Where Angels Fear To Tread

Luffy’s “gotta catch them all” attitude toward friends is hella entertaining

What You Mean

Silvers Rayleigh x GN! Reader

You were distracting yourself. You knew it, no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself otherwise. This constant grind of work, projects, and training was your life at this point, only broken up by the occasional collapse onto the nearest flat surface for a quick nap. Meals were eaten on the go. You worked your errands and home responsibilities around everything else. Honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d spent more than an hour or two in your own house. 

And it was all to avoid that one man. 

Rayleigh had blown into your life like a hurricane. He was wild, untamable, and hypnotizing to watch in the most dangerous way. Those fleeting glances had been what got you into this mess. A late night chat at the bar turned into a steamy bedroom affair unlike your filthiest dreams. Night after night, you’d sneak back to his cheap hotel room together or - if the mood called for it - a back alleyway would do. 

It wasn’t just the sex either, regardless of how amazing Rayleigh could make you feel. He was a wise soul, a man with twice the life experience of anyone you’d known and a calm attitude that seemed impossible to rock. That was what truly kept you around him for so long. Plenty of times after you’d had your fun, Rayleigh would let you lay on his chest, playing with your hair as he told you stories of his adventures with Roger. 

You saw him reveal some of his most intimate emotions; anger, grief, joy, and a deeply nostalgic longing were laid out for you without hesitation. A part of you reminded yourself that he probably did this with all his playmates. He was at an age where he saw no need for putting on a macho act. He was who he was and he was comfortable in everything that entailed. Still, the vulnerability made you feel closer to him, like you were a treasured confidant. 

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ALSO

Can we talk about Law’s line at the end of 1039

in conjunction with his Punk Hazard speech?

This speech is one of my favorite moments in the series. Lest we forget, Law was the one to set all of this in motion when he set out to take down Doflamingo. Taking down Doffy knocked down countless other dominoes, and now we’re seeing Emperors falling.

A new age has come. The gear is broken.

I just have a lot of feelings.

Another one made for this wonderful fanfic

"Mister Beckman"

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,113 Drabble

(Image Source a:)(Image Source b:)

Synopsis: The first mate of the Red-Hair pirates is attempting to relax and enjoy his evening with you, but is rudely interrupted by Shanks' tinkering and clanging within the Captain's quarters.

Themes: First-mate x crew, established relationship, lounging, drinking, smoking, gentle touches, sweet domesticity.

Notes: The Beckman brain rot got me. This beloved first-mate lives rent free in my head, and I adore him.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @feral-artistry

Echoes of clangs of metal meeting wood reverberated throughout the hallway of the Red Force. The ship shook against the metal banging, its source within the Captain’s quarters beginning to crescendo upwards in volume and the drawn out clangs became more erratic and frantic with each shattered bash. 

Benn Beckman sat on the wooden deckchair, closing his eyes and furrowing his brows at each of the beaten clangs ringing in his ears. Reclining against your own deckchair, your legs comfortably rested over his thighs and secured beneath the heel of his left palm. He drew up his right hand and pulled the cigarette from his lips, blowing the smoke away from you before slyly raking his eyes over your body from the corner of his eyes. 

Your brows knit in concentration as you read over the itinerary to be completed within the next port. He gave your calf a gentle squeeze before slowly dancing his index finger over your shin up to the point of your knee. Pursing your lips and arching your left brow, you refused to break your eyes away from raking them over the itinerary as he continued to trail his digits over the cap of your knee. 

“Mister Beckman,” your warning tone rising at the end of his name, your tongue clicking in a small reprimand, “I am trying to read.” His fingers end their small dance against your skin, his firm hand cupping over your knee as he leans forward. The clangs continue to pick up their rapidity and volume, before halting all together with a murmur of angry words strung into loose sentences.

Beckman hums in response, placing the butt of his cigarette within the glass ash-tray and pressing it beneath the pad of his thumb to extinguish it. He joins his right hand against your skin by cradling your calf and moulding the flesh beneath it. The angry vocal murmur continues to rise alongside the recommencing clanging and clashing within the Captain’s quarters. 

“Mister Beckman,” you sighed, turning over the page of the itinerary and glaring at the pages, “Are you going to check on our Captain?” He grunted at your question, a lengthy sigh pulling itself from his chest immediately following. Leaning down in a deep stoop, he placed his lips against your shin, cradling your calf against his chest as he drew his lips up. Pressing several fluttered kisses against your flesh, he continued to trail his lips upwards with his smile felt in each flurry. 

“Darlin’,” he muttered against your skin, “It’ll take nothin’ short of-.” A particularly loud clang of bashed wood meeting metal broke his words away from his lips, his head snapping over in the direction of Shanks within his quarters. 

“Beckman! Becks!” Red-Haired Shanks yelled at the top of his voice. The booming anxiety had Beckman removing your legs from his lap, and rising immediately to his feet to sprint towards the direction of the Captain’s quarters. 

You sighed at his warmth disappearing from beneath your legs, your ears pricking for any indication of the source of the clanging and banging.

Managing to scribe several notes over the itinerary, you glanced up to see Beckman re-emerging from the Captain’s quarters with a look of defeat over his face. Eyes closed, a deep frown found purchase against his brows, with his jaw both tense and slack at the same time. You could tangibly see the pulsation of a vein beating against his temple, his pulse elevated and aggressive in its rapidity.

He withdrew a cigarette from his pack and rose it to his lips, igniting the end and inhaling a deep gulping lungful of the nicotine-riddled tobacco. His exhale was heavy, the weight of what occurred within the Captain’s quarters falling from his exasperated breaths. 

Brows upturning with empathy, your lips pouted at the sight of the first-mate in such a sorry state. You rose to your feet, walking slowly over to him as he allowed a small hushed growl depart from his lips on his next exhale. 

“Why is it always me?” his raspy rumble mixed with his chagrin, prompting a small smile to elevate to your lips. You raised your right hand up to collect his left cheek, his eyes opening at the soft impact. The gruffness of his silver grained stubble danced with the softness of your palms as they drew his face closer to you.

“Because it’s what you do,” you offered him your response, gazing lovingly into his eyes, “And we all love and appreciate you for it.” He allowed a softness to dance in his eyes as he gazed into your orbs, the love dancing tangible within your rounded globes. He removed his cigarette from his lips and hung his hand limply to his side, stooping down to meet your face with his. 

“We?” His lip ticked up at the corner as he continued his descent to meet your face with his own. 

“Of course ‘we’,” you praised him with your wide and innocent eyes floating between half-lidded eyes, “But we know I love you most.” You gave him a small wink, prompting a rumbled chuckle to rise within his chest.

“Thank you, Darlin’,” he leant his forehead against yours, ensuring his cigarette was far enough from both of you to not dance its ignited end against your skin. You closed your eyes, humming at the kiss of your foreheads meeting, before pulling apart from him and gazing once more into his grey orbs. 

“You going to tell me what that was all about, Mister Beckman?” You asked him. His smirk danced over his lips, his hand collecting fallen strands from your forehead and hooking it behind your ear. 

“There you go again. Sayin’ ‘Mister Beckman,’ like it doesn’t rouse somethin’ in you,” his voice growled in a subtle purr down into ear, the follicles on the back of your neck rising to attention. He chuckled into your ear before rising himself away to press a chaste kiss against your temple with a small promise of, “I’ll tell you about it later. For now, let's go sit back down. I need a drink.”

“Aye, sir,” you offered him a two fingered salute, shooting a small wink at him before turning and walking back to assume your prior position reclining against the chairs. He sighed deeply, watching the small swing of your hips in front of him and shaking his head. He whispered below his breath to vocalize his thoughts.

“This is why I went grey before fifty.” You turned and glanced at him over your shoulder with a sly smirk dancing at the corner of your lips. 

“And what pretty grey hair you have, Mister Beckman.”