#benn beckman ships it

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Paper Pirates (Conclusion)

MDNI

Shanks x f!reader

Summary: An unconventional member of an unconventional crew, you finally solve your captain's equation.

Warnings: Smut, fingering, piv, swearing, smoking, allusions to power imbalance

A/N: Merry Christmas and happy holidays! - Ya filthy animals. Thanks for all the support! I have another Shanks piece brewing (a genuine one-shot, even!) that will hopefully see the light of day in the coming week. Til then: stay tuned, drink water, kiss someone you like, and survive the holidays!

Shanks is, as ever, a bonfire on a winter night. Blazing bright and beautiful. A human beacon with a smile so bright it made his hair dull by comparison. He should be ridiculous, maybe even an object of pity with his scarred face and missing arm, but he’s confidence given legs – legs in ridiculous printed trousers, even.

He holds court in the bar closest to the docks. He’d swaggered ahead with all your worldly possessions under his arm, chatting up passing locals. You’d followed, drowning in his wake. The storm inside you didn’t touch him.

You followed him here, met up with the crew after picking open you scabs so he could see how deep the infection ran, and now you’re once again ducking under too many waving hands and wondering how the hell these killers and thieves smile so readily. As he guzzles sake and laughs with Lucky Roux, he feels farther away than ever. Memories are easier to hold close. Now you can only calculate the gulf between your understanding and his plans.

The sea between your feelings and his easy charm.

This must be what a cuckoo chick feels when it realizes it has the wrong feathers.

Cheering voices shake the tavern walls, and you sit among the merry-makers, pretending to enjoy yourself. But you know your voice would come out wrong if you joined in. There’s a reason you never fit the atmosphere aboard the Red Force. Even when they were trying to be kind, your comrades must’ve sensed something strange had hatched in their midst. An intruder in the crow’s nest, so to speak.

You sit, stewing in your own self-pity, taking the barest sips from your glass. You can’t afford to be drunk. Not tonight. Not after your conversation with Shanks.

Maybe things have never been easy between you and the Red Hair Pirates, but everything spiraled after you revealed yourself on a tide of rum and fatigue. Drinking is a solitary activity now. No way in hell will you make things worse. You still hope, a little desperately, for an amicable separation.

You spill your drink twice, fetching refills to keep up appearances.

That game ends when Beck joins you. He lands across the table, filling the corner where you settled with the excuse of eating away from flying elbows and table dancing. The stew smelled so appetizing every other time you passed the place, but you’re struggling to do it justice. Doesn’t help that it gets colder with every bite.

Still makes a marvelous diversion from Beckman, though.

Until he opens his big, stupid mouth.

“Hongo seen the wound yet?”

Which wound? The time you shot yourself with your own big, stupid mouth in his company or the bullet you caught during your year or isolation?

“No wound.” You shovel a spoonful in your mouth, buying a moment of peace. “Just a scar. And he’s threatened me with a thorough exam tomorrow.”

“Shame. Earned your first major scar of on your own.”

He makes it sound like your fault somehow, and that grates. Your tolerance is growing thin, and you haven’t spent more than ten minutes in each other’s company tonight.

It isn’t your fault they left you behind. As always.

It wasn’t your fault the Marines fucked up a good thing. As always.

It sure as hell wasn’t your fault that you got shot in one of the most chaotic battles you’d ever seen.

The world turned and you clung on where you could.

You wonder if Beckman even remembers what it’s like to have no one at his back, no ship to rely on.

He taps out a fresh cigarette. “Would’ve been an opportunity to celebrate.”

You laugh as he lights up, almost genuinely. “Like you’ve ever needed one.”

If the crew celebrated every first scar acquired on the sea, they’d never stop drinking. But maybe they do. It would explain some things.

“Hn. It will be good to have you back on the ship. Never enough good crew.”

“Oh please, we both know I’m average at best.”

“Do we?” Beckman didn’t take his eyes off his match. “Captain talk to you about his plan yet?”

Your spoon circles the bowl’s rim. The vibration shakes into your fingers as metal drags over rough crockery, but the men are too loud for you to hear the chime.

“We talked about a plan. Wasn’t really his.”

One more bite. Just to soak up the drip of booze you’ve choked down. Nothing’s ever as good as you hope these days, and you’re starting to wonder if it’s your own fault.

You push the meal away, hoping no one asks why there’s so much left. The folks behind the counter work hard, and you’d hate to insult a family recipe.

Beckman shakes out his match, and his cool eyes fix on you. For all the bodies in the room, his attention carves out a private space. You might as well be back on deck, drinking in the dark after they party’s over.

You lean back. Cross your arms.

“I do sometimes look up from the books, you know.”

If the Captain agrees to your plan, it will impact Benn’s role most. And you’re comfortable with him. He doesn’t ask for much. So long as you meet his expectations, he doesn’t demand a sunny smile and a performance. You’re grumpy bastards both, the eyes in the back, assessing and measuring. You don’t know what answers he’s looking for at your table in the corner, but you can guess a few questions.

“Shanks only brings aboard people who’ve already… become what they’re gonna be, I guess.” Just saying his name pushes your gaze to find him across the room.

It’s no wonder you fell in love. Doesn’t make you any less of a fool. “It’s why he doesn’t take on apprentices, I think. He knows he’d protect them. They’d get hurt. They’d have to, at some point, or they’d never push themselves. So, he always turns the young ones down.”

Benn doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t twitch. He blinks, slowly, like a cat, and a ribbon of smoke fades into the rafters. You look him in the eye.

“That’s how I know. I am what I am. Good at numbers. Entirely average in every other respect.”

“Tsk.” He looks away. Uses his boot to grind out an old cigarette that’s been cold on the floor since before you arrived. “You see the numbers, but you’ve put ‘em in the wrong places. A transcription error. Get out of your own way.”

Your arms cinch tighter around your chest, and the eye contact slips up and away. The rafters offer an escape. You study graffiti carved by a thousand daggers over endless decades by happy drunkards. Maybe they’re a map to sanity. A star chart of curses, confessions, and promises.

Are you even having the same conversation? It feels like everyone is pushing you to the brink of madness.

Nothing adds up anymore.

“You’re smart,” Beckman says. “And you’re strong.”

He kicks you under the table to reclaim your attention from the ceiling, and you jump, yelping. You regard him with a hint of shock. It’s minor violence, yeah, but it’s friendly violence. It’s a new level of engagement. The routine mandates sitting and snarking over more booze than you want to drink. Beckman isn’t the touchy sort.

The cigarette dips as he grins.

“Let yourself believe in something, girl.”

“I – I don’t – what?” Your tongue is too big for your mouth, and your teeth keep getting in the way.

Beckman glances away, and you follow his line of sight through the shouting, and the drinking, and the rowdy delight to your captain.

Shanks.

He’s in the middle of a story, slapping the bar for emphasis. Part of you wishes you could sneak closer. Hear his tall tales and measure them against his usual bullshit. Bask in his presence. But your overwhelming common sense tells you it would burn to sit beside him. Bonfires can catch.

Seas. He really is beautiful.

You remember who you are sitting beside.

The first mate chuckles, and your face burns.

Flailing to your seat, less graceful than most of the drunks, you cough up an excuse.

“I’m going for some air.”

Cigarette smoke chases you out the door, and you march away from the windows, turning the corner into an alley where you can breathe.

Fuck’s sake.

You press cold palms to your cheeks, horrified by the heat. Did your feelings show? Beckman clearly spied something to amuse himself with in your expression. Who else? How many witnesses to your shame would cackle at your expense in the morning? Maybe they’d just assume you stepped out to throw up. Because you had good manners, unlike the rest of them.

Not a bad thought, actually. You feel like hurling.

Night has settled over the town, and the locals are giving the pirates their space. Normal people have normal work to do in the morning, and even Shanks can’t chat the stars still. A breeze carries whispers of the sea into your hideaway, and you ache for the clean smell of deep water far from shore.

Your resolve cracks like an egg.

Slumping against the brick wall at your back, you accept your truth. It doesn’t even take half a bottle of rum this time.

You love Shanks. You crave life aboard the Red Force. The captain shared a taste of his world and instead of thanking him for the experience, you’ve gotten addicted. Demanding. It will never be enough. Given the chance, you’d die happy at sea, listening to the ship groan creaking lullabies.

You might die if they agree to your proposal.

If Shanks leaves you forever.

Even though that would be safest. That would be reasonable.

That would be good for the crew. For him.

“There you are.”

Think of the devil.

Shanks, framed in moonlight, invades your sanctuary. “Thought you might be sneaking off.”

You freeze. Your mind goes blank with the fear of being caught and the contrary urge to impress. Something spews out of your mouth, but you have no control over it.

“Just breathing.”

What a fucking stupid answer. Might as well tell him there was no air in the tavern when you noticed how his eyes sparkle when he laughs.

“Well.” He picks a spot on the wall across from you, mimicking your position. “Can’t have you stopping that, can we?”

An obligatory smile. You’ll give him whatever he commands, but there’s no joy here.

Believe in something.

Sure. Just like that. Drop all your defenses as you waited for the executioners’ spears.

Shanks smiles at nothing and glances towards the sky.

“Your thoughts aren’t too far from mine,” he says. “The old system needs adjustments. Can’t have you catching any more bullets with just your skin.” His eyes flick back to you, fixing you in place. You aren’t sure whether it’s your nerves or his haki.

“But we have very different ideas about your future with the crew.” His captain’s voice rings between the broken crates and empty barrels surrounding you. He’s found something he doesn’t like and he’s working out a solution, gearing up to state orders and fix his will on the future.

It’s a challenge. You rise to it.

“And what’s your great idea, then?” If he thinks he’s solved the equation better than you can, let him prove it.

“No more layovers. You stay on the Red Force like every other crewmate. The Den Den Mushi aren’t a bad idea, and I agree we’ll need new eyes and ears on shore, but your place onboard is essential.”

If people keep telling you things like that, you’ll start to believe it. You shake your head, knocking the warm fuzzies away before they rot your perspective like mold.

“I kind of doubt that. No offense.”

His eyebrows rise. “You think I’d have brought you on if I didn’t think you could cut it?”

“I mean,” you gesture broadly at the crew that isn’t there, “anyone can do the numbers with a little time and training.”

“Sorry to ruin your rosy view of the world, but they really can’t.” That captain voice is gone. He’s all smiles again. Teasing almost. Like he knows a secret and is watching you walk into a trap. “Not like you. Mathematics are strategy in your hands, and we need more of that. You have no idea how many times Building Snake complains when you aren’t around, or how often Lucky Roux moans about larder management. Your work touches everything.”

He leans forward, eyes glinting in the distant streetlights, and props his arm against the wall just over your head. Heat radiates from him and that stupid unbuttoned shirt he always wears. Can he feel the warmth curling out in answer from your own skin?

“And I agree with Lucky, by the way,” he croons. “You’re very scary.”

Your breath physically stutters. It’s entirely involuntary, and you bite your tongue, eyes wide as you struggle to read him. He still wants you on the crew. Alright. But what else?

Logic strains under the pressure of his regard.

You force yourself to breathe. Hopefully that will help you think. Unlikely, though, with the way Shank’s scent fills your head. It’s dizzying.

“It would still be a problem.” This isn’t reasoning. This is pleading.

His smile flicks to life, and like the helpless little moth you are, you prepare for it to scorch you.

“I don’t have a problem with it.”

One of his feet slides forward, not quite invading your space, but close. His toes linger in the gap between your feet, suggesting a path of navigation you know will take you past whirlpools and monsters.

He doesn’t get it. A quick pity fuck won’t fix this.

“It’s easy to ignore feelings you don’t have, Captain, but it would be a problem for me.” There’s nowhere to look but his eyes or his pecs, so you swallow your jagged anxiety and focus on his face. A strong twitch would bring you together, you’re that close. He deserves a punch. But that might just be an excuse to touch him. And you’d rather do that softly. Fuck.

“If we’re going to talk about it, then let’s get to the point.” There isn’t much space to draw yourself up, but you try, and you don’t miss the way his lips twitch. You want it to make you angry, but the rage just won’t kindle. “I caught feelings. That’s my fault, and you’ve been more than gracious about it, but I meant what I said, and if the best thing for the crew – for you – is to peel off, that’s what I’m going to do.”

That’s it. You’ve said your piece. Now he can make his move as captain. Chide you. Dismiss you. Laugh. Your eyes shut, and you brace for words you don’t want to hear. If he’d just cooperated with your plan and let you distance yourself, maybe you could’ve –

Hair whispers over your face, and Shanks’ temple presses to yours.

Your eyes pop open. He’s right there. Right here. He wasn’t supposed to come closer.

He chuffs, and his breath rolls down your collar.

“So stupid.”

He kisses your forehead as you stand dumb and amazed.

The…fuck?

What?

His little chortle cracks into a hearty laugh, but it isn’t mockery or a mere diversion from your shame. He laughs all the time, for all kinds of reasons. But this one’s real. His shoulders shake with it.

“So smart. But so stupid.”

There must be a proper response to this. But it feels like your first meeting all over again. Your decisions have been upended, and it’s all his fault.

But it’s a good thing. Isn’t it? Wasn’t it even back then, when he arguably ruined your life and turned you into a pirate?

It isn’t bad.

But it can’t be real.

Even though he’s filling your senses, and you’d never dare hope for something like this, let alone imagine it.

But –

Cigarette smoke wafts down the alley with Beckman’s shadow as he turns the corner. “You both are. Makes you well suited.”

The glowing tip of his cigarette is shockingly grounding. The bright red is familiar. It isn’t the romantic, pale moonlight or the dim yellow streetlights that cast everything in chiaroscuro. That’s really Beckman. This is really happening.

Your soul and mind slam back into your body with the violence of a shipwreck. Your defenses splinter, and it feels like your whole chest cracks open to put your heart on display, leave it pulsing and naked for a careless pirate’s strike.

Oh, holy shit.

You have absolutely no idea what your expression is doing at the moment, but Shanks leans even further in, letting his cloak block you from his first mate’s view. His lips hover by your ear.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course, Captain.”

“Do you trust me?”

Trust. Beyond his role as captain. Shanks the man. Shanks the man who said he doesn’t have a problem with your feelings. Shanks the man who doesn’t have a problem with your feelings and dropped a kiss on your head while crowding you against the wall in a dark alley.

Simple answer, really.

“I guess I do.”

He pulls back and grins like a gods damned shark.

“All I needed to hear.”

For the second time that night, he rips the ground from under your feet and flips your world on its head.

Fairly literally, this time.

Between one fluttering heartbeat and the next, he’s ducked, thrown you over his right shoulder and launched out of the alley. Straight into the air. Wind rips tears from your eyes, and your hair stings where it lashes against your skin.

Backman and the tavern shrink below, and gravity yanks on your stomach.

“Shanks!”

His laughter rumbles through his shoulder into your belly. He must’ve been expecting to sacrifice an eardrum to your shriek, and whatever he’s getting from this must be worth it. To him at least.

You’ve only seen him sky walk once or twice, one of many abilities he stores under good humor in case of bad weather. Since the Red Force practically demands fair weather by its very presence, you haven’t seen him break out the weatherproofing often.

Nails sinking into his cloak, your mind blanks on adrenaline. There are no equations in freefall.

Just as you begin to lose altitude, he steps again, and you howl, trying to sink into the man’s flesh. You’re like a cat frantically trying to cling to a human raft.

He touches down on the deck of his command ship, and you can’t unlock your knuckles from where they’ve knotted into his clothes. Just as well, because he doesn’t take his arm from around your knees. A few steps bring him to the captain’s quarters. A kick opens the door. A second kick closes it. And then – finally – he helps you slide down from his shoulder.

Your legs are boneless. You refuse to let go. Your dignity hangs by the thread count of his clothing.

“I thought you trusted me?”

Looking up, you meet his shit-eating grin, and you pant in lingering terror and growing rage. “Fuck you, Shanks.”

He’s practically glowing, he’s so happy. Cackling in glee, he falls back into a wide chair, pulling you to sit across his lap, your back supported by his remaining arm.

Shaking the hair from his eyes, he beams at you. Like you’re finally in on the joke.

“I think I need to keep you closer. Hard to take care of me from so far away, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” He isn’t wrong. The distance between you swelled like an ulcer, a terrible little fear you couldn’t help worrying as you scanned the newspapers and bounty posters for an update. For proof he was alright. Safe. Well.

But as the ringing fades from your ears and you take stock of where you’re sitting, you’re afraid to add up the final sum.

“Captain – Shanks.” You catch yourself. His hand rests on your knee, and because you have no idea where to put yours, you clutch one fist to your chest and let the other settle over his wrist.

What is happening? A black and white answer is all you want. You can set a course if you can just find the difference between north and south.

“What is this?”

His nose traces your jaw, and you turn into the contact as eager butterflies cannibalize the anxious moths banging around in your gut.

“What do you think?” He’s lured you close enough, and he steals a kiss. A satin brush of desire that conjures a sigh from his chest. Warm eyes find yours as they blink open, like sunset at sea. “It was never your problem. It’s my fucking problem, too.”

Whether or not he’s lying, there’s only one good response to that.

You know what to do with your hands now.

Taking his jaw, you pull him into another kiss. A proper one that delivers on all the restrained promise of the first. His grip rises to your waist, pulling you into his chest as his lips tattoo his feelings over yours. You’re far from a blank page, but you doubt you’ll ever be able to read old notes under the bold script he prints.

He pulls back to breathe, and he smiles under the little pecks you pepper over his face. Skilled fingers explore everything he can reach, and you know you’ve gotten too close to the bonfire. You’re starting to melt.

“I didn’t mean to leave you for so long,” he murmurs.

When his hand wanders over your chest, firm enough to spark every nerve to life, your head falls back, and he takes advantage. He mouths along your neck, around your ear as he continues.

“At first, I wanted to prove to myself that I could be good, that I wouldn’t take advantage of you. Be a responsible captain.”

He squeezes a breast, and the jolt rushes down your spine, trapping itself between your legs. Red hair twists between your fingers as you desperately explore him in return. He’s too busy talking and tasting to kiss.

“Wanted to give you room to breathe. To come to your senses.”

The wandering hand drifts. Smoothing over your sternum and down your belly, spreading over your trousers’ fastening.  

“But then one thing led to another, and Beck handed me your bounty poster.”

It shouldn’t surprise you that Shanks has a motormouth, even as a lover. His words touch as skillfully as his hand, though, and you’re drunker than you’ve ever been on rum. He doesn’t have to be good. Whatever he wants, he can have. You’ve been a cold pile of kindling for an age. He’s set you blazing to match his heat.  

His touch lingers on the buttons, and you kiss whatever parts of him you can reach. The crown of his head. His temple. You map his shoulders with curious fingertips, pushing under the collar of his loose shirt. He listens to your cues.

The first button pops free.

“I have no doubt you could go out on your own.”

The second button.

He slips his hand under your knee, pulling your leg to straddle him, your back to his chest.

“Make a name for yourself as a pirate. Terrify the world with your numbers and your revolver. But I couldn’t bring myself to be happy for you if you did.”

Back up your thigh, over your hip. He lets you simmer, anticipating his next move. Even as he finally moves under your clothes, he pauses short of the goal, and you whimper. Your head rests against his shoulder, allowing him every piece of you he desires, and he nips your earlobe.

Drunk off him as you are, he wants you to hear every word that comes next.

“I want you to be my pirate.”

Calloused fingertips creep between your folds, and you immediately roll your hips, chasing him the way you’ve wanted to for so long.

He grazes your clit in passing, and your back arches. “I am. I’ve always been yours, you idiot. Please, Shanks!”

Boyish giggles trail over your flesh as he finally touches you, strokes you, finds the proof of your unquenchable infatuation. He hums, beyond happy with himself and the task in hand.

“Poor thing. Have you been aching for me like this all year?”

You gather enough breath to pant, “Longer.”

He croons and licks the first dew of sweat blooming along your throat.

“Poor little pirate.”

Quick circles over your most sensitive spot push you staggering towards the precipice in record time. You’ve never gotten yourself off so fast. No partner has ever managed it, that’s for fucking sure.

But it’s him.

And he’s holding you, and all but purring as you flutter and jerk against him, and you want to…

One finger pushes in, and you buck, crying out. You’re still riding the cliff’s edge, and you aren’t sure if this is better or if you’re going to give him another scar for abandoning your clit. You whine, and the finger pulls back. It returns with a friend at a fresh angle that grinds his palm exactly where it belongs.

“Fuck.”

“Exactly.”

He searches, stretching you as he goes. When he finds what he’s looking for, your eyes all but roll back into your head. The both of you groan as you clench. He shoves you over the border, and you lose yourself. The orgasm rips your mind away, and you float, convinced you’d drift to the ceiling if he wasn’t holding you. Wasn’t still knuckle-deep, drawing out the fall.

By the time you settle back into your own skin, your toes and the tips of your fingers are tingling. He removes his hand and it only makes you want to cry a little.

Until he brings it to his lips. Sucks his fingers clean. Winks as you stare.

“To the bed?” He isn’t even trying to hide how excited he is. You can feel him, long and hard under your thigh, but the roguish glee in his eyes reveals more.

Once you’re in that bed, he won’t be letting you up for the rest of the night.

“Just a minute.” You pet his face, almost slurring as you explain. “I need to catch my breath.”

“Mn. Take your time then.” He nuzzles into your neck, and without the distraction of his fingers curling inside you, it tickles. A lot. His stubbly little beard rubs into your flesh, and you realize he’s doing it on purpose when you flinch and the hand resting over your belly squeezes. He draws his cheek over the sensitive spot behind your ear.

“Hmm? Something wrong?”

“N-no.” Fuck that. You can win this game. Even though you’re already biting your lip to keep the giggles locked in.

His whiskers move down your neck as he aggressively cuddles into the tender skin, hunting for the spot that will break your resolve. He finds it in the gap between shoulder and neck. Laughter tears out of you, and the hand on your belly dances to your side, setting you writhing on Shanks’ lap.

“Alright! Alright!” You go to stand, but his arm keeps you pinned.

“Thought you needed to catch your breath?” He doesn’t move away from your neck as he speaks, using his lips and breath to continue your torment.

“I yield,” you gasp. Tears gather in your eyes as you wriggle, trying to push your way free. “Let me go.”

The tickling fingers smooth flat again, and he stops attacking your neck. Only to place a chaste kiss there. “Never.”

But he does, letting you rise, sliding his grip down to hold your hand. He looks up at you, his heart in his eyes, and everything inside goes still.

It’s like sailing through a Calm Belt after passing through a storm. It’s the same ocean, but everything looks different.

Right.

This is it.

Safely at anchor, the ship barely moves, but there’s always that subtle sway that keeps the light moving. Your sea legs find it a thousand times firmer than shore. A dance that lulls and leaps. Home and heart.

His thumb rolls over your fingers.

Here’s the solution to the equations that never quite fit.

The solution brings your knuckles to his lips for a kiss, holding your gaze until you blink back to yourself.

“Take off some of those layers for me.” He’s all suggestion, in every sense, and nodding, you step back, letting your fingertips slide free of his hold.

You have no idea how to perform a striptease without making yourself ridiculous, so you stay practical. His attention keeps you safe, and you don’t look away as you shed your jacket, pull off your boots, tug away your socks. When your hands drift to your trousers, still unbuttoned from Shanks’ good work, his eyes dip to follow. The fabric falls, and his tongue runs over his lower lip, almost like he’s caught in thought. But his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide when he meets your eyes again, and you doubt there’s anything left in his head besides visions of what he’s about to do to you.

You begin working on your shirt buttons, and he stands. His shirt pulls smoothly over his head, a feat he performs gracefully even with a single arm, and your fingers shake, stumbling in their task as you appreciate the view. Golden skin and a warrior’s build. It isn’t even the first time you’ve seen him shirtless. Damn.

He basks under your appraisal, shaking back his hair and leaning his hips forward so there’s no mistaking his interest as he unbuckles his belt.

It dawns on you, as you struggle with your buttons, eyes lingering over inappropriate places, that it has been a very long time since you got this far. Romantically. With a man who’s clearly well endowed.

Math can be a cruel mistress. Even if physics isn’t your specialty, you understand some things about pegs and holes. Laws of volume and stretch. That sort of thing.

“Stop calculating.” He’s caught you. As usual. And he’s laughing you both past any anxiety. Easy as a strong wind under blue skies. “I can feel those damn numbers stealing your attention from me, and I’m a greedy, greedy pirate. I need it all.”

Your own grin catches, spreads.

A greedy pirate you can trust. Do trust.

Equations be damned. Shanks has always found a way to get what he wants, and you know he wants your pleasure as much as you want his.

He kicks off his sandals as he swaggers up to you and pulls you tight, banishing your calculations and concerns with a kiss. When his tongue begs entrance, you oblige, hurrying to meet him, eager to feel and touch and play in thrilling new ways.

You find the bed together. Or it finds you. Maybe, like Beckman, it has some secret understanding with the captain. A conspiracy to place you somewhere soft and vulnerable. Regardless, you fall back, never leaving your lover’s embrace.

Shanks is more than happy to finish with your shirt, making a show of slipping each loop free with his one hand. Everything else comes off in a rush. The man’s an octopus, groping, squeezing, and surrounding you like he has twice as many limbs as most men.

He has you on your back, bare, one leg hoisted over his shoulder. As he takes his time coating himself in your slick, a moment of clarity breaks through the crush of sensation.

“I really do want to take care of you.”

There’s no pause. He lets your words soak in, rumbling in satisfaction as he slowly breaches your entrance. He falls forward to rest on his forearm, covering you as he rocks in and out, creeping deeper like an incoming tide.

“Oh, you are. You’re taking such good care of me.”

He seals any further complaints away with a kiss, moaning and lapping into your mouth. There’s too much to parse into individual feelings. You’re so full, and he’s so warm. Pleasure thrums through you, and everything tangles into the press of bodies, the unspeakable intimacy of the act.

Some unknown time later, when you sneak a breath and a thought, you gasp, “Not fair.”

Wicked laughter answers, and he pushes deep, grinding up against your clit to chase away any idea of the world beyond how good he feels.

 “I’m your captain. Nothing about this is fair.” He bites your lip and moves faster, gleefully driving you to the brink of insanity once again.

Your body delights in his, and it fights to keep him as resolutely as your mind tried to escape. Every time you flutter and clench around him, his eyelashes flutter over his cheeks. The muscles over his back roll under your grip.

It’s strange and wonderful. A day ago, you expected him to abandon you to your sensible plans. Now, well, it’s a whole new world, isn’t it?

Whispers of his name pick loose strings from his control.

When you crash through your orgasm, burying your scream in his shoulder, he pounds you through it. His mouth moves, full of words he’s beyond articulating, and a groan from the depths of his soul shakes through the both of you as finds his own release.

He falls beside you, hair damp with sweat, meeting your pleasure-numbed eyes with a lazy smile.

“C’mere.”

His arm loops around you, pulls you back to his chest, and the afterglow hums over you like music.

Distant voices remind you of the crew outside Shanks’ quarters.

“I hope you know,” he mumbles, “you don’t have to worry about finding a spare hammock below decks ever again.”

He snuggles into your neck, and you stroke the arm anchoring you.

This dickhead.

How many crewmates saw the captain’s little show? How many put the pieces together after you both disappeared? How many heard you chanting his name?

Gods. You’ll have to find some energy to worry about that tomorrow.

Might be a good reason to get drunk, actually.

[r0ttkins]

Ok I got crazy about the Mihawk Usopp Besties

1 - now - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7

[chinelacanta]

at risk of losing his ‘red haired’ title from how green jealousy makes him

[cipher-zoo]

Shanks: If I say I love you, will you say it back? Buggy: Yes. Shanks: I love you. Buggy: It back. *Later* Benn: Why is the captain crying face-down on the floor?

[pining-pirate-tk]

Unknown Uncle

Uta, Red hair pirates and an unknown uncle

Original by [たなか] @tanakya123

[matttheratkingart]

Crack ships just hit different

[beanghostprincess]

I feel like the minute Luffy gets a crush on someone he panics and straight up hates it. It's like why am I acting so weird like it's just Zoro/Saji/ usopp!!! Every time they compliment them or smile at them, he has to cover his face with his hat. He starts laughing like an idiot and makes terrible comebacks. All of his confidence and stupidity turns into awkwardness and self-consciousness. He's straight up not having a good time.

Luffy would kill himself on the spot. He instantly just jumps into the fucking sea.

Zoro: Something something, of course, my captain Luffy: I- Haha. My heart is beating funny. Haha. Give me a moment, Zoro! <3 *literally just jumps into the water* Nami: LUFFY WHAT THE HELL??? Luffy: Glupglupglupglup

He knows what a crush is, he's not stupid. He just doesn't fucking want it because he doesn't know what to do with so many overwhelming emotions so he genuinely goes to Chopper to make it go away. Chopper is confused af because he genuinely doesn't know what a crush feels like exactly and he thinks Luffy is going to die of a weird illness so he PANICS. And if this happens casually when Law is around (make it around wci), he can't just take it anymore:

Law: Luffy, for the tenth time, you're not fucking sick. You just have a crush on your cook. Luffy: Torao you're the worst doctor in the world!! You're wrong!! I hate this!! Law: Yeah, well, people normally hate it. Deal with it. Why am I even helping you here- Luffy: MAKE IT GO AWAY!!!! Law: I CAN'T MAKE IT GO AWAY YOU FUCKING MORON THAT'S A YOU PROBLEM. IT'S NOT A MEDICAL CONDITION. Luffy: Then take my heart and just??? Throw it away??? Law: I am going to kill you with my bare hands. Luffy: Please? :( Law: Luffy, I swear to God-

The poor thing is so lost and he gets really overwhelmed by absolutely nothing. Like. Genuinely nothing- And the girls are always there to help him out, but sometimes it's just such a funny sight.

[Luffy sitting with Robin on deck and watching the crew just do their things. Usopp practicing his aim and new inventions in front of them] Usopp: Hey, Luffy! Check this out! *does the stupidest most sexiest thing in the whole world because he just looks hot af when he's shooting at stuff* Luffy, blushing uncontrollably, covering his face with his hat and dying from a heart attack: Jndjkandeuiwbkwendknjdkjs *Incoherent noises* Robin: Are you alright, captain? Luffy: Make it stop, Robin :( Robin: Haha, I'm afraid I can't do that. Usopp: Luffy??? Robin: He says it's really nice!

And a little bonus:

[Red Hair pirates and the Strawhats finally meeting and throwing a party together] Luffy: And then Zoro cut that guy in half like it was nothing! It was the coolest thing ever, right, Zoro? Zoro: I would go to hell and back for you, captain, and that's the anecdote you tell him? Luffy: I- It was a really cool fight! Shut up, captain's order! Don't say things like that! Zoro: Mm. Shanks: Oh. *Turns to Beckman* When were you gonna tell me the kid is down bad for his first mate? Benn: Congratulations, you got one out of three. If you guess who are the other two, I'll let you drink more than usual today, captain. Shanks: *Blushes uncontrollably* Chopper: Oh no!! You're sick too??! Shanks: What do you mean, funny reindeer? Chopper: Luffy does that when he's around Sanji a lot!! Shanks: :) The other is Black Leg. Benn: Not fair at all.

[onepiece-polls]

One Piece Crack Ship War - Round 3 Side D

Propaganda under the cut.

Cricket x Wyper:

They most honor their ancestors and their "friendship".

Their ancestors couldn't be together, but they can fix those bonds!! They can resolve the tragedy!!!!! They can be the gay lovers Noland and Kalgera were always meant to be!!!

Bennhawk: cmon CMONNNNN the two pillars keeping shanks from fucking dying...... guard dog and prissy cat...... two very smart and sexy men who see each other with vast respect.... if you peruse the 7 fics they have on ao3 you will understand.... Please see the vision here.....

[idkleer]

I (kinda) animated THE gif as Beck and Mihawk bc it fits them SO WELL (I’m normal about them I swear)

(I don’t actually know how to animate. original gif under the cut)

[mamoru-chiba-ua]

[willthelecter]

Source: @momoh_jiyucho

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

*clasps your hand* we're officially on the same boat and I'm in tears reading your reply

I sometimes forget that Shanks doesn't know WHY buggy left him, so there's no way for Beckman to know either, all he knows is what Shanks thinks of it. Would he assume Buggy hated Shanks and be a bit tense when Buggy boarded the Red Force? Like what he could say to Shanks to hurt him, didn't think it was a good idea to give Buggy and his followers safe passage but Shanks was persistent (what a softie) so Beckman relented, only to be smacked in the face by their clear (begrudging in Buggy's case) fondness for other, he knew Shanks held no ill will against his childhood friend but???? What the hell Buggy obviously loves his Captain so then?? Why did they part at all, Beckman now knows there's more to it.

I can't think too much about Buggy's side of all this I'm gonna cry again WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE WAS THINKING OF BECKMAN AS SHANKS "RAYLEIGH" 😭 I went back to check IKIKYB and Buggy thought of/brought up Rayleigh 18 times and I'm so emotional about it I can't do this

Buggy thinking he did good not joining Shanks because now he has a dependable and strong First Mate worthy of Shanks and the complete opposite of himself OOOUUGH I'M GONNA BE SICK BUGGYYYY I hate it here

While looking up the Rayleigh mention in ikikyb, I reread the part where Buggy casually says he knew being first mate to Shanks would be tough and he thought he'd be prepared, and Shanks looking on confused HE REALLY DIDN'T KNOW BUGGY WAS GOING TO BE HIS FIRST MATE, CANON WISE, TOO, THESE TWO NEVER TALKED, NEVER GAVE ANY INDICATION OF WHY THEY DECIDED WHAT THEY DID. But anyway I ended up agreeing with Shanks in your Fic, it's how I feel about it, too. I'm happy Buggy didn't become his First Mate because now Buggy can follow his own dream. It's just all so sad the way it went about..

(anon’s previous ask on this topic)

yeah, all beckman can know about shanks&buggy is what shanks tells him, and we know shanks is missing a few key details there. so beckman’s knowledge is incomplete—but i’m certain he knows it’s incomplete. that’s part of why i think he’s quick to reserve judgment, he knows there’s context he doesn’t have.

.

the first person to get buggy thinking about rayleigh in ikikyb is actually lucky roux, both indirectly (by making a hangover cure for shanks that was rayleigh’s go-to back in the day) and directly (by telling buggy about the day shanks and his crew ran into rayleigh in sabaody). every time rayleigh’s mentioned after that scene, it’s either buggy gossiping with shanks about rayleigh or being reminded of rayleigh by people around him (mostly beckman, but once or twice shanks does something the same way rayleigh taught them as kids, and galdino reminds buggy of rayleigh once too 😉).

.

yeah, like, who knows if shanks is happy with where his life is right now, but i think buggy can’t imagine a better life for shanks than the one he’s currently got, and he wouldn’t have that life if buggy had stayed. so leaving shanks must’ve been the right call. and (in ikikyb, at least), shanks agrees for the opposite reason—because he believes, after what buggy tells him, that staying with shanks would’ve been bad for buggy.

[cipher-zoo]

Buggy, writing a letter: "I'm going to kick.. your... ass."

Buggy: THERE. Now send it.

Alvida: your handwriting's terrible, are you sure you want to-

Buggy: JUST DO IT!

*later*

Benn: So what does it say?

Shanks, reading the letter: He says he's going to "lick my...."

Shanks:

Benn:

Shanks: Men! Set sail for Karai Bari Island immediately!

[softcenteregg]

//Well, maybe nothing lasts forever, even when you stay together... Now you're my favorite mistake.// Loose lighting practice between work and more work.

[zyuu-fusil]

How can I say goodbye to you.

After several years aboard, Gretchen (OC) eventually decided to leave the crew. By the time she had been pregnant with Beckman's child, but she didn't tell him about it.

(Commission by @.火人 on Mihuashi)

[allbluedepths]

This was originally part of the ship bingo post, but it spiraled out of control and became a very large pile of thoughts. So instead, the Wings of the Emperor AU is getting its own ship dynamics post for Shanks, Mihawk, and Benn because it's sorta its own thing, and I'm having a hell of a time trying to figure out how to even tag for it because none of their relationships fit in neat boxes very well.

(Wings of the Emperor AU is my early Red Hair Pirates era AU where Mihawk chooses to not become a Warlord and ends up not joining, but semi-sailing with the Red Hair Pirates. It mostly focuses on Mihawk's early dueling years with Shanks, his interactions with the Red Hair Pirates, and eventually getting swept up into their sailing shenanigans. TL;DR: I had the thought of "who would Mihawk be if forced to answer the question of 'who am I beyond just being a swordsman'" and it all spiraled from there.

For the record, some of the earlier posts aren’t 100% accurate anymore — big one being that I traded the “Mihawk was almost Shanks’ first mate” bit for something else — but this is an indulgent ship post, not me correcting my own lore post LOL.)

So, here’s a pile of thoughts to get my brain in gear to actually write more of the fic itself, haha. : )

This AU is… complicated? I'd say it's endgame Mihawk/Shanks/Benn triad in a very non-traditional relationships way. For example, by the time Mihawk semi-joins them and turns down the Warlord position, even Shanks and Mihawk don't have a concrete romantic relationship, and theirs is still the closest to that, haha. I guess it's best classified as:

Shanks and Mihawk: close relationship bordering on romantic; there's mutual interest, but their definitions of romantic also don't match "standard" definitions of romance, so it doesn't always read as that to others. Rivals/partners with a romantic flair?? Since Mihawk turning down the Warlord position and choosing to join them comes with a good chunk of other upheaval, there's a conscious decision to not really label anything, but they're on the same page of being mutually interested.

Shanks and Benn: hellooooo complex intertwined captain-first mate relationships. The fun duality of being both incredibly simple and incredibly complex. I'm team "many working captain-first mate relationships basically become life partnerships", and they're probably the prime example of that. Inconveniently for tagging purposes, it's smack dab in the middle of "&" and "/" relationships for AO3, so… eh, the vibes are vague. The details past the fact that they're basically each other's most trusted person stop mattering at a certain point.

Benn and Mihawk: Complicated, haha. By far the side of the triad with the most development to be had; right now, it's more like they're separate sides of a V polycule, rather than a triad, but the foundation's there. An odd, unexpected friendship turned an even more unexpected camaraderie as the years go by and Mihawk's around more and more. Absolutely no one outside of them (and occasionally Shanks) can really parse out what's going on here. Again, just over the line of what I'd tag as "&", and develops veeeeeery slowly over the years in its own undefined way.

…That ended up as a whole ass wall of words, haha. Shorter summary if you're looking for general relationship shifts:

Mihawk sails with the Red Hair Pirates (~6 years after the RHP start): only Shanks/Mihawk are semi/almost-romantic

Sailing time until Dawn Island: Shanks/Mihawk slowly get their shit together; Shanks/Benn inch toward maybe another realization or two, Benn/Mihawk "two introvert cats" bond starts really kicking in

Post-Dawn Island: Shanks/Benn get their shit together (thank you, realizations about mortality)

The decade-ish between Dawn Island and current canon: It's a polycule between an Emperor, an Emperor's first mate, and the World's Greatest Swordsman. Who cares if it makes sense to anyone else; it works for them, lol.

If you read this far, thank you, and I hope you enjoyed an unexpectedly long analysis drop for an AU I haven't posted for in a while and mostly exists in my brain right now, haha!