbone, his fingers expertly teasing your breasts until you were whimpering. Below, Beckman was a steady, relentless force. He began to work at your center with a clinical precision that was somehow more erotic than any frantic touch. He moved his fingers like a man who knew exactly how to make a lady feel good. 

"Rayleigh, she’s trembling," Beckman murmured, his eyes locking onto yours as his fingers began a slow, rhythmic intrusion that made your hips jerk involuntarily.

"I know," Rayleigh chuckled, his hands squeezing your breasts and toying with your nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers. "She’s a delicate thing, Beckman. But she can take a lot more than she lets on. Can’t you, sweetheart?"

"haa — ye—" you couldn't even form a real sentence. You were already on the edge, vibrating between Rayleigh’s teasing touch and Beckman’s intense, focused exploration. Every time you tried to focus on the pleasure Rayleigh was giving your nipples, Beckman would shift his pace, a low, knowing smirk tugging at his lips as he watched your pupils dilate.

They weren't competing, they were harmonizing, which was worse (or better). Rayleigh provided the foundation of pleasure you knew, while Beckman added layers of intensity you weren't prepared for, leaving you utterly undone in the space between the Dark King and the First Mate of the Red-Hair Pirates.

Rayleigh followed the trail of Beckman’s work, his hand sliding down to cover your stomach, pressing down slightly to help you meet Beckman’s rhythm. "That’s it… just like that," Rayleigh encouraged, his voice a warm hum in your ear. "See how well he takes care of you? He’s making space for both of us, darling."

The sensation was overwhelming, the friction of Beckman’s calloused fingers stretching you open, coupled with Rayleigh’s mouth wandering down to your throat, to your nipples licking and sucking there, marking you as theirs was driving you insane. You were being unraveled, layer by layer, until there was nothing left but the raw, aching need they were so carefully cultivating.

"She’s close, Rayleigh," Beckman grunted, his pace quickening just enough to make your hips stutter. He curled his fingers, finding the exact spot that made your toes curl into the velvet and letting a loud moan escape your lips. "She’s perfectly ready." 

Rayleigh pulled back, his eyes dark with a hunger that promised no mercy. "Then I think it’s time we stopped being quite so… patient."

You were lost in heaven. They were driving you to the edge and within seconds Beckman's fingers pumping inside you hitting that sweet spot over and over while Rayleigh bit and licked your nipples just right made you cum for the first, but definitely not the last time. 

The world was a blur of silver hair and dark eyes as you were carried to the bed in the next room, your back hitting the cool familiar silk of the sheets. The air in the room was stifling, saturated with the scent of your own orgasm and the heavy, masculine musk of the two men orchestrating your undoing and it was intoxicating. Rayleigh moved with the practiced ease of someone who knew your limits better than you did, opening the drawer of the nightstand. You knew exactly what was in there, knew every little vicious toy that Rayleigh and Shakky used on you during your nights together.

"You know the rule, sweetheart," Rayleigh murmured, his eyes twinkling with a dangerous sort of affection. "I never start the main event until I’m sure you’re well and prepared enough and since Beckman is our guest tonight, I think we should let him choose. What do you think, darling?" Rayleigh asked with a smirk and you simply nodded, a bit nervous and curious but at the same time eager for them to continue. 

Rayleigh, took the nipple clamps then looked at Beckman and stepped aside letting Beckman pick a toy, while he lay down next to you tracing a finger over your skin. Your chest was still heaving and your skin flushed a deep rose from that first, explosive peak, Beckman’s gaze drifted to the nightstand. His eyes narrowed slightly, then a slow, dangerous smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. He reached out, his long fingers trailing over the various toys, glass, silicone and polished wood in all sizes and forms that lived there for your nights with the Dark King and his wife.

"Well, now," Beckman murmured, his voice like gravel over velvet. "It seems I’ve been underestimating just how much 'training' you’ve had with Rayleigh and Shakky."

Rayleigh laughed, a low, rumbling sound as he propped himself up on one elbow, his hand sliding down to rest possessively over your stomach. "Shakky and I believe in variety, Beckman. Though, I think she’d agree that we haven't found anything yet that she enjoys quite as much as the real thing."

Beckman picked up one of the toys, weighing it in his hand before putting it back down for now. He crawled onto the bed, looming over your legs like a predator. "The real thing is good," Beckman agreed, his voice dropping an octave as he moved back into your personal space. "But I’ve always been a fan of using every resource to achieve the desired result. And the result I’m looking for..." He paused, his hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, his thumb pressing firmly against the sensitive bundle of nerves that was already thrumming from Rayleigh tracing his fingers over your stomach down to your hips and back up again. "...is to see exactly how many times we can make you lose your mind before the sun comes up."

Rayleigh moved behind you, pulling your back against his chest so you were sitting up slightly, supported by his strength. He reached around to cup your chin, forcing you to look at Beckman. "He’s a perfectionist, darling," Rayleigh whispered against your ear, his breath hitching as he felt your body react to Beckman’s touch while Rayleigh's free hand put the first clamp down on your nipple making you hiss. "He won't stop until he’s mapped out every inch of you. And I? I’m just here to make sure you’re well-taken care of while he does it." Rayleigh kissed you softly and then tilted your chin back to make you look at him as he attached the second clamp, both connected through a small band that Rayleigh teasingly kept pulling at.

Beckman didn't wait, especially not since your hips arched toward him. He moved with the precision of a man who had spent his life calculating trajectories, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of your inner thigh while his hands moved to coordinate with Rayleigh’s.

You were trapped in a masterclass of pleasure. Rayleigh provided the rhythm and the safety, his hands and mouth wandering your upper body, pulling the string connecting the clamps like a harp player and he did it with a lover's familiarity, while Beckman provided the raw, focused intensity of a man who had finally found a puzzle worth solving. And he decided it was more fun to bully your pussy with his tongue, occasionally biting your clit softly not hurting you but making it stinging and your hips jolt.

You were moaning and gasping as Beckman’s tongue was relentlessly driving you to an orgasm and Rayleigh kissed you deeply while toying with your nipples. When you got close though, so damn close, they stopped. The shift in the room was instantaneous. One moment, you were a chaotic mess of sensation already giving in to the orgasm building up and the next, there was a void.

Beckman withdrew just enough to leave you feeling hollow and Rayleigh pulled his hands and lips back just an inch, his silver beard grazing your skin as he wore a look of mock-innocence. The sudden absence of friction made your breath hitch in a pathetic, high-pitched whine.

"Now, now," Rayleigh murmured, his thumb tracing the edge of your areola and tugging at the clamp, keeping the fire simmering but refusing to let it catch. "Where are your manners? We’ve been such attentive guests, haven't we, Beckman?"

"Remarkably attentive," Beckman agreed, perched between your legs, looking down at you with a gaze that was cool, dark and utterly dominant. He didn't look affected by the heat of the moment, he looked like a king waiting for a tribute. "But I think she’s forgotten who’s in charge of her pleasure tonight."

Your face was on fire, your vision swimming with need. Your hips gave a small, involuntary twitch, trying to find the friction that had been so cruelly stolen. You looked at Rayleigh, pleading, but he only gave you a wink, the same look he gave you when he and Shakky were about to push you to your limits.

"Please," you whispered, the word breaking in the middle. "Please... Ray, Beckman... I need... please."

"Please what, sweetheart?" Beckman asked, his voice a low, vibrating growl. He reached over to the nightstand, his fingers wrapping around a small, sleek glass toy that shimmered in the low light, holding it up enough for you to see. "Ask us nicely. Tell us exactly what you want us to do to this beautiful, trembling body."

You swallowed hard, your pride dissolving into the sheets. "Please... use it. Please, Beckman... put the toy in me and... Ray, please don't stop. I want you both to push me over the edge. Please."

Beckman’s smirk was sharp enough to cut steel. "Good girl."

He didn't waste another second. While Rayleigh surged back forward to capture your mouth in a bruising, possessive kiss and tormenting your nipples in the best way possible, Beckman’s hand guided the cool glass toy to your center, spreading your labia carefully and then tracing the toy along the newly exposed skin. The contrast of the chilled glass against your oversensitive, burning heat made your entire body lock up for a split second before the first vibration hummed through the device.

Rayleigh’s hands slid under your hips, lifting you to meet Beckman’s renewed, relentless pace. With the toy buzzing against your entrance hitting your walls and Beckman’s heavy, rhythmic deep-circles he drew with his thumb on your clit, the world didn't just blur, it shattered.

"That's it," Rayleigh groaned into your ear, his calm gentlemanly persona finally slipping into something raw and hungry as he felt your internal muscles clench around Beckman. "Take it all. Show him how well we taught you to cum."

You were a symphony of undone hitches and broken cries, caught between the veteran who knew your soul and the strategist who had just conquered your body. Your body was on fire and you were a mess of moans, gasps and curses.

"Fuck — haaa – shit – I’m gonna – hnng – cum" you cursed and moaned as you came hard crying out and arching off the bed as good as you could. You felt the rush run through your veins and as if you were losing your breath (and maybe mind too).

Rayleigh carefully removed the clamps and kissed each nipple almost lovingly while Beckman finally withdrew the toy to reveal how slick and prepared you truly were, smirking  as he looked from the toy down at your spent and beautiful form. 

"Are you ready for more, darling? Or do you need a moment before we let Beckman have his gift while I make sure you’re nice and stretched for both of us?" Rayleigh asked genuinely, in the way a lover would. Because after all Rayleigh didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable or hurting at any moment. 

“I’m f-fine. We can c-continue” you breathed before you shifted and got on all fours, waiting, offering yourself, like you usually did when it was you, Ray and Shakky.

That was all Rayeigh needed from you. He moved behind you and adjusted his grip on your hips, tilting you upward. With a slow, merciless pressure, he began to tease your entrance with his cock, leaving you whining and whimpering for more. He traced the tip through your slickness and every now and then pushed slightly into you before pulling back out again. 

"A gentleman is savoring such moments, not rushing them, darling" he chuckled deeply at your whimpers, making you groan, hating when he did that. "Besides I need you focused on Beckman first, it'd be rude to ignore our guest don't you agree?" He teased as he looked at Beckman and nodded with his head towards the headboard.

Beckman, who had been watching with a dangerous and hungry smile, moved like a shadow. He settled himself on the bed, his broad back against the headboard, and guided your head toward him. "A gift, he says," Beckman grunted, a rough, appreciative sound as he unfastened his trousers. "I’ve always admired your hospitality, Rayleigh."

As Rayleigh finally stopped tormenting you and pushed inside you, mimicking a deep, relentless pace that stretched you to your absolute limit, Beckman’s hands tangled in your hair tilting your head till it was eye level with his hard member. He didn’t force you, he didn’t need to, he simply guided you, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. You stared at his length, heavy and big. Your mouth watered and you were already in a daze from Rayleigh working your pussy.

You opened your mouth carefully taking the tip inside at first, tasting the precum. Then you took in more, slowly like Rayleigh had taught you, adjusting to him. Thanks to Rayleigh who had put you through some deep throat training you had less trouble than you feared. Their cocks seemed to be of similar size which was in fact really helpful right now but at the same time making this even more thrilling and hot. 

The world narrowed down to two distinct, overwhelming sensations. Below, Rayleigh was systematic. He used his cock like a weapon, finding every internal curve that made you moan while one of his hands splayed across your lower abdomen to feel the way your muscles spasmed around the intrusion and occasionally flicking your clit the way he knew was making you feral. 

"Look at how she takes it, Beckman," Rayleigh praised, his voice low and vibrating against your thigh. "Stretching so wide for us. She’s almost there."

Above, Beckman was a different kind of storm. As you started to bop your head he let out a long, shuddering breath, his fingers tightening slightly in your hair. His dark eyes watching the way your throat worked with a look of pure, predatory satisfaction. He moved his hips with a slow, grinding rhythm that forced you to focus on the taste of him, the salt and the smoke, even as Rayleigh pushed you toward a screaming peak.

"Good girl," Beckman rasped, his eyes hooded as he looked down at you. The calm gentleman was fraying at the edges, his breath hitching as your tongue worked against him. "Take it all. Show me what Rayleigh taught you."

Between Rayleigh's cock inside you hitting your G-spot perfectly and the filling presence of Beckman hitting the back of your throat, you were being stretched thin, your mind fraying, tears of overstimulation falling down your cheek. Rayleigh increased the tempo, his thrusts becoming shorter and sharper, hitting the sensitive entrance of your womb until your vision sparked.

"She’s close," Rayleigh warned, moving his thumb over your clit in a steady, maddening pulse that synced perfectly with the vibrations of Beckman deep in your throat.

The friction was absolute. Beckman groaned, a low, guttural sound that seemed to vibrate against your tongue as he felt the tremors of your impending climax beginning to ripple through you. Rayleigh felt it too, his pace quickening, his Haki flaring just enough to make every nerve ending in your body feel like it was glowing.

Your body buckled and a scream tore through you that was muffled by Beckman’s cock in your mouth, the vibration making him grunt lowly. You were trapped, pinned by Rayleigh’s weight, filled by his cock and silenced by Beckman’s length. You didn't just cum, you shattered. The world turned into a kaleidoscope of stars as you reached a peak so violent it left you sobbing into Beckman’s skin. You felt yourself clench down so hard on Rayleigh that he followed you shortly after filling you up, not letting go of you until every muscle in your body had stopped twitching.

"There she goes," Rayleigh muffled against your lower back, his voice thick with triumph. "Give it all to us, darling."

The tension in the room didn’t break with your climax, it only thickened, turning heavy. Beckman wasn’t finished with his 'gift' and Rayleigh, ever the attentive host, wasn’t about to let your nerve endings rest for even a second nor his guest left unfinished.

"Don’t drift off yet, darling," Rayleigh murmured, his voice a low, grounding hum as he pulled out of you. "Beckman isn’t quite finished with you."

Above you, Beckman’s breath had turned into a series of jagged, controlled growls. His hands stayed firmly anchored in your hair, his gripmfirm but not painful. His hips started a final, heavy press. He was a man who took what he wanted with a silent, devastating efficiency. You felt the shift in him, the way his muscles corded, the sudden heat of his skin.

"That’s it," Beckman rasped, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. With one final, deep surge, he filled your mouth completely, his body shuddering as he claimed his release.

You choked back a whimper, your eyes watering, but Rayleigh’s hand moved to the back of your thigh, softly tickling you to keep you present and at the same time soothe you. "Take it darling," Rayleigh encouraged softly. After a long, silent moment, Beckman slowly pulled back, but only enough to look down at you. His thumb hooked into the corner of your mouth, prying your lips open.

"Show me, pretty lady" he commanded. It wasn’t a request, it was an order from a man used to being obeyed across the Grand Line, yet it didn't sound like one. You obeyed, revealing the evidence of his climax pooling on your tongue. Beckman’s gaze was dark and clearly satisfied. "Good. Now swallow every drop. I don’t want you to waste a single drop I've so kindly given you."

You swallowed, the salt and heat of him sliding down your throat, making you feel marked from the inside out. Beckman let out a slow, appreciative breath, his hand softening as he stroked your cheek. "Well done sweetheart" he breathed

Rayleigh chuckled, his fingers never ceasing their light ticklish movements up and down the back of your thighs, before leaning down to kiss along your spine making you shiver. "She’s a treasure Beckman and I think that she’s ready for the main course"

You exhaled deeply, yourbody collapsed forqrd o to the sheets, feeling like it was on fire but still tingling for more because this was completely different from the times you had spent with Rayleigh and Shakky. Where Shakky had that female finesse these two had the experience of unraveling enough women during their young years, Beckman probably still having enough women knocking on his door for a good time, to make you never want to leave this room. 

You looked over your shoulder and smiled faintly. A wordless confession that you were ready, that you wanted them to take you, to claim you, to finally mark you as theirs once and for all. Rayleigh smiled back at you and kissed you deeply, a kiss that wasn’t just lust or need but of trust, love and care. Beckman watched you both and he leaned down too, kissing your cheek softly. "You are indeed very special, sweetheart." he whispered gently. 

Rayleigh and Beckman exchanged a wordless look, words were unnecessary anyways before the transition from 'warm-up' to the main event started and it was a masterclass in slow, delicious torment. These were not men who fumbled or rushed, they moved with the terrifyingly smooth coordination of two predators who had cornered something precious.

Rayleigh settled between your legs again, his large, warm hands parting you with a reverence that felt almost holy. He didn’t enter you immediately. Instead, he leaned down, his silver hair brushing your skin as he whispered against your shoulder. "I know that shiver, darling. I know exactly where you’re aching and me and Beckman are going to make sure you feel like the most precious thing in the world."

True to his word, he entered you with a single, agonizingly slow thrust. It wasn’t just a physical act, it was a reclamation. He hit that specific spot he had discovered during your nights with him and Shakky and stayed there, grinding his hips in a slow circle that made your vision white out.

Beckman moved behind you, his massive frame bracketing you. He didn’t just watch, he conquered. His large, calloused hands roamed over every inch of your skin, kneading your breasts, tracing the line of your ribs, and finally finding your mouth again this time though it was his thumb that pushed past your lips, making you suck on it as Rayleigh drove deeper.

"You’re over-sensitive here," Beckman observed, his voice a low vibration against your ear as his other hand found the sensitive skin on your sides, squeezing just enough to make your hips buck and let out a few squeaks. "And your pulse… it’s screaming for more, isn’t it?" He added, more as a matter of fact, as his tongue swept over your neck.

"W-want m-more" you muffled against his thumb, making both men smirk. 

"In that case who would we be to deny you such a request," Beckman growled as Rayleigh picked up his pace and Beckman began to trail biting kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing your shoulder blades until you were sobbing from the overstimulation from both of them. 

The dual assault was relentless. They left no part of you spared. If Rayleigh wasn’t kissing you, Beckman was. If Beckman’s hands weren’t mapping your curves, Rayleigh’s were. You were caught between the two legends and they were showing you exactly why their names were whispered in awe across the Grand Line.

The atmosphere in the room reached a fever pitch, the air so thick with the scent of sex and salt that it felt like a physical weight. Rayleigh’s rhythm was a steady, deep-seated thunder, but it was the silent understanding between the two men that truly signaled your total unraveling.

Beckman moved with a quiet, devastating intent. He didn’t ask, he simply took. His large, calloused hand slid beneath your hip, tilting you upward to expose the delicate, untouched heat of your back entrance. He spent a few agonizing moments stretching you with his thumb, a deliberate, methodical preparation that had you sobbing into the crook of Rayleigh’s neck.

"You’re doing so well, sweetheart," Rayleigh whispered, his voice a gravelly caress to calm you down. He leaned up, capturing your mouth in a deep, tongue-tangled French kiss that tasted of hunger and victory, muffling your cries and distracting you from the stretch as Beckman finally pushed himself inside your ass.

The sensation of being filled by both legends was beyond anything the human mind could categorize. It was a complete invasion, a total occupation of your body. Your back arched, your fingers digging into Rayleigh’s back as you were caught between the Dark King’s relentless, thrusts into your pussy and Beckman’s steady, unforgiving power from behind.

To them, your screams weren’t just noise, they were music, a symphony of their combined mastery. Of your surrender and at the same time of their care and need for you. They worked you like a finely tuned instrument. Beckman’s hands were everywhere, kneading your breasts with a firm, possessive grip while his thumbs caught your nipples, pinching and rolling them until you were seeing stars. Rayleigh, meanwhile, focused on your neck and collarbone, his teeth grazing and biting, leaving dark marks that would serve as a map of this night for days to come.

"Look at her," Beckman rasped, his voice vibrating through your spine as he pushed deeper. "She’s vibrating. I think she’s reached her limit, Rayleigh."

"Not quite," Rayleigh chuckled, a dark, predatory glint in his silver eyes. "I know her better than that. She’s got one more break in her."

For the finale, Rayleigh decided to be mean. While they both kept up a punishing, synchronized pace that left you breathless and blind with pleasure, Rayleigh’s hand slid down between your bodies. He didn’t offer the soft, swirling caress from before. Instead, he pinned your clit between two fingers, applying a sharp, vibrating pressure that was pure torture. He toyed with you, stopping just as the wave hit, then doubling the intensity the moment you tried to catch your breath.

"Please," you sobbed, your head thrashing against the cushions. "Ray, please!"

"Please what, darling?" he murmured, his thumb clicking against your sensitive core with a ruthless rhythm. "You want me to stop? Or do you want to show Mr. Beckman exactly how loud you can scream when you finally break?"

"C-cum — haaa — want to c-cum" you screamed though the words were a stutter.

The combination of the double penetration and Rayleigh’s merciless attention to your clit was the final blow. Your body locked, your internal muscles clenching around both men in a desperate, rhythmic spasm. You screamed, a raw, high-pitched sound of total surrender, as your world shattered into a thousand jagged pieces of light.

They followed you shortly after, two titans of the Grand Line pouring their strength into you, claiming every inch of your spirit and flesh as their own. As the room finally fell into a heavy, ringing silence, you were left trembling and utterly spent, a beautiful, broken masterpiece held between the two men who had just rewritten the meaning of gentleman.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of three ragged breaths syncing up in the dim light of the room. You lay there, breathless, your skin flushed and slick. The world was still spinning and your mind was a hazy fog of pleasure.

Bonus:

Rayleigh withdrew slowly, the absence of his heat making the air feel suddenly sharp. He sat back, running a hand through his silver hair, while Beckman remained looming behind you, a dark, silent shadow of satisfaction.

The Dark King watched you for a long moment, waiting. He watched the way your chest heaved, the way your eyes struggled to focus. But as the seconds ticked by and you remained silent, drifting in the afterglow, his expression shifted from soft affection to something a bit more… instructional.

"Beckman," Rayleigh said softly, his voice regaining that calm, gentlemanly authority. "I think our girl has forgotten her manners in all the excitement."

Beckman’s hand, which had been idly tracing the curve of your hip, stilled. "Is that so? I’d hate to think she’s ungrateful after we went to such lengths to make her comfortable."

You blinked, the fog in your brain clearing just enough to realize your mistake. Your heart, which had just begun to slow, kicked back into a frantic rhythm. Rayleigh and Shakky had a very specific rule after sex - gratitude was a requirement, not a suggestion.

"I… I’m sorry," you breathed, your voice barely a rasp. "I—"

"A sorry isn’t a ‚thank you‘, young lady," Rayleigh interrupted gently. He leaned over you, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. He looked disappointed, which was far more terrifying than if he had been angry. "And a late thank you… well, that requires a reminder. Wouldn’t you agree, Beckman?"

"Absolutely," Beckman grunted. He reached out and gripped your waist, flipping you over onto your stomach with effortless strength. The sudden shift made your head swim. "If she’s too tired to speak, maybe we should find another way for her to show her appreciation."

Rayleigh reached for a crop near the nightstand. He didn’t look like a monster, he looked like a teacher about to deliver a necessary lesson.

"Since you’ve lost your voice, we’ll give you something else to focus on," Rayleigh murmured. "Ten for the house, and ten for our guest. And you’ll count every single one, won’t you? To show us you’re paying attention."

Beckman leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. "Start counting, darling. And make sure we can hear you. We wouldn’t want to have to start over."

The air in the room grew clinical, the kind of quiet that precedes a storm. Rayleigh stood over you, the crop held loosely in his hand, while Beckman’s heavy weight shifted. The Dark King didn’t look angry, he looked focused, his silver hair catching the amber light as he prepared to deliver the 'house’s' portion of the lesson.

"Ready, darling?" Rayleigh asked softly and younjust exhaled deeply.

The first snap of the crop against your ass was sharp and stinging, a sudden shock to your over-sensitized skin but you'd be lying if you said it was unpleasant.

"One," you gasped out, your fingers clutching at the sheets.

"Louder," Rayleigh prompted, his tone as calm as if he were ordering a drink.

Snap. "Two!"

He worked his way through the count with a rhythmic, steady hand, each strike a hot brand that pulled a sharp cry and a number from your lips. By the time he reached "Ten" your skin was tingling with a fierce heat, and your breath was coming in ragged gasps.

"Good girl," Rayleigh murmured, dropping the belt and leaning down to kiss the back of your neck. "That’s for the house. Now, Beckman… it’s your turn to collect."

Beckman didn’t reach for the crop. He let out a low, thoughtful hum that vibrated through your thighs. "The rare is a bit impersonal for a first meeting, don’t you think, Rayleigh?"

Before you could process his words, Beckman’s strong hands gripped your hips and hauled you backward. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled you over him, positioning your aching, swollen core directly over his face. You were suspended there, pinned by his strength, looking down at the legendary First Mate.

"I think ten of my own style will stick in her memory much better," Beckman rasped.

The first lick was a revelation his tongue was broad, hot and rough like sandpaper. He didn’t just taste you he used his tongue to deliver a forceful, agonizingly slow stroke from your bottom to your clit.

"One," you wailed, your back arching.

"Sorry sweetheart but I didn’t quite hear you," Beckman teased against your wet skin, his breath sending a shiver through you.

Then came the suction. He caught your clit between his lips and gave a sharp, demanding pull and your world tilted. "Two!" you screamed, your hands flying back to find purchase on his shoulders.

He proceeded with a torturous deliberation. Each lick was a deep, punishing slide of his tongue that felt like it was trying to map your soul, followed by a suck that felt like he was trying to draw the very life out of you.

"Five… Six…" you moaned, almost obscenely, your voice breaking, your body unable to stay calm and your chest heaving unevenly.

Every time you tried to close your legs or pull away, Rayleigh was there, his large hands on your knees, holding you wide and open for the guest’s inspection. Rayleigh watched with a scholar’s interest, his thumb occasionally stroking your cheek as you fell apart.

"Seven… Eight…"

By the ninth, your body was on fire. Beckman’s tongue was unrelenting, flicking with a precision that drove you toward a peak you didn’t think you could survive, after everything that had happened before.

"Nine! Fuck!"

"Last one, sweetheart," Beckman whispered. He didn’t just lick you, he buried his face against you, his tongue pushing inside while he sucked with a ferocity that finally broke the dam.

"TEN! TEN! TEN! OH FUCKING HELL"

You collapsed against his chest, your body a shattered mess of tremors. Beckman’s punishment had been far more effective than any spanking could have been. You were entirely spent, your mind a blank slate where only their names were written.

Beckman chuckled, a deep, gravelly sound that rumbled against your chest. He looked up at Rayleigh, a dark smirk on his face. "I think she’s learned her manners now."

Rayleigh smiled, leaning down to brush a stray, tear-soaked hair from your face. "I think you’re right. Now, let’s get her cleaned up. We wouldn’t want Shakky to think we didn’t take proper care of her. She can get really angry when the young lady isn’t treated right afterwards."

The shift in the room was instantaneous. The heavy, oppressive weight of the 'lesson' evaporated, replaced by the soft, expert care that defined both men when the storm had passed. 

Rayleigh sat up, pulling your limp, sweaty body against his chest, while Beckman leaned over you, a fresh cigarette held unlit between his lips. He reached out, tracing the line of your collarbone where he had left a deep, purple mark earlier.

"Shakky’s going to have a lot to say about this tomorrow," Rayleigh chuckled, his voice raspy as he pressed a lingering, stinging bite into the curve of your shoulder, marking his territory right next to Beckman’s.

Beckman smirked, leaning down to press a final, firm kiss to the center of your forehead, his thumb smearing a bit of stray moisture from your cheek. "Let her talk," he murmured, his eyes lingering on the map of bruises and bite marks they had painted across your skin. "I think we left enough evidence to let her know she shouldn't have left us alone with her favorite girl."

You were tucked between them, a warm, marked prize of the Grand Line's greatest legends, drifting off to the scent of rum, tobacco, and the lingering heat of a night that had changed everything.

So you do what you do best. You infiltrate. Slip onto the Red Force during a fake marine heist. Blend in. Everything goes smoothly. You are seconds away from springing the girl and pulling off the most impressive jailbreak of the year.

You were so close to greatness.

The mission had been flawless. You studied the Red Force’s schedule like scripture. Spent six weeks pretending to be a washed-up keg vendor with gout in three toes. You won three arm wrestling tournaments, snuck into the crew’s poker games, and started sleeping in a hammock you had no business using.

The hostage—Shanks’ allegedly “honored guest,” who smiled far too much for someone allegedly abducted—was slung over your shoulder, half-limp, half-laughing. She had agreed to the escape. Helped you fake a dramatic fainting spell. Lit the emergency fireworks herself. You were twelve feet from the getaway boat. The wind was perfect. Your “WE’RE BEING BOARDED” alarm was already echoing through the lower decks.

You were about to become a legend, the first person in history to successfully pull off a heist from the Red Force.

You were twelve feet from victory.

Twelve. Feet.

And then he turned the corner.

Benn. Freaking. Beckman.

At first, you froze. Because wow. That was a lot of man. Tall, broad-shouldered, greying in that “I know things and will ruin your life respectfully” sort of way. You’d clocked him from across the deck before, but figured he was just hot in that “dad at the bake sale who used to be in a gang” kind of way.

You were wrong.

He was tall. Weathered. Scarred. Holding a mug that probably contained either black coffee or the blood of lesser pirates. His hair was silver like it had been applied by divine strategy. He looked like he won his fights without needing to raise his voice.

You’d heard of him before. Everyone had. He was the man who made warlords nervous just by walking into a room. The one who smirked like he knew exactly where your birthmark was and had already drafted the apology note for what he’d do next.

But no wanted poster could prepare you for the real thing.

He was stupidly hot. Criminally hot. The kind of hot that made the air feel spicy.

That scar. Those shoulders. The quiet strength tucked under a shirt that needed to be investigated for safety violations. His hands were broad and worn, his rings scuffed, his fingers long enough to complicate your entire personality. His mouth looked like it had whispered state secrets, ruined reputations, and possibly a few marriages.

He was halfway through barking orders when your eyes met when you locked eyes for a single second— 

—and your soul did something treasonous.

Full cosmic ignition.

Like your ribs had been replaced by sparklers. Like the universe hit the soulmate alarm and laughed while doing it.

You choked. The hostage gasped. Benn staggered like he’d been uppercut by fate.

“…Damn,” he said quietly. “That’s new.”

He dropped the barrel he was carrying and caught himself against a post like he’d been sniped through the chest. One of the crew asked, ‘Boss, you good?’ and Beckman just stared at you like you were the punchline to the universe’s worst joke.

And from the way his pupils dilate? From the way he flinches like he’s been gut-punched by destiny?

Yeah.

You’re his soulmate, too.

“Naw,” he said flatly. “I’ve been compromised.”

Your legs went weak. Your heart launched itself into your spine. Your vision narrowed to just him. Your knees buckled. You stumbled like the deck had suddenly sloped uphill.

The hostage gasped and whispered, “Oh my god, it’s him, isn’t it?!”

Beckman flinched like he’d been stabbed in the lung.

He looked directly at you. Straight through you. Past your fake identity, your backstory, your explosives.

Gives you a real one over that has you crumbling in fear.

“Well, shit.” He smirks and says, “I take it back, sweetheart. I’m wide awake now.”

You tried to fight it. Really, you did. You had six more backup plans. One involved a smoke bomb and an exploding ham. You were going to be immortalized.

Instead, you flatlined and yelled,

“I DON’T BELIEVE IN SOULMATES.”

Then you did the logical thing: panicked and slapped the hostage across the shoulder.

“RUN!”

She did not.

“Damn, woman, give me a second.” He groaned. “It’s too early for this sort of breakdown.”

She squealed like a traitor and ran toward him.

Then you threw a smoke bomb at his feet, grabbed a rope, and screamed “FOR THE EMPRESS!” while launching yourself off the rail.

You lunged the opposite direction—but Beckman was already moving. He moved like he had all the time in the world, but you never had a chance. A blur. A flash of motion. 

You got five feet of swing before a hand snagged you mid-air like a misbehaving kitten.

Next thing you knew, you were hauled bodily against a chest that felt like it had its own gravity. You tried to stab him. He plucked the knife from your fingers like you’d handed him a spoon.

He had caught you mid-vault like you weighed nothing, spun you around, and held you bridal-style while the crew screamed, “WE GOT ANOTHER ONE!”

Your hostage? Laughing her entire traitorous ass off.

You screamed, “LET ME GO, YOU WALKING CIGAR AD.”

“Tempting,” Beckman muttered, “but unfortunately the universe says I have to kidnap you now. For your safety.”

“I WAS KIDNAPPING YOUR BOSSES GIRLFRIEND FIRST—”  you screamed, kicking furiously.

He didn’t even flinch.

“Relax,” he said calmly. “This isn’t how I thought today would go either.”

“You are NOT surprised enough for this!” You hissed.

“I’m a first mate. Calm is my job.”

“RELEASE ME!”

You threw a smoke bomb out of pure spite. It went off inside Beckman’s coat. He didn’t flinch.

“Can’t,” he says. “Soulmate clause.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It is now.”

You kick him in the ribs. He doesn’t flinch. Just sighed and said, “That’s my girl.”

You nearly bit him. You try to break free. Beckman readjusts you like your luggage with attitude. And he looked down at you—face still unreadable—and said in the exact same tone someone might reserve for “We’re out of rum” or “The anchor’s stuck”:

“Well. I guess we’re kidnapping you, too.”

Shanks poked his head up from below deck with a slice of toast in his mouth. “What’d I miss?”

The hostage pointed at you like a proud matchmaker. “She lit up like a New Year’s flare! While trying to run off with me!”

Shanks tilted his head thoughtfully. “Was she any good?”

“She had explosives, six escape routes, and three fake IDs,” she said brightly. “I would’ve gone willingly.”

“Sounds like a keeper,” Shanks grinned. “Benn, you want me to officiate, or should I prep a second room?”

You shrieked. “This isn’t a double wedding, you glorified sea hobo!”

Beckman, still unbothered, sighed like he was already tired of his soulmate’s vocabulary. “She’s very expressive.”

You tried to headbutt him.

He tilted his head slightly to dodge it, adjusted your position, and said, “Okay. Time for Plan B.”

“What the hell is Plan B?!”

He dropped you. Onto a chair. Which he had pulled up behind him at some point because of course he had.

Then he pulled out a pair of fuzzy handcuffs—fuzzy, because he’s polite, apparently—and calmly cuffed you to the armrest.

You sputtered, “Are you kidding me—?!”

He leaned close, mouth by your ear, and said in a voice like melted sin,

“I just found my soulmate in the middle of an active hostage situation. Let me have one win today.”

And the worst part?

Your traitorous stomach flipped.

Now you’re in the captain’s quarters. Still handcuffed. The tea is annoyingly delicious. The hostage is cuddled into Shanks’ side, whispering “I told you you were his type,” like this is a matchmaking cruise.

And Beckman?

Beckman leans against the wall across from you with his shirt sleeves half-rolled up, forearms crossed, and a face like he’s already imagining what kind of curtains would look good in your shared cabin.

You try not to stare at his hands.

You fail.

He raises one brow. “You good?”

“Fine,” you croak, while actively experiencing a psychological wardrobe malfunction.

“Sure,” he says, clearly not believing you.

You try not to look at his jaw.

Or his collarbone.

Or the way he smells like warm gunpowder and forbidden decisions.

Your soulmate is not just a silver-fox warlord with tactician-level calm and a smirk that’s likely outlawed in several countries. He’s a walking crime of attraction.

You refuse to make eye contact.

Because if you do, you’ll end up flinging yourself into his chest out of pure self-preservation.

Beckman hasn’t moved. He’s still leaned against the door like the ship isn’t on high alert because you just tried to rob it. Like he doesn’t care that you infiltrated his crew, almost kidnapped one of his people, and still have three concealed weapons hidden in places you know he’s aware of.

He’s too calm.

Too quiet.

Too—oh no—competent.

The man oozes “I’m not mad, just disappointed” energy, except you’re not a child, and that expression on his face makes your whole frontal cortex short-circuit.

You clear your throat.

“So… is this the part where you interrogate me?”

He lifts a brow. “Would it work?”

“Depends. On your methods. And how many buttons are undone when you use them.”

A beat of silence.

Then he actually laughs, a low, deep thing that sounds like it should come with a warning label and a locked door.

“Careful,” he says, stepping closer. “You’re starting to flirt.”

“I’m starting to panic.”

“You flirt when you panic?”

You glare. “It’s that or scream.”

He’s right in front of you now, crouching a little so he’s level with your chair. One hand rests on the armrest beside your cuffed wrist, just enough to make your heart kick up into your throat.

You hate how good he smells. You hate that your body’s reacting like you’re in some trashy romance novel and not a hostage situation.

You hate even more that you’re not hating it enough.

“You really thought you could break into the Red Force,” he murmurs, voice low and amused, “snatch a crew member off the main deck, and not end up in cuffs?”

“I was six feet from success.”

He hums. “Seven, actually. I was watching from the crow’s nest for an hour.”

You narrow your eyes. “Pervert.”

“Professional.” He shrugs. “Until this happened.”

His fingers brush your wrist where the cuff sits, thumb casually stroking the edge of your skin like he’s not thinking about it. But you are.

Your body flinches, traitorous and too warm, and you hate the part of your brain that whispers, Well, he could interrogate me. Thoroughly. Over several hours. Shirtless, probably.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you snap.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m a puzzle you’re enjoying too much.”

He smiles, a real smirky little smile, and you feel something in your chest give way like it’s under siege.

Then he says, “You know we can’t let you go, right?”

You scoff. “So what’s the plan? Throw me in the brig? Sell me to Hancock with a gift basket?”

He leans in, just a little closer.

“No,” he says, eyes sharp and mouth curved. “I think I’ll keep you.”

You blink.

“…Excuse me?”

“Figure it’s easier that way. Shanks already lost one crewmate to a soulmate bond. I’m not about to let mine jump off the ship just because she’s too proud to admit she likes the view.”

You open your mouth to object, but he taps your lips with one finger.

“Don’t bother. Your heartbeat gave you away.”

You slap his hand. “That’s harassment.”

“That’s courtship,” he corrects, standing again. “At least by pirate standards.”

Back on Amazon Lily

The Den Den Mushi rings. Loud. Shrill. Unannounced.

Boa Hancock, Empress of Amazon Lily and walking goddess of destruction, lounges on her throne while surrounded by her loyal warriors, radiant and serene as always—until she hears the voice on the other end.

“Hi, this is Benn Beckman. Just calling to say thank you for sending over the bounty hunter. Very helpful. We’ll be keeping her.”

Silence.

Utter, cosmic silence.

Then: click.

The transponder snail closes its little eyes with a shrug. Job done.

The entire hall stares at Hancock, waiting for her reaction.

Her eye twitches.

A vein in her temple throbs.

She inhales deeply—gracefully. Regally. With poise befitting the world’s most beautiful woman.

And then she absolutely loses her goddamn mind.

You sit in the captains cabin, still handcuffed, still fuming, been fed  Beckman’s tea like it’s poison you refuse to admit tastes good.

Your original target, Shanks’ alleged “hostage,” the one you were so close to rescuing, walks up beside you with two sandwiches and a grin that could melt glaciers.

“I brought you lunch,” she chirps.

You scowl. “You’re supposed to be escaping.”

“I already did,” she says. “From the Amazon Lily.”

You blink. “What?”

She plops down beside you like this is a picnic and not an emotional hostage standoff. “You thought I was kidnapped?”

“You… weren’t?!”

“I mean, I kind of was, but to be fair I was also emotionally committed. But—-“ She bursts into laughter, slapping her knee like this is the greatest comedy she’s heard all month. “In the end I agreed to taking in my man-creature. I’m committed to training him. Signed a contract and everything.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this first?” You wailed. “I snuck onto a Yonko’s ship to rescue you!” 

“From what? Unmatched backrubs and an emotionally stable Red-Head?!” She laughed darkly. 

You sputter. “He literally stole you!”

She leans back on her elbows, gazing out at the sea. “Yes, but we are also soulmates. I just… didn’t fight it.”

Hancock failed to mention the part where she was Shanks’ soulmate. Because of course she did.

“Fucking hell—“ You gape at her. “You’re not being brainwashed?”

“Nope.”

“Threatened?”

“Not unless you count sexual tension and one-arm puns.”

You blink. She hands you a sandwich. You try and take it automatically. Because apparently, your whole worldview is on fire and your in fuzzy handcuffs.

She puts the sandwich up. You take a bite.

She sighs dreamily. “Honestly, I didn’t even like him at first. Too loud. Too confident. Too much of that smile.”

You nod aggressively. “Right? Too charming. Too pirate.”

“And then he looked at me one day and said, ‘I never needed a reason to want you. You just walked in and everything after that stopped being negotiable.’

Holy shit.

The dumb red-head pulled that out?

You stop chewing.

“Oh,” you say weakly.

“Yeah,” she says. “So I stayed. Best decision I’ve ever made.”

You stare at her.

She winks. “So. You ready to surrender yet?”

“I am not surrendering.”

“Mmhm. That’s what I said. Right before he kissed me so good I forgot my name.” 

You could almost feel how good that kiss was, and it wasn’t helping.

You’re still sputtering when a shadow falls across you both.

Benn Beckman.

His arms are crossed. His eyebrow is raised. His mouth is doing that smirk again.

“You harassing my soulmate?” he asks her mildly.

“Absolutely,” she chirps, then stands. “I’ll leave you two alone. Good luck, Benn. She’s scrappy.”

She vanishes into the corridor.

You look up at him. “You’re all insane.”

“Probably,” he agrees.

You cross your arms. “I’m not going to fall for you just because my ribs tingle and you smell like heartbreak and expensive bourbon.”

“Didn’t ask you to.”

You squint. “Then why am I still cuffed?”

He sits beside you, just close enough to radiate heat, and speaks low and slow. Too calm for how feral you feel.

“I didn’t cuff you to keep you prisoner.”

“Really? Because my wrist disagrees.”

“I cuffed you,” he says, eyes on yours, voice low and maddeningly calm, “so you wouldn’t bolt before I got the chance to show you why staying might be the better option.”

Silence.

You forget how to blink.

Then—as if he’s not already toeing the line of emotional terrorism—he lifts a hand and casually drags the hem of his shirt up to scratch his side.

Just a quick motion.

But it’s enough.

Just enough for you to catch a sliver of toned muscle, the edge of a scar curving over his hip, the faintest trail that vanishes somewhere unholy.

You make a sound.

It might be a gasp. Might be a death rattle. Could be your dignity folding itself into a paper swan and sailing off into the sea.

He doesn’t seem to notice.

(He definitely notices.)

He smooths the shirt back down and leans in, close enough that you smell salt, smoke, and danger wrapped in warmth.

“Stay,” he says, soft and devastating. “Or go. I won’t stop you. Just know—if you walk away, I’ll miss you every day you’re gone.”

You can feel your heartbeat trip over itself.

You don’t even answer. Your soul does it for you.

Beckman straightens, watches you without a trace of smugness. Just that quiet, unshakable confidence.

And then, casually, as he steps back, and rolls up his sleeves. Both of them.

Forearms. Veins. Scars. Strength. The works.

Drool pools in your mouth.

He doesn’t say another word.

He doesn’t have to.

Because you’re staying.

You just hope no one asks why, because “forearm exposure and emotional damage” isn’t a legally defensible answer.

Shit shit shit shit.

Your heart slams against your ribs like it’s trying to escape.

He pulls the key from his pocket and unlocks the cuff with a quiet click.

Your wrist is free.

He stands.

Doesn’t touch you.

Just looks down, eyes warm and maddeningly sure.

“I’ll be topside,” he says. “Take your time.”

And then he walks away.

No tricks. No threats. No smugness. You stare at your freed wrist. He unlocked the cuff. Gave you the choice. Walk or stay.

And you sit there like a decorative barrel, tea still warm in your hand, absolutely not moving.

Not because you’re scared. Not because you’re stunned.

But because you know damn well you’re not leaving.

Your body hasn’t even considered standing. Your knees are like, “lol okay. Sure. Run. Into what? His arms again?”

Your brain is desperately trying to mount a defense, whispering things like, “You’re a bounty hunter. You have standards. You have pride.”

But unfortunately, your pride is very busy thinking about his forearms.

You glare at the empty space where he’d been. “Rude. Emotional manipulation via smolder.”

Shanks’ girl peeks back out of the corridor, holding a sandwich in each hand like a gossiping lemur. “Sooooo…?”

You groan. “He gave me the tragic lover goodbye line.”

“Oooo,” She nods. “He's good at those. Did he use the forearms?”

“Of course he did,” You hiss, “Why is he built like a man who ruins your credit score and gives you stability?”

“Exactly.”

“I’m supposed to be rescuing you.”

She takes a bite. “I’m thriving.”

You fall back against the deck with a dramatic sigh, arms flung out like a corpse at sea. “I hate him.”

She grins. “No you don’t.”

“I hate how hot he is.”

“Fair.”

“I hate that he cuffed me as a hostage and now I’m the one emotionally attached.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I’m gonna commit to this ship out of spite.”

“Do it,” she says with reverence. “Pirate out of pettiness. It’s the strongest kind of loyalty.”

You pause. Stare at the sky.

Then sit up. “You know what? Yeah. Yeah, fine. I’m not leaving.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah, really. You think I’m gonna let him win by being noble and mysterious? No. I’m winning this. I’m staying out of revenge.”

“…Revenge for what?”

You stand and storm toward the stairs. “FOR BEING IRRESISTIBLE.”

You find Beckman on the upper deck, adjusting some rigging like the picture of calm pirate authority.

He glances over his shoulder.

Raises an eyebrow.

“Thought you were thinking it over.”

You stride past him, shoulder-checking him as you go. “Shut up. I live here now.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then he laughs.

Low. Warm. Smug as hell.

He follows you down the deck with maddening ease.

“You moving into my quarters or the guest room?” he calls casually.

“Yours,” you snap. “Out of principle.”

“Understood.”

He falls into step beside you, hand brushing lightly against yours. Not grabbing. Just there.

And just like that, it’s done.

You’re not a prisoner. You’re not an intruder. You’re not leaving. You’re a problem now.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Shanks demands.

“I did,” Ben grumbles as they head to the deck. “At least, I tried. You looked me right in the eye, said 'I understand,’ and then went back to sleep.”

“Why did you listen to me?!” Shanks cries, picking up his pace.

The island they were currently docked at had a town famous for producing bamboo liquor. Rice wine was injected into living bamboo stalks, infusing the liquor with the bamboo sap during the aging process. Shanks had been eager to try it out, but the town was located high up on a mountain in the center of the island, only accessible by hike. Wary of the heavy Marine presence in those waters, Shanks chose to stay with the ship, sending a few crewmates out earlier in the week to retrieve some in his stead: Bonk Punch, Monster, and you. 

The three of you had returned early this morning. It was only now, a few hours afterward, that Ben elected to tell him that your group had run into Admiral Kizaru.

“S’not my fault you can’t wake up like a normal human being.” Ben grabs Shanks’ wrist, stopping him. “Relax. They’re all fine, even Firefly.”

‘Firefly’ was one of your nicknames. The main ability of your Devil Fruit, the Flash-Flash Fruit, gave you the power to emit light from your body. It was the inferior light-based power compared to Kizaru’s Glint-Glint Fruit—something that he gleefully held over your head from day one.

You and Kizaru had a long history. Your life as a pirate started young, as did your first encounter with the then-Vice Admiral. He had chased you throughout your entire career (half-heartedly, Shanks suspected, or you would never have survived.) And while you were leagues stronger than you were as a kid, strong enough to hold your own among the other senior officers, you still couldn’t beat Kizaru one-on-one. Shanks knew that fact ate you up inside. Your mood always soured when the Admiral was mentioned, or worse, encountered.

“Why do I doubt that?” Shanks mutters. Ben releases his hand and the two resume walking.

“It can’t be helped, Shanks. Their feud started long before Firefly joined us.” 

“I just wish it wouldn’t bother ‘em so much.”

“I know,” Ben says. “Best thing is to make them vent. They’re going to want to keep it to themselves, you know how they are. So get them to talk, then be supportive. And don’t make a stink about them coming home empty-handed.”

“They didn’t get the liquor?!” Shanks’ head whips to Ben.

“Obviously not! And you know how they hate letting you down, so don’t bring it up.” Ben gives Shanks one of his pointed ‘I mean it’ looks, and Shanks holds up his hands in a conceding gesture.

The two ascended the stairs to the deck. Most of the senior officers had gathered around you, concerned after hearing about your encounter. You’re sitting in a heavy wooden chair, occasionally wincing as Hongo, crouched in front of you, massages your feet.

You let out a small groan of pain as Hongo kneads a sore spot, one that sounds so much like your bedroom noises that Shanks would’ve teased you if the circumstances were different.

“Sorry,” Hongo says.

“No, it’s fine. It’s a good hurt,” you reply. “This is helping…thanks, Hungo.”

“Stop calling me that.”

Despite your lip curling up, Shanks can feel your tension with his Haki, a prickly and acidic energy which emanates from your being. He tries to seem lighthearted as he approaches, concealing his worry.

“If I had known foot massages were being given out, I’d have gotten up sooner,” Shanks says, smiling at your resulting pout.

“Next time, you can hike for three days in each direction,” you retort. “My feet haven’t hurt this bad in ages.”

“My feet don’t hurt,” Bonk Punch says.

“You’re twice my height, BP!” you snap, “I’m walking double the distance you are. And Monster rode your shoulders the whole time, so I don’t want to hear it from him, either.”

Gab, closest in height to Bonk, starts to snicker, but clams up quickly at your deadly side-eye.

Shanks touches Bonk Punch’s arm, then goes to pat your head, his hand sliding down to cradle the side of your face. He smiles when you lean into his touch. “Welcome home, you three.”

“I’m home,” you whisper automatically, and Shanks feels some relief–at least you were feeling well enough to say it aloud. The reversing of the traditional greeting had become a sort of ritual for you.

Before you met Shanks, you had survived entirely on your own. Foolish crews sailing the Grand Line at night would be drawn to a mysterious light that hovered over the water, one you emitted from your ship. Once they got close, you would use your secondary ability—the ability to steal light from other sources—to snatch the lights from their ship and snuff them out, plunging both ships into the pitch blackness of the open ocean. With the crew blinded and panicking, it was easy work to board their ship, take out the sailors, and raid their supplies. This hunting method earned you the nickname “Angler,” and you embraced it, as proven by the anglerfish tattoo on your shoulder.

Shanks recruited you shortly after you had tried and failed to use that tactic on the Red Hair Pirates. Though you had accepted his offer, in the early days, you were doubtful of your place on his crew and didn’t dare consider his ship home. And even years in, even while being a loyal crewmate, you were guarded and distant, never offering so much as a greeting after being separated. Shanks always made sure to say “welcome home” anyway, always kept a hand extended. Over time—a long time-–his gentle persistence paid off, like a river shaping stones smooth, and you started to respond. I’m home.

You already got along well with the crew, so it was inevitable that the very moment you opened up, you got sucked into the senior officer polycule. Once you had adjusted, you thrived with the newfound support, your formerly aloof disposition gradually becoming something as sunny and bright as your Devil Fruit power. Very few things dragged you down, and even fewer things affected your confidence. Facing Kizaru, unfortunately, was one of those things.

“Captain,” you mumble, eyes still closed.

“Yes, bug?” Shanks replies. 

You wrinkle your nose. ‘Bug’ was short for ‘lightning bug,’ a nickname you frequently complain is too cute for you. Your energy softens for a moment before becoming sharp once more, smile fading. “Ben told you the gist, yeah?”

“He did,” Shanks says, “but I’d like to hear it from you.”

You open your eyes. “There’s nothing more to it than what Ben said. We made it to the village, went straight to the bar, and found every seat inside taken by a Marine.”

“Including Kizaru,” Bonk Punch adds helpfully.

Yasopp flicks Bonk Punch on the back of the head, who yelps. Monster chitters irately at Yasopp in turn.

“Yeah,” your jaw tenses, “including Kizaru.” 

Hongo finishes his massage, so you shift forward to put your socks and shoes back on. Shanks waits patiently, as always, for you to go on.

“A fight broke out,” you explain. “The rest of the Marines were green, not an issue. Commanders and lower. BP and Monster handled them while I got into it with Kizaru.”

When you don’t say anything else, Shanks gives you a verbal nudge. “And?”

“And what? The same thing happened that always happens: He taunts me over having the weak version of his Devil Fruit, then kicks me at the speed of light. I was barely able to guard in time.” Your face twists into a grimace as you recall his words, your voice changing to mimic Kizaru’s whiny intonation. "Ohhh? I guess your Haki has to be strong to make up for having such a useless devil fruit."

“Ah,” Shanks says, feeling your energy twist and writhe like a wounded snake. “What else did he say?”

You breathe in deep through your nose, nostrils flaring. “There was a lot of collateral damage. A civilian almost got killed, so we mutually agreed to stop fighting. The Marines stayed behind to rebuild, and we left.”

Your blatant avoidance of the question makes it clear to Shanks that there’s more going on, as does the fact that you stand from your chair, intending to leave. You freeze at Shanks calling your name. “Tell me what else he said.”

“...He talked about my ‘Angler’ days,” your voice wavers before it explodes into a shout, “he called my tactics cowardly!” You start to pace around your chair, fists balled up. “I laughed and said, ‘do you think I’m afraid of you?’ And that slimy, scum-sucking bastard smirked at me and said, 'I know you are.' Ugh!" 

You grab the chair, raise it over your shoulder, and chuck it with a frustrated snarl, a flash of angry light pulsing under your skin. The crew watches as the chair sails into the far distance, becoming a tiny speck before splashing inaudibly into the water. "I'm not scared of him! I'm not scared of anyone!"

“Y/n…” Lucky Roux says, but you ignored him.

"Didn't I learn how to take advantage of my useless devil fruit?" you shout.

Gab goes to comfort you, but Ben stops him, shaking his head—it’s better for you to get it all out.

“Didn’t I master both Colors of Arms and Observation, which I had to figure out for myself, without a teacher? Didn’t I get by, alone, facing entire crews on my own?” Your voice rises as you resume pacing, fists balled so tightly now that veins pop out on your arms. There’s an empty bottle laying on the deck; you kick it into the distance as you pace. Only a shred of restraint keeps your stomping from cracking the wood of the deck. 

“Didn’t I become a legend? A cautionary tale whispered among sailors, the scourge of the night sea?” You unclench your fists, fingers curling like you were mentally strangling someone, then you throw your arms down with an aggravated cry. “Why aren’t I stronger?!”

There it was.

"You're too hard on yourself, Y/n.” Yasopp says. “He's older and more experienced. That’s all it is."

“No, it’s more than that,” Ben says. “You’re as strong as any of the senior officers. The only reason he keeps winning is because he knows how to get under your skin.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Ben holds up a hand. “You were a child when you first met him. That changes things, get me? There’s no way you were unscathed from that experience. If I were to guess, I’d say this: Mentally, you’re in a place where you’re a frightened kid on the run and he’s an adult—one with a monstrous reflection of your powers. That’s why you can’t see past your first clashes with him.” His face softens. “You’re not weak. You’re just at a disadvantage.”

You’re quiet. No one says a word. Your face is carefully still, like you’re trying to hold something in, and at first Shanks thinks you’re trying to quell your rage.

Then, the slightest waver of your lower lip catches his attention, because you never cry. The only time you ever let yourself cry in front of anyone is during aftercare.

Your Haki shudders and twists. Shanks narrows his focus on it, until he can finally detect what feeling bleeds through. Once he picks up on it, it’s suddenly overwhelming: a pungent, malingering sense of shame that permeates your energy. Benn must notice it, too.

How Shanks’ heart aches, seeing you fight to keep your composure. He wants to throw his arms around you, but decides against it at that moment. You’re too close to tipping over into actually crying, and if that happened, he knew you’d just leave for your cabin. It was better that you stayed around the crew right now.

Shanks grabs your cheek suddenly, pinching and pulling.

“Ow! The fuck?” You wince, more out of surprise than pain.

“You’re cute when you’re mad,” he coos.

“I am not cute—stop that,” you swat at his arm as he switches to smushing your cheeks together, garbling your words. “You’re trying to distract me.”

“Yes, but it’s also true that you’re cute.” Shanks lets go of your face and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest. His voice softens as he looks down at you fondly. “I missed you, Firefly.”

Some of the tension eases from your shoulders, and you sigh. “Me too.”

He leans down so he’s speaking right above your ear. “You want a kiss?”

“You can’t kiss this better, Shanks,” you say, then pause, avoiding his eye as your voice softens, “but I want one anyway.”

Shanks chuckles and cups your cheek, pressing his lips to yours. “Bet I could,” he says, and his next kiss is on your jaw. Then on your neck. “I bet I could make it real better.”

“Don’t be a tease.”

“Doesn’t have to be teasing. If you want to vent your frustrations…”

“Maybe later.” You gently push his face away. “I’m not in the mood.”

He turns his head to kiss your palm. “Alright. But stay up here with us for a while, at least.”

“I will—if you promise to have one of the big guys carry me next time.”

“Deal.” You shake hands. The small smile that finally graces your lips feels like victory to Shanks. You turn to head elsewhere, but he stops you with a hand on your shoulder, looking serious. “One more thing, bug.”

“Yes, Captain?” You’re fully paying attention now.

He looks you in the eye. “I don’t care that you came back empty handed. I’m just happy you came back. Thanks for keeping Bonk Punch and Monster safe.”

The sincerity clearly flusters you, as you avoid eye contact for a second. Then, to his surprise, you grin. “Empty handed, Captain? Whoever said I was empty handed?” You pull a small green bottle out of your pocket, smugly holding it up to his face.

“Ahh!” Shanks’ face lights up a split second before he grabs you, spinning you around in triumph and all but tossing you into the air. “You little bastard! You did it!”

“You’re gonna make me drop it,” you protest sheepishly. You only say it because you’re embarrassed at his grandiose reaction—nothing on Earth could make you drop that liquor.

That single bottle was the only one that you could nab during your retreat. On the way back, Bonk Punch offered that you both could split it, given all that you’d dealt with, but you had staunchly refused.

The look on the Captain’s face made it all worth it.

“I have the best damn crew in the world,” Shanks gushes, just to fluster you a little more. Predictably, you start to squirm.

“Put me down, you goof.”

“Alright, alright. But try some with me first.” 

He has a crewmate bring him a sake cup and stands next to you at the table. Shanks pops the bottle and pours it delicately. None of the crew asks to try—this is the Captain’s privilege, and he chose only to share it with you. While you’re not as interested in liquor as he is, you appreciate what that means to him. You’d drown in booze if it meant making Shanks happy. That trait was why you fit in so well with the other officers. In turn, Shanks took good care of you.

“To us,” Shanks says before tipping the cup back to his lips.

You realize you have no cup and no way of returning the toast. “Hey, you forgot–”

Shanks grabbing your face is your only warning. He kisses you, holding you steady while he lets the liquid flow into your mouth. You relax and accept, your tongues bathed in liquor as they touch, strong and earthy and burning. He tips you back slightly and you grip his shirt, sparks dancing through your body at the way he pushes your tongue up with his, coaxing you to swallow. You let the liquor trickle down your throat, leaving a warm trail down to your belly. He’s greedy; he holds you in place to make out with you for a little longer. You’re not sure how long, it feels so good you don’t really keep track. By the time he pulls away, you’ve definitely changed your mind about fooling around.

“Wow,” you say breathlessly, too high on the moment to be embarrassed.

Benn laughs from where he’s perched on the ship’s rail. “Shanks, come on. You’re going to make the crew think you play favorites.”

“I don’t play favorites,” Shanks says, then looks at you with bedroom eyes. “Want another taste?”

“Sure,” you reply.

Shanks takes another swig and kisses you while Benn rolls his eyes.

The liquor is strong, and you feel yourself get a little tipsy by the second swallow. Shanks has a big dumb grin on his face at the sight of your half-lidded eyes.

“Aw, you’re tipsy just from that? You’re so cute,” he coos.

“Am not—hrk!” You get yoinked by Shanks mid-sentence, the larger man wrapping his arm around your waist and tucking you under like one might carry a small dog. 

“Are too~.” He marches off with you to the other commanding officers, one by one, holding you up and asking, “look how cute. Right? Right?”

The other officers chuckle at your expense, heartily agreeing with their captain while you huff and grumble. You really do like when he humiliates you, but you don’t have the guts to be honest about it outside the bedroom.

Shanks gets the agreement of Bonk Punch, Hongo, Gab, then Building Snake. He gets to Limejuice, the only one not really paying attention with his nose buried in a book.

“Isn’t Firefly cute, LJ?” Shanks asks.

Limejuice doesn’t look up.

“LJ? Hey.”

Still no response. You tilt your head up the best you can to see, but you already know what Limejuice is reading. At the last island the Red Force stopped at, there was a library with an extensive adult section. Limejuice found some kind of kink manual. You read the bondage chapter when he loaned it to you—the book was half discussion, half instruction.

“You’re reading that fetish book again?” Shanks says. “What’s got your rapt attention there?”

“Oh, sorry, Captain. It’s… It’s this idea for a game,” Limejuice answers. He’s stoic as ever, but his normally-pale cheeks are tinged with pink.

“Oh?” You and Shanks say at the same time.

“An edging party where the first person to cum gets gangbanged.”

That got everyone’s attention.

In the end, a considerable amount of the polycule was both in the mood, and able to get cleaned out in time.

The ship’s dungeon had a king-sized bed in the corner, some specialized furniture, and plenty of extra blankets, cushions and towels. Stools were brought out for everyone to sit on, arranged in a circle so you could all see each other.

Everyone was in varying degrees of undress. Benn was on your right, and counterclockwise from him was Shanks, Hongo, Limejuice, and Lucky Roux on your left. You’d participated in group play before, but it always made your heart race. They were all so handsome, each body a little different, but brimming with power. Furthermore, all of you were competitive to varying degrees.

You stretched your arms one last time, already flushed warm from head to toe from the anticipation. The multiple sets of eyes on your breasts didn’t help that, either.

You ogled them right back, though. When your eyes settled on the impressive specimen between Hongo’s legs, he whistled at you.

“My eyes are up here,” Hongo smirks, then sticks his tongue out. “Well, if you like it so much, why don’t you help me get hard? Wanna come over here and put those pretty lips on my cock?”

Yes. You absolutely do. But the rules are…

“No touching others,” Limejuice instructs.

“I’m not really good with just my own hand, though,” you say. “Can I use a vibrator?”

“Hm…I don’t see why not. So long as you’re just using it on yourself, it still counts.”

You go to the toybox to select a simple wand while the others start touching themselves. Lewd slapping echoes around you, making you bite your lip as you perched back on the stool.

Rather than putting the wand between your legs, you set it on your right nipple first to warm up. With your other hand, you put some pressure on your clit. The vibrations tingle through your nipple, helping your clit swell under your fingertips. With the buffet of handsome men fisting their cocks before you, it doesn’t take more than that for the pleasure to build.

“You’re all so hot,” you say huskily. “I don’t know which one of you I want to lose.” You already have a strap-on in mind to use on the loser.

Lucky Roux clicks his tongue. “Right back at’cha, beautiful. But the loser won’t be me.”

“You sure about that? Cuz if you lose, after I peg you, I’m gonna ride your face until you drown.”

“A noble death, were I to lose. But we both know that’s not gonna happen.” He sticks his large, wonderfully thick tongue out. “More likely I’m gonna eat your pussy ‘til you’re cryin’. Make sure you get nice and wet for me, okay?”

Your core clenches at his words. Between the two of you, Lucky Roux did have the better control. But you were highly determined, and had better stamina.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Roux.” You tense your core and grind against your fingers, already feeling the pleasure start to be distracting.

“Confident as ever, aren’t you?” Benn hums.

“Today’s my day. I just feel it.”

“You’re gonna feel this dick in your mouth,” Hongo grunts. A few of the others chuckle.

“Says the guy who got hard first,” you taunt back. Hongo’s cock is fully erect, standing straight up and leaking generously, a delicious sight that has your blood pumping hot in your veins. Like you, he was more sensitive. “I bet you’d love choking on my strap.”

“Would I,” he groans, pumping himself faster. “You little demon.”

Limejuice looks down at you from under his sunglasses and clicks his tongue. “You don’t even have the vibrator on your clit.”

Shanks ‘tsks’ at you. “No one likes a cheater, bug.”

“Trying to get the upper hand on your crewmates?” Benn says.

“You guys are pathetic. I’m not gonna fall for that,” you say. Those clowns knew you were sensitive and were looking for an easy win.

“I want to see the wand on your clit,” Limejuice says, direct as he always is. “I want to see the face you make.”

“I won’t make a face,” you say.

“Prove it, then.”

You set the tip of the wand on your clit, the vibrations rumbly and deep. Though you try to keep your expression neutral, your lips are pressed tightly together at how nice it feels.

“What’s wrong?” Benn asks. “Thinking about getting that tight little pussy of yours stuffed?

Well, you are now.

“Nuh-uh,” you lie, picturing it vividly.

“You’re making a face,” Limejuice smiles.

“And you’re blushing,” you shoot back.

All of the men were flushed red except for Hongo, who was a little too tan for it to show. How couldn’t they be? Everyone was exposed and hard and wanting, little grunts and pants permeating the room.

“I've been eating fruit like crazy,” Limejuice says, “so whoever loses is gonna gobble this dick.”

“Then I’ll make sure to go down on you while the others take your ass,” you tease, feeling a little satisfaction when he bites his lip at the thought.

You were all getting really worked up now. Despite your confidence, you had to pull the wand from your clit because you were getting close, needing time to come down. A few of the others did similarly, taking a quick break to back away from the edge.

You close your eyes and breathe slowly, trying to ease the rush of your blood. That’s when you feel hot breath on your ear.

“Getting close, hmm?” Benn whispers. He had moved his stool to be closer to yours, leaning over you.

“Touching is against the rules,” you say.

“I’m not touching you, am I?” he says. “But I will be soon.”

He’s up to something. You narrow your eyes at him, but go back to touching yourself. A minute later, he’s breathing into your ear again.

“Bet you wanna ride this dick, huh, baby? Want daddy to stretch you out?”

“Benn,” you moan. It was supposed to be an admonishment, but his voice has the need in you growing faster than you intend.

“You wanna cum for me, don’t you? Wanna cum on daddy’s big cock?”

“Benn!” you gasp, not realizing everyone’s watching you now. You’re getting close again thanks to him, too soon. But you know you can hold out, as long as no one touches you.

“Don’t think about it too hard, love,” he says. “Don’t think about us taking turns filling you up. Holding you down, breeding you full.”

You don’t want to lose. You don’t want to lose. Focus, focus on keeping yourself steady, ignore him. As long as he doesn’t touch you, it doesn’t matter how close you are.

Then you feel Benn’s lips brush your ear as he whispers, “I’m gonna fuck you until you beg me to stop.”

Suddenly he’s pinching your nipple with one hand and rubbing your clit with his other. You didn’t even see him get up, but he catches you so off guard there’s nothing you can do to stop yourself.

You cum. And while you’re not vocal about it, the involuntary flashing of light makes it obvious, ribbons of light pulsing through your body from between your legs like silken lightning.

You shut your eyes as it washes over you. When you open them…

“How should we do this?” Shanks says.

They’re all standing in front of you now.

“Wait, hold on, Benn didn’t—” you start to say, but several hands pull you off the stool impatiently. They’re touching all over your body, grabbing every part of you, and you’re moved and angled around a bit as they figure out how they want you.

Limejuice is able to position himself behind you first, grabbing your hips and penetrating your cunt without hesitation. He sets a quick and firm pace, reaching around to rub your clit. It’s a lot after you’re still feeling the waves of your last orgasm.

“Too much-!” you gasp, grabbing his wrist, but he resists your pulling.

“You’ll have to fight harder than that. Or beg me,” he says, pushing your back down while Hongo positions himself at your mouth. “Better do it before he takes away your ability to talk.”

The struggle is working you up again, even so close to your last climax. “Please! Please don’t rub so hard!”

Limejuice eases up on your clit. Hongo takes your jaw in one hand and lines himself up with the other.

“I’m starting to think you lost on purpose,” Hongo says, teasing his cockhead on your lip.

“No, it was Benn! He cheated!” you cry, right before Hongo pushes himself inside your mouth.

Shanks and Benn high-five while the others laugh. Pirates weren’t known for playing fair, after all.

“Let me get in there,” Shanks says to Limejuice, who stops to angle himself so that Shanks can press his cock into your entrance as well.

“Mmmf!” you moan around Hongo’s cock as Shanks stretches you out even further. The three men inside you start to thrust, perfectly coordinated as only a crew with their experience can be. Benn and Lucky Roux take your hands, closing your fingers around their cocks and making you stroke them off.

“Aww, look at them.”

“So good, so fucking good.”

“They’re so tight.”

“Are you nothing but a hole to fuck? Just a willing receptacle for my cum?”

Their perfect teamwork has you quickly building to another orgasm, goaded on by their moans and coos and filthy words. You’re not paying what’s being said all that much attention, too caught up in the heavy sensations, until the next thing spoken echoes something painfully familiar.

“Aw, sweet thing, is this all you’re good for?”

Shanks is the first to notice. Though you don’t react—can’t react—your energy changes. You go a little more still than he’s comfortable with, so he calls out to Hongo. “Hey Hongo, get out of their mouth for a second. Firefly? You okay?”

Hongo complies, and you don’t respond, even after Shanks calls for you again. When you don’t, he stops completely, his tone sharp and clear.

“Overboard!” he calls.

All activity stops immediately. Everyone pulls out of you, and Hongo pulls you by the arms so you’re standing, checking your face. Your eyes are unfocused.

“Firefly?” Hongo says.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” you say, shaking your head. “I blanked out. I’m—I’m okay.”

But you don’t feel okay, Shanks can sense it. Your energy is writhing like it was earlier, that black shame oozing off of you.

“I don’t believe you,” Shanks says. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong!” you respond a little too forcefully. “I’m fine!”

Benn crosses his arms and gives you a look, one that always reminds you that he’ll find out eventually.

“It’s…it’s just…” you say.

“Come here,” Benn says, taking you by the shoulder and walking away from the others, toward the bed. Shanks follows him. “Everyone else, give us a few minutes.”

Benn points to the bed. “Sit.”

You sit down, rubbing your arm and avoiding his eye.

“You gonna tell us what’s going on?” Shanks asks, not unkindly.

“I…I don’t want to talk about it right now,” you say.

“But whatever’s going on is causing problems right now,” he replies. “I’m not letting you go through a five-person gangbang after you blanked out, if you don’t tell me why.”

You hang your head, sighing deeply, resigning yourself to your confession.

“A few days ago,” you start. “That fight with Kizaru.”

Shanks and Benn perk up, immediately concerned.

“There were other things he said. Stuff about how weak I am.” You avoid their eye, remembering it clear as day.

Kizaru’s light sword was stuck into the rock next to your head. Its light threw shadows over the older man’s face, flickering in his glasses. “Why would Shanks make someone so weak an officer? You’re not at their level,” he sneered. “I bet it’s because of your body. They’ve all had a turn, haven’t they? It’s all dead weight like you is good for…”

“He called me dead weight. And I hated it, I hate what he said. But…” Your eyes well up with tears. “He grabbed my neck, and I…and I…” you shut your eyes, the next words escaping as a sob. “I was so turned on.”

Silence. It only lasts a moment, but you can’t stand to hear it.

“I’m sorry,” you hang your head, voice wavering and high pitched. “I was scared, terrified, but also…” you hiccup, the tears break from your lash line. “Like it was you, Shanks, or Benn. Or any of the others. It’s not fair. I hate it. I hate myself.”

You sniffle, breathing short and punchy as you try to rein in your crying.

“Oh, Firefly,” Shanks says, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you into his middle. “That doesn’t mean anything. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Benn nods. “Shanks is right. We’re not upset with you, so you shouldn’t be upset with yourself.”

“But I am!” you cry. “My body is…is wrong.”

“Stop that,” Shanks chides. “No it’s not.”

Benn hugs you from your other side, the two of them patting your back and petting your head while the tears stream down your cheeks. They give you a few minutes, and you calm down some.

“I think you should sit out this session,” Benn says after a while.

“What?! No!” you cry. “That’s not fair! You’re punishing me for this?”

“You’re not in the right headspace. It’s not safe,” Shanks says.

“But I worked so hard! I hiked for days! I want to blow off steam.”

“I’ll fuck you one-on-one,” Benn says.

“No, I want to play with everyone!” you demand.

Shanks and Benn exchange glances. They don’t want you to feel punished, but they’re worried about you. You hadn’t blanked out during a session in years.

“Hmm,” Benn says. “Well…”

“Well what?” Shanks looks at him in surprise. “What are you thinking about?”

“I have an idea,” Benn says. “Shanks, come with me. Let’s ask the others if we can change up the session.”

“Change it up how?” you ask.

“You’ll see,” Benn says. “If you want to play, it has to be under certain conditions.”

The two of them go back to the others. They talk in hushed whispers, not loud enough for you to make out what’s being said. The men glance at you now and then, making you feel exposed. While they talk, you go get some wipes to blow your nose and clean your face. 

After a few minutes, Shanks returns to your side at the bed. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You can still be the focus, but maybe not in the way you think you want.”

You frown. “What does that mean?”

“It means we’re going to do a little roleplay.”

You instantly know his intentions, the exact idea Benn has in mind. You expect your first instinct to be repulsion, but frustratingly, the idea of them roleplaying Marines turns you on so badly you can’t even refuse right away. Instead you stare at him, heat burning in your cheeks.

“What do you think?” Shanks says.

“No, I—um. I mean. I…” you’re trying to protest, but Shanks gives a little smile, figuring you out as usual. You know hiding it never works forever, so you give in and be honest. “I don’t want to like it, but I’m really turned on right now. Though I’m a bit nervous. It might be a lot.”

“It probably will be, but nothing you can’t handle,” Shanks says it like it’s a concrete fact. Like the sky is blue.

It makes you want to cry and scream and jump his bones. It makes you want to follow him into hell. You had initially joined him because being part of a powerful crew offered protection. But that affect he had, that gravitational pull on your heart was the reason you stayed.

Someone fetches a bunch of stolen Marine uniforms from a storage room, and you tap your feet nervously as they get passed out. Most elected just to wear the shirt and cape, or even just threw the capes on and nothing else, but it was still making you feel some kind of way. Small. Outnumbered. Lesser. You weren’t sure how this was supposed to help you, but you’d play along if it meant you got to play at all.

“You’ve been fighting Kizaru since you were young. Before puberty, right?” Benn said as he buttoned up his shirt. “Going through that development while being hunted… Could it be, maybe you’ve had nights where you fantasized about him taking advantage of you?” You can’t look Benn in the eye, and he nods to himself. “Thought so.”

“Come here,” Limejuice says, and you get off the bed and go to the middle of the room, knowing that it was about to begin.

Limejuice grabs your hair at the roots, pushing you onto your knees. He smiles down at you, slapping his cock against your cheek.

“What? Embarrassed that you want Marine dick?” he says. “Don't be…you should be honored to take what I give you.”

Hongo takes your wrists and forces them behind your back. Shanks grabs one of your shoulders and Benn grabs the other, iron grip pinning you on your knees with no hope to escape. Lucky Roux holds your jaw and wrenches it open.

Limejuice pushes into your mouth, cock still wet and warm with precum. He grips your hair tightly and starts rolling his hips back and forth, grunting.

“Oh, fuck, it’s perfect! Ah!” he cries. “Such a good little toy, you feel amazing!”

You struggle, but can barely move with all of them holding you down. There’s nothing you can do to stop Limejuice’s cock violating your mouth, sliding against your tongue and tapping the back of your throat.

“Just as I thought, your mouth fits me perfectly. I wonder if your throat will too?” He croons. “You won’t fight back if we let you go, will you? Haven’t you been waiting for this? To get caught by us?”

On cue, the others let go of you, but your first instinct is to pull back and fight, so they grab you again and force you still. Your shins hurt from the force of it.

“Tsk tsk tsk,” Limejuice tuts, “wrong choice. Now I have to punish you. Angle them forward, men, I’m going to get in that little throat.”

They do so, getting you at the perfect angle for Limejuice to push his way into your throat. You’re held in place while he thrusts in the delicate space, moaning.

“Oh, fuck. I’m close,” Limejuice whines. “Just a little more. I could finish in your throat, but I won’t.” His fingers tighten in your hair painfully. “I think I’ll fill your mouth instead. I want you to taste me.”

He fucks your throat for a little longer, then pulls back. A slightly sweet taste spreads through your mouth as he cums, groaning deep.

“Swallow every drop,” Limejuice commands.

You close your mouth, and swallow thickly. He sticks his fingers in your mouth and pinches the tip of your tongue, pulling it out to check, and grins when it’s clean.

Benn crouches down and sticks his hands between your thigh. You gasp as a finger dips into your folds. “They’re dripping,” he reports.

“Permission to use them, Admiral?” Lucky Roux asks.

“Granted.”

The thought that Benn’s decided to take on the role of Kizaru is immediately dumped out of your mind when your world goes upside down. Lucky Roux’s grabbed you by the hips and effortlessly turned you over, bringing your cunt to his mouth. He sits down, your body supported by his belly. There’s little you can do as his tongue tastes in and around your folds, tracing their shape in between licks to your slit. His tongue is so wide, each lick brushes your clit and makes you squirm. He eats you out hungrily, sucking and kissing every inch of your vulva until your legs quiver.

“Slow, slow down,” you whimper, but he doesn't slow his assault.

Hongo crouches so his face is in front of your upside-down one, admiring your expression. Then he grabs your head to hold it still so he can forcibly kiss you.

Your toes curl as you're tongued from both ends, a helpless noise slipping from you.

Hongo pulls away wetly, grinning. “You gonna cum?” 

You nod quickly, the blood rushing to your head and clit simultaneously, winding you tighter and…

“No, you're not,” Benn says.

On cue, Lucky Roux stops, pulling away. You're frustrated, but not enough to voice it yet. You squirm a little as Roux passes you to Hongo, who stands you upright only to push one arm behind your back to keep control of you.

“I'll only let you cum next if it's on a cock,” Benn says, then gives a harsh slap to the side of your ass, “and only if it's in your ass.”

Genuine hesitation creeps into your gut. You've never cum from just anal before, and you really don't want to get edged within an inch of your life.

“Don't look so nervous. You don't have a choice, after all. May as well relax.” Benn looks at the rest of the group. “Line up, men.”

Hongo shoves you onto the ground. You barely catch yourself on your hands and knees. He bends over and grabs your arms, yanking them behind your back, where Limejuice ties your wrists together.

You try to look over your shoulder and manage to get a quick glimpse of the other men forming a line, right before Benn steps on the space between your shoulders, pushing your torso to the ground. Pinned below his foot, your head is turned to the side, cheek to the ground, unable to see who's currently behind you, but able to see the rest of the line.

Limejuice is at the end of the line, jerking himself back to attention. After him is Lucky Roux and Shanks, which means–

A huge cock enters your pussy without warning, pushing in all the way to the hilt. Hongo grabs your hips and starts railing you, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

“What a hole!” he groans. “Thanks, Admiral!” 

You struggle against Benn's strength, but with the addition of Hongo's bruising grip on your hips, and the pleasure he's driving into your core, it's hard to fight back. You're stuck under them, given no mercy and no reprieve, just pounded until the pleasure is about to burst.

Hongo stops just before you cum, leaving you on the edge.

“What are you doing?” you pant.

“Sharing in the spoils,” Hongo replies, pulling out of you and spanking your ass so hard it rocks you forward, making you yelp. “We’ve got a lot of pent up soldiers, you know.”

Another swat of your ass causes you to grunt in pain. All the men know how much you can take, and they’re not shy about pushing you to the limits with their strength. A third spank, then the fourth makes you gasp at the hot sting.

“A few more should reset them,” Benn says, and Hongo swings another heavy spank to your ass.

“Reset me? Ahh-!” Your question is cut off by Shanks entering you in one firm thrust. “Ah, ah, fuck!”

“That’s right, keep moaning for me,” Shanks croons. “Tell me how good it feels when I fuck this tight little pussy.”

He fucks you like Hongo did, setting a brisk pace from the beginning and giving you no rest. You try in vain to repress your moans, seeing the other men in line jacking themselves off to the sight.

Shanks doesn’t hold you in place, letting Benn’s strength hold you down for him, and instead using his hand to rub your clit. He grins when it draws a long, low moan from you.

You shut your eyes, quickly feeling the sensation build again, especially since Shanks knows exactly how to play with your clit.

You try not to voice it, you try to just let the orgasm sneak in, but at that moment you’re about to climax, Shanks stops, pulling out and leaving you frustrated. You realize Benn’s using his Observation Haki to read your energy, and signaling to the men to stop when you’re close to orgasm.

“Don’t edge me, damn it!” you protest.

“We’ll consider letting you cum,” Benn says, “if you admit you like being raped by Marines.”

“What—no!” you shout. Immediately a harsh spank stings your ass. “Fuck!”

“Then we’ll keep going.”

Shanks’ power means that getting spanked by him is closer to being whipped. You grunt in pain at the next few spanks. They hurt more because you can’t see them, can’t anticipate them coming.

Smack! Smack smack smack!

“Ahh!” you cry, tearing up as the stinging is contrasted by an especially thick cock spreading you open. Lucky Roux is next, massaging your burning ass cheeks as he starts to fuck that massive cock into you.

He doesn’t even need to touch your clit, he’s so big you know you’re going to cum if given a few minutes. And for those few minutes, it’s bliss, especially with the lingering sting of your rear. You tear up at how good you’re being fucked, only starting to panic when you get close to cumming.

“Please don’t stop, please don’t stop!” you plead, but it doesn’t save you from being edged again. “Fuck, no!”

“Admit it, you love this,” Lucky Roux husks, pulling out.

“It’s not true!” you protest, only to get your ass smacked hard again, burning worse with the prior spankings.

“If it’s not true,” Benn muses, “why haven’t we needed to bring out the lube yet? Hey, someone go get that.”

“On it,” Shanks says.

“It’s true!” Lucky Roux says. “Their pussy’s so wet, even with us taking turns!”

“I’m not doing it on purpose,” you whine, only to yelp as Lucky Roux spanks your sore ass a few times before going to the back of the line.

Limejuice positions himself at your entrance and starts thrusting hard.

“Maybe we should fuck em two at a time,” he suggests, only to groan at your body’s response. “They got tighter! You want that, do you?”

“Then let’s not, it’ll be harder to edge them,” Benn decides.

“Please, don’t!” you moan, Limejuice targeting your g-spot perfectly.

“Why not? I thought you didn’t—like—this?” Limejuice taunts, punctuating his words with hard thrusts.

They take turns railing you for what feels like hours, stopping when you’re on the edge and spanking you until you come back down, only for the next man to take his turn. The person in front goes to the back of the line, repeating the cycle, extending your torment. No amount of begging stops them, not until you say what they want to hear.

You think you’re going to lose it. You almost admit it with your next edge, crying out when you get denied again.

“Okay! I like it!” you cry. “I like it, so let me cum!”

Benn sneers. “Say you like—no, say you love being used.”

“I love…I love being used.”

“By who, again?” Hongo asks as he thrusts in deep. You’re close again, you need it, you need it so badly.

“By the Marines!”

And yet, despite your plea, they deny you at the edge once more.

You sob. “Why?!”

“Who specifically?” Benn asks.

“I want Admiral Kizaru to use me!” you beg. “Please!”

Finally, Benn smirks to himself in satisfaction. He walks over to the toybox, pulling out a condom and bringing it back to you.

“Open it,” he says.

“But my hands are—”

“Tied, yes. Use your teeth.”

He holds the condom wrapper to your mouth. Face flushed in embarrassment, you bite the edge and pull until it tears open, then spit out the plastic.

“Now put it on me,” Benn instructs. “I’m going to fuck you anally. Later on, I’ll fuck your pussy. So you better do a good job if you don’t want an infection.”

“You’re a real gentleman, aren’t you,” you say sarcastically. “How am I supposed to…”

Benn responds by taking out the condom, holding it up to your mouth with one hand, and holding his dick in place next to it with the other.

You burn with humiliation, angry tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Carefully, you use your tongue and lips to place the condom over the head of his cock, its shape spreading your lips open as you roll it on delicately. You have to push with your lips on the condom’s outer edge to get it to unroll, taking him into your mouth as you go. Benn’s big enough that you’re nearly deepthroating him to put it all the way on.

“Wow, look at you. You’re a natural,” he taunts as you lift your head, coughing a few times but otherwise successful. “Remember that you begged for this. I’m being kind enough to grant your request. Say thank you while I take your ass—or I’ll never let you cum.”

Benn grabs you suddenly, using his body weight to force you back to the ground. You hear the click of the lube bottle before the cold, wet sensation of his cock head touches your ass, pushing until he’s rubbing at the ring of muscle.

“What do we say?” Benn prompts.

“Th-thank you,” you stutter as he penetrates the delicate hole slowly, pulling back out to pour on more lube before pushing back in again. After being edged for so long, your entire pelvic floor is sensitive, so the feeling of his cock spreading out your ass is pure euphoria. Your eyes roll back when he reaches the hilt. “Thank you, thank you…”

He starts fucking you in earnest while the others watch and jerk themselves off, a twisted symphony of wet squelches and smacking skin. You barely notice the sound above the feeling, so good and so raw that you can only hang your head and whimper.

“You always knew it would come to this, didn’t you?” Benn says, panting. “All those years, all that running. Isn’t it so much easier to give in?”

Your legs shake, only held up by his position now. You moan like a whore.

“Isn’t it so much easier to be my plaything?” he asks. 

It causes you to sob a little, combined with the pleasure. It was easier. It was so much easier, and felt so much better…

Benn fucks your ass for as long as the men were taking turns with you earlier. All you can do is moan and feel it. It doesn’t matter—you won’t be able to cum from that alone, even pushed this far. You just can’t. That’s why he was taking you like this, after all. Hands tied behind your back, your only option is to beg.

“Please…” you whimper. “My clit…please, touch me there! Please let me cum! I really, really need to cum!”

“Of course you do,” Benn tuts. “And you’ve been so good. Why is that? Have we broken you? Well?”

“Y…Yes,” you admit, hiccuping. “So, please…I’ll do anything.”

“Say you’ll be our toy for as long as we want. Say you won’t fight back.”

You groan. His balls are slapping against your vulva, his hips smacking into you with every hard thrust. “I won’t fight back. I’ll be your toy for as long as you want.”

“You sure sound good begging under me,” he says. “Now, thank me for making you feel so good.”

He reaches around to touch your bulging, engorged clit, and you scream. “Thank you! Oh! Oh fuck, oh my god!”

Benn pushes your head into the floor as he increases the force behind his thrusts, growling in pleasure while you cry out repeatedly. You’re going to cum and it’s going to be a big one.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! Ahhh!”

The world seems to stutter as your orgasm hits you like a freight train. The sensation between your legs explodes, rocking your entire body with intense, euphoric waves that leave your head spinning. You arch and cry out as it pulses through you. Like before, light flashes and glows from your body, a deep golden color this time rather than the usual white.

“Their color’s gotten deeper,” Shanks muses. “Haven’t seen gold all that often.”

Benn rubs you through your orgasm, pressing kisses to the back of your neck as you ride it out. Your clit is still throbbing when he pulls out and peels off the condom to toss. You anticipated more of a reprieve given the intensity of your still-pulsing orgasm, so you’re taken by surprise when he pulls you upright, untying your wrists only to secure your arms with his muscular ones.

Shanks mounts your legs, heavy cock in hand, and you start to squirm. 

“What are you doing?” you squeak, high-pitched and uncertain.

“This,” Shanks says, and rubs his tip against your clit.

The feeling is severely intense, you immediately yelp and struggle against Benn. “No, no, wait! It’s too soon, too soon!”

But your pleas fall on uncaring ears as they work together to overstimulate you. The blunt, wet head of his cock rubs your clit mercilessly until you’re sobbing again, jerking and writhing to try to get away in vain. You expected cruelty when you gave yourself over to them, and you had to take the consequences of giving in.

Hongo takes your left leg and Lucky Roux takes your right leg, spreading them apart and holding them still so Shanks can get closer. Shanks starts thrusting along your vulva, your folds lubricating his cock while his tip bumps your clit with each pass. This way it’s slightly less intense, but only barely.

“Tell me,” Shanks says, thrusting leisurely, “when you fantasized about Admiral Kizaru fucking you, how rough was he?”

“He was…he was…” you pant, overwhelmed.  “Rough enough to hurt. To leave bruises.”

“Is that what you want?” Benn asks.

“Yes, it is…”

Shanks slaps you across the face, not as hard as he spanked your ass, but firmly enough for a deep, lingering sting to burn your cheek. You grunt at the pain, and he slaps you again on the other cheek. Then he grabs your face and kisses you roughly, biting your lips.

Benn licks your neck before biting down hard, the pain making you gasp into Shanks’ mouth. “You wouldn’t bruise if you had my logia fruit…what a shame.”

Shanks or Benn must have used some signal between them, because they both stop their assault while the other men let you go. Shanks caresses your cheek, looking into your eyes.

“Firefly, love? I’m breaking scene for a sec. You doing okay?” he says.

“Huh?” You hadn’t used the safeword, nor had you been in a bad space, so you realized Shanks was the one who wanted to check in. It made sense, he did hate striking your face, even if he was willing to do it for a scene.

“I’m okay. Do you need a break?” you ask him, covering his hand on your cheek.

“I think I’ll take a few minutes. Don’t like hitting you,” he says, kissing you gently this time.

“Should we wait for you?” Benn asks him.

“No, you can keep going. I’ll jump back in soon.”

You nod. “You don’t have to slap my face if you don’t like it. Bully me the way you want to next time.”

“Alright, I will,” Shanks chuckles, going to get some water.

“I’m taking a break too,” Benn says, putting his hands on your shoulders. “You men enjoy their body for a while.”

Benn pushes you into Lucky Roux, who picks you up over his head, shouting triumphantly. “All right! More for us!”

“Hey!” you yelp, but Lucky Roux tosses you onto the bed.

Benn goes to check on Shanks while Limejuice jumps on top, grinning wickedly down at you. 

“Hey, sweetness. Ready for round 3?” he asks. To your right, Hongo’s climbing onto the bed, his left hand closed around something that has wires coming from it. You recognize the bullet vibrators and feel yourself clench in anticipation.

Lucky Roux leans over your other side, body tape in hand. Limejuice holds you down while they tape the bullet vibrators to each of your nipples. Your back arches when they turn them on, sending deep vibrations into your sensitive nipples.

Then Lucky Roux positions himself at the foot of the bed, pulling your legs apart so he can eat you out again. He dives in without pause, wetly lapping at your center before he penetrates you with his big tongue.

“Luckyyyy,” you moan, forgetting the scene.

“Aren’t you?” Limejuice teases, pushing down on one of the vibrators so you squirm. Then he positions his cock on your chest, pushing your breasts around his length and starting to thrust.  

Hongo perches next to your head, tracing your lips with his first two fingers before pushing them into your waiting mouth, cooing praises when you accept him. His other hand takes one of yours, holding it so you can squeeze the safe signal if needed.

“Good little prisoner, suck on my fingers like you’re gonna suck my cock later,” Hongo praises. “Maybe I’ll let you cum for being so cooperative.”

Focus is a challenging thing to grasp when you’re being eaten out by the hungriest man on the Grand Line, especially when his buddy is titfucking you with vibrators attached. But you do your best to lick Hongo’s fingers obediently, being the good toy you had agreed to be. Hongo massages your tongue with his calloused fingertips, thrusting them just a little deeper into your mouth.

“How’s it feel, sweetheart?” Hongo purrs, pulling his fingers out to hear your response.

“Feels good,” you moan. “I’m gonna cum soon.”

“Say when.”

“No,” you protest, “you’ll edge me.”

“I won’t edge you longer than a second.”

“Promise?” you say nervously.

“I promise,” he says.

Lucky Roux’s tongue keeps thrusting, his nose pressing against your clit, and combined with Limejuice groping your breasts, you cant last much longer.

“I’m close,” you moan into Hongo’s mouth.

Hongo pulls away. Your orgasm crests, just on the cusp of breaking.

Then Hongo rips the tape off your nipples, making you shout at the sharp and rough sensation. It’s just enough to pull you back from the edge.

Without waiting, Hongo sucks on your stinging nipple, and you almost shout again at the warm, buzzy, nearly painful feeling. It’s like he pulls the orgasm back to the brink with his sucking, and climax soaks into you a second later, rolling through you from one end to the other, your limbs going slack for a few moments as the bliss spreads.

“Fuck, oh fuck, thank you,” you whimper.

“They remembered their manners,” Limejuice chuckled. “Cute.”

Slowly but surely, they’re waning down even your impressive stamina. The three barely give you any time to rest before they’re moving you again, positioning you however they please.

Limejuice puts on a condom, slathering his cock with lube before pulling you to lay sideways with him. He guides his cock into your ass, rubbing your back as he spreads you open.

“Relax, there you go…just let me in, that’s it…” he purrs.

Hongo crawls to lay at your front, nudging his cock between your folds and thrusting up into your cunt. Once he sinks in, he rests his hands on your breasts, squeezing and massaging them.

Lucky Roux repositions to be next to your head, tilting it up to look at him.

“Open wide,” Lucky Roux says, fingers at your lip to encourage you. Then he helps guide his fat dick into your mouth, filling you so well you have to consciously relax your jaw to fit him all.

Hongo and Limejuice grind into you with collaborative precision. It’s like they make a game out of getting you to moan into Lucky’s cock.

“See, you have more fun when you do as you’re told,” Limejuice murmurs in your ear.

“I think I’ll reward you,” Hongo says into your other ear, then looks over your shoulder. “What do you think, Lime? They deserve to cum, right?”

“Oh, most definitely. Let’s see if we can make ‘em squirt.”

“You got it,” Hongo agrees, pressing hard into your g-spot.

“Mmf!” you groan as Limejuice starts teasing your nipples, rubbing them back and forth and pinching gently. “Mmmmf…”

“That’s right, just keep moaning like a good toy,” Lucky Roux praises, caressing your cheeks and looking down at you fondly. You moan again, and Lucky coos. “Ya gonna cum? Gonna cum with three cocks in you?”

If the way the the tension coiling within you is any indication, you will soon. And Hongo is determined to make you squirt, his hips snapping into yours so hard it makes Limejuice grunt in pleasure behind you. It takes a lot of g-spot pressure to get you to squirt, and Hongo goes after it brutally, bullying the spongy, sensitive area.

You can feel the tightness just below your clit, those particular muscles tensing. He’s going to do it. He’s going to make you squirt and there’s nothing you can do to stop him.

“All over me,” Hongo says. “Cum all over me, I want you to gush until you can’t look me in the eye.”

Lucky Roux pushes your head further down on his cock, and you orgasm shortly after, tension snapping. You squirt a rush of warm fluid all over Hongo, Limejuice, and the bed. Lucky pulls out of your mouth so they can hear you gasp and cry, the unique orgasm shivering all throughout your cunt. Ribbons of light flash through your body as always, though the gold has deepened to a light orange color.

Then the three of them keep fucking your holes, not giving you even time to ride out the orgasm, and it shudders and shifts into a second one before you can process it. Your glowing body flashes with the color of a sunset, just on the cusp of redness. You nearly lose your perception, senses hazing over with the intensity of your muscles contracting and your nerves going haywire.

When you perceive reality once again, Shanks and Benn are standing next to the bed.

“Good work, men,” Benn says. “You got ‘em warmed up for us.”

“Warmed up?” you squeak. You’re not sure you can take much more of this. When would they end this game? They were able to last because they could alternate when one of them got close, but you had been edged and double-orgasmed back to back. There were bruises on your body from their rough treatment, bruises on your knees and bite marks on your neck.

And you still weren’t sure how this was supposed to help you. You supposed admitting your feelings and being rewarded for it was healthy. But you had a feeling there was something else. An ace up their sleeve, like always.

You should have known.

Hongo and Limejuice pull out, and they and Lucky Roux get off the bed to make room for Shanks and Benn, who immediately cage you between them. Shanks puts his hand on the back of your neck and bends you over, thumbing your folds open.

“Right here, Admiral,” Shanks says.

“Don’t be shy, now,” Benn says as he lines himself up, “why not join me?”

They both guide their cocks into your cunt at the same time, spreading you wide around their dual thickness. Benn repositions to get under you, finding your clit and starting to rub with a calloused finger.

You should have known.

It feels too good. They’re too lenient. Your pleasure builds too fast, and soon you’re on the edge of another orgasm.

Naturally, they edge you again. 

Full stop, leaving you teetering on the brink.

“No, not again!” you cry. “I’ve said everything! What do you want me to say now?”

“Say that you’re good,” Shanks says as if it’s obvious, taking off his Marine cape and throwing it behind him.

“What? 

Shanks grins. It’s one of his mean ones, one when he knows he’s making trouble. “I want you to say that you’re good, and strong, and deserve to cum. I want you to say that you’re valuable.”

“I can’t do that!” you say immediately. Now you know why he’s grinning like that. He knows that’s a tall order for you.

“Aw, come on. Sure you can. You’re just gonna keep getting edged if you don’t. Not by the Marines this time, but…” he jerks his thumb at his chest. “By the Red Hair Pirates.”

You look at him with betrayal. Whatever the Marines could do, the Red Hair Pirates would do worse.

“Don’t give me that look. I’m trying to help you. And what could help more than a little team-building exercise?”

The other men chuckle, discarding their Marine clothes and circling around you again.

“What do you think, Firefly? You gonna tell me what a good baby bug you are?” Shanks tilts your chin up with his first two fingers.

“I can’t,” you whine.

“Then I guess we gotta keep going,” he grins. “Hey, boys, a question: any of you ever notice how their light will start to get more gold or even orange the harder they cum? I have a theory…If we fuck them good enough, I bet we could make that light red.”

And so, the next few hours become a blur, waves of pleasure that build and crest and edge, then wane as they wait for you to come down. Over and over, build, build, edge, wait.

You’re flipped onto your stomach and Shanks starts railing you. You get edged.

They take turns double penetrating you, the condom pile on the floor growing bigger over time. You get edged.

You warm Shanks’ cock while the others kiss and lick and suck on your body, especially your breasts. You get edged.

Over and over, until you wonder hazily what’s wrong with you. Why can’t you just say it? They wanted you to believe it so badly, didn’t they? What would it hurt to say out loud? Hadn’t you worked hard to get here? Maybe you deserved to feel good.

You open your mouth, getting close again as Hongo sucks on your clit while you’re impaled on Benn’s cock. But all you can say is “w-wait!” and it doesn’t stop them from edging you again.

You think you’re going to go crazy.

Three times in your life, you’ve questioned Shanks. Three times, and then never again.

“Why do you want me in your crew?” you had asked.

“You’re a good sailor,” Shanks said simply.

Limejuice and Lucky Roux suck on your nipples while Shanks fingers you.

You get edged.

“Why do you want me to be a commanding officer?” you had asked.

“You’re a good friend,” Shanks said.

Benn puts you in a mating press and you think you’re going to squirt again—only, of course, to get edged.

One night you storm away from a party in the galley, marching up to Shanks standing by the railing. You’re flustered from Benn having flirted with you again.

“Damn it, Shanks, I’ve had it up to here with you and your slutty crew hitting on me left and right!”

“You seem more bothered by it than usual,” Shanks said.

“It doesn’t make sense! Why do…why do you want me?” you questioned him, for the last time.

Shanks laughed. “Because we love you, Firefly.”

They passed you between them, your body nearly limp in their careful hold.

What was the point of it all? You couldn’t stop anything. You couldn’t resist anything. You could only change your situation if you said what you were the most afraid to say.

“Come on, baby, you can do it,” Shanks says, fucking you in missionary now.

Years you had been hunted. The child with no value except their bounty. That no one wanted. The bad child. The blinding child, the glowing child who was too much. Who, even while running from the law, wanted to be good. For a while, you forgot that was a part of you. Didn’t see what Shanks saw in you, why he kept you. 

“Say you’re good.”

Not until years later, until that idea he had planted—that you were good, and loved—sprouted.

“I…I…” you stuttered.

Shanks kissed your chest lovingly, and the edge came once more, and you broke.

“I am good!” you cried.

“Yes!” Shanks hisses, then laughs and kisses you. The men cheer in triumph, exchanging high fives and pats like they had finished a football game.

“Then, just a few more times,” Shanks says, “Give us a few more, let us reward you, let us show you how much we love you, let’s cum together.”

You’re handed to Lucky Roux, who lowers you onto his cock, moving you as easily as if you were a toy, fucking you onto him.

“I am…good!” you cried, body tense and taught from all the previous edging. 

Lucky Roux finally lets himself cum with you, finishing warm in your cunt.

Then it’s Limejuice’s turn, who fucks you against the wall until you’re moaning over his shoulder. “I deserve to c-cum!”

Limejuice climaxes hard, spurting inside you. He holds you close before passing you to Hongo.

The doctor bends you over, rubbing your clit as he pounds away from behind. “Keep talking sweet, baby bug,” he purrs.

“I’m strong as—fuck!” you nearly growl at how good it feels, your body hurtling toward the edge so hard you’re afraid you’re going to pass out.

Hongo releases inside you, grunting into your ear.

Benn picks you up next, going over to Shanks so they can double penetrate you for the big finish. They both enter you vaginally, their favorite way to share you.

“Say what we wanna hear,” Benn husks into your ear, kissing the back of your neck.

“I am valuable!” you cry.

“Ahh, that’s so fucking good,” Benn growls as he cums.

Then it’s just you and Shanks, who holds you close, kissing you passionately before making the final request.

“Tell me who my favorite is,” he says.

He thrusts steadily, bringing you to the peak you’ve so desperately waited for. Finally, toes curled, legs tensed, back arched, you straddle the edge one more time, and then...

You cum hard, and scream.

“I’m Shanks’ favorite!”

Deep, ruby red light pulses from your body, throwing scarlet shadows around the room. You see stars, everything else fading behind the sheer, brilliant euphoria that explodes every nerve ending between your legs. Your heart pounds so hard you think it’ll pop right out of your chest. Faintly, you hear Shanks whispering praises into your ear as everything pulses and throbs. You can’t make out what he’s saying, just that he’s happy.

“Shanks,” you cry softly, and feel his arm tightening around you.

“Right here, my love,” he says.

When you’re able to piece your world back together, you find yourself lying on your back on the bed. Shanks is lying next to you, holding you to his chest. Benn’s on the other side, one hand resting on your hip.

For the first few minutes, you don’t say much aside to assure them that you’re okay. Water gets passed around, and the men wipe up the worst of the messes on them, intending to get the rest in the shower. You’re far too exhausted to even consider it. Luckily, they’re all well aware.

A towel is wrapped around you, and more dab at your body, wiping between your legs. You’ll be showered properly later, but for now you need to lay still and rest.

“Wanna talk about it?” Benn asks you gently. “Any of it?”

“No,” you say. “I mean… no, I don’t think so. I just need to cry a little, but it’s not coming out yet.

“Take your time.”

“You did a good job in your role,” you say to Benn, smiling slightly. “I was picturing him.”

“Yeah, Benn is really good at being a bitch,” Shanks says, only for Benn to pull his ear like an unruly schoolboy. “Ow ow ow sorry.”

You giggle and settle between them. Your giggle turns into a small sob. Then the tears come, taking you a bit by surprise. You don’t fight it, don’t over think it, just let yourself cry it out. It all wells up and spills over, all the height of your emotional energy brought to the surface and ready to release in one go.

Shanks kisses your forehead, petting your head. “You did great. Just like I knew you would.”

You cry, because they were right, and you needed this. You cry because Shanks and the other officers love you. You cry because Shanks saw the real you before you even did. Shanks brought back the goodness in you that had shriveled in the face of hardship, and made you blossom into the best version of yourself.

Benn and Shanks soothe you and pass you tissues, letting the cry run its course. Then you sink into the bed, thoroughly exhausted. You close your eyes to sleep, planning on cleaning the sheets some other time.

Throughout the day, different officers come in to check on you. When you next wake up, Shanks and Benn take you to the showers to wash you, massaging your sore body and peppering you with adoring kisses.

You rest for another whole day. Then you eat like crazy, your appetite briefly rivaling Lucky’s.

A few days later, you’re headed to dock at one of the islands in Shanks’ territory. A call comes in on the ship transponder snail from the coastal town’s mayor. He’s leaving Shanks a warning that a naval vessel was spotted offshore, and to be on guard if he comes to dock.

Shanks brings his commanding officers together to discuss what he wants to do.

“Five warships,” he says. “Not a problem, though Admiral Kizaru is rumored to be with them.”

“They must have been heading in the same direction as us from the last island,” Building Snake says. “After all, this one is the next logical stop on the way.”

“Think they’ll dock on one of our territories?” Yasopp questions.

“They probably thought they could get away with it to resupply quickly,” Shanks nods, and then grins, “we better show them why that’s a no-no.”

Benn glances at you. “What do you think? Want to get a little revenge?”

“No,” you say simply. The others stare. “What?”

“You don’t want to fight Kizaru?” Gab asks.

“Oh, him. I can fight him if you want me to, Shanks. But I don’t need to.”

“Oh, really?” he says, smiling. He waggles his eyebrows at you. “What changed?”

You chuckle. “I’m sorry to disappoint, but I don’t care that much anymore. It’s not a big deal. You want his head on a stick? I’ll get it for you. But only if you desire it.”

Shanks drapes his arm around your shoulders, laughing. “Okay, Firefly. No heads on sticks for now, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You smile as Shanks starts giving out orders. The plan is to intercept the Marines, scaring them away from shore and preventing them from docking. You take your usual position in the crow’s nest, keeping an eye on the horizon with your spyglass and relaying what you see.

And when you eventually get close enough to see Kizaru, you smile.

Nothing he can say, nothing he can do can bother you, if only for the simple fact that Shanks thinks differently of you. The way Shanks sees you is how you’ll see yourself—no one else’s opinion mattered. You had Shanks and the commanding officers, and they held you out of the reach of your past.

Ben Beckmann

Always a man of few words, action is his way. Whenever he sees you’re anything less than thriving, he’s searching for what you need. If you’re stressed, he’ll drag you to bed - or a quiet corner - and make you focus on him between your legs instead. If you’re worried, he’ll hold you all night, kissing you slow and making you feel wholly, completely safe. Of course, pleasure is an excellent tool for resetting your mind. If you’re insecure, he’ll tell you how it is - that he’s proud of you, that he chose you for a reason. Then he’ll make love to you until you’re begging him to stop. If you’re displeased with your body, be prepared to be held in front of a mirror until you’re a mess, made to repeat his compliments and praise over and over as your mind breaks. He is pure confidence, knowledgable and in control. His arms are safety, home, healing and quiet happiness - all for you.

Reiju Vinsmoke

Trapped in a tiny kingdom of cruelty, to escape with you - temporarily or permanently - is everything for the poison princess. She likes being in control, and certainly using her mouth. Her therapy is pinning you down and using her tongue on you until you’re shaking and can only repeat her name. If she finds out you’re questioning yourself, especially your body, your instincts to run will activate from her smile alone, and she’ll take it upon herself to ensure you’re never questioning your worth again. But when she breaks down, she’ll finally relent to being taken care of by one of the only people she trusts. To be held, worshipped, cuddled and have her freckles kissed - reminded of kindness and gentleness and hope. She’ll pay you back with a long night to show you how grateful she is to have found someone who loves her as more than a tool to be used.

Thatch

The friendly cook is eager to show off his new recipes, new ingredients, and things just for you. If his food-pushing love language results in you gaining a bit of weight, you can be sure he’ll only be more attracted to you and your curves. He’ll lock you in the kitchen after hours and hold you on the counter while he worships you and makes you forget what you were even stressed about in the first place. His bright smile the next day earns you both enough teasing to make him want to take you again to make you forget anyone’s name but his. When you’re down or tired, he’ll bring you pretty plates of dessert to lift your energy. And if that’s not enough, he’ll kiss and hold you as long as you need. He’ll pull favours to get the dishes done so he can return to you at night so you’re not lonely in bed. Holding you in his arms and rolling into you slowly, holding your hands and telling you everything he loves about you will fix any of his problems, and hopefully some of yours.

X Drake

The disgraced marine living a secret double life in the most dangerous waters in the world, with a monstrous zoan form and self imposed expectations - he has urgent need to be safe and respected. To be loved fully - for every side and purpose, as a pirate imposter, a spy, a monster, scarred, and cursed with green scales that rise to the surface of his skin when he’s stressed or angry - is the healing he needs. To have you rub soothing lotions on his roughed skin and scales, to not be afraid of him, to kiss his scars and accept his softness and fire both. And he’ll return every favour with an overwhelming eagerness. He’ll worship your body and be incredulous how you could ever be unhappy with it. Primal instincts to protect, conquer, and possess will drown every thought holding you back as he takes you again and again, in every position you can handle. His love is endless, and so is his stamina.

Perona

She loves to be seen as an untouchable gothic princess, but while she can make people depressed without second thought, she can’t handle excess sadness, being prone to it herself. Frantic, manic loneliness drives her away until you pull her back down to earth. Her pride makes seduction a game and process, reminding her to let go and trust until multilayered clothes come off one piece at a time. Slow touches and kisses rise in heat as she lets the fire be stoked little by little. Soon she whines for your touch in other ways, and urges you to take care of her until any melancholy is forgotten. When you’re the one under rainclouds, her urgent and clumsy efforts often lead to bed, burying her face between your legs, taking the lead for once and rolling against your hips until you have to bodily remove her, trapping her in your arms to make her sleep, very pleased with herself for bringing your spark back.

Brook

He never expected to find love, being as he is. So when you come along, loving him as he is, not as a star but as a musician, bones and bad jokes and all - every bit of love he’s longed to give for decades is suddenly yours. He tries to not overwhelm you, but if you can handle it he’ll be delighted to hold you and laugh and sing - and beg you to let him experiment more in bed to find how he can give you all the pleasure you deserve. He’s torn between embarrassment and frantic lust in his need to make you feel good and take in every sensation he can feel of your body. He’s so gentle and patient and kind when you confess insecurities or inadequacies, and will offer to make you a cup of tea… or to take you to bed and make you forget your troubles. There’s part of him that always worries you’ll say no, change your mind. So when you drag him to bed instead to try a new toy, he’ll laugh to hide the fact he’s on the brink of tears.

Jinbe

Having a human for a lover makes him a bit nervous. He’s so much bigger and stronger, and even if you’re a fighter, he feels the need to be so gentle. So soft nights in bed, full of intention and love and care are his preference, and it suits his personality anyway. He takes his time figuring out how to handle your body in his big hands, how much prep you need to take him, what makes you arch and moan best. He’s the best at whispering praise and shockingly filthy things in your ear as he holds you to his chest, filling you slow. Not being as familiar with human culture, he might not understand your insecurities, but as a wise and well travelled person, he tries to offer what advice he can. When it comes to your body however, he finds that showing you his approval with his hands is most effective. Nothing feels as safe as falling asleep on his chest, body satiated and heart full.

Viola of Dressrossa

Captive in her own home for so long, haunted by seeing things she doesn’t mean to, a kingdom to rebuild - she survived in daydreams and dancing for years. At last with hope returned and a love by her side, she can start to heal. She is so eager to love, wanting to show you Dressrosan clothes, its romantic language, sensual dances. But nights are still hard, and she begs you to fuck the nightmares out of her head. Long nights of learning each other’s bodies and needs, repressed passion finally having an outlet, amplified by a love that’s finally real. She loves so tenderly when you need her to be soft with you, slowly breaking down every wall, every insecurity. Her hands like to wander, seeking your warmth and curves and edges like a lifeline day or night. You’ll learn Dressrosan poems simply by having her recite them when she makes love to you, unable to convey her joy and love in any other words.

Silvers Rayleigh

He is a man of experience, ready any moment you ask him to give you his touch. He’s tried everything at least twice, so if your need for comfort is frantic, he can match a kink to it like it’s his job. And if your need is fragile, he’ll show you how all consuming and healing simple positions can be. He’ll whisper in your ear that you’ll get through this, that he believes in you, that you’re sexy as hell. People fear his strength, but his kindness is just as formidable, and he’s glad to show you its full force. Spoiling you is fun, especially if you’re inclined to want intimacy as part of it. He’ll stay up as late as you want languidly showing you all the ways he can make you cum, his smirk in place the whole time, even as he kisses your forehead. He loves holding you close when it’s time to sleep, taking comfort in your warmth and heartbeat steady against his own chest.

Koby

To be a mere human seeking to fight superhuman forces requires that he be the hardest working of them all, and from dawn to dusk he pushes to the limit. But he’s eager to please his love and never let you feel ignored, so bringing him to bed is the best way to make him rest and heal. He’s so intent on your pleasure that sometimes he needs to be pinned down and spoiled by force. Long baths with soothing oils and lighthearted conversation always lead to affection and more. He likes practicing observation haki in bed, never feeling more connected to you. It easily makes him emotional, leaving you wrapped tight in his arms with no escape afterwards. And if you’re the one feeling fragile, he won’t rest until you know how loved you are, kissing and pleasuring you until your strained expression breaks. He is made of passion and hope, and facing the future with you in his bed every morning is the perfect manifestation.

Fujitora Issho

He takes things at his own pace, steady and calm, and sex is no different. He loves nothing more than getting to touch you. As much as he enjoys hearing your voice, it’s when he can run his hands all over you that he feels fully connected with you. Alone somewhere with the door locked, getting to take off your clothes, speak against your skin, kissing every inch, he’s able to sigh in relief. He’ll hold you to his chest as long as you need when you’re down, stroking your hair and somewhere a bit more intimate at the same time. If you’re self conscious of his roaming touch or how you appear to the rest of the world, he’ll assure you that your body is just the housing of your soul, which he finds endlessly beautiful. His size and strength offer safety and comfort that he’s happy to provide - your personal soft tiger to cuddle and protect you, heart and body.

Madam Shyarly

She is often worried about her visions, so to be able to live in the present and enjoy herself is a must. As her lover, she relies on you more than anyone. Turning over her body and mind to you to care for is the ultimate gift. Once you learn to navigate her mermaid anatomy, she’s easily made over sensitive to your touch, and desperate to relieve the buildup of tension. She’s excellent at caring for you in return, calm and practical, but indulgent with her touch and attention. Her devotion is tireless, making you beg her to stop before she finally pulls your exhausted body into her arms to rest from her hands and tongue. She’ll ask your help in caring for her tail, unable to help letting out occasional moans while you stroke and tend the soft skin. At night, she tends to wrap it around you instinctively, testament to her love and trust.

Kuma

The ultimate gentle giant, the Buccaneer is terrified of causing you harm or trouble. When he’s finally convinced that letting himself love you is forgivable, he’s sure to tell you that his hesitation has nothing to do with lack of desire. Learning each other’s bodies is slow, intimate, sacred. He’ll watch your face for the slightest hint of discomfort as he learns how much you can take with his hands, his mouth, his length. He insists that you stay on top just to be safe, wrapping you in his big hands to keep you warm and feel supported and comfortable. His praise is gentle and soft spoken, a blush ever present from start to finish. He’ll hold your naked body in his arms as tightly as he dares to tell you how much he loves you, no matter what you’re going through or worrying about. He’s eager to support you, and wants your happiness more than anything. If his touch is something desirable to you, something helpful, he’d consider it a gift from the heavens.

Okiku of Wano

The samurai is out of her element when it comes to intimacy. Helping her overcome her dysphoria with slow gentle sex is just the thing. Finding which positions work for which mindsets, worshipping her body and nipples, buying her lingerie to make her feel feminine and beautiful. Romantic nights of glowing lanterns and the backdrop of cricket song, deep kisses and slow grinding and wandering hands. She apologises for being apprehensive, easing into giving you pleasure in different ways until it all feels comfortable and natural. Reminding her that all that matters is enjoying the sensations and love for one another breaks down the walls. Her love is understated and simply romantic, and her support for you is much the same. Honest, simple, and genuine - just like intimacy with her becomes in time.

Hongo

The doctor is always teasing you with ‘checkups’, reminding you to take time and care for yourself. Though he’s not bothered by doing the job himself. He likes taking care of you. If you ever express insecurity, he’ll hold you close and praise you - your body has let you survive to be with him. That’s all that matters. If you ask your doctor for help relieving stress, he’ll drop anything to help, especially if it means dropping your clothes. He’ll go as fast or as slow as you need, but he’s always thorough. His kisses are targeted to your soft spots, his hands massaging your tense points even as he starts rolling into you. Sometimes setting you up on the examination table and kneeling between your legs is just what the doctor ordered~ No matter your preferences, he’ll always keep you safe, his eyes wandering your body in lust and protectiveness both every time you walk into the room.

Not far from where the Red Force lies docked, the infamous pirates led by the red-haired emperor spend the night basking in the much-needed warmth of welcoming arms.

The bar is as smelly as it is loud; just what you’d expect from a place where punches fly without warning. And like most of the dives you tend to frequent, it lacks charm; much like the man doing his best to catch your eye, clearly in the hopes of sharing more than a drink tonight.

Not that it’s entirely his fault. You’ve been flashing him your best smile for a while now, batting your lashes and tossing him compliments between playful little taps on the arm. Even though his jokes are fall flat, and his attempts to spike your drinks with more booze than needed painfully obvious, on a night when the emptiness bites a little deeper, his company feels like more than enough.

Scattered around the bar are the rest of your crewmates. Some drunker than others, and a few luckier in their conquests; but all of them having a good time in the end. The only one missing is that irritating, smooth-talker, with the annoyingly perfect smile and an obvious eagerness to sit you back on his examination table: the crew’s physician.

Someone had to stay behind to watch the ship, and the doctor drew the shortest straw.

Tough luck for him.

You’ve hardly thought about him all night. Maybe seven or eight times at most. All your focus is on keeping your flirt interested enough while politely dodging another kiss. Twice now he’s tried, and it’s not like the idea bothers you… but there’s something about the way he calls you Doll that doesn’t seem to fit. As if that word, spoken by his foreign lips, loses all its meaning and dissolves into the air before it ever reaches you.

In any case, the man barely notices your dodges, nor does he seem to catch the way your voice deepens as the night wears on, breaking off at the end of each sentence with louder and louder sniffles. You’ve coughed a couple of times too, not always gracefully, poise slipping as you force down your sore throat another swallow of your suspiciously strong drink. 

The coughing fit that follows is so fierce that the man finally raises his eyebrows at you. You try to reassure your startled suitor with a gesture, but your runny nose won’t give you a break, so cursing your luck, you have no choice but to excuse yourself toward the ladies’ room.

It’s only after a few steps that you notice the annoying pressure building between your eyebrows.

It’ll probably turn into a nasty headache. 

To be honest, you feel miserable. Your throat is raw, and after that coughing fit, your makeup is probably a disaster.

Squinting against the sudden pain the harsh bathroom light sends shooting through your temples, you open that organized chaos you call a purse in search of a tissue, and freeze when you find two objects you don’t recognize: a small cardboard box and what seems to be a meticulously folded note.

Your brows knit in curiosity as you turn the rectangular container over from one side to the other, then unfold the little piece of paper, revealing beautiful, careful handwriting.

“ To the most beautiful doll in the bar, You probably haven’t noticed yet, but you’ve caught a cold. If my calculations are right, your throat’s already starting to hurt, and you’re probably coughing too. Take two pills from the blister; they’ll help you get through the night a little more comfortably. And if you can, have Becks grab you something warm to drink at the bar. P.S. I split the pills in half so they’re easier to swallow. P.P.S. You’ve got another pack of tissues in your back pocket. H. <3<3<3 ”

You don’t realize how hard you’re clenching your teeth until you hit those last three ridiculous little hearts. How dare he? How dare he stick his hand in your bag and slip in his stupid advice?

It’s just a note, and yet your heart is bouncing wildly inside your ribs. 

This was your night. You needed it to break free from the oppressive routine of life on the ship. And now it turns out you’re sick? How dare he ruin your evening like this?

Feeling the adrenaline of an irrational and unexpected fury roar through your veins, you read the note a second time. You’ve got another pack of tissues in your back pocket, the second postscript reads. Practically out of spite, you yank open the little zippered pocket at the back of your bag. Sure enough, a neat little stack of clean tissues waits at the bottom, folded and carefully stashed.

With a crooked scowl twisting your face, you shove the pills back into your bag with enough force to nearly punch a hole through it, then storm out of the bathroom in search of your personal emotional advisor.

The bright, glaring bathroom light disappears behind the swinging door, and a couple of blinks later, your eyes focus on the unmistakable silhouette of Benn Beckman, sitting on a wooden bench with one arm draped over the backrest.

“Oh, Becks…” you let your weight drop with all the drama into his lap.

The woman who’s been exchanging flirty glances with him all night scowls and looks away, but that’s no problem for the man built like a wardrobe. It won’t take him more than five minutes to win her attention back once you’re gone.

“What’s wrong, darlin’? Someone hurt you?” he rasps, raising an eyebrow as he runs one of his large hands down your back. You hand him the crumpled note in response, furrowing your brows so tightly they almost meet. A moment later, his chest shakes with a chuckle. “Darlin’…”

He shifts his gray eyes from the note to yours, but you say nothing. You stare off into the distance as a woman approaches your potential fling, who taps impatiently on the bar with his fingers.

“Fuck,” you grit as you pull a tissue from your bag to blow your nose, “that damn quack has ruined my evening…”

Your burly first mate presses his lips together to keep them from curling into a smile, then furrows his brow, just as you expect.

“I see.”

Your hands tremble with rage, but your eyes betray a very different feeling, filled with a sadness that waters your lower lashes.

That sight is Beckman’s undoing.

His rough hand cups your cheek, and you look up at him with those reddened eyes, catching the bar’s dim lights.

“I hate him…” you sob in a faint voice, “hate him with every bit of me.” 

“My sweet girl…” Becks sighs hoarsely as he thumbs away one of your tears, then places the note back into the palm of your hand. “Why don’t you head back to the ship and show him all that pretty hate of yours?”

Your eyes blink, heavy with the weight of tears as they study the hearts on the crumpled note, then flick to his for a moment before you nod.

-*-

Your heart pounds when you spot the closed infirmary door at the end of the corridor, and not just because you’ve just sprinted across the whole damn port like a bat out of hell.

The last time you were in there, you got dragged in, knocked over half the vials like a tantrum-throwing brat, and wound up with your butt sticking in the air. There’s no dignified way to walk back in after that, so you don’t bother trying. After a quick glance at the light under the door confirming the doctor’s in, you lift your boot and kick it hard enough to rattle one of the hinges loose.

Hongo is seated at his desk, elbows resting on the table as he studies The Ultimate Manual of Ulcerous Injury Treatment at Sea, Vol. 2. 

“Seriously…” he mutters in a flat tone, “what is it with you all and that door? Beckman’s gonna-”

“HONGO!!!” 

Your battle cry prompts the doctor to lower the thick medical tome, his face brightening as his chestnut eyes meet yours behind a pair of round reading glasses.

“Doll?”

You don’t recall ever seeing him wear them before.

They suit him.

Somewhere between surprised and eager, he jumps up from his chair and almost stumbles toward you, a small, thin object in hand as he reaches for your arm.

“How are you feeling? Has the cough started yet? Let me take your temp-”

On instinct, you fling your hands up in such a sudden movement that they knock the thermometer out of his hands. Both of you freeze as it flies through the air and shatters against the wooden panel. A thin trail of mercury slides down the wall, and you stare at it, thinking this wasn’t your best entrance. Your throat tightens as you shift your gaze to the now very serious physician.

“Hongo, I’m sorry… I-”

"No." He raises a hand.

You shut up in an instant. He’s not usually this curt. You must’ve really messed up this time.

You watch him walk over to the chalkboard behind his desk, the fine blond hairs on his shaved neck exposed as he leans in to add one last item to what looks like a shopping list.

Burn ointments, 1st, 2nd, 3rd degree

Anti-diarrheal pills, 3,000 doses

XXL-sized syringes

All-purpose syrup (nausea and more)

Bandages, 500-meter rolls

Muscle relaxants, 5L bottle

Thermometer (x2)

A charming smile is again on his face when turns back to you, shaking the chalk from his hands.

“All done. Sorry, doll, if I don’t write things down, I forget,” he says as he sits and folds his fingers on the table. “Now tell me, did you take your pills? Need more?”

His eyes crinkle up real cute when he smiles, and you shake your head to remind yourself why you’re really here.

Anger.

You’re pissed.

Overly dramatic, you stride toward his desk and slam both palms on the board.

“How dare you put things in my bag?!” you accuse him, eyes practically shooting sparks.

He looks up at you. From that angle, the stitched scar on his forehead seems to warp beneath the magnifying glass of his glasses. With a sigh, he takes them off, holding one temple in a way that makes you want to grab him.

“Oh, that… yeah, did it bother you?”

“You crossed a line,” your palms clench into fists on the table. “You went through my personal things.”

Hongo tries to keep a casual air, but you notice the way he shifts in his chair. “It’s the only way I’ve found to do my job as your doctor. Every time I get close, you run from me.”

“Oh sure, your job. Had no idea sabotaging people’s nights was part of the job description.” 

“Sabotaging-?” He scrapes the chair back as he stands, hands braced on the table to mirror your stance. It forms a nice symmetry in the burgundy lines on the sleeves of his jacket. “Look, you’ve made it pretty damn clear you want nothing to do with me, but like it or not, I’m still your doctor. Your health is my responsibility. I even should’ve stopped you from going out, it was obvious you were getting sick.”

“I’m not sick,” you spit through clenched teeth.

“Yes, you are,” he says, eyes narrowed.

“No, I’m not.”

His pupils contract, then dilate in a clear display of self-control. It’s obvious he’s holding himself back from grabbing you by the collar. Whether to yell at you or kiss you, you can’t tell. You stare back with an expression as neutral as possible. Then, at that exact inconvenient moment, your nose starts to run.

Fuck.

Of course it had to be now. 

You sniff with the greatest discretion, trying to delay the moment you’ll have to reach for a tissue and confirm the obvious. He seems to notice something, because one eyebrow arches. Your jaw tightens as if that could hold back the thin strand of snot threatening to fall, and maybe you would’ve managed, but a maddening little itch joins the running nose.

And then, you lose.

The sneeze hits so hard it sends a sharp jab through your temple.

“Argh…” you rub your temple with a groan.

When you open your eyes, the doctor is flashing you his stupid, amused smile again.

"See?" he gestures at you.

Your blood boils with what you tell yourself is anger. This was supposed to be your night, and you don’t know why things always seem to go wrong for you while everything goes right for him.

“This is easy for you, huh?” you say with bitterness, pulling your remaining hand off the table to cross your arms over your chest. “You, who got to stay here, having your perfect night.”

At that, his smile fades. Faster than when you knocked the thermometer out of his hand.

“Oh, sure. Reading The Manual of Ulcerous Injury Treatment while the girl I’m crazy about flirts with half the damn bar is exactly the night I was hoping for.”

You blink. It’s the second time he’s confessed his love for you, and the blow to your chest hits as hard as the first. Or maybe harder, like that time Yassop threw the oar at you without warning.

You open your mouth, then close it again. If you don’t, your heart might just leap out. The only thing your body allows you to do is try to hide the shaking of your hands. A flicker of hope lights in his eyes as he studies your reaction. You haven’t bolted yet. Surely that has to count for something. In fact, this might be the longest you’ve ever stayed in his infirmary. 

For a moment, you just want to give in. Take those veiny hands and find out if they’re as soft as they look… but there’s no way you’re losing again.

“I’m leaving,” you say, turning on your heels and quickening your pace.

“Oh no, not this time,” Hongo rushes after you, knocking the table aside as he moves past. You barely open the door a palm’s width when he slams it shut with his fist. “We’re going to solve this like adults, once and for all.”

His roughness sends a hot rush of blood to your cheeks.

"Hongo, open the door. I’m a free woman," you tug at the handle like your oxygen depends on it. Just inches from your face, the fist blocking the door slowly loosens.

“Maybe you are… but I’m not,” he breathes out, hand finally letting go.

When he turns away, you squeeze your eyes shut. Behind you, some glass jars clink before you hear his voice again, saddened this time.

“The door’s open. You broke the hinge earlier…”

You grip the doorknob with force, but the knot coiling in your stomach doesn't let you turn it. “My evening is ruined,” you say through clenched teeth.

“Mine was ruined the moment you stepped off the ship.”

Damn. 

Your stomach twists in on itself as the weight of your own stupidity crashes down on you. Suddenly, the distance between you feels too much. Some invisible force is pulling you backward, and you let out a huff, hoping to clear your thoughts. It doesn’t work, though you do reach one conclusion.

He’s right.

You need to find a solution.

So you decide to turn around.

Hongo sets down the jars he’s been organizing and watches, stunned, as you walk over to his desk and perch on the edge. 

“What are we going to do?” you ask, not quite meeting his eyes. 

If Hongo were any other man with less self-control, his face would’ve split into the biggest grin of his life. But the Red Force’s doctor knows how to keep it together, so he just wipes his hands on his pants and he walks toward with a restrained smile.

“Well, if you ask me, I’d say we should kiss.”

“…What?” your eyes go wide.

“Just once. Let me kiss you, and if you don’t like it…” he pauses as he reaches you, choosing his next words with care, “if you don’t feel anything, and you don’t want a second, then I’ll let you go and never try again.”

A wave of warmth crawls up your back and blooms red at your neck. Should you say yes? What if you do like it? Your head spins like a spiral at the proposition and you glance down at your feet, searching for something to anchor you back to earth.

“Doll?”

Was that desperation in his voice? Is the composed, ever-patient doctor actually losing it? You look up and find him frowning, two fingers pressed to the artery in his neck. 

“Please, say something… I swear my heart rate’s spiking and my blood pr-”

“Yes.”

His eyebrows rises.

“Yes?”

You nod, eyes dropping back to your feet.

“Yes.”

He runs a hand over his shaved neck, and his eyes dart between yours in disbelief. You’ve only seen him this confused once before -that night he drank too much and was unbearable the next day. Then, he clears his throat, and after a shaky “Okay,” wraps his hands around your waist to settle you properly on his desk. The way you gasp seems to please him, because when you finally look up, he’s smiling at you again.

His hands find your knees and gently part them. Not in a disrespectful way, just to make space to step closer. You let him, unsure where to look as his bare chest is now only inches from you. Then with something close to reverence, the doctor takes your hands in his and brushes his thumbs along your wrists in the softest way.

“Don’t even think about checking my pulse right now,” you mutter.

“I’m not-” he starts, but cuts himself off with a click of his tongue, one brow lifted wrinkling the scar above it. “You’re impossible… combative till the end, huh? No wonder Shanks recruited you.”

His accurate description earns him a light smack on the burgundy edge of his jacket’s lapel. Before you can pull your hand away, he covers it with his own. Then, he slowly guides it inside, until there’s no barrier between you and his skin. Beneath your palm, his heart races just as wildly as yours.

“Besides,” he whispers, hovering a practiced finger above your neck, “no need to touch to check. I can see the vein throbbing right here.”

When he leans back to admire how hard you’ve blushed, you turn your face away. He cups the back of your neck with a softness that would’ve brought you to your knees if you weren’t already sitting, and gently guides you back to him.

“Look at me, princess.”

His face is just a breath away from yours, and you close your eyes, overwhelmed by the soft scent of antiseptic clinging to the man currently pinning you against a desk.

“I’m far from being a princess,” you manage to say, lips pulsing with want for his, painfully close, and still not touching.

“I’ll treat you like one,” he says before his mouth finally finds yours. 

He is so tender, and kisses you with such warmth and restrained love, that you have to grip the edge of the table. Partly so you don’t fall backward, and partly because the butterflies in your stomach might lift you off the ground. His lips slide between yours, soft and enveloping, holding your lower lip before tracing the upper one again. Emboldened by the feeling of being so deeply desired, you tilt your chin in search of a deeper kiss, and he indulges in your desires and his own, even daring to take a brief taste of your tongue. When you think he’s going to pull away, he presses his lips to yours once more, tightening your hand against his chest.

Are those two kisses? You wonder, caught in a haze of confusion and bliss. Your mind feels drunk, barely able to keep count as you try to catch your breath. Finally, more from the lack of air than from will, Hongo parts his lips from yours.

His eyes search yours, hungry for answers. Seeing him this flustered is a sight to behold. You want to take your time, but he’s impatient, and slides a hand along your thigh, from your knee up to your hip.

“Does this mean you liked it?” he says in a hoarse voice.

You suddenly realize you’ve been holding him tightly against your hips, trapping him there without meaning to.

“Oh, sorry,” you open your legs at once.

“No…” he presses them back against him, “leave them like that. I like them like that.”

You sigh. “Hongo...”

“Yes?”

“Are you going to break my heart?” 

Your shiny doe eyes make his heart constrict. Whatever happened to you in the past to make you this scared of a relationship, he’ll figure it out. But for now, he just smiles. 

“And face the barrel of Beckman’s shotgun? No, thanks.”

You let out a soft laugh but your gaze drops again. Uncertain and fragile. He chuckles, and with a finger under your chin, tilts your face back up.

“Doll, why would I do that? Why would I break my own?”

Your eyes dart between his for a second, and narrow with suspicion. “Have you rehearsed that line?”

That’s how he wants you. Sassy and challenging.

“Yes,” he grins with pride.

He barely finishes his answer when you grab him by the jacket and pull him close to crash your lips against his again. He smiles into the fiery kiss, hands cupping your cheeks as he melts into your arms, blissful you’ve finally surrendered to his love.

“Mmh!” Your eyes snap open as realization hits, and you push him to break the kiss. 

“What?” He grunts. He is not a man easily rattled, but the thought of losing you again tightens his chest.

“Hongo! Remember, I’m sick! We shouldn’t be kissing!”

He sighs before smiling at you again, then plants a hand on either side of you on the table and leans his body toward yours.

“Doesn’t matter. There’s plenty of pills in the blister.”

And with that, he kisses you again.

<3

-*-

A few nights later, the crew gathers around a bonfire on some forgotten beach, tossing easy jokes back and forth while Roux roasts sea cow meat. When you show up, Beckman shifts to the side and offers you your usual spot beside him. But you don’t sit. Instead, you cup his cheeks and press a kiss to his forehead with a look that says it all.

He smiles. “Stolen my girl, huh?” he makes you laugh. Then he squeezes your hand and nods with the elegance that only someone like him can manage. "Go".

You walk around the fire and settle between the slender, bent legs of your doctor, who’s been waiting for you for a while now. Benn Beckman smiles as he watches you close your eyes and snuggle into Hongo’s arms, who leans in to whisper who-knows-what into your ear.

-----------------------------

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @armiliadawn @pandora-writes-one-piece @i-am-vita @eustasscapitankid @nocturnalrorobin @daydreamer-in-training @alwayssassydreamer @paraficwriter @ye-old-hermit-woman

Before the young man could respond, cannon fire sounded. Seconds later, the ship rocked with frightful force. Remaining conscious was a struggle. Things were going in and out for you. One second you could hear the chaos breaking followed by screams and more cannon fire. The next, you are being dragged above deck by the cuffs that bind your wrists. Pain is the only thing you are sure of as it consumes you.

“BOSS!”

You recognize that voice. Lucky! He was there! Forcing your eyes to open just a fraction more, you witness your crew aboard the marine ship fighting like unhinged wild animals. The Vice-Admiral that kindly brought you from the cell quickly threw you forward. Cries of agony escape you as you fall to the deck. Too exhausted to get up, you crumple into a heap. Gentle yet strong arms lift you. That familiar scent and body gave you an overwhelming sense of security as you desperately fist his shirt.

“Beck,” you rasp. “Shhh. I've got ya,” he soothes, “Shanks!!!”

You could feel his presence before you saw him. Time stood still as he approached you both with haste. His eyes were sharp as he examined you in Beckman's arms. It felt as if it were only you three in the world despite the fighting around you. His hand caressed your cheek.

“I…I didn't tell 'em anything, Boss,” you struggle, “Never spoke a word.” “Course ya didn't, Baby. Beck, get 'em to Hongo.” “I wanna stay with you…” “You'll never leave my side again after this. Let Beck take you to Hongo. We need to get you fixed up.”

Beckman held you firmly as he escaped back to the Red Force. Hongo met you both at the infirmary entry. While he grabbed supplies, Beck laid you down. Your hand felt tiny in his grasp. After a day of being held by the marines, your emotions finally got the better of you as tears began to trickle down your cheeks.

“I'd never ask you guys to risk yourselves like this?” “Ya wouldn't have to ask,” Beck countered, “No crewmate left behind. Right?”

Ever the one to charge into a fight to protect any crewmember, it was selfish and stupid of you to believe they would not do the same for you. Who knew that getting separated from Yassop at the market would result in this? Hongo worked around Beckman to examine and take care of you. The hulking Vice-Captain sat quietly with your hand in his as the sound of the crew returning to the Red Force echoed.

Dozing off, you smiled when Hongo sweetly pressed his palm to your forehead.

“Glad to have ya back.”

He knew you heard him, but he also knew you were too tired for conversation after the injuries you sustained. Hongo left you in the infirmary with Beckman still at your side. Not long after the doctor left, your precious captain arrived. He sat opposite of Beckman and took your free hand into his.

“What'd ya do?” “Sank the ship. How are they?” “Pretty beat up. It's gonna take a while before they're up and going.” “Never leavin' our side again,” Shanks sighed, “Can't believe those jackasses tried to take 'em in.”

You cracked an eye open to look between your saviors. A glance at the window revealed most of the crew crowded outside to check on you.

“Thanks,” you whisper. “Anything for our most valuable treasure,” Shanks said, “Right, Beck?” “Right.”

After months of uncertainty and patience, and some more of yearning and wanting, you’re finally in Benn Beckman’s arms.

He’s above you now, caging your body between forearms braced against tobacco-scented sheets. His mouth places kisses to your cleavage and collarbone, then follows a measured path up your neck and jaw… but when he leans in toward your half-parted lips, your hand finds his ship’s-hull of a chest to stop him.

“Becks, w-wait… before we do this, there are some things I need to tell you.”

The man swallows a sigh to mask his impatience. If he’s waited this long to taste the honey of your lips, he can wait a little longer... though he does have to clear his throat before he answers.

“Shoot."

You bite your lip and hold his stare.

“I’m the one who lost your favourite lighter. I just wanted to check the engraving, but a wave came and dropped it overboard.”

He barely has the patience to fake being annoyed. His gaze softens as he chuckles, leaning in over your mouth again.

“I know. And I checked out your ass when you bent over to fish it back up.”

You press your hand firmer against his chest, stopping again the kiss. “I loaded your rifle with flour just to mess with Yasopp. That’s why it jammed.”

This time, he does sigh, and straightens up to properly look at you in the eye. If it’s confession time, so be it.

“I let Limejuice hack a boulder with your sword. That’s why the blade’s chipped to hell.”

Your brows knit into a frown. “I totally made up that anchor problem just to get close enough to smell your aftershave.”

He twirls a strand of your hair around his finger, eyes admiring the way your curls sprawl across the sheets. “I might’ve exaggerated that whole sail situation just to see you blush when I lectured you.”

Your hands find the back of his neck, unable to resist pulling him closer. “Might’ve accidentally broken your mug so we’d have to share coffee from mine.”

He grins. "Might’ve accidentally snapped the legs on your dining chair so you’d end up sittin’ in my lap.” Now he’s the one dodging the kiss, pressing his mouth right under your ear and making you shiver.

“I told that chick in the bar we were married while you were grabbing beers," you manage to whisper.

Becks doesn’t even remember who you’re talking about, and smiles as you tug his hair. “I stuck my gun in your last bar fling’s face the second you hit the bathroom.”

Your voice is barely a sigh as he brushes the tip of his nose against yours in slow circles “I snuggled up in your cloak while I was tipsy. Tried to clean the beer stain with bleach and…” you pause to catch your breath, “a-and yeah, didn’t help.”

“Remember your maroon lace panties?” he asks, fixing his gaze back on your lips, which tremble just beneath his. “Swiped ’em off the line just to see how much cheek my hand would cover… somehow they ended up in my room, and, uh… I kinda ripped ’em.”

You sigh as you feel the heat of his upper lip brushing against yours.

“Better buy me new ones, Becks...”

“Oh, darlin’,” he rasps, and your eyes close in bliss, “at this rate I’ll be restockin’ your panty drawer every damn Monday.”

Then, at last, he closes the small distance between you, taking your lips in his for the long-awaited kiss.

-------------------------------------------------

@thatanonymouschocolate come get your man 💕

Beckman had heard you the moment you entered his quarters. There was no doubt in his mind that Shanks had noticed you too. The Vice Captain locked eyes with you as he gathered the captain's hair to offer you a better view of the action. Your mouth watered at the filthy sight.

Shanks was meticulous in the way that he wrapped his tongue around his lover's shaft. Eager to please the man he adored, he swallowed every inch of him. Knowing that you were there only encouraged him. Lust clouded your judgment as you stood grasping the map that Beckman requested earlier.

“Bring the map, ” Beckman called to you, “Took ya long enough.”

Without a second thought, you followed his command. His piercing gaze fell away from yours when he threw his head back in pleasure, eyes rolling to the back of his skull as he released himself into Shanks’ mouth. The map crumpled in your hand as you gripped it for dear life. Heart racing and mind numb, you didn't have anything else to hold onto to keep your composure.

“Come closer, ” Beckman teased.

You found yourself trembling under their watchful eyes. Shanks took the initiative to pull you in when he stood from his place on the floor between his first mate's legs. The redhead gave you a wink before leaning in for a kiss. You felt him grin against your lips as he skillfully emptied Beckman’s cum into your mouth.

“Don't swallow.”

Your response was a bashful nod to acknowledge his instructions.

“Give him the map.”

Again, you moved without thought until you found yourself standing between Beckman’s thighs. He sat at the edge of the bed, bare and hard. He quickly snatched the map and tossed it aside before undressing you. The heat radiating from him was the only warmth for your body as your clothes hit the floor.

“That’s more like it, ” Beck smirked, “You got somethin' for me?”

He smiled when you offered him a puzzled lift of your eyebrow. The Vice Captain pulled you to straddle him, and his lips latched to yours without hesitation. You granted his tongue entry to claim his seed you held in your cheeks. It may have been a repulsive act to some, but you nearly came undone by the deed. Both men laughed as you tucked your face against Beckman’s neck.

“You weren't this shy with Mihawk,” Shanks said as he positioned himself behind you, “You scared of Beck?”

“That it, Baby? Ya scared of me,” Beckman asks while dragging his hands over your body.

“No!”

You were overwhelmed with desire as you found yourself sandwiched between them. Beckman had begun placing kisses on your shoulder while Shanks kneels behind you. The Captain reached beneath you to grip Beckman’s shaft. At his touch, the Vice Captain sank his teeth into the tender flesh of your neck. Both were more than pleased with your moans. You couldn’t formulate a cohesive thought in the compromising position you found yourself enjoying; You wanted them to use you.

“You want us? ” Beckman asked.

You shook your head to indicate yes, but that was not enough. A ferocious slap landed on your right ass cheek. Shanks did not like a silent lover.

“Speak when spoken to, ” he warned, “or do we need to fuck it out of you?”

You found your words after such a harsh lashing.

“I want both of you. I need you.”

“Ain't that sweet, ” Beckman sighs as he enjoys his Captain's grip on his shaft, “Play nice, Shanks.”

Shanks wastes no time slipping his tongue between your dripping folds. You threw your body forward into Beckman instinctively. Each lick to your center felt like you were slowly unraveling; With the captain lapping at your clit and the vice-captain fiercely ravishing your breasts, you gave in to their will.

Just as you were about to see stars, Beckman stood and dropped you onto his plush bed. The older man pulled Shanks to his feet and crashed their lips together. With moans that sounded like beautiful music to your ears, you watched them stroke each other’s hardness until it seemed they would explode into their palms. You had slowly edged your hand down your body to finish yourself off when Beckman’s gaze stopped your movement.

He used his free hand to grasp your ankle and pull you where he once sat. Shanks could hardly focus on pleasing the man before him. Sensing his inability to multitask, Beckman took over. With Beckman whispering words of encouragement, Shanks fisted his shaft to satisfy himself.

“Swallow every drop.”

You kicked into action when Shanks’ pace faltered. Opening your mouth wide, you happily accepted what he offered as it thickly coated your tongue. They both watched, hardening again, as you expertly swallowed his load.

“I never get tired of that, ” Shanks said.

Beckman picked up on the frustration that radiated from you. While you enjoyed the show, you were still yearning for a release.

“We'll take care of ya, ” he says while climbing on top of you, and shifting you to the center of the bed.

“Please,” you begged, “Please make me feel good,”

“So pretty when you beg,” Shanks whispered as he moved onto the bed.

Beckman’s lips felt like fire searing your skin everywhere they landed. Your whimpers drove him to leave marks on every inch of your torso.

“No more teasing! I need you!”

“Patience.”

You were embarrassed by your instant reaction of groaning in annoyance. Beckman tolerated lots of things, but a disrespectful subordinate was not one. Shanks looked at you with pity as Beckman's hand grasped your neck.

“Watch it,” he warned, “I could break you.”

His grip on your neck tightened to deliciously obstruct your breathing. You tried to focus on making sure you could breathe, but you gave up when he sank himself into your heat. White-hot pleasure blinded you as his hips snapped forward to drive you into submission.

When he freed your neck from his grasp, a life-saving inhale of oxygen kept you from passing out. Each thrust inside of you felt like your heart was beating out of your chest. You had not even noticed that they took time to rearrange you and grab the lube from the nightstand.

On your knees with your back pressed to Shanks’ front, both of you glanced down to watch as Beckman coated the cock of the man behind you with lube.

“Wait! Please wait!”

”Shhh, we'll take good care of you,” Shanks reassured.

They were utterly enraptured with the way you effortlessly took him from behind. Despite your screams of stress, it was pleasure tearing into your body. Whenever Beckman pulled out, Shanks would thrust in. They set a brutal pace. It was a feeling that you wouldn’t trade for anything in the universe.

“So good for us.”

Shanks screaming “yes” behind you gave you the courage to flex your muscles. Both men trembled with delight at the feeling. There was no stopping the explosion that was drawing nearer. It felt like you were being fucked within an inch of your life, and it was a death sentence you never wanted to escape.

You could feel Shanks fighting to keep from falling so soon, but he failed when you tightened around him one last time. The foreign feeling of having him spill inside you in this position triggered your release. Beckman was proud of himself as he looked down at his lovers. The vice-captain slipped into you and skillfully pumped himself dry as he met his end.

You were comforted by them collapsing and turning onto their sides with you sandwiched between them.

”I could get used to this.”

Rolling your eyes at the memory of how serious he was when he gave you the order. While your reputation for breaking orders was the worst among the crew, it was always for good reasons. There wasn't a better reason in the world than the one presenting itself now. Atop the crow's nest, you zeroed in on the small boat that held Luffy and that pathetic bandit from the other day.

There wasn't much to think about as you descended from your watch position and hit the water. Taking a breath, you recognized bright red hair already ahead of you. Freezing at the sight of the Sea King, you shook the surprise away and immediately swam as fast as you could. Your captain had already managed to grab Luffy and deal with the beast by the time you arrived.

“Boss,” you whisper as you eye the damage.

Shanks smiles at you while cradling Luffy to his chest.

“He's gonna kill ya, Sweet Cheeks. You should've stayed on the ship.” “Shanks, your arm.” “It's just an arm.”

Getting him and Luffy back to shore was easier than expected. Shanks didn't need much assistance, and Luffy refused to let go of his hero. With the boy on his back and you giving him the little support he needed, you were out of the water and connected with the rest of the crew in no time. The Red Force wasn't in as much disarray as one would imagine with Shanks losing an arm. It would change nothing about how you all dominated the seas. Hongo had taken care of the man and left him and Luffy napping in the sick bay. After freshening up and changing into something nice and dry, you returned to your watch post. However, Limejuice was already there covering for you.

“You know who wants to see ya.”

He couldn't help his laughter at your eye roll and groan. The last thing you heard was him wishing you luck as you headed toward the Vice Captain's quarters. Not bothering to knock, you let yourself in to find him sitting at his desk.

“What did I tell you this morning?” “Not to leave the ship.”

You watch as he sits back and looks at you with quiet annoyance behind steel eyes. How many times could you disobey the man and get away unscathed?

“Ya wanna tell me why ya left this fuckin ship after I said not to?” “Come on, Beck! Luffy was in danger!” “Shanks had it under control.” “HE LOST HIS FUCKIN ARM! You can't seriously be mad about this!”

Beckman does not react to your shouting. Instead, he unnerves you with calmness. Standing and coming around his desk to meet you, Beck can't help how his lips tug just the faintest bit upwards. Tilting your head back to look up at him, you swallow thickly at how heavy his presence could be. He emitted a smothering feeling that made you want to claw at your throat for the air he stole.

“What am I gonna do with you?” “Beckman…” “You disobey orders, but you're a damn good pirate,” he says, “As Vice Captain, it's my job to break you in since Shanks thinks with his dick when it comes to ya.”

A dark chuckle rumbles in his chest at the sound of you squeaking his name when calloused fingers grip your neck. His free hand was just as quick with tearing your shirt down the middle. Heart racing and thoughts struggling to keep up with what was happening, you're embarrassed by the moan slipping from your lips when his body presses against yours. His grasp tightens against your windpipe, and any sense of fear turns to heat as it sinks to the pit of your lower abdomen and trickles out between your thighs.

His movements are swift, and you feel weightless with how he maneuvers you around his quarters. You could see his bed in the opposite corner but find yourself perched on his desk with his hulking figure between your knees. The dazed look on your face makes him slow down just a little. Sucking in as much air as you could when he released your neck, you grip his forearm when his hand meets the button on your shorts.

“Ya scared?” “No.” “Ya did this to yourself, Sweetheart.”

He was right. Rough hands knead and caress your supple flesh. Beckman watches as all fight or will to resist leaves your body. The man knows he has you right where he wants you when you moan and arch into his touch as he rakes his nails over the stiff peaks of your exposed chest. With his pointer finger tilting your chin, he forces you to meet his gaze.

“Eyes on me.”

You barely blink as you do as he says. Neither of you speaks while he undresses you. Bare ass on the desk and legs spread to allow him access; you never look away.

“Look at that. You can follow orders.”

Beckman took pride in watching your crumble under his touch. His breath was warm against your skin as he peppered kisses along the valley of your breast before dragging his tongue over your pebbled nipples. Sweat beading at your hairline, you cry his name when you fail to follow the only order given once again. Your eyes roll back and slam shut when he closes his lips to suck, bite, and twist.

“Eyes on me!”

White-knuckling the edge of his desk, you start to think back on how many times you had gotten away from any punishment. Though, treatment like this would probably only lead to you disobeying orders purposefully. Beckman knew your head was in the clouds from the glazed look in your eyes. You may have been looking at him, but were you seeing him? He placed just enough space between you and himself to disrobe before nestling between your knees again.

He knows you're back with him when he presses his lips to yours, and you grasp his shoulders before melting against him. He tastes like tobacco and black coffee. After one sample, you knew it would be the only thing you truly craved as long as you were allowed the option to indulge in it. His skin is rough beneath your fingertips. Signs of how much life he has lived, but it was immediately your favorite landscape to explore. Groaning into your mouth, Beckman wastes no time adjusting your body to fit perfectly in his hold.

Tearing away from his lips, at least half the ship had to hear the high-pitched shout of his name as he sank two fingers into you. Hands dragging over the expanse of his chest, you get lost in how good it feels to have even just a piece of him. Pointer and middle fingers piston and curl inside you while his thumb circles and presses your clit. You're almost ashamed of the squelching sounds he managed to create without even thoroughly fucking you.

“Beck…please.” “Please what?”

You weren't quite sure yourself. Maybe you wanted this to stop. That could not be what you wanted with how you rolled your hips. Feeling you clamp down on his fingers, Beckman all-out grins when he recognizes how close you are. Your pace stutters, and any sense of dignity you were holding onto diminishes when you find yourself wildly bucking against his hand. Desperation would always strip away any restraints a person had. The promise of release was right there, and it came crashing before your eyes when he ripped his hand away from you. Chest heaving, you look at him in astonishment.

“When I give an order, I expect you to follow it.” “I will! I will! I promise I will.” “I don't believe you.” “Beckman, I swear. Please, I was so close.”

Your left hand grips his, and you try to bring his fingers back, but he shakes off your grip.

“I've got something even better if you follow one simple order.” “Anything!”

With your brain scrambled by lust, he could get anything out of you.

“Don't cum until I say so.” Eagerly shaking your head in agreement, you yelp when he grips your face. “Answer me. With words.” “Yes, Sir. I understand.”

He didn’t waste any time guiding and sinking himself into you. You would learn he meant business before this was over. Getting yourself into a situation like this was your fault. While you were the picture of desperation, he had the patience of a saint and the soul of a sinner. Beckman was meticulous with each thrust inside of you. You'd never felt fuller than when he buried himself to the hilt which each slow stroke, hastening your descent into madness. Everything became a blur as he fucked you to the edge repeatedly but refused to let you fall.

Back flat against his desk and body limp as he bullied your battered clit while drilling into you, tears leaked into your ears. How many times had he tempted you? Six? Seven? You weren't sure as you lay there with every nerve ending in your body in shock. His assault was relentless before he emptied himself inside of you. The vice-captain lifts you by your shoulders and presses a kiss to your lips.

“Please,” you begged against his lips, “Let me finish.” “You gonna be good for me?” “Yes, Sir.” “I don't believe you.”

Pulling out of you, he had to stand firm in what he was about to do. The urge to please you was great, but he needed to make his point with you about your bratty need to break orders.

“Get cleaned up and back to your post,” he ordered, “Get through this week without pulling another stunt, and I'll give you what you want.”

As much as he wanted to give in to you, he would be a liar to say seeing you teary-eyed and trembling from the ache he left between your thighs didn't make him hard. Leaving you alone after he got dressed was tough. Laying there in silence, you contemplate finishing yourself. Unfortunately, it would not be enough. Stealing one of his shirts, you made yourself presentable enough to resume your watch shift.

With the Sun setting for the day, you knew almost everyone had left the ship to head to Party's Bar to celebrate with Luffy since he saved Shanks. Well, everyone except for your Captain and Vice Captain. Beckman had been hawking you for most of the day, and the tension only felt thicker now that the ship was almost empty. Heavy footsteps were approaching, but you knew who it was long before he sat by you.

“Feeling alright, Boss?” “Perfect. Did Beckman deal with you earlier?” “You could say that.” “I figured.” It was silent for a moment. “How about you have a little talk with both of us? He's a bit rough. We could show him that being gentle can get him further.”

Looking at the man, you didn't miss his tongue grazing against his lips. Shanks always knew how to sweet talk his way out of or into anything. You weren't immune to his charms.