#benn x reader

The deck of the ship swayed gently under your feet, the salty breeze tugging at your clothes as laughter echoed around you. Life with the Red Hair Pirates was loud, chaotic, and warm… almost too warm sometimes.

Especially when he was nearby — Benn Beckman. He leaned lazily against the railing, a cigarette resting between his lips, sharp eyes half-lidded as if nothing in the world could surprise him. But you knew better because those eyes missed nothing. Least of all you.

You were the crew’s sweetheart, sure, but in a world of sleek warriors and smart navigators, your mind often lingered on the soft curve of your stomach and the silvery stretchmarks etched across your stomach, hips and thighs. To you, they were flaws you tried to hide behind oversized shirts and high-waisted trousers.

You were leaning against the railing, the sun catching the lines on your skin peeking through a gap in your shirt. You quickly tugged the fabric down, a familiar pang of self-consciousness hitting your chest.

“You’re doing that thing again,” a deep, gravelly voice rumbled behind you.

You didn't need to turn around to know it was him. The scent of expensive tobacco, sea salt and a cologne smelling like sandalwood gave him away every time. Beckman stepped up beside you, leaning his elbows on the railing, his dark eyes tracking the horizon before settling on you with a heavy, unreadable intensity.

“Doing what?” you mumbled, crossing your arms over your middle.

“Looking at me” he teased. 

“I wasn’t!” you insisted, cheeks already burning.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he straightened, strolling closer with that unhurried confidence that made your stomach twist. “Yeah? Then why’re you starin’ at me like I hung the stars?”

He moved closer to you, too close. Always so damn close. His gaze dipped, not in a crude way, but in a way that made you hyper-aware of yourself, of your body, the softness of your stomach and thighs and the faint lines along your hips you always tried to hide.

“I should get back to—” you started but a hand caught your wrist cutting you off.

“Hey,” Beckman murmured, tone shifting just enough to make your chest tighten. “Why’re you running?”

“I’m not running,” you said quickly, avoiding his eyes. “Just… busy.”

“Busy avoidin’ me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“…No.” you stammered, swallowing hard. 

He tilted his head, studying you like a puzzle he already knew the answer to. “You’ve been dodging me all week.”

He wasn't wrong about this to be honest. Truth was you were head over heels for this man but every time you looked at him, you remembered how easy he was with women, how effortlessly they laughed at his words, how different they looked compared to you. “I just…” you hesitated, then forced a shrug. “You’ve got plenty of women to flirt with. Don’t need to waste time on me.”

For a moment, there was a heavy silence and then he suddenly chuckled. Not mockingly and definitely not cruelly just surprised it seemed. “Waste time?” he repeated, stepping even closer. “That what you think this is?”

Your heart was pounding loudly in your head because you couldn't make sense of this situation right now. “Isn’t it?” you asked confused.

His hand slipped from your wrist to your chin, lifting your face just enough that you couldn’t look away anymore. “You're always doing this, making yourself smaller, shrinking away and thinking you're not special just because you're looking different than others” he said calmly, taking a drag from his cigarette. “It's a waste of breath and you're just running that pretty head of yours into overthinking which ain't necessary” he added.

You felt your face heat up. It was typical Beckman. He was charming you even now, always knowing what to say, it was like this was part of his DNA. He had a girl in every port swooning over him. A wink for every barmaid, so why would he actually care about a chubby crewmate like you?

“Beck, stop. You don’t have to do the charming First Mate routine with me,” you sighed, looking down at your hands. “I know I’m not exactly the type of woman you usually... you know.”

Beckman straightened up, his playful aura vanishing instantly. The sheer size of him was intimidating, but it was the look in his eyes, sharp, focused and utterly predatory, that made your breath hitch.

“You think I’m playing a part?” he asked, his other hand coming up to rest firmly on your hip, his thumb grazing the exact spot where your stretchmarks began. “You truly doubt what I just said?” 

“…I’m not doubting,” you tried, weakly.

“Yeah,” he said dryly. “And I don’t smoke.”

“You don’t make any sense,” you huffed, looking away again and fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. 

“Neither do you.”

That made you look back at him because something in his voice was making you realize that he wasn't playing a game. 

“You think I just throw words around?” he asked, leaning in a bit.

“…Don’t you?” you asked quietly, breath hitching as the scent of his cologne hit you with full force and damn it was intoxicating. 

His brow lifted slightly. Not offended, just… surprised. “No.” That single word hit harder than anything else. “I don’t waste my time,” he continued, voice steady. “And I don’t repeat myself unless it matters.”

You felt your chest tightened again and ypur knees started to buckle a bit. You studied his face trying to find something, anything that would show you, proof to you that this couldn't be true but you found nothing. 

“So when I say I’m watchin’ you,” he added, stepping just a fraction closer, your chests now only inches apart and you felt the warmth of his body against ypurs. “it’s because I am.”

Your breath hitched and you bit your lower lip almost shyly. You didn't know what to say right now, nor what to do because you just weren't prepared for this. You were pining for this man for weeks, god probably months now and hearing him talk to you like this made your heart swell.

“You think I don’t notice how you shrink into yourself?” His gaze softened, but it didn’t lose its intensity. “How you look away when someone gets too close? When I get too close? Or how you tug at your clothes like you’re tryin’ to hide somethin’ that was never a problem to begin with.”

“I just—” you started, then faltered fingers curling instinctively tighter around the hem of your shirt. “I don’t look like the others.”

“There it is again,” he muttered, almost sounding like a sigh. 

Before you could react, his hand gently but firmly caught yours interlacing his fingers with yours and you tensed. But he didn’t let go. Instead he pried your hand away from your hem. “Look at me,” he said.

You exhaled deeply and then slowly, hesitantly, you did. His expression wasn’t teasing now. Not playful, no he looked certain. He looked like he usually did when he was about to teach you something, which he kind of did right now except this time it wasn't about maps or fighting, this time it was about yourself. 

“You really think I’d waste my breath on someone I didn’t want?” he asked, making your heart skip.  “I could have anyone, I flirt a lot, you’re right about that.” he continued bluntly and you flinched a bit at these words. “But I don’t look at just anyone the way I look at you.”

Your breath caught and you felt like your heart was fluttering out of your chest. “I don’t wait for just anyone to walk on deck.” His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, absentmindedly but grounding. “And I sure as hell don’t keep comin’ back just to hear myself talk.”

“Then… why me?” you whispered, your thoughts spinning now, struggling to keep up and process what he was saying.

For a moment, he just looked at you, really looked at you. Like he was deciding how honest he could be without you questioning it again. “Because you don’t try to be what you’re not. You think I don’t see through the others?” he added. “All that charm, all that effort to impress… it’s easy.” His grip on your hand tightened just slightly. “You’re not easy.” That sent a strange warmth through your chest. “You’re real,” he said again, softer now. “And you don’t even realize how much that stands out.”

“You're the only one I wait for to walk on deck.” His eyes flicked over your face, your shoulders, your body, lingering, appreciative, hungry in a way that made your pulse stutter. “The only one who gets this worked up just from me talkin’.”

“I—I don’t—”

“You do,” he said, a smirk ghosting back. “You turn pink every damn time.”

“That’s not—” you tried to protest but you felt your face burn hotter and hotter. 

“And those things you try so hard to hide?” he added quietly, his fingers brushing lightly along your side, not intrusive, just there, grounding. “They drive me insane.”

“What…?” you whispered, your breath catching completely and your eyes wide and confused. 

“Every curve. Every line. You think I don’t notice?” He said his voice dropping, sounding rougher now as he gave a faint shake of his head. “Hell, it’s the first thing I notice.”

“That’s not funny,” you said, but your voice wavered.

“I’m not joking.” he replied firmly. There was no teasing in his expression now. None, just certainty. “You’re real,” Beckman murmured. “Soft, warm and kind. Not like the rest.” His thumb brushed your cheek. “And I like that. You think anyone could look at you and not want to touch you?” he said quietly, his voice husky with something close to awe. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me.”

“But I don’t look like the others,” you said once again and it started to feel like you were using it as a shield.

“Good,” he said immediately, making you blink startled. “Means you’re not the others. You’re not supposed to look like anyone else. You’re supposed to look like you.””

“I…” you hesitated, then admitted in a small voice, “I don’t know how to believe you.”

A faint smile touched his lips, not mocking, not smug, just… patient. “Fine, but stop assuming I’m lying just because you don’t see the beauty that I see when I look at you.”

You stared, wide eyed, eyes watering and your hands shaking slightly. It was actually the sweetest thing someone had said to you in a really long time without trying to make fun of you. It almost felt surreal but Beckman just smiled at you and decided to close the finally gap between ylur bodies, his chest brushing yours now and one hand wrapping around your waist and digging softly and gently into your curvy hip, his fingers feeling the soft texture of your skin through the fabric.

"I’ve seen the way you look in the mirror when you think no one's watching," he whispered, leaning down so his lips brushed your ear. "You see flaws. I see curves I want to sink my hands into. I see those marks on your skin and all I think about is how beautiful they’d look under me."

Your heart was drumming against your ribs like a trapped bird and your face was now the color of a ripe tomato. "Beck..."

"I'm a man of many vices," he murmured, his eyes dropping to your lips before returning to yours with a terrifying sincerity. "And every single piece of you is my favorite one. Don't ever let me catch you hiding from me again."

He rested his forehead against yours and you felt like you were going to pass out because your heart was racing like crazy. He pulled back slightly and his lips brushed your temple before he let go just enough to give you one of those devastating, slow smirks, the one that usually meant trouble for the rest of the world, but today, it was just for you. 

He finally stepped back and then flicked his cigarette over the side before he leaned in to whisper in your ear “Meet me in my cabin tonight, I wanna see you, all of you.” 

You froze, your brain was short-circuiting. Did he just invite you into his cabin, just you?! Inwardly you were screaming, you were completely gone and he just chuckled as he looked at you and then took your hand, gave it a kiss like a gentleman and walked like a king below deck. While you remained there, trying to process what just happened. 

Later on you found yourself standing in front of your bathroom mirror in just your underwear. The marks on your thighs, hips and stomach, the lightning bolts that made you feel so insecure, clearly visible and for a moment you closed your eyes wishing they'd be gone when you opened them again but of course life didn't work like that — unfortunately. You sighed unsure if you should really go to see Beckman, after all you didn't feel like you were worth it or if you'd be enough for him. You ran a hand over your face before you put on your clothes again and with all your courage decided to go see him. 

The walk to his quarters felt longer than usual, every step shadowed by the nagging urge to turn back. You smoothed the fabric of your shirt, over-aware of how it sat against your skin, hiding the "lightning bolts" you had just been mourning in the mirror. You wondered if he’d see the hesitation in your eyes before he even saw your body, Beckman was observant like that and he saw everything.

When you finally reached the heavy wooden door of his cabin, you paused, your fist hovering inches from the surface. The Red Force was relatively quiet, the distant sound of laughter from the deck muffled by the evening salt air. You took one last breath, grounding yourself and knocked.

“Come in,” his voice rumbled, deep and steady.

Pushing the door open, you found him sitting at his desk, the faint scent of tobacco and sandalwood clinging to the room. He didn't look up immediately, finished marking a map before setting his pen down. When he finally shifted his attention to you, the air in the room seemed to thicken. He didn't say a word at first, he just watched the way you stood there, slightly defensive, your arms crossed loosely over your middle.

He rose from his chair with a slow, deliberate grace, closing the distance between you until the heat radiating from him was palpable. He could clearly sense the storm of insecurity brewing behind your gaze. Without a word, he reached out, his large, calloused hand settling firmly on your hip, anchoring you to the spot.

He made you look up into his eyes, his gaze heavy and dark. Beckman was a man who appreciated strategy and substance. He had never been interested in the fragile or the fleeting. To him, every curve of your body was an indulgence, a testament to a life well-lived and a beauty that felt grounded and real. His hand slid downward, his palm flattening against your stomach. He didn't shy away from the texture of your skin, he leaned into it. His fingers traced the faint lines on your skin like he was reading a map he had long ago memorized.

“Beck,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “The marks... the weight…”

“Are perfect,” he interrupted, his voice dropping an octave. “Do you have any idea how much I crave this?” He squeezed the soft flesh of your waist. The look in his eyes wasn't just affection, it was hunger. It was the look of a man who had finally found exactly what he wanted and had no intention of letting it go. “You’re mine,” he growled, his lips ghosting over yours. “Every inch of you. Don't you dare think I want you any other way, don't you dare think you are not enough because you, sweetheart, definitely are everything I want.”

He lifted you up, his hands supporting your weight with effortless strength like you weighed nothing, his eyes never leaving yours as he carried you toward the bed. He loved the way you felt in his arms, so warm, so soft and entirely his. He gently placed you down on the and hovered over you smirking down at you and brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear before letting his finger trace down the side of your face and to your chin tilting it up and kissing you slowly before he pulled away to your stunned face and then with a gentleness that betrayed his built he began to tug at your shirt lifting it up.

The shirt was discarded as an afterthought, fluttering to the floor like a white flag of surrender. As the fabric cleared your upper body, the cool air of the cabin hit your skin, but the heat radiating from Beckman's gaze was enough to keep you flushed.

Out of habit you wanted to cover yourself but Beckman didn't let you, stopping your movement with just a look. “Don't, let me see you, all of you. Every beautiful little curve, every perfect inch of your skin.” He braced his weight on his forearms, boxing you in. His eyes traveled over you with a slow, deliberate hunger, taking in the swell of your breasts, the soft curve of your belly, and the intricate, shimmering lines that mapped your hips. To anyone else, they were marks maybe even flaws but not to Beckman. He let out a low, guttural growl, a sound that started deep in his chest and settled right in your bones. It wasn't a sound of frustration, annoyance or disdain, no it was far from it, it was of pure, unadulterated want.

“Stop looking so stunned” he murmured, noticing your wide eyes and parted lips. He ghosted a thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly. “I’m a man of appetites, (Y/N). And you’re the only thing that satisfies them.”

His large hand descended, his palm spanning the width of your stomach. He didn't just touch you, he kneaded the soft skin there, his fingers sinking into you with a firm, worshipping pressure. He watched the way your flesh gave way beneath his touch, his smirk deepening into something darker, more predatory. “Look at you,” he rasped, his voice thick with a sudden edge of heat. “There’s so much of you to hold. So much of you for me to sink into. You think these marks are flaws? I think they’re a goddamn invitation.”

He lowered his head, but he didn't go for your lips this time. He pressed his face into the side of your waist, inhaling the scent of your skin. His stubble grazed your softest parts, a delicious friction that made your toes curl into the sheets. He traced the ‘lightning bolts’ on your thighs with his tongue, a slow, damp heat that made you gasp and arch your back. “I like the way you feel under me. Don't you ever try to hide from me again.” he whispered against your skin, his breath hot and igniting your nerves. 

He shifted, his heavy frame settling between your thighs, and you could feel exactly how much his words weren't just talk. He was hard, his body reacting viscerally to the sheer abundance of yours. He wanted to lose himself in you, to be surrounded by your warmth and the soft, beautiful curves. 

He leaned up, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was no longer slow or gentle. His tongue was moving against yours in a kiss that felt like a deep devotion. It was demanding, tasting of tobacco and a desperate, burning need. He wasn't just loving you for how you were, he was devouring you for it. The air in the cabin grew stiflingly hot, charged with the electric friction of his skin against yours. Beckman’s kiss was an anchor, heavy, grounding and deep. His tongue swept against yours with a rhythmic, possessive confidence, mirroring the way his hands began to work over your body with practiced ease.

He didn't fumble. Even with the size of his hands, he moved with a surgical precision born of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. The snap of your bra echoed in the quiet room, and a moment later, he was sliding your pants down over your hips. He didn't rush the process, he let his palms graze the fullness of your thighs, his touch lingering on the softest parts of you as if he were savoring the texture of a fine silk.

When you were left in nothing but your panties, the cool air hit your damp skin, but the chill didn't last. Beckman’s hands immediately found the weight of your breasts, tracing a teasing fingertip softly over the flesh and your nipples, making you gasp into the kiss and arch into him. He broke the kiss just an inch, enough to watch your face, but close enough that his hot breath hitched against your lips. You let out a broken moan, your head tossing back against the pillows as his large, calloused fingers began to knead. His hands were rough, scarred from years of sea-faring and combat, making the pillowy softness of your chest feel even more delicate in comparison. He didn't just touch, he claimed. He used his thumbs to roll over your nipples, his gaze darkening as he watched them peak and harden under his care.

“Listen to that,” he growled, his voice a low vibration that seemed to come from the floorboards. “The sounds you make when I handle you... that’s my favorite song on this entire ocean.”

He squeezed the soft sides of your breasts, pushing them together, his eyes fixed on the way your skin yielded so perfectly to his strength. He was a man who appreciated the ‘more’ of you, the way your body reacted to him, the way you filled his hands and the way your curves spilled over his fingers. “You're shaking,” he noted, a smudge of a smirk returning to his face. He leaned down, his lips catching a stray tear of pleasure from your cheek. “Is it too much? Or is it because you finally realize how much I've been wanting to get my hands on all this? That I wasn't just talking but that I really meant what I said?”

He didn't wait for an answer because he knew. He could feel your heart hammering against his palm, a frantic rhythm that matched his own. He lowered his head, his mouth replacing his fingers on one aching stiff nipple, his tongue swirling around the tip before he wrapped his lips around it, taking it fully into his mouth and sucked deeply. The sensation sent a jolt straight to your core, a needy moan escaping your lips, your hips instinctively bucking upward against his heavy thigh. Beckman let out a muffled grunt of approval, his hand sliding down from your chest, over the soft slope of your belly, and hooking into the waistband of your lace.

The friction of his stubble against your breast was a sharp, intoxicating contrast to the wet heat of his mouth. As his mouth focused on your breasts, one of his hands didn't just hover, it slid beneath the elastic of your lace, his fingers finding the slick, sensitive heat of your slit. He moved with a slow, agonizing rhythm that made your vision blur, each stroke a silent promise of what was coming.

By now you were a mess of soft whimpers and frantic pleas, your fingers knotting into the bedsheets until the fabric groaned. When he finally pulled his mouth away, your skin felt cold where he had been until he replaced the sensation with the searing heat of his gaze. “Patience, sweetheart,” he rumbled against the skin of your neck, his voice like gravel and velvet. “I told you. I want every bit of your beautiful body.”

With a single, fluid motion, he hooked his thumbs into your panties and dragged them down your legs, tossing them aside without a backward glance. Now, you were completely bare beneath him, your body laid out like a feast he had spent years craving.

Beckman moved lower, his heavy frame shifting between your knees to give him a full view. Most men might have rushed to the finish, but Beckman was a lover, he enjoyed the journey. He leaned in, his eyes tracing the silvery, jagged lines across your outer thighs, the marks you had spent years trying to hide. He didn't just look, he leaned down and pressed a lingering, reverent kiss to the center of a stretch mark on your hip. “Beautiful,” he muttered against your skin, his breath hitching as he felt you tremble. “Like lightning on the water.”

While his mouth worked a slow, worshipful path across your curves, kissing the soft dip of your belly and the lush fullness of your thighs, his hand remained exactly where it needed to be. His fingers stayed buried in your heat, circling and pressing with a calculated pressure that kept you on a razor's edge.

You cried out, your back arching off the mattress as his tongue followed the path his hand had set. The combination was too much, the worship of your body, the weight of his presence and the relentless, expert movement of his fingers had you feeling dizzy from pleasure. “Beck... please…” you gasped, your hands moving from the sheets to catch in his  hair, pulling him closer.

He let out a dark, satisfied chuckle against your thigh, his hand spreading your soft flesh wider to give his mouth better access. “I’ve got you,” he growled, looking up at you with eyes that burned with a fierce, protective lust. “Just let go. I’m right here to catch you.”

The world shattered into a kaleidoscope of heat and light as Beckman pushed you over the edge. His mouth and fingers worked in a relentless, synchronized rhythm until you were sobbing his name, your thighs trembling against his shoulders as the first powerful wave of an orgasm crashed over you. He held you through it, his large hands anchoring your hips to the bed, making sure you felt every spark of the fire he had built.

As the tremors began to fade into a heavy, delicious aftermath, Beckman finally pulled back. He didn't move far, just enough to sit back on his heels at the foot of the bed. He watched you with a look of pure, unadulterated pride, like a king surveying his most prized territory.

“Look at you,” he rasped, his voice thick and dark. “Flushed and ruined. Just how you're supposed to be.” He didn't give you long to catch your breath. With a slow, deliberate grace that seemed impossible for a man of his size, he began to undress. He kept his eyes locked on yours, making the act feel like a deliberate challenge.

He shrugged his heavy dark coat off his shoulders, letting it thud heavily to the floor. Next came the shirt, pulled over his head to reveal the sheer expanse of his torso. You had seen him work on deck, but here, in the dim light of the cabin, he was breathtaking. His chest was a roadmap of scars and hard-earned muscle, the dark hair on his chest tapering down into a tantalizing line. His hands moved to his belt, the leather creaking in the silence. When he finally stepped out of his trousers, the sight of him made the air leave your lungs all over again.

He was built like a mountain, solid, scarred and imposing and so damn manly and hot. As he looked at your soft, plush curves waiting for him on the sheets, his expression softened into something almost reverent. He knew the contrast between you was stark, his hardness against your softness, his jagged scars against your silvery marks. “Your turn to watch,” he murmured, his smirk returning as he saw your eyes travel over him. He crawled back onto the bed, the mattress sinking deeply under his impressive weight. 

He moved over you again, but this time there was no fabric between you. The feeling of his rough, hot skin against your soft breasts and his erection against your belly was an electric shock. He was heavy, deliciously so, and he made sure you felt every bit of him as he settled between your thighs. “You still think I'm looking for someone else, pretty girl?” he asked, his hand sliding under your hip to tilt you up toward him. “When I have you to sink into?”

Your fingers trembled as they made contact with his chest, toying with the hair there, traveling along the skin, the texture of it a stark contrast to your own. His scars felt like raised ridges of history beneath your fingertips, smooth, hardened and permanent. You traced a particularly long mark over his pectoral, feeling the iron-solid muscle jump beneath your touch. Beckman let out a low, vibrating hum of approval, his eyes hooded as he watched you explore him. He didn't move to stop you, instead, he leaned into your hand, a predator enjoying the attention of his favorite person. 

“That's it,” he encouraged, his voice a gravelly whisper. “I'm all yours to map out, sweetheart.”

But Beckman wasn't a man who stayed still for long and his hunger flared back up. He reached down, his large hand wrapping almost entirely around the thickest part of your thigh. The heat of his palm felt like a brand against your soft skin. With a sudden, deliberate movement, he ducked his head. He didn't kiss you this time. Instead, he sank his teeth into the tender, plush flesh of your inner thigh, right over one of the silver stretch marks you had been so worried about.

It wasn't a nip of pain, but a firm, possessive pressure that sent an electric shock of pure white heat straight to your center. You let out a sharp, high-pitched gasp, your hips jerking upward as your legs instinctively tried to wrap around his head. He stayed there for a long moment, his hot breath fanning against your skin before he licked the mark he had just made. He looked up at you from between your legs, a dark, triumphant glint in his eyes.

“Mine,” he growled, the word vibrating against your thigh. “I want to leave my mark all over these curves. I want everyone on this sea to know who you belong to without me saying a damn word.”

He slid upward then, his heavy chest dragging against your sensitive nipples, the friction making you whine into the crook of his neck. He used his knee to nudge your legs wider, settling his weight firmly between them. The sheer size of him was overwhelming in the best way possible, a solid, unshakable force that made you feel safe and completely consumed all at once.

“Wrap those beautiful legs around me,” he commanded, his hand sliding behind your head to tangle in your hair. “I want to feel every bit of your weight pressing back against mine.” The moment he finally pushed inside you, the world narrowed down to just the two of you. He moved with an agonizing, delicious slowness, his jaw tight as he buried himself deep within your heat. You let out a long, shuddering moan, your head thumping back into the pillow as your body stretched to accommodate his impressive size.

“God, you're so tight," he rasped into your ear, his voice breaking with the sheer force of his restraint. "Like you were made just to hold me.” Beckman didn't just stay still once he was inside. He settled his full weight onto you, his massive chest pressing your soft breasts flat against him. He wanted to feel the friction of your skin against his, the way your plush curves cushioned his hard angles. As he began to move, slow, deep thrusts that hit every nerve ending, his hands remained busy. One hand stayed tangled in your hair, guiding your head for his devouring kisses, while the other descended to your hip.

His calloused thumb traced the silver trails of your stretch marks with a rhythm that matched his thrusts. It wasn't just a touch, it was a worship. He loved the texture, the way your skin felt like velvet and silk under his rough palm. He trailed his mouth down from your lips to your collarbone, leaving dark, blooming marks in his wake. Then lower, to the swell of your breasts, catching a nipple between his teeth and tugging just enough to make you cry out.

You wrapped your legs as tightly as you could around his waist, your ankles locking behind his back. The extra weight of your thighs pressing him closer only seemed to spur him on. Every time your hips rose to meet him, he let out a low, animalistic grunt of approval. “That's it,” he groaned, his pace quickening as the friction built to a fever pitch. “Take all of me. Show me how well you can hold me, sweetheart.”

The cabin was filled with the sound of his heavy breathing, the rhythmic creak of the bed, and the wet, slapping sound of skin hitting skin. You felt completely surrounded by him by his intoxicating scent, his crushing weight, and the absolute certainty that, in this moment, there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be than lost inside the softness of your body.

All of a sudden though he decided to switch positions and the shift was sudden and powerful. One moment you were looking into his smoldering eyes, and the next, his large hands were under your hips, effortlessly flipping you onto your stomach. The feeling of the cool sheets against your front was a sharp contrast to the furnace-like heat of his body as he settled over your back.

Beckman let out a sound that was half-growl, half-sigh as he took in the sight of you from this angle. He didn't just see a body, he saw a masterpiece of soft curves and shimmering silver lines, making you shiver as he trailed a hand down your spine till he reached your ass giving it a squeeze that made you jolt and squeak. He let out a low chuckle before he guided himself back inside you with one heavy thrust that made you cry out into the pillow, your fingers clawing at the fabric. From this position, he was deeper, hitting spots that made your toes curl and your head swim.

His large, scarred hands reached around your waist, his fingers digging into your love handles. He didn't just hold them, he squeezed them with a possessive intensity, his thumbs tracing the soft dip of your waist and you were sure he'd leave marks. He leaned down, his chest crushing against your back, and began a trail of damp, biting kisses along your shoulders and spine while one hand squeezed the back of your thighs, right where your marks were most prominent.

He reached forward, his arms wrapping around you to grope and knead your breasts from behind. He was definitely enjoying the way you felt in his hands and before you knew it you cried out when you felt his teeth sink into your left butt cheek. “Listen to you,” he rasped against your ear, his voice thick with the coming storm. “So loud for me. I want the whole ship to know how good you feel. I want them to know I’m never letting you go.” Every time he thrust forward, his palms would squeeze your chest, his rhythm becoming more frantic, more primal.

You were lost in a haze of sensation, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress, the delicious sting from his bite, the friction of his rough palms on your soft skin, and the way he worshipped every ‘imperfection’ you had once hated. He made you feel like a goddess, a woman of beauty that a man like him would go to war for to protect.

His pace shifted from calculated to desperate. He began to pull back almost entirely before snapping home, his hips slapping against the plush curve of your backside with a wet, heavy sound. You were sobbing now, your breath coming in short, ragged hitches as the tension coiled tight in your gut.

“Beck—Beck, please!” You gasped voice raw. 

“I've got you,” he growled, his hands shifting from your breasts to your hips, steadying you so he could drive even deeper. “Cum for me, (Y/N). Let me feel you break.”

The tension snapped like a mast in a hurricane as Beckman drove into you one final, soul-searing time, his body went rigid. You felt the hot, pulsing evidence of his release fill you at the exact moment your own world dissolved into white light. You screamed his name into the pillow, your hips trembling uncontrollably as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. Beckman buried his face in the crook of your neck, a low, guttural roar vibrating through his chest and into your very bones.

For a long minute, the only sound in the cabin was the heavy, synchronized thrum of two hearts trying to find their rhythm again and the ragged sound of air returning to lungs. Gently, Beckman shifted his weight. He didn't pull away immediately, he stayed draped over you for a moment, a protective mountain of warmth, before sliding out and pulling you back against his chest in a spooning position. He tucked the duvet around both of you, his large arms wrapping around your waist, pulling your back flush against his front.

His calloused hand settled right back on your stomach, his thumb lazily tracing the soft skin he had so thoroughly worshipped. “You're quiet,” he murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble against your ear.

"Just... thinking," you whispered, the old flickers of doubt trying to resurface in the cooling air. “About everything you saw. Everything you touched.”

Beckman didn't let you spiral. He turned you in his arms until you were facing him, his hair a bit messy, his eyes soft with an intimacy he rarely showed the world. He took your hand and pressed it to his heart, then moved his other hand to rest firmly on your hip, his fingers dipping into the curve of your flesh.

“Look at me,” he commanded softly. When you met his gaze, there was no smirk, only a terrifyingly honest devotion. “I’ve spent my life on the sea, (Y/N). I know what’s valuable and what’s just flash. You think these marks or this weight are things to hide? To me, they’re the best parts of the map. I love your stretch marks. I love your thighs. I love your stomach. You… you’re mine. And I’m never letting anyone tell you you’re not desirable, because you’re exactly what I want.”

He leaned in, kissing your forehead, then your nose, then the corner of your mouth before finally pressing his lips fully against yours.. “There is nothing wrong with you. Not a goddamn thing,” he rasped. “I don't want any other woman. I want you. I want this. I want the way you feel in my arms at night. If you ever feel ashamed again, you remember how I looked at you today. Because I’m never going to stop wanting every single inch of you and I'm never letting you go again."

You felt a lump form in your throat, the weight of his words finally sinking in. He wasn't just saying it to be kind, Benn Beckman didn't have a dishonest bone in his body. He truly, deeply loved the skin you were in. He pulled the covers higher, tucking your head under his chin. “Now rest,” he grunted, though his touch was incredibly tender. “I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere, love.”

Crocodile

One of his favourites while he’s doing particularly boring paperwork, espeically if you’ve been needy. He has work to do and you both know it, but that doesn’t always ensure that he’s left alone. Sometimes you just want his attention, and that’s what you’ll get while he works his large cock inside you, and then he’ll neglect you entirely until he’s finished. It doesn’t matter how close or far from finishing his work he is when you ask, you will sit there until he’s done.

Crocodile won’t stop you moving, or trying to work him to orgasm, or yourself, he just keeps track of it all. For every movement, every moan, every plea, your punishment worsens. You know this, but that doesn’t mean it stops you. Eventually, he invested in a clicker, just something small but it makes an audible sound each time it’s used, a reminder of the threat looming in your future.

Mihawk

After prolonged periods of being away, there’s nothing Mihawk wants more than to keep you close, so of course it was only a matter of time before it became a habit. If he even went to the extent of going to buy a den den for you to keep at home just so he could call ahead of arriving so you could be prepped for him, well that was his business and his alone.

Mihawk is an incredibly patient man, so he can sit with you enveloping his cock for hours at a time, with little more than a hand on your hip to keep you still, preventing you from teasing him or getting yourself off. After all, it’d be no fun if it ended too quickly. No, he takes his time, and only when he is satisfied do you get any sort of release, no matter how much you beg.

Buggy

It’s rare that Buggy has the restraint required for something like cock warming, at least if he’s in charge. No, it’s far more likely to be successful if you physically take his cock elsewhere. But, when he is there, Buggy does try his best. He’s not got much of a cruel streak when it comes to punishing himself, so despite his best efforts, he never manages to keep you there long before he’s pounding into you instead.

When you’re left to your own devices with his detached cock though, that’s where the fun starts. You can use him freely with no idea where he is, or what you’re potentially interrupting. The fun is for you rather than him, but that’s how you both like it. He just wants to give you everything, his greatest treasure, and you like watching him struggle not to moan as you service his cock from a distance.

Shanks

Shanks like cockwarming before bed. On a night where you’re both going to bed mostly sober, he likes to rest your restraint by sitting you on his cock then striking up a normal conversation. He’ll talk about absolutely anything except the fact that he’s inside you, just to see how long it takes before you’re squirming, then whining, and then begging for him to fuck you. There’s just something about seeing you desperate that he really enjoys. Occasionally, it’s Shanks that will break first, particularly if he had a rough day before that moment.

Then, he’ll make you do the work. Shanks wants to see just how needy you really are, whether after all his teasing you’ll also ride him until you cum, coating him with your release, or if your limit is reached and you’ll beg until he turns you over and fucks you himself. It’s an equal balance between the two usually, since it really depends on the day you had before that.

Beckman

With a bit of an exhibitionist streak, Benn likes to cockwarm around the others. He’ll make sure you’re first to the main deck if he knows there’ll be a party later, or just a lot of drinking, and sit you there on his cock. If you want to move then that’s on you, but you’re far more likely to break than him, and it’s up to you if you want the others to realise what you’re doing.

He’ll have entirely normal conversation with the people around him, even as you’re clenching down around him in an attempt to make him show any sign of what you’re doing. Half the time, the crew already knows, they know the sort of man that Benn is after all. But that doesn’t stop him, or you, because the thrill of actually being caught is too great. Plus you don’t do it every time, so at any given moment the crew can’t be sure what you’re up to. Benn likes it like that.

Hongo

Some doctors probably prefer to keep their medbay free of shennaigans, but not Hongo. If you’re doing to do any cockwarming, Hongo will do it while rewriting appointment notes into the proper format for file keeping, or while he writes out a list for the supply run of things he needs to restock. He always makes sure to be prepared ahead of your arrival, creating work for himself so that when you arrive, he can sit you in his lap and leave you there.

More than once you’ve fallen asleep like that, head tucked into the crook of Hongo’s neck. While it is, of course, absolutely a sex thing, it’s also something you both take great comfort in. The familiarity and soothing nature of being close is something you value, which is why you so often do it in the medbay. That’s Hongo’s space, an area he has total control over, and therefore the best environment for you both to let go and relax a little, holding each other - he just also happens to be inside you.

Tag list: @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots @cainnoable @hyperfixationthingss @queenmimi2817 @fanaticsnail @mermaniaa

It was a game between you and Beckman, though not exactly as Gab described. Every week when the Sunday crossword came in the mail, you sat on your favorite seat in Benn’s cabin - his face. He’d eat you out and you’d try to focus on the puzzle, filling in as many answers as you could. As soon as you came you had to put the pencil down and hand over the puzzle to Benn, who would finish the rest. If you filled in more answers than he did, the agreement was that Benn would let you tease and edge him, a game he rarely let you play. And if he answered more of the clues, you’d be edged until Benn decided you had enough. It was a fun twist on a familiar puzzle - and both of you enjoyed either outcome. Or, you would, if you’d ever won. Beckman beat you week after week, your pussy getting the short end of the stick.

Even though you did actually like the outcome of losing, the competitive streak in you had you wanting to win. It was infuriating watching Benn easily answer the prompts that had stumped you - in pen! - and saunter away, your pussy still dripping from the edging. He often didn’t let you come until that night - or the night after, so your desire to win was particularly sharp. You weren’t bad at crosswords but Benn was better - and unmatched in his cunnilingus skills. 

In order to ensure your victory, you did the crossword every day the newspaper came and even bought an additional book of challenging puzzles at the last island. You’d practiced and practiced in secret, sure you were finally going to win against Beckman’s tongue. All you had to do was hold out against coming long enough to answer 65-70 clues. You’d even thought of a strategy - you were going to focus on the shorter clues at the outer edges of the puzzles, leaving the long middle answers for him to complete later. 

You were ready when you climbed on top of Beckman, mentally pumping yourself up to win your first victory against the first mate. He was lounging in his bed, his pants already tenting as he looked over your nude body. You sat on his chest as his warm, calloused hands pulled and kneaded the fat of your ass. 

“Ready to lose?” you taunted, a pencil behind your ear and the paper in your hand.

“Mmh. I’ll always win either way. C’mere,” he said, pulling you further up his body. Straddling his head, you took the pencil from behind your ear, your already dripping pussy hovering over his face. You shivered, just seeing the Sunday newspaper had you slick, you couldn’t wait for the main event. “No cheating, stop hovering,” he teased, a finger running up and down your slit before grabbing your hips. You huffed in pretend annoyance and lowered yourself gently onto his face, your nipples already stiffening from the low groan he emitted at the first taste of you. 

The clock was ticking as you began reading the “across” clues. Beckman wasn’t wasting any time, his hands holding your thighs as he ate at you like a starving man. Your juices weren’t yet dripping down his face and your thighs weren’t shaking but based on how you wanted to mewl as his nose met your clit, you didn’t have all that long.

Ok, four letter word for a royal’s chair? Easy, you thought, face. But instead you wrote the correct answer, “dais.” Beckman was making quick work of you, lapping at your folds with his strong jaw, settling in for the main event. You wanted to use one of your hands to grip onto his long hair and grind down onto his face but you needed to focus. The rules were that if you touched his body first, he was allowed to touch yours in return, and you didn’t want to give him any advantages. 

Four letter word for a type of exam? You wrote “oral” as Beckman worked his tongue into your hole while his hands were gripping your thighs to keep you in place. After a few moments while you squirmed, he moved you farther down so your clit was directly over his mouth. You started to close your eyes and pant as he suckled as your clit, your toes curling but remembered the game and moved on to the next clue.

Three letter word for what one did at a meal? Beckman shifted a little, his mouth now working at your clit with increased pressure from his tongue. You wrote “eat” in wobbly letters as you endured the torturous friction of his tongue. He was such a cheater, you thought, he knew that if he spent most of his time on your clit, you’d come faster. You’d mention it later and add it to the rules but the thought was lost as your breath hitched from his tongue laving at you. It wasn’t fair - you’d practiced so many times and yet Beckman was reducing you to little gasps by flicking his tongue over your clit, your hips rolling against his face as you held the newspaper in front of you. 

Five letter word for a place where one prays? You didn’t realize you spoke the clue out loud until you heard Benn answer.

“Pussy,” Beckman said from beneath you, his voice muffled by your body as his tongue began tracing the letters on your clit. 

“Nnh, that’s n-not it, they d-don’t print those words in the p-hah-paper,” you whined, tossing your hair as his tongue worked your clit just right. He hummed, which only served to intensify the feelings. You keened as he sucked your clit gently into his mouth and followed it with tender licks, interrupted occasionally by long, loud, messy swipes of his tongue over the whole area. 

You didn’t have time for this - you needed to focus and keep your eyes on the prize. Having Beckman writhing under you for once was a need, not a want. You buckled down and got to work, filling out as many as you could as your vision started to cloud at the edges. You were rocking, panting, moaning, but doing everything you could to keep from coming. The puzzle was fading from your brain as you attempted to finish another clue. 

Five letter word for _____ and going? You tried to gather your thoughts, to think of anything but Beckman’s tongue and mouth, as you groaned above him, using one hand on his shoulder to steady yourself. Something and going something and going, you chanted in your mind, trying to stave off the feeling you felt as the taut band in your lower belly wound tighter until one of Benn’s hands reached up to pinch your nipple. The pencil in your hand snapped as he thrust you into your orgasm, hissing and swearing as you ground yourself without abandon into Beckman’s face. 

“Nnh~ C-coming! Sh-shit, fuck fuck fuck Benn - so good fuck - I’m coming!” you screamed out as your thighs quivered around his head. Beckman’s only answer was to increase the stiffness of his tongue as you used it to ride your high, your juices now dripping down to the bedding below him. He wrapped a muscled arm around your waist to keep you in place, licking and sucking at you until you whined for him to stop. 

Panting, you swung your leg off him and laid next to him on the bed, your chest heaving and sweat dripping down your brow. For his part, Beckman looked the same as he did reading the paper - calm, cool, and collected. The only indication he’d expended any effort were your juices still dribbling down his chin.

“‘S’the last clue I did. ‘Coming,” you said in between deep breaths. Beckman ran his index finger through the slick on his face and popped it into your mouth. You sucked it, like you had so many times before, tasting your pleasure on his salty skin. Pulling it back out, Beckman gave you a lingering kiss before reaching for the now crumpled newspaper and pen he kept in his bedside table. 

“I’ll give it to ya, not sure it’s enough to turn the tides in your favor,” he hummed as you cuddled up to his chest, your pussy still dripping. Like every week, it took him seconds to zip through the clues, answering questions it would have taken you minutes to figure out.

“Now what’s a four letter word for ‘not found?” he teased. You groaned and covered your eyes with your forearm.

“FUCK!” you swore, your poor cunt already getting wet from the anticipated hours - maybe days - of being teased and denied orgasm. 

“Close, it’s ‘lost.’ My win again. You got 36, I got 94. Good work, you’re closing the gap,” he said with a devilish smile, folding the paper in half. He set the paper and pen back carefully on the table and grabbed you by one of your ankles. Pulling you towards him, he settled back in between your legs and nipped your upper thigh. 

“Let’s get you to say more words they don’t print in the paper.”

+ “Why did you block that attack for me?” He finally asks. 

+ “Was I not supposed to? You were gonna get hurt.” You replied, looking away, “I don’t want you to get hurt, because that’s what love is, right? I love you.”

+ Beckman stayed quiet and sighed, a hand over his eyes. He sat for another few minutes, then stood up and ruffled your hair gently. “It seems like you have a lot more to learn,” he says, walking out the room, relighting his cigarette. “That’s fine. We have all the time in the world.”

Ace:

- You stare at the boy in front of you, covered in bandages. The Marineford War just occurred a few days ago. He came to visit you the moment he woke up from his coma

- Tears stained his face as he hugged the cold grave stone in front of him, you reached out to wipe it away for him, but your hand went right through his face

- You didn’t understand his sadness, if love was protecting someone even if it meant death, shouldn’t he be happy that you died for him? It wasn’t like you stopped loving him

- Maybe it sounded good in your head when you thought he was going to remember you forever, but looking at his tears, and the dark circles under his eyes, you started to regret your decision a little

- Maybe he would be better off forgetting you

Commanding Presence, Unshakable ConfidenceBenn Beckman isn’t just any man. He carries himself with effortless authority. He doesn’t need to raise his voice to command attention, doesn’t need to be flashy to be dangerous. The weight of his presence alone is enough to make men hesitate—and enough to make you shiver when those sharp, knowing eyes land on you.

His gaze is piercing. He doesn’t just look at you—he sees you. Every nervous swallow, every little shift of your body, every shaky breath. And he smirks because he knows exactly what you’re thinking. His voice? It’s low, steady, rich like aged whiskey—roughened by experience, yet always controlled. A voice that makes your stomach tighten when he murmurs, “Relax, sweetheart. You’ll be just fine. Just need to get you nice and ready for me.” His movements? Precise, deliberate, calculated. When he touches you, it’s never hesitant. He knows exactly where to place his hands, exactly how to draw the reaction he wants. Benn Beckman is not a man who fumbles. And he sure as hell isn’t a man who rushes.

Patience is His Biggest WeaponBenn loves slow. He doesn’t just take his time—he makes you feel every second of it. He wants you craving him. He drags his fingertips over your skin, tracing over your collarbone, down the curve of your spine—just enough pressure to make your breath catch. He watches your reactions like a strategist analyzing a battlefield. Where do you shiver? What touch makes you tremble? What sound escapes your lips when he whispers against your neck?

He doesn’t just kiss you—he teases first. Lips hovering over yours, warm breath against your mouth, so close you can feel the heat radiating from his skin—but he doesn’t close the distance until he feels you get desperate for it. And when you finally break—when you start leaning into him, reaching for more—that’s when he finally gives you what you want.

Teaching You Exactly How He Likes ItBenn knows you’re inexperienced. And that just means one thing: he gets to mold you, guide you, shape you into the perfect little partner. He takes control—not forcefully, but naturally. His hands guide you where he wants you, positioning you with ease. He whispers instructions in that deep, gravelly voice. “Just like that, sweetheart. Nice and slow.” He’s endlessly patient. If you hesitate, if you fumble—he just chuckles, tilts your chin up, and says, “Don’t think too much. Just feel.”

He doesn’t just want you to follow his lead. In time, after he’s given you a little of his experience, he hopes you’ll take your own control—even if he will never relent easily. He wants to watch you fall apart beneath him, completely lost in the pleasure he’s giving you. He wants you to challenge him, try to coax him into giving more.

The Art of Ruining You with His MouthBenn Beckman does not half-ass anything. And that includes using his mouth on you. He starts slow. Soft, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, a rough palm pressing against your hip to keep you still. He teases you with his breath alone. Lips hovering over the most sensitive part of you, warm breath sending shivers through your spine—but he doesn’t touch you until he knows you’re aching for it.

When he finally does? He works you over with agonizing precision—slow, deliberate strokes of his tongue, pausing just to hear you whimper before diving back in. And when your thighs start shaking, when your hands twist in his hair, when your voice turns breathless and desperate? That’s when he pins you down harder, growling against your skin. That’s when he drags you over the edge—again and again—until you’re spent, gasping, and trembling beneath him.

And when he finally pulls away? He smirks down at you, thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lips. “Didn’t know you could make such sweet noises.” His mouth glistened with you. “Hope you’re not spent already, sweetheart. I’ve only just started.”

Your First Time with Benn—Heaven and Hell All at OnceIf it’s your first time, Benn treats it like a slow-burning ritual. He makes you comfortable first. You don’t even realize you’re relaxing until his deep voice rumbles, “That’s it. Let go.” He undresses you slowly. Calloused fingers grazing over bare skin, making you feel exposed, vulnerable—but never unsafe. He touches you everywhere first. Mapping your body, feeling every inch of you before he even thinks about taking things further.

And when he finally presses inside you? He groans, low and deep, as he watches you, he wants to engrave the moment he makes you his on his brain. He low key enjoys you struggling to take him. “Fuck, sweetheart… so tight.” He won't move. Instead he will work that sweet spot till you come around him, he wants to make you cry in relief when he moves slowly at first, deep and unrelenting, letting you feel every inch of him stretching you open. He holds your wrists down, keeping you steady, whispering praises into your ear between every slow, devastating thrust. He knows it hurts even if your not a virgin he knows you're inexperienced. You have never had anyone like him and never will again. You his. Benn doesn’t just fuck you—he claims you. And when you finally fall apart beneath him, gasping his name? He just chuckles darkly and kisses you slowly—dragging you under and over the edge over and again.

Okay I got side tracked— Kinks- Warning the man is kinky ASF

Sharing You: Watching and Holding You Down

There’s something about the unspoken bond between Benn Beckman and Shanks that makes them perfectly in sync when it comes to the bedroom. It’s not just about two men with their own desires; it’s about your pleasure, and how they both enjoy watching you unravel. Benn will only share you with Shanks—he's the only man he trusts around you.

Benn enjoys the thrill of control as he holds you down, his hands anchoring you firmly, keeping you exactly where he wants you. Where they both want you. He’ll tease you relentlessly, bringing you to the edge, making you beg for Shanks to take over.

Shanks isn’t shy about stepping in—he knows how to make you feel completely his. He guides you with a steady touch, his fingers pressing into your skin as he slides into you, while Benn whispers dark encouragement in your ear. “You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Let him take care of you.” His voice is low and thick with satisfaction as he watches Shanks fuck into you hard.

Benn loves watching you squirm, his gaze focused and intense, as Shanks continues. He’s fascinated by how you respond, how you become his, completely. “Look at how beautiful you are, taking both of us so well.” Benn enjoys the vulnerability you give them—sharing your body with them, but also receiving every ounce of pleasure they can give. After Shanks it will be his turn– or maybe he went first. Doesn’t matter they will be taking multiple turns after all.

2. Soft Dom with Wife Kink

Benn Beckman isn’t one to rush things. When he’s with you, he’s completely attuned to your needs, guiding you with a steady hand toward complete surrender. His dominance isn’t about force or aggression; it’s the subtle, unshakable control that exudes from every move he makes.

The wife kink is one of his favorite forms of adoration. He loves calling you his, claiming you as his wife, the one he will cherish, worship, and protect. He wants you to feel like you are the most important person in his world- and wear cute little things he can rip off you.

When he’s with you, the experience is slow, reverent, and never rushed. He wants you to feel every inch of connection. His voice softens when he speaks to you, murmuring things like, “My beautiful wife,” or “You’re everything to me.” His hands never leave your body, constantly exploring every curve, memorizing every inch of you.

When he takes you, his movements are controlled and deliberate—gentle, yet firm. Every thrust is a reminder of his love, devotion, and commitment to you.

3. Heat/Smoke Play

Benn has a unique relationship with heat, both in the literal and metaphorical sense. He enjoys the burn—the burn beneath his fingertips as he smokes. He’s fond of lighting candles, the flickering light casting shadows on your body. As the wax slowly drips down your skin, he delights in the contrast of heat against your coolness, spreading it with slow, teasing fingers.

But it’s not just about the wax. Benn loves smoke too. He’ll blow smoke across your body, watching the hot air curl and lick your skin like a soft caress. He enjoys the tension it creates, the burn lingering on your skin as his breath follows it. His favorite bit is blowing it against your spent core, watching you squirm at the sensation of the warm air on your sensitive flesh.

4. Praise and Reassurance Kink

What makes Benn Beckman so captivating is his ability to make you feel perfect, no matter what. Even in his most dominant moments, he’s constantly reassuring you, making sure you know that you’re wanted, safe, and cherished.

His voice softens as he praises you during the act, and every gentle stroke, every kiss serves as a reminder of just how deeply he feels for you. “You’re perfect for me, sweetheart. You feel so good—don’t worry, I’ve got you.” He’ll murmur it all as he moves over you, making you feel like you’re the center of his world.

“My baby girl,” he says between kisses, as he continues to worship your body, reminding you that you are his.

5. Exhibitionism

In private, Benn enjoys the thrill of knowing you’re his, and the act of being with you. It’s not about showing you off; it’s about the secret pleasure of possession—the deep satisfaction of making it known to the world that you belong to him.

He loves the idea of people hearing you. Not seeing but hearing, only he get to see it’s about owning you completely. Sure, people might be concerned when they hear you scream, but that’s exactly what he wants—he wants the world to know who you belong to.

It’s not just reserved for his cabin; Benn doesn’t care where he is—pubs, forests, alleyways, even other pirate ships—nowhere is off-limits when it comes to marking you as his. He loves seeing the marks, knowing that they’re left behind from your time together.

On occasion, he might even let Shanks watch. But only if Shanks behaves—it’s a little incentive to keep his Captain in line. If Shanks has been good, he gets to share you. If he’s not? Well, he might have to sit on the sidelines and just watch... or listen to you.