#one piece reader insert

ᅠᅠᅠᅠ∘˚˳° ｡⋆୨୧ ପ꒰⑅•ᴗ•｡꒱໊੭

You stared at the blinking cursor on your screen. At the few colored words in the familiar dark green background of your Python IDE. An importation of a bunch of libraries you had no clue of what they were for. Seven lines of code. Seven simple lines that seemed to mock your entire existence. You useless abomination. Can't even finish a simple Python assignment, one that all your classmates and friends can complete while sleeping. Look at them. They're all doing it perfectly. They even got recognized by their efforts and got a programming job in the second year of college. Meanwhile you can barely start a code by yourself without checking the professor's documents. You'll never amount to anything in your miserable, pathetic life. You're a burden to everyone you know, to this university, to your friends, if they even consider you their friend. To your parents, everything they know about you is a hoax. You can't be considered anything near smart. To Sabo. Oh god, Sabo. You shut your eyes hard, as if that action could shut off all your thoughts.

You feel a familiar, sickening pressure build in your chest at the thought of being a burden to him. A hot, expanding thing made of a despair so profound it was almost physical, like the other people in the study room could see it. You looked around. Everyone was silent, focused on doing their own things in their laptops. See? Everyone else is being productive while you can't even get past seven lines of code. Seven! Useless doesn't even cut it, you're gone way past that. Fraud. Pathetic. Failure. Disappointment.

And it's not like you do anything else, either. All you do is sleep and go to class. And even then, you zone out all the time. You have no justification to feel like this. You're living a life people would commit crimes for, and yet you can't get through the bare minimum, which is to make your family and Sabo proud for once.

I am rotten, you thought, the words a familiar, sickening comfort. I am rotten on the inside, and one day, everyone will know.

You stood up, your joints aching from sitting still for so long. You needed to go home. The urge was screaming and rushing through your entire body.

ᅠᅠᅠᅠ

Finally at your apartment, your hands were violently shuddering as you got the key out of your bag, opening the front door and rapidly closing it, you rushed to the dumpster you called your room. Its windows haven't been opened for months. Your clothes and textbooks thrown around as if a tornado came into your quarters. All shelves had a fine layer of dust. The smell of humidity was a constant you were oddly familiar with. The only sign that made your room look not completely abandoned was your unmade, chaotic bed. The place where you've recently started to waste your life away, staring at the walls while letting your self hatred consume you completely in the full darkness of your room. The desperation inside you an increasing presence then and now.

Sitting on it, you covered your mouth as a choked sob escaped your lips, tears falling off your eyes like rivulets. The self disgust was overwhelming, there was no space for anything else.

Rolling up the sleeves of your hoodie, you cried even harder at the sight of your arms. Healed white scars criss-crossed the outside of your forearms, these all being over three years old, back when you swore to yourself you would never touch a blade, ever again. The rest of your arm made that statement seem like a joke. On the inside of your wrists, red and pink raised scars outshined the faded ones. They were absolutely hideous, like a testament of your weakness and your absolute failure. Your stomach turned as revulsion, hot and acidic, clawed up your throat. You were looking at the arms of a monster. A creature so fundamentally broken it had to carve its own self-hatred into its own flesh.

Your fingers, trembling once again, reached into your bag, grabbing a black sharpie. You wanted to try something out before going all in. The chemical smell of its ink overflowing throughout the stuffy room as you uncapped it, writing in harsh, huge, messy letters Fraud. Useless. Burden. Vile. Failure. Pathetic. Disgusting. Rotten.

You stared at the words. A dark and jagged branding against the soft skin of your arms. It felt right. The real you, brought to the surface of your skin for anyone to see. But your self hatred still wasn't satisfied. You could scrub it off in a few minutes, with no marks left to warn everyone of your rottenness. It felt wrong. A cowardly form of manifestation of your self loathing. It couldn't ever replace the cold honesty of a blade. So you finally reached out to it, pressing it repeatedly to the few untouched patches of your skin until it built up blood.

At last, it was able to punish yourself appropriately. The controlled sting was a close friend who brought you clarity. The deep red blood, a representation of your rotten soul. You intensely sighed while staring at your arms, as you came into the shameful realization of how broken you truly were.

ᅠᅠᅠᅠ

Locked in the wave of your self hatred, you didn't notice the many missed calls and messages from Sabo, who had heard that you hurriedly left the university without even waiting for him. "If I were you, I'd check up on her. She looked… shaken up. Sad." said a frowning Koala, who had just run up to him. Perhaps you had been a little sad lately and hadn't told him? Now that he reflected on it, you seemed quiet, quieter than usual these last few weeks. He didn't think anything of it, you would tell him if something was wrong, right? Maybe not, he worriedly thought as he looked at the many unanswered texts. Something was clearly off.

Knocking on your front door, he realized that you hadn't locked it, the key forgotten on the floor inside your apartment. You definitely weren't fine, you would never forget to lock your door. Which made all of this even weirder in his eyes, his body slowly filling with worry. The air inside your apartment felt stale. All the blinds were closed, but some light still seeped through them, as it was still daytime. He called your name. No answer. Silently walking towards your room, his eyes widened at the sight he found you in. Your puffy face and bloody arms.

Time stopped. The world narrowed to the cold feeling of the blade between your fingers and Sabo's big, bug eyes, which looked even bigger with the surprise that overflowed in them now. The silence in your room felt suffocating.

All the blood drained from your face. Your chest felt like a black hole of dread, rapidly filling up. Horror brimmed in your eyes as you tried to yank your sleeves down, pathetically failing at even that. Too late to hide now. He saw it. He's seen all of you. It's over. He will never see you the same way ever again. He won't even tell you that you both will break up, he will just shut that door so hard and so rudely before never looking at your face anymore. And you will deserve every single bit of his hate and disgust.

"What are you doing in here," you choked, your voice sounding raw from all the crying. "How did you get here. Get the fuck out, Sabo!" Every second of his silence felt like a knife that somehow went even deeper than any of your blades and hurt so, so much more.

He didn't move. Sabo stood frozen in the doorway, his face draining of color as he took in your state. You looked so sad. So broken. So terrified. The light in his eyes went away, replaced by a realization so devastating and so incredibly full of pain. Pain that you caused him. He slowly got closer to your bed. You violently flinched, "Don't look at me. Please. Look away."

Sabo couldn't stop looking. He couldn't take his eyes off the evidence of your self hatred, all carved and written on your own flesh. Focusing on the words you wrote, tears spilled down his face.

"Why? Why would you do th-" he started, choking on his own words. "How long has this been going on?"

You started shaking your head nonstop, while tears continued to come down, hot and ugly. Your whole body was shaking. "I don't- I can't-"

"How long?"

"Since middle school." The words came out in a rush, as if you couldn't keep them inside for any longer. "It got worse during high school. And then I stopped after I graduated. 'Cause everything was fine for a while. But then reality started crashing down on me. It got so much worse. I thought I had everything under control but I actually don't! I'm such a failure, I can't even write a fucking line of code! But I have always known about it all along. It's always been engraved inside of me. That I'm useless, a waste of space, that the time I was actually clean was just me living on borrowed tim-"

He pulled you into his arms before you could finish. He couldn't keep hearing you talk about yourself like this any longer. You fought him, weakly, but he didn't let go, only hugging you tighter, as if you would disappear if he let go. He held you against his chest and let you sob into his shoulder, your tears soaking through his shirt, your hands gripping the back of it like it was the only solid thing in a world that had entirely turned to water.

"I'm sorry," you kept saying. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry you had to see me like this. I'm so sorry-"

"Stop apologizing."

"You don't get it. I'm rotten. I'm rotten on the inside, Sabo. My scars are just- they're just an extension of what my inside- my soul looks like. But what's inside is so much worse. I'm so ugly. I'm so disgusting. I hate myself so much it feels like I'm genuinely choking on my self hate. It's all I can feel. I'm a collection of failures wrapped in rotting, ugly skin. This is the only way I can redeem myself. I only go to college and sleep, nothing else. And I'm failing at even that. I hate my major. I hate everything about computers. I hate coding. Everything about it is just like some sort of extinct language. Nothing makes fucking sense. I'm horrible at it. I can't do anything right. But I love you Sabo. I love you so, so much. I never meant for you to find out about this. I'm so deeply sorry that you found out about this."

He held you impossibly tighter at your confession. His own face was fully wet now. His shoulders were shaking. "You're not rotten. You're not disgusting. You're not any of the things you say you are or write. You need help. And I'm so, so sorry I didn't see it sooner."

"You can't help me. No one can. I'm way too far gone for any of that."

"Watch me. I'll prove you wrong."

ᅠᅠᅠᅠ

Sabo cleaned your cuts with nervous, but steady hands, sitting on your bed using the first aid kit you hid under your bed, fully stocked. Because of course it was frequently restocked, because you had been managing this huge secret by yourself for years. Because of course you had learned how to care and bandage your wounds, so you wouldn't burden anyone with infections or bloodstains.

You sat silent and hollow eyed, staring at him without blinking, you feared that if you did, even for just a fraction of a second, you'd miss any hatred or disgust in his eyes. There was none. Only a raw, deep sadness mixed with grief. Grief for not knowing about any of this until now. Grief from all the pain and suffering you went through during all these lonely years. Grief from all the times you smiled and laughed loudly with him while hiding deep scars and hurt. You flinched at his work with saline, but you didn't pull away.

When you thought he was done, he produced a soft cloth and erased the words written on your skin, one by one, with a touch so impossibly gentle, as if you were made of porcelain, his eyes tearing up again at the process as he read all of them again. Then, he wrapped your arms in clean bandages, just tight enough to protect your cuts from the outside world, rolling down your sleeves and holding his hands firmly in yours. With a determined look, he started, with a shaky breath.

"You're my entire world. Do you understand that? This isn't a burden you're putting on me. You're not a burden. I can't ever imagine my life without you." He stops to catch his breath, tracing gentle circles over your knuckles with his thumb.

"But it hurts me deeply that you hate yourself this badly. 'Cause I know you don't deserve to bear it. I can't ever lose you to yourself, to your own mind. You're everything to me." Locking his eyes with yours, he continued.

"I love you so much. This–your scars, your self hate–changes nothing between us. Okay? Those things would never make me love you any less. The only thing that changes between us is that I'm going to be here, every day, reminding you that you are more than your pain. More than your scars. That you deserve to feel the love people feel for you. That you deserve to feel enough. For yourself. I see you. The you buried under all this hurt. And I'll always be here for you. On the good days, the bad days, the worse days, especially the days you can't find a single reason to stay. I'll be your reason until you can find your own. You're not alone in this. Not anymore and never again." He gently lifts your wrist and presses his lips softly to the covered bandages, as if he could kiss the hurt away.

You completely broke. Your face crumbled as you leaned into him, sobbing into his chest, one of his hands cradling the back of your head and the other at the small of your back. Holding you tight, his warmth surrounded you like a promise. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, a gesture so tender it made your heart crack open.

"You're going to be okay," he murmurs. "I'll help you find a major that doesn't make you want to carve the word 'useless' into your arm. I'm not going anywhere. I'll always be by your side, in whatever you choose to do."

You cried for a long time after that. But for the first time in years, your tears felt less like drowning and more like a release. And through all of it, Sabo held you, a steady, unwavering presence in the dark, promising a dawn you're not quite ready to believe in, but are tentatively willing to wait for.

ᅠᅠᅠᅠ

ᅠᅠᅠᅠ

ᅠᅠᅠᅠ∘˚˳° ｡⋆୨୧ ପ꒰⑅•ᴗ•｡꒱໊੭

The first time Sabo met her, it actually felt kinda anticlimactic. It didn't happen in the lecture hall or the library or any of the usual places where these things supposedly happen. It was in the elevator of the STEM building, and he only noticed her because she was impossible not to. She wasn't loud or wearing anything flashy. At least, not in the conventional sense. Actually, if you passed her on the street and didn't really look at her face, you would only register a blur of blue and dark beige and think "oh, she’s probably a student".

But Sabo is so, so perceptive, he trained himself to pay attention to every single little thing. To survive a world that tried very hard to make him invisible. He noticed details the way other people noticed neon signs inches away from their faces.

And every detail about the girl standing in the corner of the elevator, hands clasped tight in front of her while holding her phone, felt like a quiet, deliberate statement of her existence.

Her hair was pulled back into a hairstyle so sleek and perfect it looked almost sculptural, with not a single flyaway strand escaping it. Resting on her nose were wayfarer-shaped prescription glasses with completely transparent frames, the kind that should have been unremarkable, but they somehow drew even more attention to her sharp and intelligent eyes, that were currently fixed on the elevator's floor numbers with a kind of detached patience.

Then there's the most noticeable thing about her. A 3M Aura mask, white, professional grade, with sturdy head straps; one that looped around the crown of her head and the other one at the base of her neck, precisely sealing her face away from the outside world.

The rest of her outfit felt elegant, but in a cozy way. She was wearing a dark blue cardigan, soft-looking, just the perfect size for her, closed over a blue button-up shirt buttoned all the way up to the collar. The sleeves carefully and methodically folded up, by just a tiny bit to look comfortable. It was paired with a short, dark beige skirt. Her polished black mary janes with a single strap across it, contrasting the long white socks under. The whole ensemble was almost aggressively put together, like a uniform she had chosen for herself, and it radiated kind of a quiet, unapologetic intentionality, while also looking... Absolutely adorable.

Absolutely adorable? Sabo found himself thinking while observing her. Cataloging the way the elevator lights caught the frames of her transparent glasses. The way her hands gripped her phone with a tension that suggested she was aware of everyone else in the confined space. The way her breathing was slow and even, the mask's material barely moving.

The elevator dinged. Fourth floor. She stepped out without looking at anyone, eyes fixed on the floor, and disappeared around the corner towards the IT labs.

Sabo remained in the elevator for a full three seconds after the doors closed, then jabbed the button for the fifth floor, and let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding, while reflecting confusedly on the person he just met.

"Huh?"

ᅠᅠᅠᅠ

He saw her again three days later, in the main campus' coffee shop. The one that was always overcrowded and smelled like desperation for the upcoming exams. Sabo was tasting a black coffee at a corner table, while pretending to read through a political science paper he'd already memorized word for word, for his homework, when the door opened and a figure in dark blue caught his eye.

It was her. Same perfect hairstyle, same transparent glasses, same mask. She had a brown laptop bag slung over her shoulder, a serious-looking thing with reinforced corners and a prominent "Fragile" sticker on the side. The girl ordered her drink, a hot chocolate, without removing her mask, and she took it with a shy nod of thanks and retreated to a table near the window.

She didn't drink it right away. Instead, she pulled out her laptop, a sleek, silver model covered in stickers, such as Python logos, a Linux penguin, some cute cats, a few of those aesthetic lyric ones with songs he didn't recognize, and a small sticker that read 'I'm not antisocial, I'm just not user-friendly'. "Huh. So nerdy. Cute." he thought, while she began typing, her fingers flying across the keyboard with the kind of speed and precision that could only come from years of practice.

Sabo tried to go back to his paper. He really tried. But his eyes kept drifting over to her table, to the way she occasionally paused to push her glasses up her nose (a gesture that was unconscious, apparently, since they hadn't slipped at all), to the way she checked the fit of her mask with a quick, practiced adjustment every few minutes, to the way her eyes narrowed slightly when she was working through a difficult part of her code. He was absolutely fascinated by her.

There was just something about that girl... He couldn't put a finger on it. She was just so hard to look away from. She had half of her face covered by a whole industrial-grade respirator, for fuck's sake. And yet. She was just so, so, charming in her own way.

He wanted to know her name. He wanted to know why she wore the mask and if it was just for health reasons or something more, something that matched the careful and deliberate way she seemed to navigate through the world. He wanted to know what her voice sounded like, what her smile looked like, if she had a sense of humor or if she was just as serious as her style suggested.

But instead, he watched her pack up her laptop exactly 45 minutes later, the motion somehow breaking Sabo's trance of staring at her. Her hot chocolate basically untouched, except for a single sip taken with a quick and efficient motion of lifting her mask just enough to bring the straw to her lips, and then resealing it back immediately. She wiped down her table with a sanitizing wipe she pulled from her bag, dropped it in the trash, and walked out without looking at anyone.

Sabo stared at his now cold coffee and realized he hadn't even started his homework. Fuck.

ᅠᅠᅠᅠ

By the end of the week, Ace noticed something was clearly wrong with him.

They were in their shared apartment, a small and chaotic space that somehow fit Sabo and his brothers perfectly. An organized mess, you could call it. His books and papers stacked in careful towers, Luffy's video games and snack wrappers scattered everywhere, Ace's always fully packed messenger bag by the door as if he was always ready to leave by a moment's notice. Sabo was supposed to be helping Ace study for his marine biology midterms, but instead, he was staring at the ceiling, his hands on the back of his head, his textbook open and forgotten on his lap.

"Dude." Ace snapped his fingers in front of Sabo's face. "You've been weird all week. What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit." Ace flopped onto the couch next to him, throwing the textbook far away, into a pile of something Sabo doesn't even want to think about. "Is it the family thing again? Because I told you, we can-"

"It's not the family thing." Sabo cut him off, in a very direct way. The family thing was a whole other can of worms, one they had all agreed not to touch upon unless absolutely necessary. Sighing deeply, he said, "It's... Complicated. So. There's this girl-"

Ace's eyebrows shot up so fast they practically disappeared into his hairline. "A girl? You?? The guy who's always so against relationships???"

"I didn't say anything about a relationship. I just said there's a girl."

"Basically the same thing, coming from you." Ace leaned forward, smirking, "Who is she? What's her major? Is she hot?"

Sabo thought about the girl in the elevator, in the coffee shop, and that he had spotted her twice more since then. Once in the library, sitting at a computer terminal with rod-straight posture, and once walking across the campus with an umbrella held tight on her hand, despite the fact that it wasn't raining. Frowning, he said, "I don't know... I don't know her name. I've never spoken to her."

"You've never spoken to her and you're already this far gone?" Ace let out a low whistle, his eyes open very wide. "She must be something else."

"She wears a mask," Sabo said, and immediately felt stupid for leading with that, physically cringing, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "Like. One of those very professional respirators, with the head straps. And she always has her hair in this very formal, kind of, hairstyle, always slicked back methodically away from her face," saying all of that while gesturing with his hands, "and her outfits are really put-together, like she thought a lot about every single thing she wears. She's an IT major, I think. I saw her going to the IT floor many times."

Ace stared at him for a long moment, blinking. "You have never spoken to her, but already know she always wears expensive masks, how she does her hair, her major, and the fact that her outfits are 'intentional.'" He made air quotes around the last word. "Holy shit. You're down bad."

"I-I'm just curious," Sabo corrected, but even to his own ears it sounded weak. "She's... Interesting. Different."

"How so?"

Sabo struggled to put it into words. How could he explain that she always seemed to move through the world like she was both bracing for impact and refusing to flinch? How every detail of her appearance seemed like a carefully constructed boundary, but her eyes were always sharp and observant, like she's never missed a single detail of everything that's going on around her?

"She's private," he said finally. "But not in a cold way. More like... She's always protective of herself, I guess? And I want to know why. And I want to know if she'd let me in. I guess the perfect word to describe her would be deliberate. Literally everything about her feels calculated."

Ace was quiet for a moment, his usual chaotic energy turned into something far more serious. "Well, clearly. If she really wears a mask like that everywhere she goes to, like you say she does, she's obviously protecting herself from something. Like, you know, curious people like you. She probably wears that 'cause she doesn't want to talk to people unless necessary. You know how these STEM-major people are. Antisocial as fuck. It lowkey scares me. But you know what? I support you. You and your weird ass tastes. If you really want to get that mask girl, go for it. IT major, right? So, that means you're in the same building almost all the time. You're a law and political science major, your classes are literally on the floor above hers. Make it happen."

Sabo was a bit surprised by his response, frowning a bit more while thinking. He didn't want to seem like he was intruding on her personal space, like he only wanted to know about her because of her mask and pure curiosity of what's behind it. Still, he was shocked on the inside by his older brother's support. So, he really could make things happen? He was good at it. He had gotten into university on a full scholarship despite his complicated family situation. He had built a life for himself and his brothers out of nothing but sheer determination and a refusal to give up. He could figure out how to talk to this one girl.

One girl who wears a respirator mask and sleek hairstyles and preppy clothes and who was slowly, inexplicably, taking up more and more space in his thoughts. Just one girl, and yet, it had to be the most unreachable girl ever.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "Maybe I will."

ᅠᅠᅠᅠ

The opportunity came sooner than he expected, in the form of a campus-wide network outage that sent the IT department into chaos and left Sabo hanging in the middle of a research session with an essay due in 48 hours and no access to the online legal databases he needed.

He found her in the IT help center, with a handful of other tech students receiving complaints from panicked students and faculty. She was behind the main desk, her mask sealed in place, as always, her hair as sleek as ever, typing furiously on a desktop computer while three different people tried to get her attention.

"No, it's not just you." she was saying to a professor who was gesturing wildly to her. Her voice was... Not what Sabo had expected. He had imagined something soft and timid. But instead, her voice was low, calm and notably steady, with a dry edge to it that suggested she'd already explained this multiple times. "The entire campus' network is down. Yes, including the Wi-Fi. No, I don't know when it'll be back up. When I know, you'll know."

The professor mumbled something about deadlines and late salaries and stormed off. The girl didn't even watch him go. She was already turning to the next person in line, a freshman who looked like he was about to cry.

"My paper-"

"Is it saved locally or on the cloud?"

"I don't-"

"Is there a copy on your hard drive? On your desktop? In a folder that isn't synced to an online service?"

"I think so? Maybe? I don't remember-"

She let out a slow breath that wasn't quite a sigh. "Okay. When the network comes back up, come find me. I'll help you recover it. For now, write down everything you remember on a paper. The network won't be down forever, and even if we can't recover the cloud version, we might be able to pull an archived copy."

The freshman nodded, looking slightly less panicked, and stumbled away. The girl turned to the next person in line, which happened to be Sabo.

Her eyes met his. Up close, they were a shade of brown so dark they were almost black, and they flickered over him with a quick, assessing glance, taking in his creased button-up shirt, his own clear-framed prescription glasses (he had started wearing them more often, for reasons he did not want to reflect upon), the laptop clutched under his arm.

"Network issue?" she asked, and her voice was slightly flatter now, the customer service politeness fading away with her patience. A sign of tiredness, he noted, and flinched mentally at the thought.

"Yeah... Something like that." He set his laptop on the counter between them. "I'm actually looking for a workaround. I need access to Westlaw for a legal research essay, and obviously the campus VPN is down with everything else. I was wondering if there's a way to route through a different server, or if there's a local cache of the databases somewhere. I know the law library used to have them on DVD form, but I'm not sure if that's still a thing."

Something shifted in her eyes. The flat politeness sharpened into something more engaged, more interested. "You're not going to yell at me about how this is ruining your future grades?"

"I figured you didn't cause the outage, so yelling at you would be pretty much pointless. And it would make me look like an asshole."

"Huh." She tilted her head slightly, raising her eyebrows, and he could have sworn the mask moved in a way that suggested a smile beneath it. "You'd be surprised of how many people don't reach that conclusion. Let me see your laptop."

He slid it across the counter. She opened it, and he noticed her slender fingers, with nails slightly longer than average and no polish, moving across the keyboard with practiced efficiency. "Law student?"

"Double major. Law and political science."

"That explains the Westlaw. Most people on this campus don't even know what it is." She was typing now, pulling up command prompts and network settings, her eyes scanning hundreds of lines of code and IP addresses with the speed and familiarity he associated with her area of expertise.

"Okay. So the campus network is completely fried. Someone in the admin building unplugged the wrong thing, I guess, or maybe we got hit with a cybernetic attack, or-honestly, it could be anything. But the local private network is still up, which means..." She trailed off, frowning at the screen. "Which means the law library's internal server might still be accessible. They have a cached version of Westlaw that updates weekly. It won't have the absolute latest cases, but if you're doing a research essay, it should have enough."

"That's perfect. How do I access it?"

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she reached into the same laptop bag he'd seen before and pulled out a sticky note and a pen. She quickly wrote something down, her cursive handwriting big and round, and slid it across the counter to him. An IP address. A set of login credentials. And at the bottom, a string of numbers and letters that looked like a network path.

"This should get you in," she said. "It's technically a backdoor the IT department uses for maintenance, so don't go spreading it around. And it'll only work while you're physically connected to the law library's ethernet ports, so you'll need to go there. But it should help you for now until the main network is back up."

Sabo looked at the note, then at her. "Thank you. Seriously. You just saved my paper."

"It's my job." Her eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, and he got the distinct impression that she was smiling. "Good luck with the paper."

"Thanks." He hesitated, the paper clutched in his hand. This was the moment. He could ask her name, introduce himself, something. But the line behind him was growing, and she was already turning to the next person, and the moment slipped away before he could grab it.

He walked to the law library with the sticky note burning a hole in his pocket and her handwriting imprinted on the inside of his eyelids.

ᅠᅠᅠᅠ

After that interaction, he started seeing her everywhere. Or maybe he was just looking for her more carefully. Maybe he had always been seeing her, a figure in muted colors and a white mask, and now he was just paying attention.

He learned her schedule through fast absorption and observation. She was in the IT floor most mornings, either in the labs or the help center. She ate lunch alone at a table in the corner of one of the break rooms, always with her laptop open, always eating something she had brought from home in a glass container.

She never removed her mask to eat in public. Instead, she would slip the food under the mask one bite at a time, in a motion that felt rehearsed and deeply private.

He learned her name the week after the network outage. He was in the library, researching for another paper, when he heard someone call out "Y/N!" and saw her turn. Y/N. He rolled the name around in his head, testing how it felt. It suited her.

He learned that she was brilliant. He already knew she was an IT major, but he hadn't realized the extent of it until he overheard a conversation between two of her professors in the faculty lounge. One of them was exclaiming about a student who had found a critical vulnerability in the university's registration system and reported it responsibly instead of exploiting it. The other asked who it was, and the first professor said her name with the kind of admiration usually reserved for colleagues, not undergraduates.

He also learned that she was kind. Well, in her own, shy ways. He watched her spend 20 minutes helping an elderly professor set up a two-factor authentication on his email, her patience never wavering even when he kept forgetting his password. He saw her give her hot chocolate to a crying junior who had just failed a midterm, pressing the cup into her hands with a brief, quiet, "Chocolate helps. Statistically speaking." He noticed the way she always held the door for people behind her, the way she sanitized her table not just for herself but for whoever came next, the way she left detailed notes on the whiteboards in the IT labs for students who were struggling with the same problems she'd already solved.

And he learned that she was fiercely, unapologetically private in a way that went beyond mere introversion and shyness.

He started noticing the small things. The way she flinched almost imperceptibly when someone got too close to her in a crowd. The way she always positioned herself with her back to a wall, her eyes on the exits. The way she cleaned her workspace with the kind of thoroughness that suggested it wasn't just about germs. The way the respirator didn't feel like just a mask to her and more like some sort of armor.

That realization made him feel a deep sadness for her. But at the same time, it made him want to know her even more. He needed to be very careful about how he approached her, because someone who wore armor that tight so consistently was someone who had been hurt badly before.

ᅠᅠᅠᅠ

On a rainy thursday, Sabo was leaving the engineering building after a late study session when he saw her standing under the canopy by the entrance, staring out at the pouring rain with an expression of quiet sadness. She was wearing a different cardigan today, in a dark green color, with a short brown pleated skirt and her usual white socks and mary janes. Her mask was in place, her hair was perfect, and she was holding her laptop bag with both hands like she was considering making a run for it. Surprised, he felt like the universe finally gave him a good chance. He better not fuck it up, he thought.

"Forgot your umbrella?" he asked, stopping beside her.

She glanced at him, and he saw the moment of recognition in her eyes. "You're the Westlaw guy."

"Sabo." He held out his hand, then hesitated, wondering if she'd be uncomfortable with the contact. But she reached out and shook it, her grip firm and brief. "And yeah, I'm the Westlaw guy. You're Y/N, right? You saved my paper."

"You saved your own paper. I just gave you an IP address." She looked back out at the rain. "And yes, I forgot my umbrella. I checked the forecast this morning, it said there was a 10% chance of precipitation."

"10% means there's still a chance."

"Statistically, it means there's a 1 in 10 probability. I took a calculated risk." She sighed, looking down. "I calculated wrong."

Sabo laughed, and he saw her eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. "I have an umbrella," he offered. "A big one. I could walk you wherever you're going."

She hesitated, and he saw the wariness creep back into her posture. The slight step back. The way her grip tightened on her bag. "I don't want to inconvenience you."

"It's not an inconvenience. My apartment's off campus anyway, I have to walk through the rain regardless."

Another pause. She was weighing something behind her eyes, some internal calculation he couldn't see. Then she nodded, a small, precise movement. "Okay. I'm going to the STEM building. There's a server maintenance task I need to finish before tomorrow."

"Server maintenance, huh. Sounds important."

"It's actually very tedious," she corrected. "But necessary."

They walked together under Sabo's large black umbrella. She stayed carefully on her side of it, not quite touching him, but close enough that he could smell something faint and clean-soap, maybe? Or laundry detergent? No perfume. Of course, perfume could probably interfere with the mask's seal. That reminded him...

"Can I ask you something?" Sabo said as they walked.

"Sure. I reserve the right not to answer."

"That's fair. Why the mask?"

She was quiet for a long moment, the rain drumming on the umbrella above them. When she spoke, her voice was careful, measured. "Well, I don't have any conditions that require me to wear one. At least, not on paper. But, I do have a weaker immune system. I get more sick than the average person, and allergies hit me a lot harder. I get them way more frequently too, and without the mask I become a sniffling mess every day. Which is disgusting. So it helps."

"Oh. Makes sense."

"But- That's not the only reason," she continued, hesitating, and there was something almost challenging in her voice now, like she was testing him. "I also just... Like it. The mask. It makes me feel safer. Less exposed. I know that probably sounds weird."

"It doesn't sound weird."

"It sounds a little weird."

"Okay, it does sound a little weird. But I get it." He shifted the umbrella slightly to block a burst of windy rain. "I have my own things. Armor, I guess you could call it? Just not as visible as yours."

She looked at him then, really looked at him, her dark eyes scanning his face like she could read his mind. "You're not what I expected."

"Really? What did you expect?"

"Someone more... Performative. You have a reputation around campus, you know? The charming law student who somehow knows everyone. Student government, debate team, that academic article that showed up in the campus paper last month about student privacy rights and that literally everyone was talking about. You're very..." She paused, searching for the word. "Polished."

"Ouch."

"It's just an observation. Don't take it as an insult, it isn't necessarily bad. It's just not usually genuine."

"And you think I'm genuine?"

"I'm reserving judgment." But her eyes crinkled again, and he was starting to recognize that as her version of a smile. "Ask me something else."

"Okay. Then why the sleek hairstyles? I mean, you always wear it up in an almost aggressive way."

This time, there was no hesitation. But he could tell she was caught off guard by the 'aggressive'. "Practicality. Long hair gets in the way when I'm working. It catches on things and blocks my peripheral vision. Also, I can't wear a headstrap mask with my hair down. Tampers with the seal."

"Oh. You have really thought about all this."

"I've thought about everything." She said it matter-of-factly, without any speck of embarrassment. "Every choice I make about my appearance is deliberate. The clothes, the hair, the mask. I don't do things without a reason."

Sabo thought about his own carefully curated appearance: the expensive, but wrinkled shirts, the perpetually messy hair, the easy smile that he'd perfected over years of navigating social situations he'd never been prepared for. "I think we might be more alike than you would expect."

She didn't respond to that, but she didn't deny it either.

They reached the STEM building, its dark windows reflecting the gray sky. She stopped under the canopy by the entrance, and Sabo stopped with her, the umbrella still held over both of them even though they were out of the rain.

"Thank you," she said. "For the walk. And the umbrella."

"You're welcome. Good luck with your server maintenance."

"It doesn't require luck. Just patience. And caffeine, too. I guess." she said the last part silently.

"Well, good luck with those, then."

She huffed a small laugh, the first actual laugh he'd heard from her, a quiet exhale that fogged the edge of her glasses and wrinkled her eyes for just a moment. "Goodbye, Sabo."

"Goodbye, Y/N."

She disappeared into the building, and Sabo stood there for a long moment, the rain performing its rhythm on the umbrella, a stupid grin starting to spread across his face.

Oh, he was so fucked.

ᅠᅠᅠᅠ

After that day, things began to shift. Not in a dramatic way. Y/N didn't suddenly start seeking him out or greeting him enthusiastically across the campus. But she didn't avoid him either. When they passed each other on the corridors, she'd give him a small nod of acknowledgment. Nothing more, nothing less. When he ended up in the IT help center again (this time with a legit question about accessing a legal database from off campus), she answered his questions with the same dry competence as always, but her eyes lingered on him a beat longer than necessary.

And once, memorably, she sought him out. He was in the library, hunched over a stack of case law papers, when a shadow fell across his table. He looked up to find Y/N standing there, her laptop bag over one shoulder, her mask and glasses and sleek hair all perfectly in place. She was wearing a long sleeved navy dress today, with her usual white socks and mary janes. She looked like a particularly stylish librarian, or a very cute and gorgeous student about to do one of those completely performative studying sessions in an overpriced coffee shop, holy shit, he's surely drifting off.

"I have a question," she said, no hesitation present in her voice, as always.

"Okay." He gestured to the chair across from him. "Have a seat."

She sat, but on the edge of the chair, like she might need to leave at any moment. "You wrote that academic article last month. About student privacy rights and the university's data collection policies."

"I did."

"How much do you actually know about the legal framework? Or were you just summarizing talking points?"

Sabo blinked. Most people who'd read his research paper had either praised it excessively or had given it harsh criticisms. No one had ever questioned his actual knowledge in this quite formal tone. It was lowkey refreshing.

"I know the framework pretty well," he said. "State privacy laws. There's also a patchwork of federal regulations around data collection from educational institutions. And there are some interesting precedent cases around student data and third-party dealers. Why?"

She pulled out her laptop and set it on the table between them. "Because I've been doing some digging into the university's new learning management system. The one they rolled out at the beginning of the semester."

"The one everyone's been complaining about?"

"That one. The interface is terrible, but that's not why I'm here for. My concern is the data." She pulled up a document on her screen. Pages and pages of technical analysis that made Sabo's head dizzy. "The system collects significantly more data than it needs to function. Location data, browser history, device information, even keystroke patterns. It's all deep into the tiny letters in the terms of service that no one reads, but it's there. And the suppliers they're using have a history of selling student data to third parties."

Sabo sat up straighter. "Oh shit, that's a pretty serious allegation."

"Well, I wouldn't consider it an allegation." Her eyes were sharp behind her glasses. "It's a real thing. I've been documenting it for weeks. I've already filed a report with the IT department, but they're dragging their feet because the supplier contract is worth a lot of money and the administration doesn't want to deal with it."

"And you want to do something about it."

"I want to know what our legal options are. If the university is violating student privacy rights, there should be some kind of resort. Maybe a formal complaint to the department of education, or a state regulatory body. But I don't know the legal landscape well enough to figure out where to start."

Sabo looked at her, in a slightly surprised way. She had found something important, something that could affect every student on campus, and instead of just complaining about it or hoping someone else would fix it, she'd done the research and was now actively seeking out the tools she needed to make the change happen.

He'd never been this attracted to anyone in his entire life. Oh, he's so, so utterly fucked, he thought.

"Okay," he said. "Let me look through what you've got. I can't give you official legal advice since I'm not a lawyer yet, but I can help you figure out what laws might apply and where to file complaints."

"Really?" For the first time since he'd met her, she looked almost... Surprised. Like she'd expected him to brush her off or tell her it wasn't his problem. "You would do that?"

"You're trying to protect students' privacy rights. That's literally what my research was about. Why wouldn't I help?"

"Most people don't actually follow through on their stated morals when it requires work."

"Well, I'm not like most people."

She stared at him for a moment, and then, guess what, she reached up and adjusted her glasses in a way that seemed almost... Flustered. "No," she said quietly. "I'm starting to realize you're really not."

ᅠᅠᅠᅠ

Because of that, they started meeting each other regularly. It began as purely professional collaborations, him helping Y/N navigate the legal aspects of her data privacy concerns, her helping Sabo understand the technical side of the issue so he could write more informed academic papers and, eventually, a formal complaint to the relevant regulatory bodies. They'd meet in the library or the STEM building or, occasionally, the coffee shop where Sabo had first watched her work.

But, somewhere along the way, the conversations started to drift.

It started out small. Y/N would mention a book she'd been reading, and Sabo would ask about it, and suddenly they'd be thirty minutes deep in a discussion about science fiction or philosophy or the ethics of AI and the use of it during college. Sabo would mention his brothers; Ace and his chaotic energy and Luffy and his bottomless stomach and his inexplicable ability to make friends with literally anyone. And she would listen with what seemed like genuine interest, occasionally asking questions that suggested she was actually paying attention.

He learned more about her, the small details that didn't fit into her carefully curated public image. She had a cat, a grumpy persian named Ada (because of course she named her cat after the first ever programmer, which was a woman!). She was allergic to kiwis, which was another reason she was so careful about what she ate. She had taught herself to code when she was 12 by watching tutorials on youtube because her school didn't offer computer science extracurriculars. She'd chosen this university specifically because of its IT program, but also because it was far enough from her hometown that no one from her past would recognize her.

That last detail was offered hesitantly, late one evening when she was probably very tired and had her guard slightly down, and they were the last two people in the library's study area, so Sabo had asked why she'd chosen this school when there were better IT programs elsewhere.

"I needed a fresh start," she said, her voice quieter than usual. "Somewhere no one knew me. Or rather, somewhere no one knew the person I used to be."

"Who did you use to be?"

She was quiet for a long moment, her fingers absently tracing the edge of her laptop. "Someone who didn't have boundaries. Who let people walk all over her because she thought that was the only way to be liked. She used to get hurt, really hurt, because she trusted the wrong people." She looked up at him, and her eyes were dark and serious, with some slight melancholy behind them. "I decided I couldn't keep on being that person anymore. So I rebuilt myself from the ground up. Every choice I make now is very deliberate, all part of being the person I wanted to be instead of the person I was."

Sabo thought about his own past. The family he had walked away from. The name and the weight he had left behind. The way he'd built himself into someone capable and untouchable, someone who couldn't be hurt because he had already survived the worst.

"I understand," he said. "More than you know. Really."

And something passed between them then, unspoken recognition of some twin flames, two people who'd decided to become something new rather than to remain what they had been born into.

ᅠᅠᅠᅠ

By the time winter break approached, Sabo was thoroughly, hopelessly, and perhaps just a little pathetically in love with her.

He'd accepted it now. There was no point in denying it, not when Ace and Luffy had taken to making exaggerated kissing noises every time he mentioned her name (which was very often), not when he found himself structuring his study schedule around the times he knew she would be in the library, not when the sight of her and all of her armor made his heart rate accelerate in a way that was probably medically worrying.

The problem was, he had no idea if she felt the same way. Y/N was, as always, impossible to read. She'd opened up to him more than she seemed to open up to anyone else on campus, telling him things she said she'd never told anyone, like about her past and her fears and the weak immune system thing and how much it bothers her. She'd started seeking him out for reasons that had nothing to do with data privacy, asking him to go get coffee or to do study sessions or, once, to help her pick out a new laptop bag because hers was starting to wear out and he "seemed like someone who has good taste in bags."

(He did have good taste in bags. He picked a beautiful black leather messenger bag with reinforced stitching and a padded laptop compartment, and she started using it every day since.)

But she never touched him. Never flirted. Never gave any indication that she saw him as anything more than a friend and a collaborator. And Sabo, who had spent years learning to read people and could charm his way through any social situation, was completely at a loss.

"What if she's just not interested?" he asked Ace one night, when the frustration had gotten too much to keep inside. "What if I'm reading friendship as something more because I want it to be something more?"

Ace, who was sprawled on the couch with a bag of chips balanced on his stomach, gave him a look of profound fury. "Bro. She asked you to help her pick out a bag. She tells you things she doesn't tell anyone else. She laughs at your stupid ass jokes. In her language, that's basically her asking you to be her boyfriend."

Sabo snorted, "She doesn't laugh. She exhales slightly more forcefully than usual."

"Same thing, in her language. The point is, she likes you. Maybe she doesn't know how to show it, or maybe she's scared, or maybe she's waiting for you to make the first move because she's put up so many walls to the point she doesn't know how to take them down. But she clearly likes you."

"How do you know?"

"Because no one spends that much time with someone they don't like."

That phrase caused something inside him. The thing is, Sabo wanted to believe him. He really did. But every time he was with Y/N, every time he thought maybe there was a moment-a look that lingered too long, a conversation that felt like it was dancing around something unspoken-she'd pull back, retreat behind her mask and her careful composure, and he would be left wondering if he had somehow imagined that happening or if he did something wrong.

ᅠᅠᅠᅠ

On the last day of classes before winter break, they had agreed to meet up at the coffee shop to celebrate finally finishing final season. Sabo arrived first and grabbed their usual table by the window, ordering her hot chocolate, very fitting for the current weather, and his black coffee while waiting with a nervous energy that made his leg bounce uncontrollably under the table.

She arrived ten minutes later, and Sabo knew something was wrong the moment he saw her. Something about her posture was different. Hunched. Defeated. Her eyes behind the glasses were red-rimmed, like she'd been crying, and her mask's straps were slightly messy in a way they never were.

"Y/N?" He was on his feet before he could think about it. "Hey, are you okay? What happened?"

She didn't answer right away. She sat down in the chair across from him, her movements stiff and mechanical, and stared at the hot chocolate like she had never seen one before.

Leaning forward, he tried to catch her eye. "Talk to me. Please. What's wrong?"

She took a shaky breath, the mask moving with the exhale. "My research advisor just told me that the university is likely going to reject my complaint about the learning management system. They're citing 'insufficient evidence' and 'contractual obligations' and a bunch of other corporate bullshit. He said there's nothing more he can do."

"That's..." Sabo felt anger rising in his chest, hot and sharp. "That's not right. You documented everything. We put together a solid legal argument. They can't just-"

"They can," she cut him off. "They already did. The official decision comes after break, but my advisor made it pretty clear what the outcome is going to be." Her voice cracked. "I worked so hard on this. I thought... I thought if I was thorough enough, if I built a strong enough case, they'd have to listen. But they just don't care! They never cared. It was all just... A huge fucking waste of time."

"It wasn't a waste of time." Sabo's voice was fiercer than he intended. "What you did, the research, the documentation, the willingness to stand up for something. That does matter. Even if the administration doesn't listen right now, you've created a record. You've laid the groundwork. And I'm not going to let them ignore it."

She looked up at him, and her eyes were wide, raw and vulnerable in a way he'd never seen before. "Why? Why do you care so much?"

The question hit him like a physical blow. He could have deflected. He could have talked about justice and privacy rights and the importance of holding institutions accountable. All of that was true. But it wasn't the truth.

"You know why," he said quietly.

She shook her head in a very desperate motion. "I don't. I-I really don't. I don't understand why you keep showing up, why you keep helping me, why you seem to actually enjoy spending time with me when I'm..." She gestured aggressively at herself. "This."

"This? You mean yourself? Y/N, there's nothing wrong with you."

"Yeah, right. Most people think I'm weird, or cold, or stuck-up. I know they do. I've heard them talking shit behind my back, so many times. And don't even get me started on the mask thing. They always say I'm too paranoid, or like I'm overreacting about something that doesn't really exist. People stare at it. All the time."

"Then they're idiots." Sabo leaned forward, and something in his chest was cracking open, some dam of restraint he'd been holding onto for months. "You are the most deliberate person I've ever met. Everything you do, you do for a reason. You've rebuilt yourself from the ground up into exactly the person you wanted to be, and you don't apologize for it. You don't make yourself smaller or softer or easier for anyone else's comfort. Do you know how amazing that is? I can't even believe how hard that must've been for you, and I'm incredibly proud of you for that."

She was staring at him, her eyes wide, her mask completely still.

"You're fucking brilliant." he continued, the words coming faster now, unstoppable. "You found a privacy violation in the university's system that no one else noticed, all by yourself, and you've been fighting to fix it even though it would have been easier to just let it go and let someone else find it, if anyone else ever finds out about that. You're kind in this quiet way that doesn't expect anything in return. You have this very precise way of looking at the world that I find myself wanting to see more of every single day. I don't just like you, Y/N. I think I might be in love with you. And I have been for a long time now."

The silence that followed was deafening. Y/N didn't move. Didn't blink. He had left her speechless for once. She just stared at him, her expression completely unreadable behind the mask. Sabo felt his heart plummet into his stomach with each second that passed. He'd said too much. He'd pushed too hard. He'd ruined everything-

"You love me?" Her voice was barely a whisper, muffled by the mask but still audible. It was trembling. All of her was trembling, he realized, a fine tremor running through her hands where they were clasped on the table.

"Yeah." He swallowed hard. "I-I do. And I'm sorry if that makes things weird, or if you don't feel the same way. I just-I couldn't keep it a secret anymore. Not after watching you be so brave for so long. You deserve to know."

She reached up then, and for one heart-stopping moment, Sabo thought she was going to push her glasses up her nose once again. But instead, her fingers found the messed up straps of her mask, and she hesitated, her eyes meeting his with a question in them, nervously saying:

"Can I-" She stopped, swallowed. "Is it okay if I-"

"Only if you want to," he said quickly. "You don't have to. I know the mask is important. I don't want you to feel like you have to change anything for me. It's really not a problem for me-"

"I know I don't have to." Her voice was steadier now. "That's why I want to do it."

Slowly, carefully, she unhooked the straps. One from the back of her neck first, then the one from the crown of her head. The mask came away from her face with a soft rustle, and Sabo found himself holding his breath.

He'd imagined this moment before so many times. But the reality was both simpler and more overwhelming than any of his imaginings. She was beautiful. Her face was slightly marked from being covered so much by the mask and her lips were very chapped. She looked vulnerable without it, exposed in a way that had nothing to do with immune systems or allergies.

"I love you too," she said. "I have for a while. I just... Didn't know how to say it. I'm not good at... This." She gestured between them. "Feelings. Vulnerability. All of it."

"I know." Sabo felt a grin spreading across his face, wide and goofy and completely beyond his control. "I know you're not. But you just did it anyway."

She smiled. A real smile, shy and a bit rusty around the edges, like she had forgotten how to do it, along with a slight, shy snort. "I did it. And I didn't die. Feels promising."

He laughed, a loud noise that made people at the other tables look over. "Yeah. That's promising."

She reached across the table then, her bare fingers brushing against his hand. It was the first time she'd initiated physical contact with him, and Sabo felt the touch like electricity. The butterflies in his stomach were going absolutely insane.

"My mask," she said, glancing down at the respirator that was now sitting on the table between them. "I'm not... I can't stop wearing it all the time. The weak immune system thing is real. So is the anxiety. It's going to take me a while to be comfortable without it in public, and I might never be comfortable without it completely. Is it okay..?"

"Oh," Sabo said, in a slightly embarassed way, his voice slowly becoming steadier. "Yes, that's completely okay. A-and, no, it's never a problem. You wear what you need to wear. I fell in love with you exactly as you are, masks and all. I don't want you to change for me, if you're comfortable this way, then be it."

She stared at him for a long moment, her dark eyes searching his face. Whatever she was looking for, she seemed to find it, because she nodded once, and her smile widened just slightly.

"Okay," she said. "Okay. Good."

"Good?" He was still grinning like an idiot, and he didn't care. "That's all? Just 'good'?"

"It's the highest praise I'm capable of giving at the moment. I'm emotionally drained and I haven't had enough energy drinks today."

Sabo laughed again and pushed her hot chocolate towards her. "Well, I don't have any energy drinks right now, but treat yourself to this hot chocolate. Fitting for the cold weather. We can figure out the rest later."

She picked up the cup and, without the mask in the way, simply brought the straw to her lips and took a long sip. It was such a small, ordinary gesture, but watching her do it without the barrier of the mask felt almost unbearably intimate.

"We're going to fight the university's decision," she said after a moment, her voice stronger now. "About the data privacy thing. I'm not giving up."

"I know you're not. And I'll help you. Whatever you need, even if you need me standing outside the administration building with a protest sign. I'm in."

She giggled, "That miiight not be necessary."

"You never know. I've got a lot of opinions and I'm not afraid to make them known."

She huffed-her own version of a laugh, he noted-and took another sip of her hot chocolate. Outside the window, the first snow of the season was beginning to fall, thick white snowflakes drifting down to paint the campus in white.

"Do you want to get dinner tonight?" Sabo asked. "Not at the dining hall. Somewhere off campus. Where you can be comfortable."

Y/N considered this, her mask still sitting on the table between them. "There's this ramen place two blocks from the STEM building. It's never crowded, and they have private booths in the back."

"Sounds perfect. It's a deal, then."

"I'll probably put my mask back on for the walk over," she warned. "And possibly during dinner, if the restaurant is busier than normal. And I can't promise I'll be good at... This dating thing. I've never actually done it before."

"Hell, I have time. We'll figure it out." He turned his hand over under hers, lacing their fingers together. Her palm was cold and dry, and her grip was tentative but steady. "One step at a time."

She looked at their joined hands, then back up at his face. Behind her glasses, her eyes were bright, with something that was probably the start of tears and hope for the future.

"One step at a time," she repeated. "Statistically, the first step has the highest probability of failure. But after that, each following step becomes progressively more likely to succeed."

"Did you just try to comfort me with statistics?"

"Well, did it work?"

"Uh. Yeah."

Her mouth twitched, another almost-smile with a shy giggle. "Good."

And outside, the snow kept falling, covering the campus in a white blanket, as if the world itself was getting a fresh start.

ᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠ

ᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠ

ᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠ

ᅠᅠᅠᅠthank you so much for reading, if you got this far <3

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.”

For a consistent ally to the Revolutionary Army, you truly didn’t interact with many of its soldiers, way too big of a group for your tastes. There was a reason you always worked alone, the same reason that you were currently tucked away in a storage closet among the mops and buckets instead of up on deck right now. It was easier to be by yourself, always had been and always would be. You didn’t necessarily like being alone all the time, it was just the only time your brain was quiet.

That’s not to say that you didn’t have friends, either, you had a few. You could count them on your hands, you weren’t a particularly easy person to get close to given your skittish nature, but the ones who’d managed to integrate into your life were good to you. When it came to your dealings with the Revolutionary Army, that would be Koala and Sabo, they were the only two who even had the ability to reach your den den mushi. Calls were particularly nerve wracking for you, so you had to be quite selective about who you allowed to contact you.

You’d known Koala for years now, you just kept running into her when she was out on missions- this was how you learned that there was an entire army of people who investigated the same World Government atrocities that you did. She managed to coax you out of your shell with the promise of a loyal ally who shared your morals, which you had exactly zero of at the time. You’d ventured out of your comfort zone to get to know her, and thankfully she’d never once made you regret it. She made herself easy to talk to, even for someone like you. She took the initiative in a conversation, but she always made sure to give you ample space to join in when you were ready. You found her assertiveness calming, having someone to guide you in social settings was immensely helpful.

Sabo, on the other hand, had a pretty rough start with you in comparison. The two of you could look back and laugh about it now, but he’d actually fought you the very first time you’d met. You’d been clad in an oversized black cloak, lurking in alleyways with your ear pressed against the wall, trying to overhear the dealings of a human trafficking group. Admittedly you had looked rather suspicious, and Sabo mistook you for an enemy.

To be perfectly fair, he had given you a chance to explain yourself, but with you being you, you’d naturally blown that chance. You could only stare at him with wide eyes, frantically glancing around for an escape route. You’d been aware of who he was at that point, but he was still a stranger and he was pointing a metal pipe at you- you were scared shitless and utterly unable to form even a single word, which only made you seem ten times sketchier to the revolutionary.

And so the two of you got into a fight on the basis of an absurd misunderstanding. You wouldn’t call yourself much of a fighter, but all that anxious energy gave you the vicious defensiveness of a cornered animal, and you somehow managed to fend off Sabo with your daggers until you could throw down a smoke bomb and flee through the sewer system below. Thankfully his observation haki wasn’t nearly as strong back then, so your stealth had been enough to let you escape with only a bruised rib.

From what you’d been told, Sabo immediately met up with Koala after that and gave her your description, which prompted her to chew him out and give you a call to check on you and apologize for his impulsiveness.

You got to properly meet Sabo the next morning, which you honestly expected to be completely mortifying after a blunder like that, but he was actually really sweet to you after learning of your social anxiety. You mended the tears your daggers had torn in his jacket while Koala helped you to keep a conversation going, and over time you grew accustomed to his presence. He was a little loud and rambunctious at times, which prompted you to curl in on yourself, but he’d always been willing to learn your limits and done his best to accommodate you.

At first, you just distributed your intel to either Koala or Sabo, catching up with them for a bit each time you picked up a call or handed over encoded documents in person. As the months passed, though, you started seeing more and more of Sabo. He completely took over any dealings with you, but he also started to call you for conversations unrelated to business. You tried to warn him many times that you were terribly awkward over the den den mushi, but he didn’t seem to mind your stammers or rambling in the slightest.

Then you started to run into him in person, his smaller missions began to conveniently align with wherever you happened to be. He didn’t just want to grab your information and be on his way, either, he insisted on turning it into some sort of outing. When you explained to him that all the people and the abundance of noise in a restaurant were too much for you to handle, he’d just ask you what you wanted and bring food back to you somewhere quiet. When you mentioned that small talk was difficult and tiring for you, he started to begin conversations by immediately launching into telling you all about his adventures. Time and time again, he somehow found a way to spend time with you that you didn’t find stressful.

The fifth time you coincidentally stumbled upon Sabo while out seeking information, you honestly started to feel like you were going a little crazy. It just seemed so statistically improbable that you began to wonder if this was some kind of scheme, so you tentatively confided in Koala about your strange encounters. That was the day you learned that he’d been doing it on purpose, that he liked you and just wanted to see you. The thought had never even crossed your mind until Koala spelled it out for you, and even to this day you weren’t entirely sure how or why Sabo was so fascinated by you. Apparently he had a thing for recluses with a penchant for spying, or so it seemed.

From there, time passed by in a blur- for once, becoming closer to someone wasn’t something that you found too draining. You grew closer to Sabo than you’d ever been to anyone before, an entirely different kind of closeness than what you had with Koala. Close enough that you weren’t entirely sure whether or not the two of you could still be defined as just friends, but he never really brought up the topic so you weren’t about to either. It didn’t really matter to you anyways, you didn’t need a particular label to know that Sabo was special to you.

He was the first person you’d ever been able to spend days at a time with without becoming overwhelmed and exhausted. Hell, you even worked up the courage to make your way to the Revolutionary Army base from time to time just to go see him, your fondness for him motivated you to overcome your limits and experience new things. To most people it might seem like a minuscule achievement, but to you it was monumental.

Which was exactly why you were immediately alert the moment Koala called you about Sabo, straightening your spine and sitting upright against the door of that storage closet, den den mushi clutched protectively in your palm. The call itself was quick and concise, but the details pounded in your head like a second heartbeat long after you hung up.

Koala was a bit frantic as she relayed the details to you, the concern in her voice was palpable, but from what you could gather: something happened that triggered Sabo to regain his memories of his life before the Revolutionary Army. You were aware of his amnesia, of course, but after how long he’d apparently lived with it, you never imagined it would all suddenly come back to him.

You were grateful that you’d been informed of such a grand development, but a bit confused as to why Koala was so stressed and why the call hadn’t come from Sabo himself. Koala was less clear about this portion, but it would seem that Sabo’s recollections weren’t exactly pleasant, and according to her he was more distraught than she’d ever seen him before. Your first instinct upon hearing this was to immediately press for more information, but she made it clear that this was something she needed you to be there in person for.

So with a promise to make it there as soon as possible, by any means possible, you hung up with a heavy heart. The familiar coil of dread tightened in your stomach, but you gritted your teeth and turned your back on the anxious spiral your mind threatened to go down. You couldn’t afford to let it consume you right now, not when your friends were relying on you.

With a deep breath in and an exhale that came out far shakier than you would’ve liked, you braced yourself on the wall and rose to your feet. You took a few seconds to soak in the silence of your cramped sanctuary before ripping off the bandaid and pushing open the door to head up on deck, towards the crew you were currently catching a ride with. You had plans to make, places to be, and people to come through for.

-

You made it to the shores of Baltigo in just over a week. How you managed to pull it off so quickly while hopping from ship to ship was truly a testament to how desperate you were to make it there, you’d used just about every resource at your disposal and every trick in the book.

Words couldn’t describe how relieved you were when you finally caught a Revolutionary Army ship docking to stock up before heading back to base. You were fairly sure your attempts to piece together an explanation to the unfamiliar soldiers aboard must’ve been completely incoherent, but thankfully using the words ‘friend’ and ‘Sabo’ in the same sentence seemed to do the trick.

With your nerves still buzzing, you’d hunkered down below deck behind a stack of crates, curling up in the corner and finally getting some much needed rest after the hectic journey it took to get this far. The others thankfully left you be until it was time to throw down the anchor, they seemed to sense the timid energy that radiated off of you in waves.

You trailed behind them like a shadow as they carried supplies into the base, as though getting closer than a couple feet would burn you. You didn’t recognize anyone when you slipped inside, and you hung as close to the walls as you could, but you could feel so many eyes on you. It made your skin crawl and your mouth go uncomfortably dry.

It made sense, you knew you were a strange sight around here and very few revolutionaries even knew of your existence (by your own request), but that didn’t prevent you from feeling like a bug exposed to sunlight after a human picks up a rock. You certainly felt as small as a bug, eyes glued to the ground as you speed-walked through the familiar route back to Sabo’s quarters. There might’ve been a tentative greeting or two called out to you, but it all blurred together among the chatter that swept around you like a turbulent ocean. You just had to keep your head above water long enough to make it to his room, it would be quiet there, safe.

The door to Sabo’s room was no different than any other door along the hallway, but somehow the sight of it was uniquely comforting. You took a moment to catch your breath, you hadn’t even realized you’d been breathing irregularly earlier. Experiencing fear responses around other people, especially crowds, was so normal to you that it tended to feel like second nature. Oftentimes you didn’t even realize just how tightly wound you’d been until you finally got some reprieve.

Knocking was something you sometimes spent several minutes hyping yourself up to do, but when you knew it was Sabo on the other side of the door, your hand seemed to move on its own. Strangely, though, there was no answer this time. The door didn’t open, there was no shuffling behind it, not even a peep from the man you knew had to be inside.

You frowned slightly, doubt beginning to eat away at the recesses of your mind, but you reached for the knob before you had time to second guess yourself. It was unlocked. The door creaked open and you peeked around the edge of it.

Your eyes instinctively went to the desk Sabo was often perched at when you arrived, but it was left abandoned. For a brief second, you almost began to wonder if he wasn’t in the room, but then your gaze landed on the bed where a cocoon of blankets swaddled a familiar figure. It was the middle of the day, Sabo was never still in bed by this point. Unless, of course, he’d never left it.

You could see what Koala meant now, when she said you’d need to be there to understand. You were looking at the symptoms of a depressive episode, you could tell that much easily by the disheveled state of his blonde curls and the abandoned plates of half-eaten food on the nightstand. It wasn’t an inherently shocking sight, you yourself had been there before, but it was difficult to reconcile the miserable lump on the bed with the vibrant image of Sabo you had in your head. As far as you knew, he had no history of mental illness- not like you did- but there were of course circumstances that could bring just about anyone to a state like this.

Your heart squeezed uncomfortably in your chest. Something bad happened when Sabo regained his memories, but you couldn’t even begin to guess what it was. He’d previously had not even the smallest trace of a memory when it came to his childhood, so there weren’t any clues for you to work with.

With a rising storm of concern within you, you approached his bedside slowly. He shifted at the sound of your footsteps, but only slightly, looking over his shoulder almost lethargically, as though it didn’t matter who was there. When Sabo’s gaze met yours, however, his eyes widened, the first indication you’d received that he was feeling anything at all at the moment.

He turned towards you onto his other side then, though he made no move to sit up. The two of you blinked at each other for a moment, seemingly both a little taken aback by the sight of one another. You because you’d never seen him so miserable, and Sabo because he’d had no idea you were here.

“You came..?” He rasped, voice evidently hoarse from disuse. It sounded almost shocked, like he couldn’t believe you’d actually shown up. You knew you didn’t get to see him all that frequently given your respective schedules and your own challenges, but it made you ache to know that he’d doubted your ability to show up when he needed you.

“Of course I came…I may have a lot going on, but I’ll always rush to you when you need me.” You assured him, leaning down to brush your fingers over the tangles of his hair. You watched him hesitate for a moment before he reached an arm out from under the covers, fingers curling around the fabric of your shirt and tugging you closer.

Sabo shifted over on the bed sluggishly, making room for you as he continued to pull you in. You complied immediately, kicking off your boots and sliding onto the bed beside him, prepared to do just about anything he wanted if it might bring him even a fraction of comfort right now.

You waited for him to say something, anything, that might explain how he’d ended up like this. All he uttered was a small “I missed you.” Your face immediately softened tenfold as he buried himself against your side like he was trying to hide away from the world with you as his cover.

“I missed you too.” You told him back without missing a beat. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner, I came as fast as I could. Sabo..what happened?” You didn’t want to pry, and you’d drop the subject in a heartbeat if he told you to, but you needed to know what was wrong if you wanted to have even a chance of helping.

Sabo made a small, pitiful grumble and closed his eyes, but he still replied. “Open the bedside drawer.” Your brow furrowed at the cryptic answer that only left you with more questions, but you complied and leaned over, pulling open the drawer.

Inside was nothing but a single newspaper clipping. It was about the recent execution of Portgas D. Ace, who’d been revealed to the world as the son of Gol D. Rodger. You felt awful for the guy, you’d always heard nothing but pleasant things about him and the other Whitebeard pirates, but you didn’t understand how this was any different than every other terrible thing the Marines had done as of late. Sabo heard about the World Government’s atrocities constantly, and though it rightfully filled him with rage and determination to make a change, none of it had ever broken him like this.

You tore your eyes away from the image of the late pirate, turning your gaze back to Sabo where he was nestled up against you. The unspoken question sat heavy in the air for a long moment until he eventually sighed and curled his arms around your waist, latching onto you tighter than usual.

“Ace was my brother. I only remembered after seeing that article.” His voice wavered like he was choking back a sob, and you watched his good eye start to well up with tears. The scarred eye didn’t seem to produce tears anymore, nor did it really seem to see much judging by the way it failed to track your movements. You’d never asked about it, though you momentarily wondered if he now remembered how he’d gotten those scars before forcing your brain to focus on the matter at hand.

Those two sentences carried an immense weight on their own, you didn’t need him to say any more. You frequently wished you were better with words, but right now you would’ve killed to know the right thing to say. Unfortunately, you heavily suspected that there was no right thing to say, not to someone who was grieving a brother that they remembered too late to have a chance to say goodbye.

So instead you just wrapped him in your embrace, letting him cling to you as he started to cry. You’d never seen Sabo cry before, it felt so terribly wrong. Not that it was wrong for him to cry, but more so that it was wrong for this cruel world to make him cry.

He looked at you with an expression that was almost helpless as his body was wracked with another sob, an emotion that was so uncharacteristic of the fearless revolutionary. Sabo was a man who could face against the entire World Government without flinching, a man who at times seemed practically invincible in battle, but it would appear that the one thing he couldn’t bear was losing someone he loved. Seeing him like this shattered the unwavering image of him you conjured in your mind, but witnessing his weakness only made you all the more fond of him. You were in deep, but you had no desire to pull back now that he’d shown his damaged heart to you.

A broken sort of whine left his throat, raw and full of pain. Without so much as a second thought, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead. It wasn’t the first time you’d kissed him, but it wasn’t something you did very often given the way your nerves often got the better of you. When someone in front of you needed comfort, though, your brain seemed to have the common courtesy to shut up for once.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, sweetheart…” You murmured, the pet name instinctively slipping out in your effort to make yourself as soothing as possible. Sabo sniffled and shifted to lay his head on your shoulder, nuzzling his cheek against the fabric of your shirt.

“I was too late..I just wish I could’ve seen him one more time, to at least tell him where I’ve been all this time.” He lamented, and you brought a hand up to pet his hair, mindful of the knots that had appeared after a week of neglecting himself. You made a mental note to brush it for him later, among other things.

You were quiet for a moment, straining to remember anything you’d heard about the Marineford incident while out gathering information. Unfortunately you hadn’t paid too much attention to the subject since you didn’t think it would be so pertinent, but there was one tidbit you managed to scrounge from the outskirts of your memory.

You remembered hearing that the marines didn’t keep the bodies, they’d been taken by pirates for burial. Something about an emperor interfering, maybe Shanks if you had to guess based on personality? You’d overheard it outside a bar, and although the civilians had been ranting about it as though it were a shame, it struck you that this was actually remarkably good news for your cause. You thanked your lucky stars that you had a decent memory and a keen listening ear, being an informant really paid off at times.

“I umm..I actually heard that the bodies from the pirates’ side were taken by the remnants of their crew to be buried properly somewhere.” You told Sabo, practically holding your breath as you waited to see if the information might serve as any sort of solace for him.

It took him a second to reply, all the while you could feel his hot tears steadily dripping onto your shirt. “Really?” He asked weakly, as though he didn’t dare to be too hopeful after being driven to despair, just waiting for another heartbreak. Still, you were relieved to have caught his attention.

“Mhm. I don’t recall seeing anything in the paper about the bodies either, and the marines surely would’ve taken the chance to gloat about having them if they did…” Your nose wrinkled in disgust, just imagining them making a spectacle of Sabo’s dead brother sickened you beyond belief. But they hadn’t, which made you all the more confident about your information. “What if I was able to find out the location of Ace’s grave and bring you there? It wouldn’t be easy, but I have plenty of pirate connections who could help.”

You felt Sabo suck in a breath and pull away from you slightly, and for a moment you almost worried that you’d said something wrong, but then you saw his expression. He gave you a look that you ventured to believe might even contain a shred of hope, his eyes round and pleading. “You’d do that..? You really think you could help me visit his grave?” He asked softly, and you offered him your best attempt at a reassuring smile.

“I’ll do everything in my power to get you there, I promise. I just wish I could do more. You deserve the world, you know that?” Your fingers moved to grasp the side of his face. When he leaned his cheek into your palm, you gently traced your thumb over the outline of his scar. He really was devilishly handsome in your opinion, you just struggled to find the right words to express the depth of your appreciation for him.

“Even though I wasn’t there to help him?” Sabo whispered in a low voice, like even voicing the thought aloud frightened him. You knew it was only a glimpse into the whirlwind of thoughts that must be flying through his head, that there were some thoughts he wouldn’t mention even to you, and your stomach churned just imagining how much he must be blaming himself. Still, you hoped that he’d share it all with you eventually, the darkest and ugliest parts too. Until then, you could only work with the pieces of himself that he offered you.

“There’s nothing that could be done, you couldn’t have known.“ Your tone was firmer this time, leaving no room for doubts. You couldn’t explain why Sabo had suddenly gotten his memories back now of all times, but you knew he’d tried damn hard to trigger his memories before this and had no luck, so you firmly believed that there was nothing he could’ve done differently.

You took a deep breath, trying not to show how deeply upsetting the unfairness of the entire situation was to you. “I never knew Ace, but I’m sure he loved you very much- and if I had to guess, I would say he’d probably just be happy to know that you’re ok. As someone who also loves you, that’s how I would feel.” You truly didn’t think twice about the words you were using, you were just speaking your heart, and it was only when Sabo’s eyes widened that you realized you’d used the word love to describe your feelings. You’d never done that outside of your head before.

Your heart rate picked up for every second he just stared at you, the anticipation was starting to make you feel sick until he finally put you out of your misery. “You love me?” He sounded surprised but not necessarily in a bad way, if you were reading him right.

You knew it was ridiculous to be worried that Sabo would somehow react poorly to being told that he was loved, but it was something you’d never really told anyone before due to the little bubble of isolation you’d always kept yourself in. So even if you knew that the worst case scenario was being gently let down, the possibility of anything changing about the relationship you cherished most in your life still scared you. Friendship was still something you were learning how to navigate more and more every day, and anything more was entirely uncharted territory- and well, anxious people don’t exactly tend to like not knowing what might come ahead.

“Yeah.” Was all you could get out before your throat felt like it was being constricted. It hardly even qualified as a sentence, it was truly the bare minimum of a response to being asked a question, but it was all you could muster under pressure. Not that Sabo himself was really putting much pressure on you, your brain did that all on its own.

“I love you too.” He admitted back with an ease that you’d be damn envious of if you weren’t just so relieved that whatever these feelings had become was mutual. You didn’t expect a smile from him, not with the current circumstances, but you could’ve sworn that his lips almost twitched up at the corners for a brief moment. Then it was gone just as soon as it had arrived, and his expression became something pained once more.

“But if you love me, why do you always leave?” He asked in a voice that was so small and sad that you almost couldn’t bear it. You’d managed to get his mind off of his grief for one moment, but what good did that do when he was still upset regardless?

Nothing could’ve prepared you for that gut punch of a question, mostly because it was something you’d never even imagined. You weren’t used to your presence being wanted, it was still so difficult for you to fathom that someone could be saddened by your absence. On account of that, you’d admittedly never really thought twice about disappearing for a couple months at a time. You’d always traveled on your own, you didn’t usually have to think about what you were leaving behind because there’d always been no one. You weren’t entirely sure when it had changed, but it was now abundantly clear that things weren’t the same as they’d always been. You weren’t a lonely teenager drifting from place to place anymore, you were an adult with actual people that cared about you, and that fact hit you hard.

Still, even having realized that Sabo felt abandoned each time you left to go snoop around island by island, what was the alternative? You felt terrible, truly, and you wanted to fix it more than anything, but how else would you live your life? People needed your intel, especially the Revolutionary Army. “I’m sorry...I don’t mean to leave you, but I can’t just stop doing my job. I have to travel to gather information, what else could I do?”

Sabo didn’t miss a beat. “Join the Revolutionary Army. You can still travel, but do it with me. We can do so much good in the world together.” You opened your mouth, a protest on the tip of your tongue, but he cut you off and continued. “One of these days, the things you look into could get you killed, and you’d have no backup to help you. Do you have any idea how much I worry when you’re out on your own, wondering if each time will be the last time I get to see you?”

The pit in your stomach grew. Of course you knew that the World Government loved to snuff out snoops like you, you’d even had a couple close calls in dangerous areas, but there was a reason you still chose to work alone anyways. Because somehow risking your life seemed less scary than being part of a group, than being surrounded by people all the time.

Of course Sabo had suggested you join before, but you’d never properly considered it. You took one look at how many people were clustered here on Baltigo sharing the same base and turned pale. It wasn’t like you turned him down because you didn’t want to be with him, the environment he thrived in was just never meant for people like you.

Any hint of defiance your response might’ve had withered and died, replaced by an earnest fear in your eyes. “It’s just..there’s so many people in the Revolutionary Army…you know I’m terrible with people, that’s exactly why I’ve always done things by myself. I’d be so anxious all the time, sharing a base with such a large group.” You confessed, the anxiety in your voice rising.

Sabo’s face softened at the rawness of your vulnerability, and he pulled you against his chest, tilting his face down to kiss the top of your head. “Darling, you think I’d just throw you to the wolves to fend for yourself?” He huffed, and it struck you that it was as close to his normal teasing self that he’d likely been since entering his depressive episode.

“I know this isn’t your kind of place, I’ve always known. I’ve watched you sneak past everyone just to get to me- believe me, I know how uncomfortable you are with big groups.” The acknowledgment he gave was reassuring, just knowing that you didn’t have to fight to explain yourself brought you a lot of relief.

“But we can fix that, I can fix that. I’m the Chief of Staff, I can get you your own quarters to retreat to, far away from anyone else. I’ll make sure no one ever bothers you, you don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to. I’ll assign missions with just the two of us, or maybe with Koala if you feel up to it. You can hide in my office whenever you want to, I’ll make sure you always have your own space. If you stay, I’ll do anything to accommodate you.” It was clear that Sabo had thought about this very extensively, and hearing even a modicum of his usual self assurance return to him helped to ease your doubts slightly.

You still felt deeply uncertain if you could ever learn to feel comfortable as part of a group, but if Sabo really would do all of those things, then it would certainly help give you a fighting chance of adjusting. “Ok…I guess I could try for a few months.” You finally conceded after months and months of rejecting his offer. You couldn’t promise that it would work out, but you were willing to at least try for him.

That seemed to be enough for Sabo, for now at least. For the first time since Ace’s execution, his mouth actually curved into a smile. “Thank you, I promise I’ll find a way to make it work.” He held you tighter, squeezing you against him for a moment before pulling back just enough to pepper your face with kisses. Even if things went terribly wrong in the end, his reaction alone would make this worth it.

You smiled too, unable to hide how happy you were that you were able to make Sabo feel even a little bit better. You had no doubt that he was in for a long grieving journey ahead of him still, but for now it was good to see him perk up a little.

A thought suddenly occurred to you, and your smile faded slightly. “But Sabo…I’m gonna have to leave to go meet with pirates and figure out where Ace is buried.” You fretted, torn between fulfilling this promise to him and staying by his side while he grieved.

You stood on the deck of the Red Force, the wind softly dancing around your hair, the sun warming your skin and the calming air around you filling your lungs.

You watched Shanks talking to the crew about the next destination or something, truth was you didn’t quite pay attention too distracted by your lover and how his red hair seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. How his eyes were so full of what you could only believe to be love, care, charm and a little playfulness that never seemed to completely die down.

You often told him that sometimes you felt like you were in love with a child in an adult body and he had only laughed. God that laugh, that belly deep charming and infectious laugh that always made your heart jump.

It’s been over 2 years that you and Shanks had officially been in a relationship. No one was really surprised though when you told them because Shanks was head over heels for you since the first day he met you at your hometown during a supply run.

And you? Well who could not fall for a man like him. He was sweet, charming, he made you laugh, he teased you till your face was red as a tomato and he was gentle and caring. But most importantly he made you feel like you were the only person that truly mattered to him, like you were the only girl in a world so cold and the only light in his life.

When he asked you to join him, sail with him, you didn’t hesitate, not even a second because your heart had already made the decision to stay close to the man who could make you feel so special.

“(Y/N)? Are you there?” a familiar voice suddenly ripped you out of your thoughts.

“Huh?”

“Love you just zoned out completely” Shanks laughed making you blush a little bit.

“Sorry I was just thinking”

“Thinking? About me I hope” he said with a smile while the crew just chuckled.

“Not every thought in my head always revolves around you,” you protested but the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you.

“The color on your neck and cheeks tell a different story” Shanks laughed and you mock-pouted only for him to pull you into a hug.

“Ah come on, you know I’m just messing with you. Besides I love how your mind remains occupied by the most charming and handsome pirate on the seas”

“Very humble Shanks,” Beckman sighed making you chuckle.

“What can I say? I must be something special otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to end up with someone like her” Shanks replied looking at you, eyes still full of a teasing glint but there was also an undeniable affection towards you in them.

You blushed even harder and nudged him while mumbling “idiot” making him only pull you closer to him.

“Yeah but I’m your idiot” he whispered before pulling you into a kiss.

You melted into his embrace for a moment longer, letting the world fade away until the distant sound of the waves and the crew’s laughter was all that remained. It were moments like these that made the hardships of life at sea seem trivial moments when it was just the two of you, wrapped up in each other and nothing else mattered.

Shanks pulled back slightly, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “You know,” he murmured, “I’ve been thinking, we should have some alone time tonight. Just you and me. Maybe sneak away to the little cove I found last year…what do you think?”

“I’d love that.” You smiled, nodding enthusiastically before pecking his lips again.

He grinned, eyes sparkling. “Good. I guess we can call it a date then,” he grinned eyes sparking and his smile making you want to melt away right there on the spot.

The afternoon passed lazily. You ended up in the kitchen helping Lucky Roux with preparing lunch, ended up sorting paperwork with Beckman because Shanks was too lazy for it, assisted Hongo with making a list for supplies that would be needed for restocking his medical cabinets and all the while stealing glances at Shanks whenever he passed you or was nearby.

And of course, he seemed to notice, shooting you those fleeting, knowing smiles that always made your heart race, flirting with you shamelessly, making you flustered and always giving him that shy little smile he loved so much about you. You laughed when he showed Beckman a trick he had been trying to perfect with Griffon, definitely not meant for combat but more to be show, and failed miserably making Shanks laugh. Oh, that laugh, that echoed over the waves, that beautiful laugh that you were sure, could lead you back  to him even if you were blinded, even if the darkness surrounded you. For a moment, everything felt perfect, the crew, the sea, the man you loved. Your life had never felt more at peace than this. You had never before felt like you were finally where you belonged, finally at home.

As the sun began to dip toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson, Shanks found you leaning against the railing, watching the colors change. He came up behind you, wrapping his arm around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“We’re reaching the island in a few minutes, Shanks,” Beckman suddenly said, breaking the spell just slightly.

Shanks grinned, eyes lighting up as he tightened his arm around your waist. “Ready for our date, love?” he murmured, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your neck.

“Lead the way, boss,” you teased, leaning into him.

By the time the Red Force docked, your fingers were still loosely hooked in his sash, unwilling to let go even for a second. He guided you down the gangplank with an ease that came from years at sea, his hand never leaving you, grounding, warm and steady.

The island itself was quiet. No rowdy taverns, no bustling markets, just the gentle hush of waves brushing against the shore and the distant cry of night birds. It felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you.

“C’mon,” Shanks said softly, giving your hand a playful tug. “It’s not far.”

The path he led you down curved through clusters of low trees and soft grass, the scent of salt and wildflowers were filling the air. You were trying to imagine what this cove would look like. Shanks was a sweetheart but he sometimes found things romantic that were….well not that romantic. Not that it mattered much to you, you just loved the company and even if he’d take you to watch someone scrub the deck for a date it would still be special because he’d be there but still you were a bit nervous. You expected a cramped, dark hole that was full of whatever insects or even parasites would live there, no offense to them but you weren’t that fond of something other than Shanks' hand crawling up your skin.

When you finally reached the cove, you slowed, your expectations falling away entirely. This wasn’t a dark, ugly and cramped place, no this was far from it. It felt like stepping into a hidden piece of the sky. Moonlight poured in through natural openings in the rock above, spilling silver across the water pooled at the cave’s edge. The tide had crept in just enough to form a glassy surface that reflected the stars overhead, making it look as if the night itself had settled inside the cove. Softly glowing flowers dotted the rocky walls and patches of earth, their pale petals shimmering faintly as if they had captured fragments of starlight. The air was cool but gentle, carrying the rhythmic echo of the sea just beyond.

“Shanks…” you breathed, stunned, your grip on his hand tightening as your eyes wandered over every detail.

“Beautiful,” he said, but when you turned, his gaze wasn’t on the cove, it was on you. “Just like you.”

Heat rose to your cheeks, but before you could deflect with a joke, he pulled you in close. His hand rested at the small of your back, steady and familiar, while his forehead dipped to brush against yours.

“For once,” he added softly, voice quieter now, stripped of its usual teasing edge, “I wanted something… peaceful. And as much as I love the boys I think it’s nice to have something just for us just for a few moments.”

That caught you off guard more than the view. Shanks was rarely still. Always laughing, drinking, moving and commanding. Seeing him like this, calm and deliberate, made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t quite name.

“You went through all this trouble?” you asked, your voice gentler than before.

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Two years together and you’re still surprised I’d steal you away for a night?”

“It’s not that,” you said, shaking your head slightly. “It’s just… you’re usually more of a ‘drag me into chaos’ kind of man.”

“That’s part of my charm,” he shot back, flashing a grin but it softened almost immediately. “But I figured… you deserve this too. I felt like for once we should do something a little…..less rowdy. Something that won't end with you calling me a child in an old man’s body.” He laughed though you didn’t miss the sincerity in his voice.

You reached up, brushing your fingers along the faint lines of his scar, a gesture you had done countless times before. He leaned into the touch without thinking, eyes half-lidding in quiet contentment.

“Fine, no child talk tonight because I’d say you did pretty well,” you murmured.

“Yeah?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, a boyish hint of anticipation slipping through his usual confidence.

Instead of answering, you leaned in and kissed him. It wasn’t rushed or playful like so many of your stolen moments on deck, it was slow, unhurried, shaped by the quiet around you. His hand tightened just slightly at your waist, pulling you closer as if he never intended to let you drift away.

When you pulled back, his grin returned, softer now, edged with something warmer.

“Good answer,” he said.

You laughed under your breath, resting your head against his shoulder as you both turned back toward the shimmering water. For a while, neither of you spoke. There was no need to fill the silence, it wrapped around you comfortably, like it belonged.

After a moment, he shifted, guiding you toward a spot that gave the best view of the beauty of this cove. He pulled his coat off and lay it on the ground for you to sit down on.

“Oh, now you’re being a gentleman too? Is it my birthday yet?” you asked with a big smile on your face.

“I can be many things if I want to love, even after 2 years you still haven’t seen half of it” he laughed before kissing the top of your head and stretching out beside you, his arm draped lazily over your legs.

“Stay with me tonight,” he said, almost casually but there was something quieter beneath it. “No crew, no responsibilities. Just… this.”

You looked at him, at the rare stillness in his expression and nodded. “Sounds good,” you said softly. “Just this.”

The quiet stretched on, soft and unbroken, as the two of you sat side by side. The distant sound of the tide slipping in and out of the cove became a steady rhythm beneath everything, like the world breathing around you.

Shanks nudged your knee lightly with his hand. “You’re thinking too loud again.”

 “Didn’t know that was possible.” You huffed a small laugh, leaning back on your palms.

“Mm,” he hummed, turning his head to look at you. “After two years? I know all your habits.” His fingers traced absentminded circles over your knee. “You get like this when you’re… happy. Like you don’t quite trust it yet.”

That made your chest tighten just a little. “You always notice too much,” you murmured.

“Comes with the job,” he replied easily but his voice softened. “And with loving you.”

You glanced at him then and then looked at him, like really looked at him. Not the captain, not the Yonko everyone spoke about in hushed tones but the man who had taken the time to carve out a quiet piece of the world just for you. “You’re unfair,” you said quietly.

His brow lifted. “Unfair?”

“You do things like this,” you gestured vaguely to the glowing cove, the stars reflected in the water, the peaceful stillness wrapped around you both, “and expect me not to fall for you all over again.”

A slow grin spread across his face, softer than his usual ones, touched with something almost shy. “Sounds like I’m doing something right, then.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” you sighed though you couldn't hide the smile tugging at your lips.

“Too late.”

You rolled your eyes, but your hand found his anyway, fingers threading together naturally. He squeezed once, firm, grounding, before lifting your joined hands and pressing a kiss against your knuckles.

“Dance with me,” he suddenly said.

You blinked confused and clearly caught off guard by the sudden request. “There’s no music.”

Shanks pushed himself up to his feet, tugging you along with him. “Don’t need it.”

Before you could protest, his arm slipped around your waist again, pulling you close as he began to sway, slow, easy, like he was following some rhythm only he could hear. For a moment, you just stared at him not expecting this.

“You’re serious?” you asked, trying not to laugh.

“Very, you wound me for thinking I wasn’t.” he said, mock-offended.

You chuckled but let yourself fall into step anyway, your body naturally syncing with his. It wasn’t precise or practiced, hell it was far from it, but it was gentle movement, shifting weight, turning slightly beneath the soft glow of moonlight, making the world feel so far away.

“You’re a terrible dancer,” you teased, though it wasn’t completely true.

“Oi,” he scoffed. “I’ll have you know I’ve been told otherwise.”

“By who? Drunk pirates?” you asked with a sheepish smirk.

“They count.” He protested making you laugh. The sound echoing faintly against the cave walls. He smiled at that, really smiled, like it was his favorite sound in the world. As you turned, your foot slipped slightly on the smooth stone. Before you could even react, his grip tightened, pulling you securely against his chest and lifting you a few inches off the ground, your hands coming to rest around his neck. The movement left you breathless, not from the stumble, but from how instinctively he caught you.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low and ghosting over your lips. “I just got you here.”

Your arms tightened around his neck, steadying yourself. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest, it was slow, steady and reassuring.

“I’m not going anywhere as long as you are here,” you said softly.

“Good, I wouldn’t let you anyways,” he replied, just as quiet before kissing you deeply.

Neither of you moved for a moment lost in the moment and the kiss. Then, almost reluctantly, the moment shifted. The tide had crept a little higher, the moon inching further across the sky. Time, as always, refused to stand still. Shanks exhaled through his nose, glancing toward the cave’s entrance. “We should head back before the crew comes looking.”

 “Do we have to?” You groaned lightly.

“As much as I’d like to keep you all to myself a little longer…” he said, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, “I’d rather not have Beck judging me for losing track of time.”

“That implies he doesn’t already.”

“Fair point,” he laughed.

You lingered just a moment longer before stepping back, though your hand never left his. When you stepped out of the cove, the open sky greeted you again, vast and glittering. The island was just as quiet as before, the path back illuminated by moonlight. But this time, you walked slower, savouring the moment with him, the warmth of his hand interlaced with yours.

“Next time,” he said after a while, “I’ll find somewhere even better.”

 “Better than that?” You asked glancing at him. “I doubt that’s even possible.”

“I’ve got a reputation to maintain and to make sure you don’t get bored by me or for me to get predictable. Maybe our next date will be during a war, maybe on a sea king, who knows,” He smirked slightly.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you love me for it,” he winked.

“Unfortunately,” you huffed squeezing his hand tightly. He laughed under his breath, the sound warm and low.

By the time the Red Force came into view, gently swaying at the dock, a soft reluctance settled between you both. The world you had stepped away from was waiting again. The crew, the responsibilities, the ever-moving sea. But something of the quiet stayed with you.

You paused at the gangplank and Shanks looked at you, one brow lifting slightly. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said, stepping closer and tugging him down just enough to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Just making sure you remember this was a good idea.”

His grin returned instantly, bright and familiar but his hand lingered at your waist, thumb brushing lightly against your side.

“Best one I’ve had in a while,” he said.

“Good answer.”

“Learned from the best,” he smirked smugly.

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself, and together you stepped back onto the ship, back into the life you shared with everyone else before he took you to his cabin to end the night with your warmth next to him.

The next morning you were up early helping Lucky Roux prepare breakfast and getting those knowing glances from the crew who of course wanted to know how the date had been. But you gave them nothing saying this was a secret between you and the Boss and then stuck your tongue out at them.

“Oi, Boss, come on, our pretty girl won’t tell us how the date was. How about you enlighten us,” Yasopp complained with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry guys but a gentleman never tells” Shanks said leaving everyone a bit stunned that he wasn’t starting to brag and for a moment the whole galley remained silent before it erupted in laughter.

For the rest of breakfast the guys tried to get something out of Shanks but he truly kept quiet though the glances he gave you were telling them enough.

“I swear, (Y/N)…if I had one wish, it’d be that we could freeze time right here,” he murmured later on as you both stood on the deck.

You tilted your head back to meet his gaze, your fingers brushing against his. “And what if the sea had other plans?” you teased softly.

He chuckled, but there was a shadow of something behind his eyes a hint of foreboding that didn’t quite fit the perfect evening. “Then I’d face it with you. Always because there is nothing and no one that could take you from me.”

You felt your heart swell at his words, little did either of you know how much those words would be tested. A sudden shout from the crow’s nest snapped your attention skyward.

“Incoming storm! Big one!”

Shanks immediately tensed, but his hand never left yours. “Hold on tight, love,” he said, voice steady but urgent. “Let’s get you below deck.”

The crew scrambled, sails flapping violently, ropes creaking under tension. You clutched Shanks’s arm as the ship rocked, fear prickling at the edges of your heart. His strong arm guided you through the chaos, and for a moment, you felt the world narrow down to just the two of you together, against whatever came next.

And then, in a single heartbeat, it happened. A stray piece of timber, loosened by the violent winds, struck your head. Pain exploded across your skull, white-hot and consuming. Shanks’s voice became a distant echo. The last thing you felt before darkness claimed you was his hand gripping yours, warm and steady, and the sound of him calling your name like a lifeline.

 “(Y/N)?!?!” Shanks called over and over again but you didn’t move you just lay there unconscious.

“BECK!” Shanks finally yelled across the deck and Beckman moved immediately.

“Shanks what happened?” Beckman asked as he crouched beside you and Shanks.

Shanks though felt like he couldn’t breathe. His heart pounded so violently it felt like it would burst from his chest.

“Shanks! What. Happened” Beckman repeated placing a firm hand on his captain’s shoulder.

“I tried to – I wanted to get her below deck but – a loose timber – it hit her on the head and she – she collapsed” Shanks stammered his hand clutching yours tighter and tighter with every word he had said.

Beckman had never seen Shanks like this before and immediately moved, hoisting you carefully up into his arms. “Hongo! Infirmary! Now!” he called over his shoulder as he carried you.

Shanks followed him, still shocked, still in panic, still worried.

“Lay her here” Hongo instructed as they entered the infirmary and Beckman put you carefully down.

Shanks took your hand in his, holding onto tightly as he looked at your immovable form.

“Shanks what happened?” Hongo asked preparing everything for an examination of your body.

“Timber hit her on the head and she collapsed” Beckman answered instead, knowing Shanks was too far gone right now.

Hongo worked methodically, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to Shanks’s rising panic. His hands were steady as he checked your pulse, examined the wound on your head and prepared for any emergency procedure. “She’s sustained a serious head injury,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, “but she’s stable for now. We’ll need to monitor her closely. Keep her calm…or at least, try to,” he said, glancing at Shanks, whose knuckles were white as he gripped your hand.

Shanks dropped to his knees beside the bed, gripping your hand as if holding on could keep you tethered to life itself. “For now?” His voice cracked, a mixture of hope and fear. “That doesn’t sound very.....very safe!”

Beckman stood a few feet back, arms crossed, watching Shanks with a mixture of concern and exasperation. “Shanks… you need to stay calm. Freaking out isn’t helping her,” he said firmly, though his eyes betrayed his own worry.

“She needs rest and monitoring. Any sudden movements or stress could worsen her condition. I’ll have to keep her still and under constant monitoring for now,” Hongo explained.

“I… I can’t lose her,” Shanks whispered, his voice breaking, the words barely audible. “She’s… she’s everything to me.”

Beckman put a hand on his shoulder. “Shanks… she’s alive. We’re going to do everything we can. You need to stay calm. For her.”

Shanks shook his head violently. “Calm? How can I be calm when she’s lying here like this, like… it’s like she’s not even breathing the same air as me? I can’t—”

“Shanks, listen to me. Right now, she’s fighting. That’s all that matters. She’s not gone. Not yet and I’ll do everything I can to get her back,” Hongo said calmly and professionally.

Shanks though felt a surge of helplessness. “I—I can’t just sit here! I need to—” He swallowed hard, shaking his head. “I need to stay with her. I can’t lose her… not now, not ever,” he stammered.

Beckman softened slightly, giving Shanks shoulder a careful and reassuring squeeze. “You won’t. We’re going to take care of her, you know that Hongo is an amazing doctor you’ve seen it a hundred times before.”

Shanks’ chest heaved as he tried to steady his shaking hand. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, ignoring the sweat or soot on his brow. “(Y/N)… please. Please come back to me. I need you… I need us. Don’t leave me.” He mumbled voice cracking and tears welling up in his eyes.

Beckman’s jaw tightened. He had seen Shanks in countless battles, facing death and chaos with a steady grin and iron resolve but this? Seeing him break like this, seeing him vulnerable… it was a wound in its own right.

Hongo exchanged a look with Beckman before looking at Shanks. “We need to let her rest now. Shanks… you can stay by her side, but she needs to recover without interference. Try to breathe, for her sake and for yours.”

Shanks didn’t pull back. He simply clutched your hand tighter, pressing a kiss to it. “I’ll be here, (Y/N). No matter how long it takes. I won’t leave. I swear it.”

Hongo glanced between you two. “I need to administer a sedative to keep her stable through the night. After that, it’s mostly monitoring and supportive care. She’s in good hands, Shanks. I’ll do everything possible,” he explained.

Shanks nodded numbly, still gripping your hand. “Don’t… don’t let anything happen to her… I swear I’ll never forgive myself…” His voice broke completely, and for the first time, the tears spilled freely down his cheeks.

“You’re not alone in this. The crew is here, and she’s strong. Focus on being here with her, she’ll need you when she wakes,” Hongo said, giving him a small reassuring nod.

The red haired Captain hovered at the edge of the bed, his trembling hand fidgeting helplessly with your fingers. “(Y/N)… stay with me, please… don’t you dare leave me,” he whispered.

The infirmary was now silent except for the gentle hum of the ship and the steady beeping of monitors. Outside, the storm raged, but inside, time seemed suspended. It was just you, Shanks, Hongo and the fragile hope that you’d open your eyes again.

Shanks leaned closer, pressing his forehead to yours gently, ignoring everything around him. “Come back to me, (Y/N)… please. You’re not going anywhere. You hear me? There are so many other coves I want to show you,” he almost pleaded.

For the rest of the night Shanks didn't leave your side, never letting go of your hand except when he was brushing a stray hair from your face or pressing his forehead against yours. The sedative Hongo had given you made sure you were getting through the night without any complications.

Hongo also never strayed far to keep monitoring your condition but at the same time give his captain the time with you alone he needed.

Meanwhile Beckman had taken over Shanks' duties as a captain to lift at least that weight off his shoulders for now. By dawn, the first rays of sunlight spilled through the infirmary windows, painting the room in warm golds and soft oranges. Shanks' hair was mussed, his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep, but he hadn’t once left your side. He whispered your name over and over, low and trembling, as if the sound alone could coax you back to him.

“Love…(Y/N)…” he rasped, brushing a lock of hair from your damp forehead. “It’s me… it’s Shanks. You’ve got to wake up… please.”

Even as Hongo checked your vitals and adjusted the blankets, Shanks didn’t flinch, didn’t falter, didn't move. Beckman regularly slipped in to update him on the ship, subtly urging him to eat or rest, but each time Shanks shook his head. “Not without her… I can’t… not now,” he'd mumble.

The crew worked quietly outside the infirmary, the usual noises of the Red Force reduced to hushed footsteps and careful movements. They kept glances brief, each of them carrying a shared fear — that Shanks might lose the one person who anchored him completely. Even as they tried to mask their own worry for your sake, it was impossible to hide it from each other.

“Her condition is stable. She’s safe… for now. But this isn’t a guarantee of how long she’ll stay unconscious. She’ll need time, patience and care. And… you need to take care of yourself too, Shanks,” Hongo said by mid-morning, finally breaking the heavy silence.

Shanks pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, leaning back just slightly to look at you. “I don’t care about me right now,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I just… I need her back. That’s all that matters.”

Hongo gave a small nod, knowing better than to argue. “Then stay with her. But don't forget that the crew, we are all here, to support you, be there for you, you’re not alone in this. But we also need you to look after yourself. Shanks don't shut us out and let us help you,” he said calmly.

Shanks’ gaze softened, and for a moment he closed his eyes, letting the weight of the night settle around him. Beckman reached out, resting a hand on his shoulder again. “We’ve got this, Shanks. We’ll keep everything steady for now. You just focus on her but don't neglect yourself completely,” he urged.

And so, as the ship rocked gently on the now calm waves outside, Shanks stayed in the infirmary, always by your side, speaking in low murmurs, recalling shared memories and promising every tomorrow he could give. While outside the infirmary, the crew worked silently, a quiet army of care and concern, all bound by the one truth they couldn’t say aloud — that they, too, feared losing not just you, but the man who loved you with every fiber of his being.

To be continued...

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.