omi ⊹ ᡣ𐭩

"Hey, wait-" His warning was a little late when Geto's freshly-sharpened incisors had already sunk into the pad of your finger.

"He bit me," You frowned, pulling your hand back and holding it close to your chest, little red droplets pooling over the broken skin.

"You stuck your finger in front of his mouth," Gojo said it like it should be obvious. "It's, like, an instinct or something."

"How am I supposed to know that?" You blinked, wiping away the blood on your shirt with a disgusted huff.

Suguru stomped his back paw again, irritated with one or maybe both of you for bickering while he was stuck like that.

"What even happened?" You grumbled, muscles pulled tight in your jaw.

"Dunno," Gojo shrugged, readjusting the blindfold over his eyes and pulling it up just enough to peek again at his best friend on the table. "He swallowed the curse one second, and the next, poof!"

He talked with his hands, exaggerating the motion and cocking his head to the side.

"Poof?" You repeated, barely holding in your eye roll.

"Shoko says he should be back to normal in a few days," Gojo just kept on going, ignoring your strained stare. He did pause though, tilting his head from side to side sheepishly. "Or a few weeks."

You half-expected Geto to pop out from the hallway, a wry smile on his face and that annoying know-it-all crinkle of his eyes. Leaning against the doorframe murmuring something about you falling for another one of Gojo's tricks again.

Sure, they'd grown up from the teenagers who used to tease you at every sister school exchange, but ever since you transferred and started working with them as adults, you'd been swept up in their bullshit enough times that you were having trouble shaking your suspicions.

"So you want me to take care of a bunny, I mean, Suguru for weeks? While you do what, exactly?" You grimaced when you corrected yourself, looking back at the door that the real Geto still hadn't walked through.

Once upon a lifetime ago, you actually had a crush on him, doodled his name in notebooks and dreamed about confessing your feelings in some cheesy way. But you'd grown up too, enough to recognize that even as adults, he paid much attention to you outside of polite 'hello's and whatever schemes Gojo roped him into.

"Who do you think has to handle his missions now?" Gojo hummed, ruffling your hair before you could smack his hand away, a cocky smile still on his face.

Unbothered to pick up the slack from his best friend's situation.

You weren't sure what was worse.

Being the one to handle Geto's workload or taking on the workload of handling him.

"I might need you to cover some of his classes too," Gojo added.

"Gojo," You groaned, having a hard time glancing over at the bunny astutely observing your conversation for more than a few seconds at a time.

"Just if, you know, he's like that for more than a week," Gojo gestured back again, like the black ball of fur could speak for itself.

There was no way it'd last that long.

Or you told yourself as much, snagging the pet carrier from the passenger seat of your car and slamming the door shut behind you as you glanced up at your apartment.

You were pretty sure Geto shared your sentiment judging by the faintly audible little grunts from inside the plastic cage, the sound of his nails scratching against the sides.

Oddly enough, you were nervous.

Stomach hurting and twisting with each step you took forward, unable to shake your discomfort and anxiety. He'd never been to your apartment under normal circumstances. Never seemed to see you as anything other than a semi-competent coworker to help Gojo tease.

The latter had been to your place before.

A few times, actually.

Finding excuses to show up at weird hours on his day off, sometimes bringing souvenirs from his missions or just to bother you when he was bored and Geto didn't want to hang out with him.

At least it meant he knew your address, boxes waiting for you by the door, the pet supplies Gojo mentioned having delivered before you left stacked up.

You had to nudge them over with your feet to have enough room to unlock the door and push it open.

"So, uh, this is my place," You cleared your throat, setting the cage down on the floor. Geto was already scratching at the door of it, little claws scraping over the metal bars.

You glanced around your very much not animal-proofed apartment, the dishes still left in the sink and the blanket wrinkled on the couch from where you'd stayed up late watching tv the night before.

"Sorry, I, um, guess I should set up your stuff first," You sighed, opening the door again to start dragging all the boxes back in and tearing them open. Settling onto the floor next to him, legs crossed as you started to take out the pen you'd have to put together, the bags of hay and pet bowls before tugging out toy after toy.

You wondered if Gojo just ordered express-delivery for anything marked bunny in the pet section.

"Sorry," You absentmindedly apologized again to Geto, not even sure what you were saying sorry for. Maybe for the fact he was stuck with you in the first place?

Was it weird to talk to him like that? As if he'd really be able to respond?

You thought it'd be weirder to act like it wasn't still him, to ignore the cues he was still trying to send.

He was shaking his head no inside the cage, displeased with your decision.

"You want out now?" You asked, chewing on the inside of your cheek as his head bobbed back up. You glanced around your place again before hesitantly reaching for the latch to unlock it. "Promise you won't like, chew on any wires or anything?"

You were pretty sure he was internally rolling his eyes at you.

Feeling even more like an idiot, you unlatched it, holding it open so he could hop out. He was sniffing the air, nose twitching. You couldn't tell if it was good or bad.

Whatever he decided, he was quick to sprint away, disappearing around the corner to assess the rest of his new surroundings, where he'd be living for the time being.

You tried not to let the discomfort stew too much, tried to dismiss how nervous you felt at having him here too, distracting yourself with putting together the pen and moving all your furniture to fit it against the wall, filling up a bowls with water and setting up a box with hay for him.

Just throwing in the chew toys with the rest of the stuff made you feel weird, icky treating him like he was your new pet.

Would he think it was pity rather than sympathy if you tried to express that to him? Or would he hate both?

You frowned, breaking down the last of the boxes and tossing them in the trash while you glanced around the floor, searching for a flash of black anywhere.

"Geto? Um, hey, I've got everything set up now?" You called out, peeking into the kitchen and not spotting him there either.

You'd daydreamed a few times about Suguru Geto being in your bedroom.

You just hadn't imagined he'd be chewing up your favorite fucking shoes.

"What the fuck?" You huffed, going to pick him up just for him to scamper away at the last second, growling at you. "You're buying me a new pair, asshole."

That little prick.

It wasn't like you did this to him. Like you even wanted him here.

"We can just fucking pretend none of this ever happened once it's over, okay?" You gritted your teeth, picking up your now-wrecked shoes and walking over to the small trash can in your connected bathroom. "That's what you want, right?"

The black ball of fuzz in front of you made a sound. What exactly it was, you didn't know. Didn't fucking care. But you were pretty sure it was as close as he could get to agreeing.

"Fine then," You huffed, chucking the once beloved pair in the trash can and fixing your stare back in the petulant beast by your feet. Acting out as if you weren't doing him a fucking favor to begin with.

But it was hard for the anger to hold when you were looking at the new him in front of you. Knowing it was probably torture to be trapped in something so small, so helpless he had to rely on a coworker he barely knew to take care of him.

Your frown softened, letting out a soft sigh as the lid for the trash can shut again.

"Once you're you, we can just go back to how it was before. We won't even have to talk again."

This was perhaps the most humiliating week of his life.

Suguru Geto was a man who could stomach almost anything. He had to. Forced to swallow curses, bite back the bile in his throat and learn to live with the taste of it.

But really, hay?

All he could fucking eat was hay? A piece of romaine lettuce? A few carrots? Blueberries if he was lucky?

The taste was fine, good even, to his changed taste buds and the way his brain was currently rewired, but you feeding it to him? Biting your lip and frowning while your fingers held it out for him to take? Like you felt sorry for him?

He hated it.

Hated being trapped here. The stupid pen where you put chew toys for him, the brush you tried to use to comb his fur no matter how many times he managed to wiggle free from your grip, how quickly you bunny-proofed the place, closing doors and putting up gates to keep him contained to the living room and your bedroom. Although, you kept your closet shut now after he'd taken out his frustrations on your shoes in a moment of weakness.

The first few days consisted of feeble attempts at communication, your face scrunching up when you tried to get him to blink once for yes and twice for no before you realized that was stupid. Then came the papers, your almost illegible scrawl in big letters to ask him if the food was okay, if he needed anything, your pout returning when he kept thumping over and over again on the one marked no.

He didn't know if he should be annoyed or appreciative when you returned home from a mission the next day with those push-to-talk buttons people supposedly trained their pets with.

The rational part of him understood how hard you were trying to help.

It didn't make the idea you were trying to tame him feel any less dehumanizing, training him like he really was your pet.

Forced cohabitation was bad enough. He wished you'd just act like he wasn't there. Leave him to eat the hay and watch the tv you never seemed to turn off and wait it out until he got his body back.

You even tried to put him in a fucking harness one afternoon when you came home earlier, cooing softly about taking him outside to get some sun and go on a walk. You gave up after he accidentally bit you when your hand got too close to his face while he squirmed his way out of it.

"Hey, um, Geto?" You called from the bedroom, voice muffled despite the open door.

His head snapped up to the sound automatically, nose twitching. That was another thing, how easily his prey instincts took control at the first hint of danger, reduced to feeling even more like a trapped animal by his own body.

He still found himself staring at you though.

You were dressed up.

Not in your usual work uniform or one of the casual outfits he'd seen you in whenever you tagged along with Satoru somewhere, but in a dark little dress and heels.

"I'm heading out for a few hours, um, sorry to leave you by yourself again," You apologized, when really all he was thinking was thank fucking god for some peace. "Do, uh, you want the tv on or-?"

Suguru thumped his back foot, the best he could do for a no without going through the series of questions that'd inevitably come if he showed an ounce of interest in those dumb buttons.

"Oh, okay," You nodded, jaw tensing as your eyes swept back over the room, looking for something. You didn't find it, returning back to your room and coming out a few minutes later with a purse hooked over your elbow. "Well, um, I'll be back in a bit."

Suguru watched the door shut behind you.

The silence was strange, the quiet he used to enjoy back in his own home drowning him here. Time took longer to pass, no phone or books or movies to distract him.

He missed reading. Missed reclining in his own bed, missed warm baths and washing his hair.

He didn't miss you.

Okay, that was sort of a lie.

Your company was comforting, in a strangling sort of way, weighing down on his conscience in your absence. All his needs were met. Food, water, entertainment. But he was still bored without you.

A bizarre itch that his hind legs couldn't scratch, one he couldn't run from, pacing pointless circles, paws leaving tracks on your soft bedroom rug.

Your scent was everywhere, on every surface, clinging to the clothes you'd left on the floor in your rush to get ready.

He was thankful you weren't here to see him burying his nose into a dress you discarded in a pile next to your half-empty laundry basket, sniffing and rubbing his cheeks and chin over it. Suguru didn't even fully understand why - one of those stupid instinctual urges that he couldn't resist.

"Geto?"

Shit.

He scurried back out to the living room before you made it past the couch, your heels already kicked off as you tossed your purse on the coffee table. You reached up to cover your mouth while you yawned, steps wobbling a little, like you'd been out drinking. He noticed it then - how the hem of your dress was rolled up on your thighs, clinging to the skin, eyes glossed over and tired.

Drinking? Or a date?

He didn't think you had a boyfriend.

Satoru would've known, would've pestered you about it or complained to him about you having a social life outside of work. He'd even tried to set the two of you up a few times, although Suguru usually shot down the idea. He'd never been that interested in having a real relationship with anyone - assumed you were the same way. But that didn't mean you couldn't hook up, have casual flings on your nights off.

It bothered Suguru.

Much more than he cared to confess.

He stared while you half-collapsed on the couch, curling up on your side and reaching for the remote on the table to turn the TV on before sighing and shutting it back off. Rolling over onto your back to just blink at the ceiling overhead.

He was tempted to actually use the buttons for once, to smack the one that said where to see if you'd actually tell him how you spent your night away from him.

To convince himself that the only reason he was so irritated was the fact that you could leave and he couldn't.

"Hey," You murmured, turning your head to glance over at him.

Suguru wasn't sure what he'd say even if could reply.

Just staring at you when you sighed again, sitting back up and shuffling off the couch, disappearing down the hall into your bedroom.

Usually, you'd stick around, hang out in the living room and kitchen, absentmindedly talking to him while you went about your evenings. He waited for you to come back out, eyeing the empty spot where you'd just been.

You didn't come back out though, no soft hum of your voice talking to yourself or the quiet pitter patter of the shower running either.

And yeah, he hated to hop, but he was hesitantly hopping through the hall until he reached your cracked open door, poking his head through and scanning the room for you.

You had changed into a tiny pair of shorts, a loose t-shirt, sprawled out in your bed and reading with your head propped up on a pillow.

It was easy to imagine you spending your nights like this.

An uncomfortable feeling was settling in his stomach, mouth dry at feeling like an intruder, an interloper in your home.

You sensed him there, maybe heading the quiet creak of the door, glancing over your shoulder.

He expected a frown. Or even just a blank expression, something polite.

But you smiled instead, one corner of your mouth barely curling up, features softening. Warm. As if you were actually happy to see him.

"Bored?" You asked, tilting your head to the side. Suguru took a small step closer, nudging the door open further. Your smile grew at the affirmation. "Want up here?"

He bobbed his head just once. The most his pride would allow. You were quick to hop off the bed, scooping his off the floor and plopping him down on the bed.

Your touch was delicate, careful. Hands that held him like he was something precious, or breakable.

It dawned on him that it wasn't because he was. That it wasn't because you were looking down at him. But because you respected him enough to care he was comfortable.

The realization didn't help how fast his new heart was beating.

You flopped back down next to him, holding out your book and flipping back to the page you left off on.

"Satoru said you like to read," You commented, eyes on the words ahead rather than him. It was true, but for some stupid reason, he was stuck on the fact you could so casually said Satoru, when he usually only ever heard you use Gojo in front of him. The only time he ever heard you say Suguru was when you thought he wasn't there, only overheard in your conversations with Satoru as if he was a frequent topic of conversation.

He never thought he'd want to know what you used to talk about before as badly as he did now.

He tried to make a humming sound, to actually reply to you for once, wondering if you'd smile again.

You did.

"I can, uh, read out loud if you want? Or pick up some audiobooks for you to listen to while I'm on missions?" You offered.

He nodded again, taking a small hop next to you, his fur brushing against your skin as he laid out next to you, nose twitching at the sweet scent of your perfume. Just your perfume.

And secretly?

Suguru was glad you didn't smell like someone else.

The you from a few weeks ago wouldn't have believed it.

Somehow, someway, Suguru Geto had slowly started to settle into his role of a spoiled house pet. Your spoiled house pet.

He'd wait near the door for you to get back, although, your started to cut a few corners to get out of missions as soon as possible, wrapping up lessons early and sending the students for treats or shopping to give them a break so you could return to him faster. You'd set up audiobooks for him to listen to, buying a speaker just for him to be able to hear it properly and connecting it to an old tablet so he could listen during the day. He'd been more willing to communicate, letting you carry him up to the TV to pick out shows and movies to watch together or picking out what fruits he wanted from the fridge.

It was nice to not be alone.

You guessed he felt the same.

Sniffing at your clothes, his nose twitching when he picked up on the faint scent of Gojo clinging to your shirt just to rub his chin over it. Sitting on your lap and letting you stroke his soft fur while he made a quiet sort of purr to let you know he was content.

He'd even started letting you brush him without protest, let you check his sharp little teeth poking out, not that you really knew what you were looking for despite how many articles you read and videos about bunny dental care you watched.

"Pretty boy," You murmured, scratching behind his ears how you knew he liked.

It was easy to forget sometimes that your precious pet was really a fully-grown man and your former coworker.

What would happen when he transformed back? Or what if he didn't?

You were pretty sure he had to. An inevitability.

Each day brought new doubts, concerns that were getting harder to hide when you woke up and he was still this furry version of him.

You couldn't read his mind. But you suspected he'd gotten used to it the same way you'd gotten used to him.

Started looking forward to you coming home in the evenings while you spent your days thinking about being curled up on the couch with him, his comforting weight on your chest while he let you pet him.

Even with your new routine, you were still painfully aware your rabbit wasn't one.

"Long day, huh?" You muttered, yawning as you continued to stroke his fur. "Me too."

Gojo had left on some mission last night, leaving you to juggle his students and Geto's, dragging them with you to take care of lower grade curses across the city before returning them to the school, scuffed up and dirt-stained.

There was a knock at the door, loud enough you jumped, and Geto did too. Little nails scratched at the bare skin of your thighs below your shorts, scurrying off your lap to your side. You swallowed hard, glancing down at him before reluctantly standing up.

"Probably just food," You mumbled, picking up a slice of the apple you'd cut up for him earlier, holding it out for him to nibble on before you walked over to answer the door and get your own dinner for the night.

Technically it was.

It was just in the hands of a white-haired imbecile.

"How's my favorite two people, er, friends?" Gojo corrected himself, stepping inside and past you before you could stop him. He half-tossed over on your coffee table, squatting down to look at his best friend turned bunny.

"You could've called," You frowned, sighing as you shut the door behind him. "Or texted."

The disruption made you nervous. Convinced you that it was some sign of change, that for all you knew, it'd go back to before, getting the cold shoulder from a fucking rabbit.

"Can't I just check in on you two?" Gojo whined, reaching out like he was about to pick Suguru up by the scruff of his neck.

"Don't grab him like that, it could hurt him," You huffed, stomping over just for infinity to stop you before you could pull him back.

"Fine, fine," He groaned, and you didn't need to see his eyes to know he was rolling them under the blindfold. "So protective."

"Whatever."

Suguru stomped, letting out a soft little growl at how close Gojo was. But you weren't sure what annoyed him more - Gojo's proximity to you or him.

"You got anything sweet?" Gojo didn't let the topic linger, distracting you as he started pushed aside the plate with apples and pulled out your to-go box, lips curling down at its contents.

"I dunno," You shrugged. "I'll look in the kitchen."

You ended up scrounging through most of the shelves in your pantry and half your fridge before you finally found an ice cream bar in the back of your freezer, sighing as you went to return to the living room.

But you paused before you entered at the sound of Gojo still talking, holding Suguru up in the air while he tried to kick his paws and free himself. You almost giggled at the sight, already thinking all the different ways Suguru would surely find to get him back for it later.

"I bet you don't even wanna go back to normal, huh?" Gojo teased, cocking his head to the side while Suguru just let out another little bunny growl at him.

"Hey," You announced your presence, barely keeping the grin off your face as you stepped inside and Gojo quickly returned Suguru to the couch, attempting to look innocent.

Suguru was quick to hop back in your lap the second you sat down as you handed the ice cream bar over to Gojo, despite the fact it felt a bit like rewarding a baby for bad behavior. You grabbed another apple slice to make up to Suguru for it, automatically smiling when he started eating it.

"He lets you feed him?"

For the first time in the past few weeks, the idea of what came next didn't feel quite so scary. That it didn't have to be awkward or unfamiliar.

It wasn't so insane to think you weren't just coworkers or awkward acquaintances anymore. Things didn't have to be weird when this was over, or you'd have to go back to pretending you didn't notice him in every room you were in together.

Still though, you couldn't shake the small part of you that hoped for something more.

Where were you?

You'd shown up late a few times, but only ever an hour or two. Suguru was too short to see the clock on the stove, but he'd watched the sky shift outside from the fading pink of sunset to pitch black, with only the glow from the tv and the tiny lamp you'd forgotten to turn off in your bedroom to cut through the dark of your apartment.

The show you switched on for him earlier shut off at the end of the season, stuck on the same loading screen waiting for someone to press a button on the remote. Which, unfortunately, you'd left on the kitchen counter in your rush getting ready this morning, just out of his jumping height if he even wanted to try.

He'd been a little annoyed at first. He knew you'd feel bad about it when you got back, probably pick him up and apologize with a cute pout, nuzzling him against your chest or cuddling on the couch to make it up to him. He just wanted you to show up already so you could. Absentmindedly stomping his foot waiting for the click of the key in the lock, for you to shuffle through after the door swung open.

But it didn't come.

It didn't help that ten minutes felt more like an hour in this body. That with no way to measure time other than the episodes auto-playing and changing daylight from the window, the seconds stretched out, the hours dragged on until it felt more like days since he'd last seen you.

He tried to remember what you were rambling about this morning, if you mentioned anything about being late. But nothing stood out. You were teaching his students today, then a mission, right?

You mentioned that Nanami was supposed to come along, so surely, between the two of you, you could take care of even a special grade if you had to.

Or maybe you had, and you were out getting drinks with him. Maybe you were in the backseat of his car, letting him undress you and pull you onto his lap. Fiddling with his belt or running your fingers through his short hair-

The lock flipped.

Suguru had already made himself mad though, stomping his back feet before you even pushed the door open, uneven footsteps stumbling through. Haughty as he held his little bunny head up high, planning on giving you the silent treatment until he heard your shaky breathing.

His heart was beating too fast, blood roaring in his ears frozen in place listening to the slam of the door behind you, your footsteps pausing as you leaned against it, holding your side with one hand.

"Shit, Suguru, sorry," You mumbled, your voice weak. "Just, fuck, give me a few minutes."

Your body was shaking, from adrenaline or anxiety, taking uneasy steps forward and bracing yourself on the couch once you were close enough.

He wished he could see you clearer, all the wrong colors and the slightly blurrier bunny vision he was confined by made it hard to tell how hurt you were, how much blood was on your already dark clothes other than what had seeped through to stain your hands.

"It's not that bad," You said it like you weren't wincing, choking down the lump in your throat as you walked towards the bathroom. Suguru couldn't do anything except follow. Couldn't steady you, couldn't hold your hand or help you sit and clean up your wounds the way he wanted to.

Shit. Why the fuck hadn't you gone to Shoko?

Why hadn't Nanami dragged you back to her?

Suguru would've.

It slipped his mind that you weren't as strong as him. That you didn't have RCT. Watching you swallow the pain, forcing yourself to keep moving until you were shoving the door to the bathroom open, eyes glazed over and exhausted as you gripped the counter hard and rumbled through the cabinets for a first aid kit.

Half-collapsing on the closed lid of the toilet seat and rummaging through for gauze to press down on the wound through the torn fabric of your shirt.

It was almost funny, he thought Gojo was full of shit before. Of course, he wanted to turn back, of course he wanted everything to be normal again.

But his best friend knew him better. Was right for once.

He hadn't wanted that - he liked being with you, liked this limbo of long days spent in the comfort of your home and nights spent in your bed.

Suguru liked you.

It just hadn't struck him until now, when he was ready to throw all of that away to be able to help.

He needed his body back.

Needed to do anything other than watch every excruciating wince and flinch as you wiped it clean. You made a small noise when you went to pull off your ripped and blood-stained shirt, balling it up and throwing it in the sink to soak so you could examine the slash across your side better.

"It looks worse than it is," You spoke so quietly it was hard for him to hear. Trying to comfort him when he should be comforting you.

He should be carrying you to Shoko, cradling you against his chest and wiping away the tears brimming at your lashes.

You wiped them yourself though, swiping with the back of your hand just to leave a streak of blood across your cheek.

"I'll see Shoko in the morning," You excused, steadying your voice as you went through each step. Popping a few painkillers before disinfecting it, struggling to patch it up, hands shaking through unsteady stitches before you finished bandaging it up.

You didn't look at him.

Suguru wanted to know what you were thinking.

He had to make himself hop himself forward, rubbing his head around your ankles to forced your attention down to him.

"Hey," You muttered, balling up the plastic wrapping of the bandaid and tossing it in the trash can. "You don't have to feel bad. I'm okay."

You weren't that convincing when you couldn't even bend over to pick him up or pet him.

He stayed by your feet while you cleaned up the first aid, filling up the sink to soak your shirt before you walked back to your bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed and preemptively wincing at the thought of finishing changing. Suguru pulled at your shoelaces to untie them for you, loathing just how little he could do to help.

You laughed, something short, sweet, leaning over to pull your shoes off, carefully lifting him up and placing him on the bed. Even the simple movement seemed to hurt, your face scrunching up as you sucked in another breath.

"Thanks, Suguru," You sighed leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead.

He needed you to kiss him again - the real him.

You felt him first.

Someone's arm was wrapped around you, your cheek pressed against something firm and warm, smooth skin and hard muscles practically suffocating you. The blanket was still pulled up around your, your limbs tangled in the fabric while the weight of him kept you there.

Him sleeping on top of you was fine when he was like, eight pounds. He weighed a lot fucking more as a human.

Blinking back surprise, trying to squirm free just for Suguru to grumble something incoherent in his sleep and hold you tighter.

"Sugu, shit, Geto," You groaned as you corrected yourself, managing to pull your arms free to start pushing him off. Your side still hurt from yesterday, a dull throb that ached with every movement.

He just readjusted instead, moving down to nuzzle his head back into your neck, long dark hair splayed out and tickling your face, still too asleep to realize he wasn't a small bunny anymore.

"You're heavy," You complained, and he stirred, his body going stiff the second it hit him why.

"Fuck."

His voice was hoarse and raw, like it hurt to use. It took him a second to start moving, every motion slow, sluggish while he untangled himself from you. You tried not to stare, sitting up in your bed while he stood, but your eyes had a mind of their own, raking over his body to realize he was very much naked.

You made a small noise, immediately looking away and throwing the blanket at him to cover up.

"Um, okay, well, I'm, uh, gonna call Gojo so he can get you some clothes," You rambled, covering your eyes with one hand and fumbling for your phone where you could've sworn you left it on the nightstand before you fell asleep.

A warm hand brushed against yours, goosebumps going up your arm as sturdy fingers skimmed over your skin. It took you a painfully long second to realized he was holding your phone out for you to take.

"Thanks," You choked out, grabbing it and crawling out the other side of the bed so you wouldn't accidentally bump into him. "You can just, uh, use my bathroom to shower or take a bath or whatever."

You were scurrying out before he could reply clutching your phone like a shield to save you from the sheer awkwardness.

In your hurry, you hadn't realized you'd torn your sloppy stitches until you felt something damp through your shirt as you slammed the door behind you and started frantically thumbing through your contacts for Satoru.

"Shit," You muttered, hitting the call button and tucking it between your ear and shoulder and hurrying to the other bathroom to clean it back up, choking down a few more pain killers dry as the phone rang.

"Good morning, princess," An annoyingly chipper voice answered right as you perched yourself on the edge of the bathroom counter.

"I need you to come over," You cut straight to the point, hoping he didn't hear the tremble to your voice when you pressed down on your wound with a fresh piece of gauze. "Suguru's back to normal. And, um, naked."

"I'd never say no to you, but a threesome at nine in the morning is a little early, baby."

"Please just bring him some clothes, idiot," You gritted your teeth, bracing yourself as you disinfected it again.

You really just needed to go see Shoko, but you wanted to make sure Suguru was fine first.

"So no-"

"I'm hanging up now, be here in the next five minutes before I have to maim you," You warned, ending the call before he could say head.

Your side fucking hurt, grinding your molars just replaying the memory of that stupid curse catching you off guard after you thought you killed it.

Nanami had tried to convince you to call Shoko, but it was her night off, and she was out on some date. You didn't want to drag her away unless you were actually actively dying.

Although, you might need to interrupt her morning after now.

There was a sharp knock on the bathroom door, and you forced yourself back on your feet.

Gojo probably fucking teleported straight into your living room.

You glanced around the bathroom, pulling a bathrobe off the door and wrapping it around yourself, tying a bow around the waist.

But when you swung the door open, Suguru was standing there, sculpted chest on display, one of your towels slung low on his hips and his hair damp and long.

Your mouth fell open, but you couldn't find the words when your eyes met his.

His face was pulled tight, jaw clenched as his dark eyes assessed you.

Your heart sank.

Punctured and peppered with holes, disappointment flooding in and drowning you with just a single stern expression from him.

Before you could linger on it, before he could really shove your head under, the energy in the room shifted, and Gojo popped in behind him.

"Sup, Suguru?" He casually greeted, slapping a hand on his shoulder.

Geto twisted around to scowl at his best friend. Gojo just chuckled, pushing the change of clothes he'd brought against his chest before glancing over at you.

"Cute bed head," Gojo commented, stepping around his friend to ruffle your mused hair.

"Shut up," You huffed, smacking his fingers away.

Suguru slotted himself between you before Gojo could do it again.

"She's hurt," Suguru spoke slowly, still frowning. "Take her to Shoko."

"God, you're both so bossy this morning," Gojo complained, grabbing your wrist and pulling you to him, peeking out from beneath his blindfold to squint at you. "How bad is it?"

"I can drive myself," You grumbled, cutting a glare at Suguru.

Really? You'd taken care of him for a month and the first thing he did was rat you out to Gojo?

"Whatever, I'll just take you," Gojo shrugged, slipping his blindfold back down and tugging you closer so you could teleport together.

You were staring at Suguru though.

Forced to look up at him now, all the softness gone, replaced by sharp lines and harsh edges. You didn't know what sort of face you were making, didn't want to when you were sure it was probably tinged with hurt or worse, longing. Caught somewhere between devastation and desire when you couldn't tell what new box he'd put you in now, or if he'd just returned you to the one you'd been stuck in before, barely more than coworkers.

That was what you promised him, right?

What you kidded yourself into thinking wouldn't be hard, no matter how much you liked his presence, how much you convince yourself there was some silent connection you shared.

You couldn't read his face anymore.

And then it was gone, replaced by trees, standing outside of the campus. Gojo was digging his phone out to text Shoko for you.

"Want me to carry you in?" He offered, shoving his hands back in his pockets to pull out loose candy and toss it in his mouth.

"No," You grimaced. "It's fine."

You could take care of yourself.

You'd been perfectly okay on your own before.

It was just a little hard to pretend it was the same when Ijichi gave you a ride home a couple hours later, returning to a quiet apartment with no one to greet you.

Stepping over a few bunny toys left out the day before, walking around empty rooms, starkly aware of just how alone you were.

Even the days felt longer, the silence louder, stretching out and surrounding you.

And yeah, you were still fine, but you ended up taking more missions just to fill the time, to give you an excuse not to return back to your room. Not to the point of really exhausting yourself, but enough that you wouldn't have to think. You avoided stepping foot back on campus, no matter how many times Gojo invited you to join his lesson plans, only going to see Shoko when absolutely necessary.

It wasn't that you didn't want to see Suguru, although it was part of it.

You just didn't know if you'd be able to keep your word if you did.

He probably just wanted to forget.

Didn't want to be dragged back to how it felt to be so small if he saw you.

The first time you bumped into him was when he was in the middle of arguing with Nanami in the latter's office, arms folded across his chest and that casually cold stare still on his face while they bickered about something.

"Um, sorry, I needed your signature on some stuff, Kento," You interrupted, forcing yourself to focus on your blond colleague as he sighed as pushed his goggles back up his nose.

"Sure."

You felt Suguru's eyes sticking to your back as you walked away.

There was a shoebox waiting for you when you got home that night, a brand new pair of shoes to replace the ones he destroyed.

You guessed it was just his way of upholding your deal.

The first time you talked to him was a couple weeks later when him and Gojo made an appearance in Shoko's office the second she stepped out after treating you.

"Hey," He spoke first, brows knitted together, searching your face for something.

"Hi," You echoed back, avoiding his sharp gaze in favor of the floor, the desk, anything.

"You're hurt?" His once silky voice still sounded raw, too low, not quite as smooth as it used to be.

"Not anymore," You shook your head.

"You shouldn't push yourself so hard," He frowned again, stepping closer. You hopped off the table you were sitting on, brushing past his broad chest to get by.

"Thanks for the concern," You muttered.

Obligatory concern wasn't of any interest to you. Whatever debt he might feel towards you, you didn't care to cash in. But a clean slate felt impossible when he'd stationed himself in every corner of your mind.

You'd started considering transferring back to Kyoto, started wondering if it was even worth staying when you just felt so weird about everything now.

Stopping a pet stores on the way home, scooping up bunnies and playing with cats and debating on if you really needed a companion. Or maybe just a date.

You'd been lounging on your couch and swiping through apps for the latter when someone started pounding impatiently on your door.

"You look like you could use a drink."

It was a stupid idea, every one Gojo had was, but you begrudgingly accepted, getting changed into a short dress and letting him drag you down the stairs to your car. He pretended to be a gentleman enough to open the driver's door for you before proceeding to be the passenger princess he actually was, sliding into the shotgun seat and flipping the radio stations on the drive to the bar.

You should've known better.

Because who else would be waiting in a booth for you when you got there?

Really, you should've left.

But you stayed, letting Gojo tug you over to join his best friend, ordering drinks and shots, careful to only drink enough for the warmth to set in, to feel the fuzz in your chest but not get too tipsy that you wouldn't let anything slip.

Gojo on the other hand?

It only took him one drink to dredge up everything you'd been avoiding for the past few weeks.

"C'mon, you'd take care of me if I got turned into, I dunno, a dog, right?" Gojo whined, slurring already, his infinity switching off as he flopped into your lap. He rarely drank - a sight you probably would've savored some other time, snapped some photos of to blackmail him later. He readjusted so his head was reclining on your thighs, fingers pulling back his blindfold so he could blink his big blue eyes up at you.

"You'd probably be a mouse, if anything," You teased, flicking his forehead.

"Nuh-uh," He argued, catching your wrist, small little flickers of energy tingling your skin that he couldn't control, pulling your hand until it was resting in his hair.

"Uh-huh," You giggled, combing through the soft short strands with your fingers.

"I'd take care of you if-"

There was loud thud, almost a heavy stomp, and it took you a second for it to click that someone had. Another to realize who.

You supposed some of Suguru's bunny brain was still there, a few little habits left he hadn't kicked.

"Satoru," Geto scolded, his whiskey glass hitting the table with a harsh clink. You glanced up to see his mouth set in a polite smile you knew was pretend. Fake and forced on, trying not to crack or twitch. "Get off."

"Fine," Gojo huffed and groaned, almost rolling onto the floor in his attempt to push off the booth and your legs to get up.

But you were busy watching his best friend, who, if you weren't mistaken, looked distinctly jealous?

You were torturing him.

He finally had his body back and here you were, torturing him.

The unsure glances you'd toss his way when you thought he wasn't looking, your soft words now addressing him politely, all the intimacy in them removed. The worst part was you weren't even avoiding him, just adhering to the stupid agreement from that first day and pretending the entire month never happened.

He didn't know how to make it more obvious he didn't want that.

But every time he stopped by your apartment, you weren't there. You were never at the school anymore either, always on some mission or with your nose buried in paperwork.

He left the shoes by your door, hoping to hear something, anything, just to get more of the same silence.

It took suggesting to Satoru that the three of you go out for drinks to get you to even come within five feet of him.

And watching this almost made him wish he hadn't.

You let Satoru plop himself down on your lap, giggling with him, petting him. Playing with his hair, fingers sifting through it how you used to stroke Suguru's fur.

Okay, he hadn't meant to thump his foot, just a leftover reflex. But it was better than grabbing Satoru by his collar and dragging him back to a sitting position.

He was only half-aware of what he was saying, if he even offered an excuse, only relaxing once Satoru sat up. His best friend yawning and stretching, digging his phone out of his pocket to check the time.

"Oops," He chuckled. "Ijichi's been waiting outside for me. You want a ride, sweetheart?"

You shook your head, but your eyes flickered over to Suguru, waiting to see if he reacted to Satoru's offer. Or maybe hoping he'd counter with one of his own.

"I'm okay, thanks though," You replied, lips pressed in a thin smile.

"Suit yourself," Satoru sighed, practically pushing Suguru out of the booth so he could get out. He tossed more than enough to cover the bill for all three of you in the table before lifted up one corner of his blindfold again, winking at Suguru before he started to turn. "Make sure she gets home safe, alright?"

The second he was gone though, you were flustered, shrugging before he even said anything.

"Could I buy you another drin-"

"You really don't have to," You accidentally interrupted, blushing and looking down at your hands in your lap. "I meant, about Satoru said, but, uh, to the drink too."

"I want to."

"It's fine," You insisted, but your smile was forced, practiced. "It was nice seeing you tonight though."

"Just nice?" He baited, barely able to keep a straight face when yours turned into a pout.

You pushed off the table, slipping out of the booth, tilting your head to the side with a conflicted expression. "Good night, Geto."

Suguru was following you out with a small frown this time.

"Suguru," He corrected. How many times had he stomped and grunted to get you to call him that in bunny form? Just for you to go back to his last name the second he was a sorcerer again?

"Good night, Suguru," You hummed. There was a hint of teasing there, a faint smile on your face he barely got a glimpse of before you walked a little faster out the exit.

"You're tired?" He asked, fresh air hitting him first as the door thudded shut behind him as he followed you outside.

"Not really." You probably only acknowledged it because you knew he'd been around you enough to know it'd be a lie otherwise.

He wanted to ask you to stay, or to leave with him instead.

"I should probably head home now," You swallowed, glancing between your feet before back out to the street ahead.

"Where's your car?"

"It's like a ten minute walk from here, I, uh, couldn't find parking," You mumbled, still not looking at him, putting yet another step between you he immediately bridged.

His hand grabbed the hem of your shirt, pinching it in his fingers lightly, just enough to get you to stop before you could slip away again.

"You wanna ride?" Suguru offered. Flying over the city at nighttime on his dragon was romantic, right? He could wrap an arm around your waist (to keep you steady, of course), watch the twinkling lights below and feel the cool breeze on your skin.

"I'm sorta scared of heights," You sheepishly admitted, shrugging your shoulders apologetically. "But thanks."

"Let me walk you there then," He insisted.

"Figured you'd probably want to just crash at your own place," You dismissed, staring straight ahead rather than looking at him.

"I wouldn't mind going back to yours," He smoothly answered back, letting go of your shirt to see if you'd try to break away again.

"Yeah?" You were cautious, eyes flicking up to his.

"Yeah."

He walked next to you, the quiet break in conversation comfortable, studying your side profile while you lead the way to your car.

"I'd take care of you," Suguru murmured under his breath. He wasn't even sure he actually said it, or if he had and the quiet footfalls on the pavement and the passing cars drowned him out.

"You'd, um, what?" You finally said, stealing another peek up at him. Your hand brushed against his, just barely, and it took everything in him not to hold it, not to interlock his fingers with yours and refuse to let go.

"If it ever happened to you," He replied, completely serious even if you were staring at him like you understood him better as a bunny.

He could practically see the gears turning in your head, like you were trying to decide how to interpret it before you landed on a joke.

"Yeah, you'd save me from being neglected or overfed at Gojo's?" You hummed, looking back at the street ahead.

"Sure," Suguru said.

"How kind of you," You laughed a little, folding your arms across yourself as a brittle breeze cut through the air, fighting back a shiver.

He took his jacket off, and you paused, staring at him with your face scrunched up, mouth parted like you wanted to tell him it was yet another thing he didn't need to do, no sound came out. He took the opportunity to help slip it on you himself, brushing your hair out of the way as you pulled it around your shoulders.

"Thanks," You blushed.

He wished he'd just listened to Satoru the first time he suggested you would make a cute couple a year ago, asked you out himself, wished there wasn't all this time wasted when you could've been his.

He refused to waste any more.

Opening the car door for you when you finally made it there, getting in the passenger seat and watching you scramble to turn the radio station to music you remembered he liked, adjusting the temperature and chuckling when you asked again if he really wanted to go to your place.

You still came up with a cute excuse after he said yes, claiming you had a book you thought he'd like, to pretend he was coming over just to borrow something.

As if it was too hard to believe you were what he liked, you were what he wanted.

"It's a little messy, but I guess you've seen it look worse," You muttered, lips pursed together as you rummaged through your bag for your key. He leaned against the door, one corner of his mouth quirking up as you threw him an apologetic look.

You found the key, turning it in the lock and pushing the door open, letting him in first.

The first thing he noticed was the bunny pen still up. Although the bowls were empty now.

"You kept everything," He commented, unsure what the weird feeling in his chest was. It was cloying, some thick nostalgia that clouded his judgement when everything was almost the same as he left it, although it all felt much, well, smaller.

You kicked off your heels, laughing a little when Suguru automatically started helping you shrug off his jacket, his fingertips grazing against your skin.

"I've been thinking about adopting a real one," You casually answered, a faint blush flooding your cheeks like you were embarrassed about it. Jealousy? Annoyance? Whatever it was, he felt absolutely territorial and entirely idiotic over the panic seizing inside him at the thought of you replacing him with a new pet. "It's been kinda weird adjusting, you know?"

"Oh," He murmured, attention sweeping back over your living room. It still smelled like you. Your perfume lingered in the air, but it was more than that, or maybe he was just more sensitive to it now. "It's been hard for me too."

"Really?" You breathed a sigh of relief, glancing back over your shoulder at him with that small smile he used to fall asleep next to.

"Yeah," He confirmed, pushing down the lump in his throat.

"Being alone-"

"I miss you," He interrupted before you could keep skirting around it, before you could find another excuse to pretend you didn't hate his absence the way he hated yours.

"I, uh, you what?" You squeaked, sounding just like the mouse you accused Satoru of being.

"I miss you," Suguru repeated, a tentative hand on your waist to twist you around so he could see your face in full. Watch your eyes widen and pretty lips part in surprise while you tried to work out if you meant it how you hoped he did.

"I missed you too," You quietly admitted, as if it was something to feel guilty for.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you," Suguru continued, tracing up your sides with long fingers, then back down to your hips.

He wanted to hold you this time instead of the other way around.

"I-"

You stopped yourself when he pulled you closer, your chest pressed against his, sucking in a sharp inhale.

But you broke eye contact, glancing away sheepishly. He followed your stare over to your messy coffee table, noticing the papers scattered across the surface. One word caught his eye, transfer in big and bold letters.

"What's that?" The panic from before flared up hard now.

You wouldn't leave.

You couldn't.

"Oh, um," You paused, embarrassed. "I was just considering transferring back to help them out. It's not like you guys really need me here."

"Do I not need you?" For once, he sort of wished he was more like Gojo.

He would throw himself down on his knees and beg you to stay.

Suguru could barely stand to even stare at you, loathed the longing in his voice when he waited for your answer.

"Do you?" You echoed quietly.

"I do," Suguru admitted, feeling something inside himself crack at the honesty.

"Suguru," You said his name like you weren't convinced.

"If you go, I'll go too."

He almost surprised himself. But he wasn't going to let life take the one thing he ever truly wanted from him, not this time.

"If you're just doing this because you feel like, you owe me or something idiotic like that," You started again, clearing your throat and trying to strengthen your resolve despite how close you were to giving in, your bottom lip starting to quiver.

"I'm doing this because I like you," Suguru chuckled.

You let him pick you up this time, wrapping your legs around his waist and your wrists around his neck, so badly wanting to believe him. Looking up at him like your whole world was in his hands when he carried you back to your room.

He half-tossed you onto the bed, hands almost shaking when they hovered over your body. He was nervous, but it felt like it had when he first transformed back, like all his proportions were suddenly wrong again, struggling to control his fingers and force them to move how they once did. Not nimble or deliberate, but messy, needy.

"Suguru," You purred so prettily, propping yourself up on your elbows and peering up at him with warm eyes. He settled on caressing your cheek, feeling the flush under your skin. "If you change your-"

"I'm not changing it," He murmured, sucking a sharp breath. He'd stay where you were, or follow where you went. Nothing had been simpler.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him on top of you, and he was struck again by how different your room felt. How tiny the bed seemed than the last time you were under him.

Then there was you.

Tangling your fingers in his hair and returning his stare, wondering if the little glints of adoration were really in your eyes or just a reflection of his own. You smelled sweeter in person, up close like this, but what he couldn't stop thinking about was your taste.

Of all the things he'd forced down his throat, rolled over his taste buds and struggled to swallow, you were the first he wanted to savor.

"Stop staring at me like that then," You let out a light huff, bottom lip sticking out. He wanted to bite it.

Your eyes fluttered shut when his nose nuzzled against yours, expecting the kiss before his mouth pressed against yours, and he was barely surprising the urge to lap at your bottom lip and beg for entry.

But you were always good at anticipating his needs, already parting your lips to let him in, your legs starting to wrap around his waist before his free hand snagged one of your thighs and pressed it down into your soft mattress.

Suguru was pretty sure he found heaven in your kiss. Divine karma repaying him for every putrid curse he'd choked down, lost between the cherry chapstick on your lips and the wine on your tongue when it slid against his.

He wanted to claim you.

Make you his in body and word and mind.

He was yours. He'd scratched and stomped and tried to fight it but it was true, wasn't it? His heart had already been cut out and you had already signed your name on it, permanently stamped him with a return to: label like he could somehow get lost when there was already an invisible leash connecting him to you.

Pulling away to breathe was hard enough. But seeing your tiny smile start to curl up, you eyes glossy and bright as they locked with his, his lungs could've collapsed at how pretty he thought you looked.

"Kiss me again," You quietly requested.

He'd kiss you as many times as you let him.

Returning his mouth to yours, offering warm open-mouth kisses like promises, loyalty and love and lust all wrapped up in his soft lips sucking on yours.

His free hand snuck between the increasingly narrow space between your body and his, tugging up your dress until he could see the pretty little lace underwear you'd worn underneath it.

"Cute," He commented, pulling away so he could them down, taking his time shimmying the flimsy fabric down your thighs, despite how badly he wanted to just rip it off in one go.

Your face was flushed, watching him with wide eyes as he tossed the panties into the laundry basket before prying your thighs apart all the way. He paused, removing his own clothes piece by piece, cock already swollen as it smacked up against his dark happy trail, pre-cum beading up along his pink tip.

Satisfaction swelled in his chest to see how soaked you were, his new favorite feast sprawled out for him.

Suguru flipped you over onto your stomach, pushing your face down and propping you up on your knees, nudging them open just enough for him to fit between them.

His second taste of you had him convinced he would never be able to get enough. Licking a clean stripe up your thighs to your entrance, pushing his tongue in deeper, flattening it as it danced inside.

"Sh-shit," You mumbled, completely flustered now, and he could just picture the pretty blush on your face, your next breath stolen as he practiced more drawn-out swirls.

His fingers leaving indents in your soft skin, the pliant muscles tensing with every squeeze of his hands.

Hearing your moans and shaky breathing only made him work harder, exploring every spot he'd stretch out later, determined to hear his name from your lips again. Devote each and every ministration of his mouth to you. His pretty girl.

"You like that?" He broke away to murmur right as you started making broken little whimpers into the mattress.

"Mm, mhm," You moaned, squirming under his grip.

"Wanna hear you, sweetheart," He sighed, pulling away just enough to admire the view one more time, tempted to leave scattered bites and kisses all over your thighs to make it just that much sweeter.

"Suguru," You huffed a complaint, all whiny and adorable as you barely found the strength to lift your head. "Keep going."

Your impatient whine might've worked on another man.

But Suguru had been patient before. Had waited for you to come back around to him. He'd be taking care of you the rest of his life, but he still wanted each second to last.

He couldn't help it, bending down to plant a kiss on the back of your thigh, letting his teeth sink in just enough to leave a small hickey, continuing up to leave a trail of them along your thighs while you made muffled noises.

"I asked you a question, baby," He reminded you, spreading your thighs apart as he left another peck close enough you had to feel his breath ghosting over your sensitive clit, almost jolting at the phantom sensation.

"You know I like it, Sugu-" You gasped when his tongue slipped back inside, surprised at the sudden warmth.

And yeah, he did, but you were clueless how much he loved it.

Loved every noise he pulled out of you, how you melted in him, let him pull you in and squeezed so tightly at every grunt and groan he made.

Adored every time you said his name, listening to your harsh exhales and watching you grip the blankets underneath you like you could crumble at any moment.

When you did? Falling apart after he slipped his hand around to your front, massaging careful circles against your aching bud until you were trembling, only held up by his arms around you?

Suguru was pretty fucking sure he was in love.

All that patience had evaporated, drained somewhere he couldn't access, need of his own taking over as he climbed back on top of you, lining himself up and barely holding himself back as he sank into you.

Half the street probably heard his groan, and your neighbors absolutely heard your pretty mewl of his name when his hands gripped your hips so mean to hold you there.

"Fuck, oh fuck, you're so-"

"Sugu," You whined, interrupting him and wiggling your hips as you tried to force him in all the way.

His composure, the control he'd cling to, both were quickly unraveling.

The sight of you bent over, his cock half-concealed inside you while you clenched around him so sinfully to suck him in?

He could probably cum from that alone.

Suguru clenched his jaw, staving it off as he slowly pushed in deeper, counting out his breaths until he bottomed out inside you, your own inhales growing ragged at the stretch and burn.

He wanted to mold you to him, to fuck you hard enough and long enough to leave an impression of every ridge and vein. Not make it two pumps before finishing.

But you had a knack for making his life difficult.

The arch of your back when he pulled out and plunged back in, the intoxicating scent of your perfume that was still driving him fucking insane, the gorgeous little gasps you let out with each thrust and smack of his hips against your ass.

He rutted deeper, his cock throbbing while your insides clung desperately onto him, watching the way your fists curled up in the comforter when you buried your face into the soft cotton to muffled your whines.

"M-mine," Suguru stuttered over the growl, hardly recognizing the husk in his own voice, swollen tip stuffed up against your womb while you squeezed around him.

Really, he was yours.

Would be your loyal dog or lap animal, whatever you wanted him to be.

Something primal inside him screamed that he had to fill you up, to mark you as his and stuff a baby or two or twelve inside you. Okay, not actually that last one.

The little sliver of him that was still operating on the most basic instincts of a small animal couldn't tell the difference though.

"Tell me to pull out," Suguru groaned, his fingers pressing harder into your hip, his reason getting fuzzier the longer you kept sucking him in. Sweat pricked at his forehead as his face fell forward to rest on your back, lips pressed to your skin like a lifeline.

"N-no."

Your voice was quiet, a soft breath that was hardly audible over the sound of skin on skin or the thump thump thumps of your headboard hitting the wall.

Barely hanging on by a strand, the tremble of your thighs underneath him and the shudders sent down your spine with each snap of his hips frayed the tether to his self-control until there was almost nothing left. Trailing kisses across your shoulder to feel the gasp he tore from your throat when you unraveled underneath him, holding you together while you fell to pieces crying out his name in broken whimpers.

He hadn't meant to.

But his teeth were sinking into the scruff of your neck, a soft love bite digging in to keep you still underneath him while warm spurts of cum coated your walls white. The thick veins pulsing until every last drop took, his cock still buried deep inside until he realized he was still half-clamped down, releasing you just to keep you pinned to the bed by his body weight instead.

"Suguru," You softly whined, turning your head so he could hear you better.

"Yeah, baby?" He murmured, pressing a few small kisses over the fresh hickies starting to blossom on your skin, lips pressing against the indents his teeth had left.

"I don't want this to be just sex," You confessed. Your voice was small, strained even, like you were embarrassed to say it.

"It's not," He promised. He readjusted so he could tilt your head, grabbing you chin as he caught your mouth with another kiss.

Part of him wished he could swallow you too - keep you with him where you'd always stay by his side. Another reminded him that was insane.

He could settle on being your boyfriend for now.

"I meant it earlier," He reiterated, kissing the corner of your mouth between words. There was no way in hell he was letting you slip through his fingers again. "You know I'm yours too."

You giggled, returning a peck to the tip of his nose as you tried to squirm free from under him, like you just remembered his cock was still inside you, cum leaking out around him and onto your blankets.

He didn't want to pull out though, didn't even want to separate when you were finally his.

Honestly, he was halfway-hoping you'd get pregnant, picturing you with a cute baby bump padding around barefoot in the sort of sundress that clung to your swollen stomach, physical proof you belonged to him just as much as he did to you.

You hadn't told him to pull out after all.

So surely, you wanted the same, right?

"You're all mine?" You hummed, shifting your hips around just to get a reaction out of him, his cock already oversensitive and starting to get hard again as his hands held you back down by your waist.

"You just want me to say it again," He chided with a chuckle of his own, sighing into your skin while you let out another weak huff that sounded more like a whine.

"Maybe," You admitted.

You looked back up at him, and he was a little too aware that he'd say it however many times you wanted as long as it was true.

"You know," You started talking again, biting down on your bottom lip as you rested your head on your folded forearms underneath them, yawning softly. "I was going to buy you a little bunny collar so everyone would know you were mine, but I guess you've already outgrown it, huh?"

He laughed again, his hand sliding up your spine to trace his own bite mark on the nape of your neck. Could you really not tell you already had him on a leash?

"I think you'd looked even cuter in a collar."

“None at all?” He asks, swallowing visibly, his eyes burning, dark circles marring his otherwise perfect complexion. You grip his wrist gently, shaking your head.

“None at all, Toru,” he exhales in relief, though he doesn’t want to get too excited – you still had been poisoned, even with Mao’s quick work of it. “I am going to get checked in a bit, I just… wanted to know about… her.”

“Lola?” He says it like a curse word – it is one, truly. You nod. “She’s locked up for the moment, but she won’t live to see the week.”

“Toru, should you truly-”

“I will kill her,” he cuts you off, ever so quiet, tilting your chin. “For everything she fucking did. Don’t you try to talk me out of it.”

“And… Sir Geto?”

He sighs, shaking his head. “I need his testimony, so I offered a deal – you can decide his fate. I’m sure you’d be a little more kind to that man than I would be.”

You go to open your mouth, when the door opens, and advisor Ijichi comes in, pushing up his monocle, smiling with relief as he sees you. “My Empress, it’s so good to see you awake.”

“Ijichi,” you rush up and hug him, making the man blush. “I heard you carried me to safety, yes?”

“Of course I did, it was no bother,” he’s a flustered mess, Satoru can’t help but laugh softly at the sight of him awkwardly patting your back. “I come bearing some news for you both.”

“I’m listening,” Satoru’s hand doesn’t leave the small of your back, the warmth seeping through your layers, your silk underlayers, your pretty dress, one that Satoru’s mom had made for you.

You couldn’t help but love the little touches of home with the added lace, the billowing sleeves. You love her so very much, she had checked on you much this morning, and you hated that she was worried like that over you – though perhaps no one went through as much as Satoru that night, from what you heard.

‘It was terrible,’ she had said, sniffling – usually a formidable woman, she was vulnerable laying next to you in the bed as you’d brushed her hair back. ‘You shouldn’t be comforting me!’

‘I put you both through a fright,’ she had sighed, snuggling up, the infamous Gojo strands much like her son’s. One would almost think her as a sister, she still looked so very young and lovely, even with reddened eyes. ‘How bad was it for him? I hope he did not…’

‘Lose it completely?’ You nodded, swallowing. ‘I thought I’d lose him and you together with how he acted.’

‘Mama Gojo, do not say that,’ your heart ached then. ‘I cannot have him hurting himself over me.’

‘I was terrified,’ she had swiped her eyes, shaking her head and exhaling. ‘I am also scared of… if you’re…’

‘We weren’t sure if I was pregnant completely, yet,’ you tried to smile, but it fell flat. ‘I will get checked soon.’

‘If anything happens to that baby, I’ll kill-’

‘Mama Gojo!’

She had been very serious.

To think of what Satoru went through while you were unconscious breaks your heart, you only know a bit, likely to not upset you further. But you feel it, how tightly he’s holding you, like he can’t stand to pull away – and you don’t want him to, you want to be locked right in his embrace for as long as you could be.

“Sir Geto would like to talk to the Empress alone,” Satoru scoffs, and you can’t help but tense up. “I told him you would not allow such a thing, but even so – if you did, I would go down with her as protection.”

“Fuck him, I should put him out to be hung,” he curses, holding you so tight you wince, making him pause. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“You’re all right, Toru,” you smile reassuringly. “I don’t think Geto would hurt me if I-”

“He almost killed you!?”

“That was Lola,” you mumble, Satoru laughs again, a psychotic sound, as if he was actively losing it, brushing a hand through his hair until it’s a mess. “I’m not saying he isn’t to blame, but there are a couple questions I need answered before you throw him out of a tower window.”

“He’ll splatter so lovely,” Satoru says, longingly – you giggle a little, shaking your head at him. “No?”

“I have some things I really need to know…” He knows what you mean, the past you had shared and just how much of that was questionable, how much did Suguru lie to you over the years?

He got the note when they confiscated everything Suguru had, but he has not brought it up to you, not yet. Not realizing how horrible he made you feel when you first got there, how lonely and hopeless – he’d read it several times just this morning as you slept, restless, tossing and turning in the bed as he sat at that desk.

He doesn’t know how to bring it up, to apologize – you surely must think he’d be furious about it, but he is not.

Of course you missed home during that time, and the perceived ‘perfection’ of Suguru and the comforts of a place you grew up in.

“Then I shall allow you to have your moments alone,” you hug him tightly, letting him brush back your hair. “Kiyo will stay close to the door.”

“You may as well, Toru… I just…”

“No, I realize there is much to be said,” he sighs now, chin resting on your head. “I’m so very exhausted.”

“As am I, I just wish we could…”

“Yes,” he grimaces now. “I also must speak to the little murderous harlot.”

“You’re going to kill her!”

“I am.”

“You must let it go to the council,” you chide, staring into narrowed blue eyes. “It’s our best chance to rid ourselves of the concubines altogether.”

“She is correct,” Ijichi chides, and Satoru looks at him over your head. “The royal advisor Jinshi has offered his advice to you, your excellence.”

“No calling me that when it’s just us,” Satoru waves his hand, Ijichi can’t stop his blush, you giggle at how cute it is.

“Master Gojo, then.”

“Call him Toru!”

“I didn’t say that familiar!?”

“Toru is cute,” you pinch his cheek, he snorts and smacks your hand off his cheek playfully. “I hear this advisor is very important, and from what I can tell, versed in politics very much. He would be good to convene with, yes?”

“Indeed,” Satoru sighs a little dramatically, though. “I never get enough time alone with my bride.”

“We shall have much time, very soon. Hmm?” You’re running your hands up his chest, his voice drops to a murmur.

“Not until you’re all better, you bratty empress.”

You pout up at him.

“You were just poisoned.”

“I know! A little bit.”

“A little!?”

“Ahem,” Ijichi reminds you both of his presence, waving his hand again at the two of you. “We have much to do, you two. I will not leave her alone for a moment, I promise you this time.”

“Oh Ijichi,” you walk over to him, taking his hand. “You did nothing wrong that night, I was in my room.”

“I still…”

“You helped save me,” you smile reassuringly, watching him relax his shoulders just a little bit at your words. You look back at your husband, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed under those gold silk robes. “We will make sure to have dinner tonight, alone, and take a bath together. Won’t we, Toru?”

“I can’t handle a bath like…” He doesn’t say it all – but you grin, as if you know he’d be tortured, unable to not have his cock buried inside of you.

It’s been weeks.

Yet you just had a terrible thing happen, and he must be careful.

“Stop being so slutty in front of Ijichi.”

“Your Excellence! Do not speak of the Empress this way!?”

“Indeed, do not!?” You stick out your tongue as you hook your arm through Ijichi’s, earning his glare. “Dinner, and then the bathhouse.”

“Go on, then,” you both walk together, but you can’t help but tense, as you look back at Satoru, turning and walking the opposite direction in the courtyard.

You never do get enough time with the man you love, and there is still so much to learn about each other, so much you must do together, speak of, work on. Yet all you want is to be in his arms, on his lap, kissing him until your head spins, and you’re dizzy, resting in the comfort you had missed so much.

When he turns a corner, his eyes catch yours, and you feel that weight in his gaze, that sad little smile, as if he’s dreading the day, too.

Yet, there is much hope for the two of you.

First, however? There was much to discuss with a couple of infiltrators.

******

The dungeons Satoru has Suguru locked up in are chilled, it’s utterly dark, every step down the spiraling stairs echoing with your heels clicking against them. Your heart is pounding, as Ijichi walks behind you, heading down first, holding his hand up for you to take with a nervous smile.

“Are you all right, my lady?”

“I am,” you assure him, but his concern lingers. “Say it, then.”

He sighs. “You’re doing too much for just having been poisoned, the state you were in was…”

“I swear I feel fine, whatever the pretty girl Maomao gave me worked wonders,” you try again to calm him, but you see his judgement even in the dark, with the little lanterns hanging on the walls. “Truly!”

“Mmm,” you both keep walking. “You are stubborn like the Emperor.”

“That stubborn?”

“Mhm,” your lips quirk up. “It’s not funny, my lady. You know you both age me beyond my years!?”

“He did that before I came, and you’re most handsome, all mature,” he blushes even in the dark, guiding you down the hall now.

“Don’t use your charms, they won’t work today.”

“They always do.”

“Hmph,” your mood sobers up a bit as you catch sight of Suguru's cell at the end of the corridor, the only one bathed in the small lighting.

“Is Lola elsewhere?” You ask softly.

“She is.” Kiyotaka says nothing else, stopping then at the bars that block Suguru’s cell, taking a key and unlocking it.

Suguru sees the action immediately, and stands as your footsteps approach – the heavy chains around his wrists and ankles rattling just a bit. His fine knightly gear is all gone, replaced by a basic white tunic, that dark hair – usually so perfect, is thrown up in a messy pony tail. Those eyes that were the last thing you saw before you fainted, have dark circles underneath them, like he hasn’t slept.

"Princess..." he begins, seeing Kiyotaka and clearing his throat, correcting himself with a ghost of a smile. "Empress, I mean.”

“Indeed…” You let Kiyotaka open the door now, stepping inside, peeking back at him. “I will be all right, Kiyo. Promise.”

“One touch on her hair,” Ijichi warns, Suguru sighs.

“I would not hurt her,” the tension is palpable when he steps back, giving you some privacy alone in the cell, when so many emotions rush through, you’re shaking, hands trembling. 

“I don’t know whether to speak or smack you,” you admit, laughing without any real humor, as he frowns. “Or punch you. Or kick your dick.”

“Kick my dick?” He raises a brow, and you shove at him, tears already forming in your eyes, but he lets you. He lets you shove him, stumbling back when a big man like him never would, taking your hand on his chest to pause you. “I suppose I deserve much worse.”

“You deserve the worst, and Satoru will give you no mercy unless I ask,” you shut your eyes, feeling the tears slip from your eyes. “I should not, either.”

 “I never imagined..." Suguru trails off, his voice breaking in the middle, hand hovering like he might cup your face.

Your jaw sets. "Never imagined what, Suguru? That I'd see you here? Or that you'd help try to kill me?"

He falters now, stepping back a bit as if slapped, but he doesn’t release your wrists until you yank them back, clutching your hands into fists, pulse racing so quickly you feel dizzy. 

"Never that.” That dark amethyst gaze locks onto yours – so exhausted, so beyond dark, the intensity making you tense up. 

“Oh, never that, hmm?”

"I started under false pretenses,” you scoff at that. “Yes, I did initially – try to be everything and anything you could love.”

The pain hits so hard you can’t breathe.

Though you were in love with Satoru – so fucking in love, it didn’t erase the years of being ‘with’ Suguru, your knight by your side, promising to be with you even as you were just a young child. The hurt knowing that you were just a part of some bigger scheme didn’t go away, and you need that closure, truly.

Even if it’s painful.

“I’d like to know about it more, just exactly your plan – would you be honest with me?” He nods, tugging out one of the old wooden chairs in the cell, where there lay parchment paper and pens.

“Please sit.”

“Fine,” you mumble, seeing your name scrawled on several crumbled sheets of paper, making your eyes burn with tears. “Will you even tell the truth?”

“I won't lie to you again.”

“How long?”

He sits across from you, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes shutting. In the darkness, he does not look as imposing as you’re used to.

He looks tired.

“I was put there when I met you, to slowly gather intel against the royal family -”

“My family!”

“Your family made how many people starve?” His words are sharp, he appears to regret them when you jerk back as if slapped. “I mean not you – the royals in general, they care not for anyone but themselves.”

“I cared, I was just… not in power. How often did I take the unfortunate food, clothing? How often did I sneak out for you to find me?”

“You’re different,” he cups your face, sighing now. “I knew you were different, even more so to try to get you to my side. You were the perfect pawn.”

A pawn.

You knew it, but it didn’t lessen the blow.

“But then..." He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Then I watched you, got to really know you. Intimately.”

“Indeed,” you blush furiously, gripping your gown so tightly the fabric crumples underneath your touch. “In ways you should have never been in such falsehood.”

“My desire for you was not false,” you hate Suguru in that moment, even if he’s being truthful, the pain is bitter as it washes through you until you’re sick. “You think I didn’t want you?”

“To get some sick revenge on my parents, perhaps.” His jaw locks as you lower his hand from your face. “You should not have stolen my first kiss, touched me … you should not have.”

“I know that, I was supposed to do worse.”

“Worse!?” You practically hiss the damn word. “Worse?”

“Much worse, to you and many others,” he leans back now, shaking his head. “It was not just you that I have had to play to get intel, to try to take over.”

“I see, one of many? That’s what those kisses meant, those fucking words?”

His brows draw together, pain written on his face. “I’ll never forgive myself for it… but I did want you. None of that was pretend, how I touched you, kissed you… I fell in love with you.”

“What lies, hah,” you feel bile rise in your throat.

“Truly. I still am in love, fuck even more than before."

Tears prick at your eyes and begin to swim, until his very image is utterly blurred. "You loved me enough to let Lola poison me? To use me as a weapon in your pathetic war against royals?"

“I wanted you by my side.”

“And with Satoru, hmm?”

"I was an idiot," he whispers, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they brush a stray tear from your cheek, you tremble with your anger. "Jealous, dumb fucking idiot.. I hated him for having you so easily, for forgetting me.”

“I did not, I kept… I kept that necklace, I kept the pin, I cared so much I did not even let myself feel anything. For what!? For a fake love.”

“It was not.”

“Then you so easily just let Lola in? You truly had no inkling she would try to harm me?”

“I don't know what I thought, but I never imagined she'd go this far. I swear it." He leans his forehead against yours, his breath against your skin, in a familiar way he should have never done with you. “I never wanted you at risk. I wanted to bring you back with me.”

“And do what to my parents, Suguru?”

He’s quiet again.

That tells you all you need to know.

“I get that royalty has its problems, I know I’m naive about the state of the world, but to use me after knowing me so long…” Your tears fall freely now. “I was worthy of some respect.”

“You were worth much more than I could ever give,” you take a breath and lean back again, hands clutching and unclutching once more, his eyes darting to the action. “You always did that when you were nervous.”

“Stop acting so familiar,” you stand now, shaking.

"Kill me now if you must… I'd die by your hand," you look at him now, feeling the emotions hitting so hard.

Even though he had done something so dangerous, so foolish…

You could not kill him.

“That would be your easy way out,” you say instead, shaking your head as he tugs you to him, taking one of your hands and putting it on his chest. A stream of memories hit, but they’re different now.

There isn’t that longing anymore, and there’s hardly any anger, no yearning for the girl that you were, and how simple things ‘were’. No, you are not that young Princess now, even though it’s been a short time, under Satoru you have grown much – you are completely different, in fact, with him.

In the best and worst ways.

You are different because of Satoru, a part of you that loved Suguru is in there somewhere, but she is in your past, left with a girl who can’t help but feel somewhat terrible for what he’s in. It’s not truly his own doing, and you understand the cause, but he had so callously and coldly not cared for you enough to even let you in on it.

“Would you have understood?” He asks now. “You, a young princess?”

“I may have if you gave me a chance,” he leans down and presses his kiss against your brow, a farewell that you allow him.

“He got that letter even though I did not give it to him,” you suck in a breath, gaze matching his. “I did not want to cause discourse, but they took it all from me.”

“He saw it…” Your eyes close. “I will speak to him.”

“He is so in love with you,” Suguru laughs, shaking his head. “I almost like that pretentious man, fuck him.”

“Well in another life, if you weren’t so terrible, maybe you’d have been friends,” you whisper, letting him press another kiss on your temple, lingering for a moment. “I shall not have you killed.”

“You should, by all means, have me killed. I already told everything about your parents, there is no-”

“I will not,” you correct, firmer this time – and Suguru sees you then.

Chin up, stubborn set to it, your hands little fists at your sides as you eye him.

You’re every bit an Empress now.

“Why?” He asks softly, watching your face and wishing he could fix it – fix everything, but he knows this kindness is already more than he deserves.

His letters that he keeps writing come out wrong, but mostly, all he can think over and over, is that you’ll be his biggest regret, yet in ways he is glad you have your emperor, that you two found love. A bittersweet taste left in his mouth as he studies you even more seriously, exhaling.

“You should have me killed for what I did, or could have done,” his eyes can’t help but flicker to your stomach. “No, I don’t want to live with what I may have done to you.”

“Well I do not know yet what has happened,” you touch your stomach, praying that the news will be good. “You don’t get the easy way out, Suguru Geto. You’ll pay back in service to the Emperor, and you’ll gladly do it.”

“You really think he’ll ever want me to?”

“Shitty service, the most dangerous situations – I’ll send you off to the ends of the bloody Earth for a flower if I want,” his lips twitched. “You’ll be in full service to the Emperor, and mean your damn vows this time. If things work out, and those girls can leave, I would be appreciative enough not to kill you.”

“He only wants you.”

You blush now. “I know.”

“As he should,” you step back, and he steps forward. “I am so, so fucking sorry I put you in danger.”

“I’m more mad you wanted to hurt my husband,” you admit. “Not me.”

“But I-”

“I cannot live in a world where he doesn't exist,” he pauses, and says nothing else, as Kiyotaka comes and unlocks the heavy iron gates, and you look back at him. “If you succeeded, you would have truly killed me.”

His hands grip the bars, head leaning against the cool metal.

He watches you walk off, going back over to his table, grabbing the pen and dipping it in the ink.

He thinks he knows the words to say, now.

*****

"Your Majesty," Jin Shi begins, his lavender hair damn near glittering as he sits in front of Emperor Gojo’s desk.

“Why is your hair so damn pretty!?”

He laughs now, shrugging a shoulder, his voice much like the Emperor’s – Satoru saw everyone fucking swooning over him. “I suppose it’s the shampoo bars I use.”

“I’ll have them imported,” Satoru grumbles, sighing then. “Forgive me, I know we are here for serious matters.”

“Indeed we are,” he smiles then. “Mao Mao tells me your Empress is still very much with child.”

“She…”

“You did not…” He trails off, frowning then, but Satoru puts his head in his hands for a moment, sighing. “I thought you knew.”

“I haven’t gotten to see my wife most of the day,” he admits. “With Lola, the council, the barrister… you. I have not had a moment.”

“I see…”

“No, no, that makes me…” Satoru grins, all dopey now. “So fucking happy.”

Jin Shi laughs softly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs, Miwa comes in and damn near has her eyes pop out of their sockets, almost dropping the tea tray. “Hi there.”

“H-hello!?”

“As if you don’t see a gorgeous man daily, tch,” Satoru crosses his arms, watching Jin Shi smile at her, and he swears the girl almost falls.

What sort of effect was he having on Satoru’s subjects!?

Wasn’t he a eunuch?

“S-sorry, your excellence! I… do you require anything…”

“This is great, thank you,” she giggles and prances away, Jin Shi and Satoru sip the tea, sighing at the same time. "With the empress carrying your heir, the threat has never been more real.”

“It’s very true,” Satoru says quietly, the thoughts that life still flutters in your tummy making him ache to hold you.

Kiss you.

All over.

Fuck, imagining you in the baths later has him…

Focus.

“The council is reeling, news has even spread,” Jin Shi continues. “Lola's actions have proven that the concubines, in your case, are a threat to the empire, considering what she could have done. No matter how high ranking, she does not compete with the standing of the Empress.”

“So you think I’ll have a chance to get rid of all of them?” Satoru asks hopefully, Jin Shi nods.

“I do. The people will support it after this attempt on their Empress' life, and the council will have no choice but to agree. They will see it as necessary for stability and the safety of the royal line, though I can’t say the practice altogether would cease in your future heirs."

“I want daughters,” Satoru admits, grinning again and swirling the tea in the pretty cup around. “I want many, many little mini Empress’ running about.”

“You are so in love I’m sickened,” comes MaoMao, leaning in the doorway with her arms crossed, with you behind her. “Ew.”

“You lack romance, tch,” Jin Shi tells her, she rolls her green eyes, shaking her head and crossing her arms, walking alongside you as you both enter the office, shutting the door behind you.

Your eyes meet his, and he can feel that mix – the pain, the worry, the happiness, the love.

He feels all of it – all of you.

“Satoru,” you rush to him without thinking of the audience, and he tugs you right on his lap, kissing you deeply, the other two blushing at the sight of such blatant affection.

“My Empress,” he murmurs, inhaling your scent and burying his face against your neck. “I have no patience for formalities, I miss you too badly.”

“I miss you so badly,” you whisper back, hugging him tightly, letting him put a hand on your tummy. “I am still…”

“I heard,” his grin is huge and bright, melting you. “I am so fucking excited.”

“I am too!” Jin Shi and Mao Mao stand now, and your eyes catch theirs, seeing their smiles on their faces.

“I’ll help as much as I can while I’m here,” Jin Shi says with a bow. Mao Mao inclines her head as well.

“As will I.”

“I have no way to thank you enough for saving her,” Satoru’s hand grips your waist tightly, the emotion rushing in his voice.

“I am glad to see such love,” she says, and clearly the advisor agrees, leaving the two of you alone. It’s moments before Satoru’s kissing you, having you sitting right across his lap, fingers mapping your skin, committing it to memory.

“I fucking missed you,” he murmurs. “I hate not seeing you all day.”

“I know, soon things will calm down. I hope,” your hand sits over his, a pretty grin on your face. “A baby.”

“A baby,” he kisses down your neck, and your lashes flutter, shifting in a way that has him throbbing. “Don’t move like that, mngh…”

“C-can’t help it,” you admit, your hand entangling in his silky white locks, tugging ever so gently, he practically purrs, earning your giggle. “We have much to speak of, I believe, before we get to really enjoy ourselves.”

Satoru leans back a bit, his eyes that pretty clear blue, nodding now. “We do have much to speak of, sweetheart. But first? I’d like more kisses.”

His lips descend back on yours, stealing your breath – with much left to worry for – Lola, Suguru, the council, a healthy pregnancy – the most important thing was right here. Being in Satoru’s arms, and enjoying every little kiss, before more serious talks had to occur, before you got to just enjoy your husband in the baths, enjoy him all to yourself soon.

Yet for now, this kiss steals every thought in both your minds.

After slinking into the tavern, a mix of sweetish alcohol, jumpy music and loud laughter washed over your body, sending exciting sparks straight to the fingertips.

Oh, how thrilling it was!

To have a drink one after another, with sugary nectar slipping down your chin and blaring music making your heart gallop faster. With folds of pinkish dress rolling up under your embroidered little shoes and droplets of sweat curling under the loose braid. It was anything but ladylike.

However, as you were quick to notice, other ladies acted quite frivolously too. Drunk and jolly, chirping with you and Shoko freely, with the tavern's warm candles licking their reddened cheeks. They laughed cheerfully as if tomorrow would never come, whispering about the knights sitting at the corner table.

"They've been glancing at you all evening, dear," one of them giggled, while you secretly turned your head.

And she was right indeed – two knights, dressed in grain tunics and black trousers, sat at the dimmest corner of the tavern. Goblets of mead untouched, no words slipping in between, but solely dark, cheeky eyes focused on your... dearest!

You quickly corrected the robes of your dress as they accidentally rolled up to the middle of your calf.

"They've been staring at my legs!" you shouted in a whisper, with a blush spreading up to your ears.

"Well, your legs are quite lovely," Shoko giggled, and the other three girls joined her. "Why won't you show them a bit more?"

You quickly looked back, seeing that the knights were still looking your way. But this time, with a sly smirk curving their mouths, while the white-haired one sent you a wink.

Your sheepish eyes went back, looking at the girls with a clear horror. "Oh God, what shall I do?"

"Wait for them to ask you to dance, I guess?" Shoko said, getting another goblet of mead.

"I shan't! My mother would hang me," came out almost cryingly, as you hid your face between hands.

The music changed the tempo, with flutes, lutes and recorders turning the tavern into yet another tale-like bash. More and more townsfolk gathered inside the small, wooden house, dancing jolly with mead and bear flooding from between their goblets.

Another goblet of mead was shovelled between your hands, with golden waves almost whispering your name. Drink us, drink us, and you shall have fun!

Were you drunk already?

"Well, good that your mother is not here then," one girl chirped, resting her plump face on a hand. "I wished the knights looked my way too. You know, I've heard from a few girls in town they're really good in... it!" she gestured, and you once again groaned, hiding face between feverish fingers.

But before you answered, all three girls, together with Shoko, suddenly straightened up, with gentle giggles slipping through their drunken lips. "Oh, dear, um, we shall join you back soon," Shoko winked, taking her goblet. "Let's go, let's go, they need space."

"What–" and soon after, two tall, looming figures walked to your table, with a gentle knock on the wood, forcing you to look up.

"Good day, my lady," the white-haired knight smiled, with a joyful gleam in his eyes. "May we join you?"

The other man smiled, almost as ominously as the first one, with purplish eyes and dark locks giving him a rather girlish look.

With clenched throat, you gave them a shy nod and followed the white hair catching warm hues of the candelight.

"I'm Satoru, my lady," the first one chirped, taking your hand between his fingers. A gentle kiss was placed on your knuckles, with light, ocean eyes tracing the soft bloom spreading over your cheeks. "And that's my companion, Suguru."

Satoru gave your hand over, and soon another long finger clenched it gently, with a wet kiss tracing the knolls on your shivering skin. You introduced yourself quietly, not daring to look at them longer than needed.

As, god help me, you've seen quite a few fellows through the tender days of yours, but never ones of such a beauty. Looking almost like those little angels in the local church, with sharp faces and blooming skin. Eyes rather sly, curved as if entertained by little sips you took of the fresh mead, with plump lips smiling alluringly. They were tall and, dearest, muscular – with biceps tensing under the beige tunic, which, usually loose, material hugged their broad backs warmly.

"Where's the armour, good sirs?" you asked, thinking why the king's knights could allow themself to dwell among the townsfolk in commoner's clothes.

"Why? Wanted to see a bit of silver, my lady?" Satoru hummed.

"Well, I'm quite disappointed. This maiden has never seen a fully armoured knight," you laughed, supporting a hearty face on a chin.

Gaze already a bit hazy, drunken warmth spreading all over your body, kissing, tracing, brushing feverish skin under the tight dress. It covered you almost fully – with ankles and wrists wrapped in a pinkish dress, leaving a little peek on your plush breasts with a thin necklace resting between. The foggy air of the tavern alone was making you wet, and sweet mead, together with those men's attentive eyes, pushed you over the edge!

"A maiden?" Suguru chipped in, seeing your gaze lulling between him and his companion. "You're unmarried, then?"

Sweet giggle tickled their ears. "I am indeed, my good lords," another sip of mead warmed your heart. "Not for long, I'm afraid, as my mother has her foul plans."

"Poor little birdie, aren't you?" Satoru pushed out his pinkish lip, bending a finger to bring in more mead.

"Oh no, good sir, I mustn't! That's enough for–" but before you could finish, another three goblets were placed on your small, wooden table.

Small candles licked their cheeks, as both men laughed and clinked their goblets with yours.

"You shall have some fun, my lady. As this is the last night before marriage, right?" Suguru asked, looking at the way cold alcohol swirled down your chin, dripping right on a bare piece of chest.

"I'm not getting married anytime soon! And it's my first night out... ever, indeed."

Both of them raised eyebrows, hearing your shy confession.

"Ever?" Satoru asked after.

You nodded, swirling a lock of hair around finger.

"Have you ever danced then, my lady?" Suguru continued, but before you could scoff and say that you weren't such a commoner, he added. "With a man."

There was a minute of silence, with nothing but the bard's jolly music jumping in the background and the sticky floor of the tavern trembling under the heavy feet of the dancing townsfolk. Your table was nicely hidden, with nothing but a few candles offering a mellow, tender glow, bathing their faces in dangerously handsome angles.

"I've never..." your throat bobbed, feeling their knees under the table brushing yours. "I've never been with a... man. Nor did anything."

Satoru tilted his head, and a few white strands brushed over his milky forehead. "Anything, my lady? You mean, anything?" The last word rolled with more pressure.

You nodded.

Oh, was it always that hot in this tavern?

"My good sirs, what are you insinuating?" you probed, but both of them said nothing.

Well, only shared a one meaningful look, which made you rather wary, but nevertheless quite... feverish?

As the next second, Satoru took your hand to help you stand up.

"Shall we dance then, my lady? Allow us to give you a bit of joy during this night."

You should say no, of course. You should slip your hand away and thank them for the fine talk before going back to your female friends.

You shouldn't let yourself get dragged between other sweating bodies, but still be far away from the prying eyes of the townsfolk.

You should not allow them to cage you, covering fully with massive backs and fingers tracing the plush of your cheeks.

You should walk out of this tavern the second Satoru's thumb pressed your lower lip, and Suguru slipped behind, with his big hands slowly, slowly, tracing your hips.

"Your dress is quite thick, my lady," he whispered to your ear, with warm breath tickling the lobe. "I must assume you've spent quite a while tying it up," his deep voice slashed through the melodic tunes played by a bard, sending a gallop of shivers through your sweating spine.

Their bodies squeezed yours, lulling you softly to the not-so-calm music. But none of the townsfolk cared about the poor maiden being eaten alive by the king's knights. No one even saw you, probably, considering how dim the place was, with their muscular shoulders wrapping your body tightly.

Satoru's fingers traced the softness of your cheeks, squeezing them with a low groan, while looking closely at the shuddered breath that slipped through.

Suguru's head nuzzled in the crook of our neck, inhaling the sweetish fragrance of your sweat. His arms curled around your waist, pulling your hips closer to his.

A soft cry filled their ears when the mound of your ass brushed against something hard.

Though Holy Church did condemn intimacy of wedlock, yet among the common folk of the town, such deeds during courtship or betrothal were rather cherished. Too common, you could guess, with a few of Shoko's friends being closer to a wench rather than a prudish maiden.

You, however, were neither courted nor betrothed to either of those knights, thus truly shouldn't allow Suguru's fingers to slide down your hips, right between–

"Shush, my lady," Satoru whispered, covering your fallen lips with his thumb. A warmth filled your lower belly when Suguru's fingers circled the dangerously pleasurable spot. And you still wore a full dress, mind you. "You don't want anyone to see you in such a wenched state, hm?"

Your head shook, lips closed with a gasp when Satoru's hips brushed against your front. He, too, was hard and cunning, with ocean eyes following all the changing expressions of your face carefully.

"I cannot," you muttered, trying to push them both away. "I shall wait to be properly courted by my future husb–"

"We can court you, sweet lady," Satoru chirped like a little bird, with a crafty smile curving up his lips. "If you wish, we can even pledge in a betrothal."

Suguru's clothed cock nuzzled against your ass, and, oh may the Virgin Mary watch over me, if he wasn't huge.

A lovely cry rolled through your lips, but Satoru pushed his finger in, placing it right on the drenched tongue. "Good maidens shall follow knights' order, my lady. It's the king's announcement," Satoru whispered, pushing you harder against Suguru's chest.

Your lips unconsciously curled around his milky finger, sucking it gently to strangle another cry. Satoru's brows furrowed, lips fell flat, while Suguru hissed upon feeling your hips brushing against his in harsh waves.

Maybe you were just a wench, after all. A wench and a harlot, who lost her mind for two simple knights.

Or maybe, you were just a woman?

Satoru's eyes suddenly glimmered, with gentle candles smooching his flushed cheeks jolly.

"So now, my sweet maiden, do you wish to be properly courted?"

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

"Fucking hell," he groaned, trying to undo the strips of your dress.

Pinkish strips curled around your back, tying your waist tightly and pushing the breast out. They changed positions, with Suguru currently drenching your lips in a messy, hungry kiss, with his sweet breath coiling all your senses.

You don't know how, but at some point, the three of you tumbled to one of the tavern's rooms on the upper floor, with Satoru renting it for a whole night. At least they kept their promise to hide you away from the prying eyes of Shoko and other girls.

But she surely knew where you were heading, seeing a piece of your lovely dress going up the stairs!

"Forgive me, my lady. I'm not a patient man," Satoru whispered, and a second later, the back of your dress was ripped apart.

"My lord! This dress–" rolled with a cry, but Suguru quickly shut you up, placing another messy kiss on your swollen lips.

The dress finally hit the wooden floor, and nothing, nothing, could prepare you for the wave of sticky fingers that started to travel around your body.

Wearing nothing but a skimpy, white robe, their fingers strolled feverishly through your skin. You didn't even make it to the bed when Suguru cupped the swell of your ass, lifting you high up. Satoru was right behind you, tracing plush breasts and hard nipples covered by nothing but an almost translucent robe. Your back was glued to his chest, head lulled on his shoulder and thighs wrapped tightly around Suguru's strong hips.

You curled fingers into his raven hair and moaned, feeling his lips tracing the drenched kisses down your neck.

"C-can we, please, my lords, move to the bed?" rolled shyly, but this position was quite uncomfortable and, well, not enough.

Not enough to feel their rigid bodies and hard cocks, trying to brush against your plump skin. They both panted and groaned, feeling your warmth and sheepish moans slipping through, every time Satoru rolled your nipples harder and Suguru sucked harshly on your neck.

"We can do whatever you want, sweet lady," Suguru murmured, and soon your back hit the plush mattress.

And from this position you felt like... a lamb.

Spread almost naked, with wetness dripping down the thighs and pleading eyes staring up at two massive men. Looking down at you with maddened gazes.

You've seen wolves before – howling in the nearby forests and from time to time feasting on a few chickens and cows kept by neighbours.

You've seen the bloody trails left on the ground and the crimson pool of their prey's bowels, spread all over the road.

And now, with two muscular knights, undressing slowly in front of your trembling body, you thought that your fate was no better than that of a simple lamb. Waiting to be either killed by her family or devoured as prey.

"Sweet lady," Suguru murmured, while Satoru climbed behind you. Strong arms curled around your body, slowly, slowly, pulling you against his chest. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

Your throat bobbed. "I'm scared..." slipped quietly, but they still heard your almost silent voice.

Satoru's lips tickled your ear, placing a soft kiss on your lobe. "There's nothing to be scared of, my lady. You know the rules of courtly love, right?" he chuckled, when your head shook. "Well, for example, one of them states that the male lover shall be obedient and inferior to his lady."

Suguru moved to your squeezed thighs, spreading them wide with a gentle push. Plush lips traced wet kisses around your knee, going down, down, making your skin crawl and drenched pussy squeeze around nothing.

Purplish eyes followed every change in expression of your face, while Satoru whispered sweet little pledges, curling his fingers around your nipples.

There was something predatory, but still gentle, in the way they handled you. With rough hands, but velvety touches, skimming your skin in an almost shy manner.

And this... this was making you lose your mind.

It's not as you shouldn't, but simply weren't allowed to be there – a fair maiden with two stranger knights, indulging in the most sinful activities prohibited by the Holy Church.

But your mind was blank and heart heavy, upon feeling the first shy licks of Suguru's tongue near your dripping cunt, and his trembling groan going straight to your folds.

"G-good s-sir–"

"Just Suguru, my sweet lady," he looked up, taking in the sweet mimic of your face. "Call me Suguru."

"W-well then, Suguru–mhmmm," your hips waved, as if seeking more of wet kisses.

One place in particular – fluttering, trembling, drenching the bedding till Suguru looked down at it and inhaled sharply. "Quite impatient, aren't you?"

Satoru giggled, rolling the hem of milky robes up, up, up, finally leaving your soft body bare and feverish. Muscular arms again locked you in a hug, pulling your back to his naked chest.

"And you know, my sweet lady, what else the courtly rules say?" his lips traced down your neck, leaving gentle kisses and wet trails over the skin. You head, once again, shook, rolling a deep chuckle from his throat. "The male lover shall do quests and trials in his lady's name."

Suguru's palms forced your thighs to open even wider, with a heavy gaze stuck to your heat.

Oh, he was already starving!

"Q-quest? What q–ah!" came out in a cry, when his fingers spread your folds open.

"Dearest, Satoru, you should see it yourself," he groaned, taking with two fingers a heavy whip of your creaminess and lifting it up.

Looking at his long fingers covered in your sticky cum seemed so filthy, messy, sinful. It wrapped around his skin firmly, like a spider's web, slowly trickling down the knuckles and palm, till Satoru grabbed his wrist and pulled it closer.

And then– oh, the Sunday prayer will be nothing but shameful.

Seeing Satoru's blushed lips curling around the man's fingers, licking them clean with a low hum, made you cry a bit louder. With warmth bubbling in your lower belly and mouth falling open.

"Mmm, you really are sweet, my lady," Satoru whispered. "Now allow us to fill the first quest in your name," before you asked again, he squeezed your cheeks, lifting the head back, till your gaze met his. "And that is to make you cum, of course."

And from then on, everything went too fast.

Suguru's tongue delved between your folds – licking, slurping, scooping your honeyed cum to fill his mouth even fuller. Hands kept your thighs open, placing gentle circles on their back, as if trying to calm your trembling body.

Satoru took his cock out, smearing the precum all over your back, with fingers still fiddling with your swollen nipples.

The room was hot and steamy – dirty windows already covered by a gentle veil of fog, hiding three sinful bodies away from the lively streets. Warm candles licked the lines of their handsome faces, smooching foreheads veiled in a thin glaze of sweat and lips curving in a smirk, every time another cry slipped through yours.

Nothing but your heavy breaths and Suguru's drenched licks filled the room, with your cunt clenching around his tongue in rhythmic spasms. His lips sucking your clit? Clench. Satoru squeezing your nipples? Clench. Your hand reaching for his dripping cock? Clench.

And when Suguru murmured, let me make it easier for you, sweet lady, your body was suddenly moved on all fours. With hips high in the air and nose deep in milky pubes.

"Are you okay, my lady? In dire need of help?" Satoru chuckled, but his brows furrowed the moment your soft hand wrapped around his cock.

It sat heavy in your palm, with a pretty pink head leaking pearly beads of precum. In size, it was no better than Suguru's, with a slightly curved tip and blueish veins curling around its shaft. You've never seen a man's cock, of course, as such acts were reserved solely for the purest and most obliged maidens, who followed the rules of proper courting.

For long you have thought that such a title could also be bestowed upon you, but... well.

You weren't better than a simple tavern harlot.

His cock jumped when your warm breath hit its head. It smelled rather good, delicious even, but most importantly – manly. And soon your lips curled shyly around the pinkish skin, before taking the shaft deep down the throat.

"Mmm, my lady!" Satoru groaned, tangling his fingers in your dishevelled hair.

You weren't skilful nor talented in sucking cock, but your teary gaze and sloppy, awkward licks somehow made him ever harder. The way your tongue swirled around the leaking head and throat clenched around his shaft pushed him over the edge. Swollen cheeks were sucked in, as if trying to milk him dry.

And when Suguru's tongue again slirped on your drenched hole, you moaned, sending a wave of trembling pleasure through Satoru's body.

"Suguru, fuck, let's change, or I'm going to cum."

"You're really weak, my King," he mumbled, already drunk on the sweetness of your cunt.

King?

You couldn't pry further, because Suguru quickly slipped a single finger in. "My sweet lady, you're so fucking tight."

"I confirm," Satoru growled, pushing his cock further into your clenching throat. "Squeezing me like a good little slut, aren't you? Maiden my ass, let me stuff your cunt full, and we can get betrothed tomorrow morning."

Suguru was slowly stretching you up – curling, thrusting, skimming the quivering walls of your soft pussy. His leaking cock brushed your feet, with soft head mendling between your fingers, soft pads, smearing the precum all over your skin.

It felt immoral. Wicked. Unholy, with two men caressing your body in such a fiery, but gentle manner. With Suguru kneeding the swell of your ass, but at the same time sucking softly on your clit and drenched hole, with creamy juices dripping down his chin. Satoru moved your head faster, with pinkish cock hitting the back of your throat, but also stroking your puffy cheeks in delicate circles.

And when your eyes started to cross, with feet curling in pleasure, they suddenly stopped. Both exchanged a quick, meaningful look before changing positions.

"Hello, sweet lady," Suguru muttered, leaning down and capturing your wobbly lips in a short, sweet kiss. A moan rolled, and he swallowed it with a low hum, squeezing your cheeks, before pulling away. Nothing but a long string of spit hung between the two of you, with his maddened eyes taking in the flushness licking your cheeks. "Care to help me out a bit? Open your pretty lips up."

His fingers traced back the lost strand of your hair, and you nodded into his big palm. His skin wasn't calloused as you expected from a knight, but rather felt your cheek tenderly, with a big thumb spreading your lips apart.

"Good girl," he whispered, smearing sticky precum all over your lips. "Sweet little maiden, you're taking us so well. Sure, you've never been with a man?"

You didn't have a chance to speak when something suddenly poked your entrance. Warm and round, slapping a few times against your drenched cunt, before slowly slipping in.

It felt... terrible.

No... heavenly?

A mix of painful stretch and a shattering pleasure washed over your spine when Satoru's fat cock smooched through your folds.

"Fucking hell," he moaned, throwing milky forehead back. "Suguru, she's never been with anyone. Trust me."

Suguru chuckled, following Satoru and pushing his cock between your fallen lips.

Little tears danced in the corners of your eyes, but he wiped them off with a thumb before licking them clean. "Even your cries are sweet, my lady."

And then, they started working in perfect harmony, as if touched by a spell. Satoru's thrusts were deep, but slow, with his balls clamping gently against your clit, and fingers gripping the fat on your hips. The stretch still burned, but slowly started changing into something else. Something that made your hips push back to meet his and throat clench around Suguru's cock.

"Gripping me so tight, dearest. I managed to pull out the sword, but forget about pulling myself out of your pussy, my lady," Satoru groaned, his shaft smooching your clamping walls with its rolling precum.

Your cunt was moulding around his girth – pulsing, clenching, hugging it warmly, sending shivers down his spine every time the tip kissed your cervix.

You wondered why it was Satoru who fucked you first, but Suguru seemed to read your mind.

"It's for the best," he caressed your wet cheeks, biting down a lip to suppress a deep groan. "Your sweet lady deserves a first time with someone of a higher rank. It'll make things easier in the future."

You ignored the fact that he called your pussy a sweet lady, and furrowed on the second part of the sentence.

But, oh well, couldn't ponder too long, as Satoru started thrusting faster. Meaner, with low groans floating down to your ears and fingers going between your thighs, only to start fiddling with a clit.

He seemed to forget the weight of his body, resting bulging hands on your perked ass. Suguru was no better, thrusting his cock deep down your throat, till milky fog veiled your vision and fingers curled around the bedding.

The last traces of their gentleness seemed to quiver away, with a warmth slowly building inside all three of you. It started spreading fast, coiling tenderly in your lower belly and getting ready to gush out every time Satoru's cock licked your womb.

He was that deep, with a vague bulge pushing out your pouch and stretching the velvety skin.

"My sweet lady, dearest, I'm going to cum soon," he groaned.

You wanted to pull back, scream that he shall not do it inside, anything but inside for the love of god, but Suguru's palms kept your head in place. Nose brushing his pubes, and cheeky eyes glancing down at your wobbly face.

"Don't worry, lady, we'll take care of all the consequences," rolled lovely, but there was nothing sweet in the way his hand clenched around your throat, tracing the pattern of his cock. "We promised to court you properly, after all. And that's what you shall get."

A second later, something burst.

Inside and outside, with Satoru's cum filling your bruised womb in heavy swells, and Suguru flooding your throat, till salty seed tickled your nose. Your clit trembled under Satoru's merciless pads and gushed all over his palm. Waves of pleasure tickled down your spine, legs, and bedding, with their heavy groans smooching your ears. It felt maddening, divine, almost sacred, with breaking currents washing over your body in the bliss you've never felt before.

The whole thing must've really taken hold of you, as your lids soon started to close. In a pleasure, but tiredness too, with all the strength leaving your body at once, till it fell lifeless into Suguru's arms. The last thing you could remember was both of them dancing around you like maids – wiping your drenched body with a wet cloth, changing the sheets, and, finally, cuddling with you on a simple bed, caging your sleeping body between theirs.

And when the sun started to creep through the dirty windows – you finally woke up.

It was still before the first rooster, but the golden rays started to glow over the horizon. Which meant that you didn't have much time before your mother would try to barge into your room.

Which also meant that you would get flogged and hanged on the town square, if you didn't come back home... right that second.

Moving quietly between their sleeping bodies, you quickly put on the dress – or its shredded pieces – and left the tavern.

Parting away with the first and only night marked by such a pleasure and a mix of emotions, that would forever be kept locked away in the deepest chambers of your heart. Saying goodbye to white hair lying messily on the pillow and raven strands tickling your cheek in the morning. Ocean eyes with the slyness of a wild fox, and the violet gaze that washed your heart with serenity. During the night, their skin rubbed against yours lovely, with muscular arms wrapping you warmer, as if trying to shade from the autumn's biting cold.

When you suddenly woke up in the middle of the night, they were still there. And you could trace quietly sharp jaw lines and straight noses. The slightly plump lips and straight brows, bending obediently under your feather touch. They looked so peaceful, filling your chest with a weird, but rather alluring warmth.

You got back home on time, but what about it! Your heart lingered heavily – sometimes stuck in throat, sometimes low in belly. It was flooded with misery, and you cursed Shoko for ever taking you out that night.

If she hasn't done it, your feelings and dignity would still be intact.

But one day, suddenly, a sharp scream spread through the town. Soon, the short melody of a trumpet and the loud clacking of a golden bell hit the open windows, lifting up the curious ears of each and every townfolk.

"Hear ye, hear ye!"

A town crier has come!

You, your mother and two sisters run out of the home, gathering with other people on the square. All the neighbours you've known had come, pushing through the crowd, just to get closer to the man.

A long scroll has been gripped by his fingers, with a tall body hidden under the thick, red coat.

"Hear ye, hear ye, townsfolk!" he shouted again, ringing the bell to amass the attention. "As of this day, the King has decided to make an announcement."

Someone gripped your arm, and a second later, Shoko joined you in a crowd. "What have I missed, my little harlot?"

"Nothing, yet," you murmured, hitting her with an elbow.

"Good folk!" the town crier continued. "A grand wedding shall be held in the Royal court, with a fairest maiden chosen by the King's own hand. 'Tis said she shall ascend the throne of the Kingdom, and bear a royal heir, with dignity and fate. This decree by the monarch's own wise wizard told, should be terminated as of now. With the fairest maiden named..."

And when your name rolled slowly through his lips, the world had stopped.

As never in your wildest dreams would you think that two men who fumbled you a few sunrises ago would be no one but the King and his dearest magician themselves!

I needed a short break from mythology, so I hope you liked it! If someone didn't understand, Satoru and Suguru are presented here as King Arthur and wizard Merlin!

Okay, townsfolk, I shall now start working on those requests (Ares!Toji first!) and Bridget Jones series.

collection taglist: @silverklaus @cherrys-wrld @buttclencher28 @anothergojostan @sirensdairy @waterisntwetanymoreiam @somekindofcelebrity @prome911 @iridescentshine @venussdovess @classycreationlight @bokenessa @sashabearsstuff @gater-grabber96 @venetiandream @luvducks19 @koreluvsspring @moonlight-inthe-sea @hashahasha @mysicnote @sukunasl-ttywh0re @princesstiti14

“And it seems the world-famous Gojo Satoru has missed! He missed! Oh—what a blow for the Japanese team—hey Mech, can we get a close-up of who he was pointing at before missing the goal?”

As requested; the wedding replays the moments before Gojo’s missed goal: his look of determination, his deep breath, his arm raising for mere split-seconds to point…straight at you. And then it’s cutting to you outright laughing at the missed goal.

Fucking laughing.

Gojo himself pauses to watch the unfortunate sequences of events from below. 

“Aaaaand that’s half-time, folks!”

He immediately feels a wave of adrenaline strike him - nearly knocking him over at the force. The molten lead sensation floods every corner and crevice of him, and it makes his fingers tremble, it makes an unexplainable heat rise to his cheeks. Where the hell was this energy when he needed to score that last goal?

Gojo’s eyes remain fixated on you like two frozen-over lakes- made only brighter, not warm, in the face of the Sun.

As you’re finding yourself at the edge of those lakes, you wind down that laugh of yours- that stupid, gorgeous laugh of yours. It makes his heart ripple. And then with a soft smile upon your lips, you’re mouthing an apology. Instead of backing from those stone-cold lakes, daring to dip a toe in. Mocking, surely.

Fuck.

Gojo feels his clenched fists unfurl.

And his irritation.

He doesn’t suppose that you’re feeling guilty in the slightest - but what sort of world-famous sports reporter would you be if you got caught laughing at the star player? 

And Gojo Satoru is the star player—mind you. He’s just…having an off day? It’s exactly 45 minutes and 22 seconds into the quarter finals of perhaps the biggest football tournament in Gojo’s life: the FIFA World Cup. Japan has been facing off against an opponent they’d already been told would be a tough match to beat, with the odds stacked 79% against them- it just surprised Gojo that that 21% included him, too.

After all, he’s motherfuckin’ Gojo Satoru (don’t quote that).

With his signature white hair- and his ‘twinkling’ blue eyes- and that dimple at the corner of his smile. See that dimple? That dimple’s insured for ¥2,000,000.

But it wasn’t just fanfare and his dashing good looks. There’s no football without Gojo Satoru, and there’s no Gojo Satoru without football.

Ever since he was a young kid, the game just seemed to…call for him. 

Just starting out as some stupid sports channel he’d put on in order to avoid having to do his chores; then he’d started watching. Then he started paying attention. Then he started remembering their names and collecting his pocket money to buy some markers and a red, red t-shirt. He still remembers sprawling the t-shirt out on the floors of his cramped living room, and scrawling on Akers 10. Gojo Satoru was raised by Michelle Akers, Alessandro Del Piero, Roberto Baggio, Homare Sawa, and Jay-Jay Okocha as much as he was by his parents.

And then he’d started playing. 

He’d begged and begged his parents to get him a football for Christmas- even going to do extra chores around the house to butter them up.

And once they caved - making him promise not to play inside - Gojo had stumbled out to the playground faster than his legs could keep up. Although he remembers thinking that he’d make them- he’d make them keep up.

He admits he wasn’t instantly amazing - just slightly above average, if anything. But kids on the playground used to think he was the coolest thing.

Wanting to become a professional footballer? Every kid wanted to become a professional footballer at that age. So he’d gather the teams, he’d assign their roles, he’d play with them until the streetlights turned on and the crickets started chirping - except the only difference between Gojo and the rest…was that he wouldn’t go home. Refused to.

Not until his parents had to come down and physically drag him back home.

Until then, Gojo would kick and kick that damn ball as long as he had to to become good enough. Until his feet had to fuse with that damn ball, if it had to.

In middle school they adored him just as much.

The best football player and he’s got dimples to boot? 

He won’t lie - Gojo understands why he was called out for a confession at least thrice a week throughout the entirety of middle school. His grade, lower grades, and even some in the grade above. Manga club captains and school presidents- and some friends of friends not even going to this school. Some of his friends. Most…who’ve never even talked to him. 

And he doesn’t regret not letting any of that ‘sweet Spring love’ that his father always talked about blossom. He just wished his middle school-self had a bit more tact when rejecting girl after boy after girl.

Although he admits that the attention was nice- and those onigiri they brought him after practice was a sweet touch. But Gojo could never quite understand—what did they see in him?

He was hot, yes. He was talented. He was smart. He was funny- yes. But he just wasn’t…like the heroes that he looked up to. Not yet.

Gojo Satoru could never quite understand how he could love another as much as he loved football.

Sometimes when the confessions and the onigiri got a little too much, he’d go to the school rooftop and kick his ball around until the bell rang. Sometimes he’d simply sit and stare off into the distance—what was love? If we should love another as we love ourselves, then perhaps one doesn’t need it? Who said love had to be a person, not a dream?

Around this time, Gojo applied for the local junior football club.

He smoked them all- hah!

Then high school rolled around and here people started giving him looks - still dreaming of becoming a professional footballer? Wasn’t that child’s play?

Popularity was measured, at least for most guys, by how many girls you’d banged or whether or not you’d actually tasted beer. He himself wasn’t one to subscribe to such notions - but the status quo meant that people started…distancing themselves from him.

Reaching for him- if only to point at him like a party trick. Maybe throw a volleyball at him during gym classes, or puncture his football.

They actually did puncture his football.

He beat that boy until his knuckles bled - Gojo had gotten a temporary suspension, of course. He didn’t argue with the punishment. He thinks they went so lenient on him because it was his first offense.

But when he came back, it was even worse. There goes that freak still obsessed with football- isn’t he just going to get his dreams crushed? Isn’t he going to wake up? Grow up? He didn’t need them. He didn’t need a single fucking one of them.

Gojo threw himself into playing football more than ever around these years; until every bone in his body seemed to ache, and he always tasted metal from how hard he’d grit his teeth. He imagined their sneering, snickering faces at the end of the goal and kicked and kicked and kicked that fucking ball. And it was also around this time that he’d gotten the offer.

The offer.

He was glad to leave it all behind.

He was the youngest player in Japan to get a national team offer - oh, he remembers how nervous he’d been then, walking, wondering whether they’d look at him like they all do - and the second-youngest in the world to join an international club. He was an express - and damn expensive - pick for Real Madrid, and the only Japanese player to make a first-team appearance. He was the youngest player to win a major tournament at the UEFA European Championship. He was the youngest Japanese football captain leading them into the FIFA World Cup- and the only one to lead them into the quarterfinals. Not to mention his rabid fan club and his four-time title as the world’s prettiest striker!

But fuck, man. 

All that…for this.

Today, Gojo Satoru was having an off time. And he’s blaming it on you—was that necessarily fair? 

Hm…not likely. But nothing matters when he’s in the zone and he’s supposed to keep his eyes on the football- but they keep somehow drifting to you.

Fuck again.

This was on him, he knows. He knows. And yet-

And without a single word to any of his teammates or Coach Yaga…he’s marching straight over to you. Behind him, he hears Yaga’s choked-up call of his name and his teammates’ confusion. 

The cameras follow him with every step he takes- of course they do, he’s Gojo fucking Satoru. In the distance he can practically hear the tension tighten, as the commentators mention something about him, as the big screen zooms in on his steadfast path, as you’re turning around to see him nearing and your eyes widen.

For a mere split-second - before your hand tightens ‘round your mic, and you’re immediately holding it towards him at the ready.

“And here we have the star player-” It amuses Gojo how your lip tightens around that little phrase you just have to say when referring to him. “-Gojo Satoru’s…best friend in the distance—can the camera capture Geto Suguru during his pre-match stretches?”

The. Fucking. Audacity.

Gojo’s mouth drops as the camera hastens to focus on that damned Geto next to Coach Yaga behind him. He isn’t even the one that came up with those stretches! He stole them from Gojo-

Pointedly—he coughs into his fist.

And then you’re turning towards him with a faux-shocked expression on your face. Lashes fluttering. Those glossed lips of yours dropped into the perfect ‘oh’.

Gojo gets the urge to mimic the exact same expression - and just his luck, the camera’s turning to him at that very moment. There’s a small smirk at the edge of your lips as you’re bringing the mic up to your lips.

This wasn’t his first match interview with you.

Not in the very least. 

Gojo was the greatest in his field, and you were (admittedly) the greatest in yours. So it was inevitable that the two of you would meet- match after match, interview after interview, you’d fired your questions away at him.

And sure…there were the usual ones he already scripted for. But you’d quickly climbed up the ranks for asking on-the-spot questions specific to each player, to pick their brains - and in Gojo’s case, to make him squirm.

You asked him about his elementary school nickname as ‘The Strongest’ (which he later adopted as his actual field name so hah- jokes on you!), and his affinity for sneaking sweets into his strict athlete’s diet (Yaga lectured him after that one…jokes on him), and his utterly barren love life.

For someone so flirtatious, one must wonder why he’s never seen out and about with anyone. Maybe he’s simply football-sexual?

That particular interview had racked up quite a few (…million) views across various social medias as Gojo had turned red and stuttered - the first time someone had managed to get the chatterbox to pause - s-something about well, if you really want you can date him-

But he digresses. The point is that Gojo has had interviews with you before - so this should be a piece of cake. Really. Actually…Gojo’s first ever professional interview was almost with you- but that’s a story for another time.

“—and we’re live at the FIFA World Cup Quarterfinals with Gojo Satoru, Captain of the Japanese team.” You’re plastering that camera-ready smile of yours; though honestly he finds your priggish one more- “It’s your first time at the FIFA as a team captain. How are we feeling today, Gojo-san?”

His heart leaps a little at the honorific. “G-good. Good.” And then at the little raise of your brows - did Gojo Satoru just fucking stutter? Again? - he’s instantly shaking his head free of…whatever. Splashing on his own irresistible smile- dimple? Check. “Oh- y’know me, sweetheart. I’m always good~”

“Is that so?” You ask. “I’m glad to hear that. Because it seems like we’re going to need all the confidence we can get, Gojo-san. Tell me—what changes might the defense have to see in the next half if we’re going to beat the opponent’s two-point lead?”

“Well, I can’t share every secret here now, can I~?” Gojo chuckles. “But just know that we’re going to make good use of Geto in the next half- I know Coach Yaga has some good plans for him.”

You nod. “Speaking of- how is Geto Su-”

“We’re talking about me.” Gojo whines. And he’s sure that this part of the interview is going to get clipped to hell and back—but it doesn’t matter when you’re smiling…like that. When you’re throwing your head back and gesturing at that Japanese jersey of yours- number 4?

Geto Suguru.

“My apologies, I do tend to be favorable towards defenders.” You hum. “But I see you’re rather defensive yourself today, Gojo-san. What changes might the strikers have to see for this next half-”

“Nothing.”

That makes you pause. Your smile falters, though you manage to salvage it. “Erm- my apologies, I didn’t seem to hear you over the crowd. Did you say nothing?”

“I did.” And for how priggish you might act - you’d never amount to his sheer levels. His haughty hair flip that sends a few fan club members fainting in the front row, “Absolutely nothing. I’m perfect.”

“Oh-”

“I’m Gojo Satoru, don’t you know? Neeeeext question~”

“Yes I…I am aware.” You mutter under your breath. “Unfortunately.”

“What did you just-”

“But whilst we absolutely erm- adore your confidence, Gojo-san, one really does start to wonder with the two point lead…” You have a fire in your eyes - for how much you might be exasperated by him, it was undoubtable that you needed this win, too. “And I have only one more question for you: will we win?”

He pauses at that.

Just a split-second.

It’s a fleeting moment, yet it seems to hold the world. You’re not letting your gaze waver from his, and he’s not letting his gaze waver from yours. That fire in your eyes? It’s spreading across his own cheeks and then down his neck, across every inch of his body and coiling around his heart. And who’d have thought…that the great Gojo Satoru was flammable?

Gojo shoots a quick look down at himself to make sure that he’s not actually- before then wrapping his hand around the mic handle. He doesn’t exactly take it from you - just keeps his fingers resting on top of yours, and you’re not letting go either..“Nah, I’d win.”

Someone’s breath hitches- either yours or his.

He’s leaning in - down -so close that his lips are nearly grazing the grille. 

Gojo keeps his summer lake-blue eyes directly on you as he speaks—“And if I do…how about I get to take you out on a date?”

“You what-” Around you, cheers are erupting. And you’re wondering just what might have been shown on the big screen, only to realize that it was…the two of you. Glamorously displayed for millions of people to see.

You wonder if he can hear your heart race.

You wonder why he wasn’t paying attention to the thousands of people nearby that were chanting ‘say yes, say yes, say yes-’

“So, Miss Reporter?” Gojo cocks his head, a smile upon his lips. “What’ll it be?”

You’re biting down on the inside of your cheek- and it’s only too late that you’re realizing it’s to keep yourself from mirroring that world-famous smile. “Yes.” Your heart leaps.

And you’re sure that Gojo heard you- you’re sure of it. But he’s taking the mic completely now, and turning it upon yourself—“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said…” Something akin to…adrenaline? Something akin to…excitement? You didn’t know what name to put on it, but it’s making it difficult to keep your voice exactly steady. “-yes.” Thank goodness it was just a one-word answer.

Gojo smiles wide.

And as the commentators recite the entire interaction in various languages, Gojo’s hearing a call of his name from the coaches’ bench. Realizing that he’d nearly spent the entire break with you- he’s throwing a dazzling smile your way - and several flying kisses at the fans - before making a break for it. 

Reaching Coach Yaga, Gojo’s ducking his head and listening to every word the older goalkeeper has to say. There’s a fierce look of concentration on his face—

“You’re staring~” Shoko, from behind the camera, croons. “He really is even better-looking in person, huh?” She’d long since known about the little tension between you and Gojo Satoru- not any kind of good tension, that is. You’d just somehow gotten on his nerves as much as he got on yours.

And you shake your head free of any suggestions that Shoko might put in it. “I wasn’t staring-”

“Mhm.”

“I was just imagining the look on his face after he loses that bet.”

Shoko smirks. “That’s if he loses that bet.”

“Well…”

And then you’re glancing at him once more. Gojo was now jogging in place and doing a few warm-ups before the second half of the quarterfinals started.

Because for all that talk- Gojo Satoru wasn’t going to win that easily, was he?

Was he?

.

.

.

“It’s incredible—Japan has won! The Japanese team has really won!” The commentator’s voice booms across the stadium, making it shake with sheer excitement. It was contagious. The taste of victory was often sweet. “Gojo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals—!”

2-3 to Japan.

All the way from 0.

And you knew the scores - you watched the game unfurl before your very eyes. And yet - surrounded by it all - you stand stunned.

From your right, you’re feeling Shoko euphorically shake you. Her camera equipment nearly slips out of her hands before she’s back at it and recording close-ups of the players’ tearful reactions. 

Most of them had surrounded Gojo and were crushing themselves together in an embrace. They’re pushed so far together that you could only make out a flash of white hair and an uproarious distinct laugh. The microphone damn-near slips out of your hands.

“I repeat, folks—Gojooooooooooooo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals for the first time in history! It’s a momentous occasion for the underdogs- Gojo Satoru and his Unlimited hat-trick, everybody.”

They’re replaying those historic moments on the big screen: when Gojo dribbled past four players to strike his first goal of the match, just two minutes into the second half of the game; when Gojo upset the game by drawing the score 2-2 with a goal from the 18-yard box, a goal that went around the fucking goalkeeper; when Gojo finished with a flourish with a head-butted goal just over the goalkeeper’s shoulder, at the 89th minute.

At that last goal, he’d pointed right at you- a hatrick. A hatrick.

“Who’s gonna win?” He’d mouthed, as his teammates were drawn to him in embrace like magnets flying across the field.

You’d simply rolled your eyes.

It was a match for the books - and for generations of footballers just like him to watch and rewatch and watch. And maybe…just maybe they’d buy their own blue t-shirts and scribble down: Gojo 66. Around you, reporters were already chattering about Japan’s succession into the semi-finals—could these underdogs actually have a shot?

Japan had risen from an impending bitter defeat- and that very same Gojo 66 was breaking free from his teammates and flouncing across the field. And the MVP - surely - beamed as he lapped up the attention; running across the pitchside and blowing sappy kisses to his fainting fan club. He’s getting thrown a water bottle- and wastes no time before tearing it open and letting the cool water run on top of his head. Water making his jersey stick to him even more so.

Long legs slightly shaking from fatigue. Blue eyes brighter than ever. If there was one word to describe him, then it would be- dazzling. His skin glistened with sweat, and small droplets of water like diamonds - his jersey was practically glued to him—a part of him, in every single possible manner. Celebration seemed to cling to Gojo just as tight as that jersey did.

And Gojo then catches sight of you watching him- and runs. Runs. 

To you.

And stops right before you.

“So…” He pants out, and makes sure to flash a quick smile at the rolling cameras. “-about that date…?”

You sigh.

But you can’t help yourself- you chuckle.

“Fine.”

“Fuck yeahhhh—!” And then Gojo’s darting back onto the field in celebration - his team engulfs him once more, and before you know it he’s being thrown into the air. Cameras shift between his ecstatic celebration, and your more muted watching, because honestly…you had no idea what to say. What to do.

You just bagged yourself a date with Gojo fucking Satoru - and you hadn’t even thought you’d be able to tolerate him just about an hour and a half ago. 

But that earnestness in his eyes…

You wonder if-

Nope. And then you’re watching Gojo threaten to take his jersey off and throw it somewhere into the crowd - you’re sighing and wondering just how you’re going to get through this. When a mic happens to be shoved into your line of vision—and you’re just about to take it and get ready for your post-match interviews, when-

“Ah ah-” Shoko tuts, amusement lacing her tone. “The interviewer holds the mic. The interviewee answers the question on how it feels to be the future girlfriend of the MVP of the match? Japan’s pride and unofficial prettyboy?”

“Terrible.” You state, extremely seriously. “In fact, I’m considering breaking up with him this very second.” Well…partially seriously.

Shoko faux-gasps. “After a hatrick like that? Why?”

You’re waving breezily. “I’ve always been more of a Geto or Modrić fan myself. Strikers aren’t my thing.”

“Well they’re about to be your thing because you’ve got a date with one-” Shoko checks her watch. “-in just a few hours.”

It’s sinking in. And although you don’t regret saying yes- “Fuck, the fan clubs are gonna kill me.”

Shoko nods. “I won’t disagree with that. I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”

“Shoko- darling- sweetheart- you’re supposed to disagree to make me feel better.” 

She shrugs. “You’re a reporter- give ‘em hell. Whack them with your mic or something.” She’s then finally handing you the mic—and you’re smoothing out your suit with a sigh. “But until then- try not to kill Gojo Satoru. We need him for the semi-finals.”

“No promises.”

And as Shoko and the rest of your team start counting down until you’re On Air again, you’re stealing a fleeting look behind at Gojo Satoru. It seems he hadn’t tired of the fan service yet- and now actually had taken off his jersey and thrown it at the fan clubs- was that a brawl up there in the stands?!

He catches your eye and sends you a flirtatious wink.

And a flying kiss.

You mean to swat it away- but then you’re rolling.

.

.

.

“Shoko- what does one wear to a date with a football star?”

“I don’t know, ask the Akinator.” 

“Shoko, that’s…actually I should have done that.” It seems that all around you was defeat: having the team you were rooting for win the quarterfinals for the FIFA World Cup, scoring a date with the MVP of the match, getting a promotion and a bump in your paycheck all because of it? All in all, you were having a terrible day. 

And not to mention- you hadn’t even begun to check your social media—according to the way that Shoko had painted it: the football side of the Internet had crashed into your little circle of the Internet, and then it’d been set on flames and trampled with cleats five times over. And that’s not even beginning to dive into Gojo’s stan Twitter…the horror…

The edits. The speculation. The articles. The fanfiction- out of curiosity, you’d searched a few up.

And you’d have to say…that they were very…descriptive. @tonycriesaboutfootball you were looking at her.

All in all- it’s safe to say that your little agreement had caused a little break in the Internet.

And here you were: cooped-up in your humble hotel room for the match. On the phone was Shoko <3 your biggest help since after the match and right now- gathering your thoughts…and your look…and yourself. After putting her on video call—the two of you worked together to sort through your suitcase and find something half-decent for some fancy schmancy date.

In the end, you’d decided on a chic outfit you’d actually planned to wear when reporting the FIFA World Cup Finals.

And nevermind how much you protested and lamented and complained about how expensive shopping for another dress is going to be, Shoko had simply replied- “Just get your millionaire athlete boyfriend to buy one. Take his black card, duh?”

Ah…

And right now you were simply putting in the final touches- slouched over your hotel vanity. 

She disappears from the screen for a minute and comes back wielding her chunky laptop. “About 21% of people think this is a PR stunt…18% think you two won’t actually go on the date…and 44% think that this is true love and both of you can bear their children. They also may or may not be camped outside the restaurant.”

You take one last look at yourself in the mirror. Hell yeah…“And the other 2%?”

“Ah- well they’re out for blood.” Shoko casually closes her laptop. “Ready?”

You shudder. “As I’ll ever be. Do I look okay?”

“You look good enough to eat- now go.”

Someone from what you assume to be Gojo’s team had actually approached you after the match - something about exchanging numbers, and then letting you know the details about the date. And around 5PM that evening, you’d just been getting off of a final few interviews from another match- when they’d texted you.

He’d texted you.

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): guess whooOOoooooOooOOO~? (⌒▽⌒)☆

You: ?

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): hehehe you have three guesses. clue no. 1: i’m hot asf. clue no. 2: i’m even hotter wwwww. 

You: I’m blocking you.

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): waitヽ(O_O )ﾉ

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): wait nooooooooooo 

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): don’t block me ( ◣∀◢)ψ

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): i was jokinggggggggg

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): it’s satoruuuuu ☀(▀U ▀-͠)

You: Ah, of course. 

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX) added to your contacts.

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX) changed to (Foot)ballz.

You: Hello, Satoru-san.

(Foot)ballz: hehe

(Foot)ballz: no need to be so formal with me when we’re going on a date~ (͡o‿O͡)

(Foot)ballz: i’ll come pick you up at your hotel so just lmk where you’re staying!!

You: You just want to find out which hotel I’m at, you perv…

(Foot)ballz: I’VE BEEN CAUGHT (ʘ ͜ʖ ʘ)

Ultimately you ended up sending your location to the ridiculous man - however you’d expected Gojo Satoru to text like…it certainly wasn’t this. But you found yourself tolerating it, for the most part.

You suppose.

And once you’re done spritzing on some of your favorite perfume, your phone lights up with a new message.

(Foot)ballz: here ⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝

With a small huff of laughter, you’re grabbing your things and heading out.

The car parked outside was anything but inconspicuous. 

And you don’t exactly know what led you to think that in the first place—because when has Gojo Satoru ever wished to fly under the radar? 

What was sprawled across the hotel porte-cochère was a gleaming red feline of a vehicle; that type you’d see on the covers of car magazines, or parked outside stadiums with fans surrounding it. Many, many fans. It had all those sorts of curvatures and indents that made it built for speed just like the athletes that owned these types - spoiler wagging behind it, bumper pawing forward, iridescent tyre rims catching the light and showing off. Even stopped outside the hotel, it purred as though impatient to get back on the prowl once again.

From the driver’s seat, Gojo Satoru is opening the door and standing tall- and your breath catches in your throat. 

Gojo had cleaned up nicely. He was dressed in a form-fitting suit—such a dark blue that it was nearly black. The velvety fabric draped around his trim waist, flaring ever-so-slightly where his broad shoulders were- it made him look so much more handsome than was fair. His long legs were covered in the same fabric, and at the ends peeked out shoes so polished they were almost painful to look at- you wonder how long he spent on that…

That usually-messy hair of his had pushed backwards, and on his face were semi-opaque round sunglasses. On his face was a smile.

Where a celebrity often wished to blend in, Gojo stood his six-and-a-something feet high above the rest.

In seconds, Gojo’s reaching inside the car and pulling out a massive bouquet of red roses. Thus he crosses the short distance between you both in two strides, and gently hands them to you- you take it with bated breath. “This is…”

“I know I know-” Gojo cocks his head with a smug smile. “I’ve outdone myself.”

And without further ado, he’s tipping the valet well - the elderly man catches your eye, and you’re shrugging at him helplessly - and helping you inside the car. “You look gorgeous, by the way- although, of course you always do and this isn’t just me saying-”

“Gojo.” You smile. “Shut up and get in.”

He wastes no more time.

“D’you like the car?” Gojo asks as he buckles up, “It’s a Ferrari F80. I was thinking of buying this here as a little congratulatory present for myself- you’re the first one in here besides myself.”

“Seriously?” You ask. And he holds your gaze earnestly. “This is amazing.”

His smile flashes as he sets his hand on the wheel. “Then buckle up, sweetheart. We’re gonna be the hottest couple in town.”

“Not a coup- oh.” He speeds away.

.

.

.

“GOJO- GOJO—LOOK HERE—! GOJO IS THAT YOUR PARTNER?”

“GOJO HOW DO WE FEEL ABOUT THE HISTORIC WIN TONIGHT—DID HAVING YOUR GIRLFRIEND THERE HELP?”

“GOJO HOW DO YOU MAINTAIN THE TITLE OF PRETTIEST STRIKER FOUR YEARS IN A ROW?”

That…last one Gojo actually stopped to give a thorough answer.

And as for the rest, he’d given those paparazzi a coy smile and a wink before diving into the restaurant with you. The maître d’ quickly helped you get escorted to your private table.

The restaurant was…fancy. Right. That was one way to put it.

Another way to put it would’ve been: it was the type of restaurant that you honestly would’ve talked shit about with Shoko, then spent the next hour scrolling through its pictures. Then you’d catch a glimpse of a menu…and have immediately turned your phone off. Because in no conceivable world would you attend a restaurant of that high a price, for portion sizes no bigger than the meat rations you’d given yourself during your impoverished intern days.

And yet, here you were.

Gojo Satoru seemed to fit right in amongst the decor- the abstract artwork on the walls that looked like phalluses, the lights on the walls that also looked like phalluses, and the bowl of oranges upon every table - like a piece of the furniture himself. You don’t doubt that such a place was as casual as walking into a fast-food restaurant for him—but for you…let’s just say that whilst sports reporting jobs may pay high - especially for someone of your ranking - it wasn’t phallus-restaurant level quite just yet. 

“So uh…what did you say the name of this place was, again?” You ask Gojo after he’d ordered…whatever he was having. You’d gone with the same primarily because you didn’t want to butcher the pronunciations of the menu.

“Hm?” Gojo delicately folds his napkin. “Big D’s, why?”

You’re biting back a laugh, “No reason.”

He sends you a look. “And um…how was your day?”

“What are we, an old married couple?” Though there was something strangely…jarring about having the world-famous football player - the very same one you’ve rolled your eyes at or been forced to interview about a million times over - speak about something so…mundane with you. What else could you have expected? Maybe to talk stats, maybe updates on his fan club—maybe what ranking he’s surpassed now. You sigh. “But if you must know, the usual- oh, although I did get to interview Gakuganji for the first time in a while today—so that was fun.”

“Gakuganji Yoshinobu?” Gojo’s interest clearly piques. “Oh, he’s a legend. Did you know that since retirements he’s taken up-”

“Electric guitar.” You nod eagerly. “And he’s damn good at it, too.”

“I was thinking that after my retirement I should take up writing or something.”

“You seem like the type to never retire.”

And so the conversation…had strangely enough flowed- not something you would have expected from the haughty football player, but it was a pleasure nonetheless. And it had been about two hours into the conversation - currently on the topic of whether sharks were misunderstood - when the two of you looked down at your empty plates—and servers that seemed to be flitting about literally every table…but yours.

“Do you think they forgot about us?” You whisper to Gojo.

“Maybe they were so stunned by my devilish good looks that-”

“Okay.” And with a semi-fond smile upon your face, you’re standing up in your seat. Gojo’s mirthful expression drops—but before panic can start setting in, you’re gesturing for him to stand up as well. So you weren’t going to leave him in the phallus restaurant…you surprised even yourself with that. “C’mon- I know this great place downtown that sells the largest pizza you’ve ever seen.”

“Oh, please.” Tipping the servers, you two darted out of Big D’s through the back entrance where no paparazzi roamed. And into a night that was wild and untamed, you snuck into the darkness between stars and created light of your own—you copped a few good slices of pizza, greasy and not half-bad for the price, before walking down shadowed alleys where no one could find you. Almost no one. A few pictures snapped here and there- surely it couldn’t do much harm?

Oh, who were you kidding.

You could see the headlines forming already - had this been anyone else, you’d have been the one writing it. But tonight…“Everyone’s going to think we’re dating after tonight.”

“I know.” Gojo had replied, half of his profile illuminated by the neon shop signs. The two of you were walking around the less-nicer parts of town, or so one would say…how strange it is that where things are discarded and dilapidated, the lights shine the brightest and the moon seems to sing softly tonight. “But strangely enough- I don’t mind.”

“Getting dating rumors?”

“Getting dating rumors with you, I mean.” Gojo’s saying- before he coughs into his fist and attempts to amend. “Although, of course, you’d be lucky to get dating rumors with the Gojo Satoru~”

“You mean the Gojo Satoru who’s never gotten a dating rumor in his life?” You scoff. “Y’know before tonight they were calling you No-game Gojo?”

Gojo’s gasp is so loud that it startles passerbys.

In order to soothe him, you’re forced to buy this grown athlete ice cream. He asks for three scoops with extra sprinkles, and the two of you walk together - close but not touching - down by a nearby waterfront—the river around the massive city and pulled it into a tight embrace. You yourself felt the strange coil of something at the pit of your stomach.

“Did you really mean it?”

Gojo, who’d been eying your own ice cream cone, startles. “Hngh?”

Sighing…you hand him your final bite. “Did you really mean the thing about not minding dating rumors with me?”

“I did. Why?”

“No…just thinking that if I had to get dating rumors with anyone- at least you’re not the worst option.”

“Awwww-”

You smirk. “Although, Geto would have been-”

“Let me have this moment—”

His pinky finger grazes yours as you two walk.

.

.

.

The door slams behind you.

And following right behind it, Gojo’s doing the same to you.

He has his hands clutched at your waist, and his mouth down your neck - leaving hot, slimy strings of spit wherever he’s pepperin’ the most filthiest kisses. You’re moaning as you let yourself get engulfed in Gojo Satoru’s wave of need—molten desperation shooting through your veins.

There’s something wet forming at the in-betweens of your pretty legs- and it seems as though Gojo almost has a sixth sense. Because he wastes no time before sliding a hand down your front and cupping your throbbing pussy through your dress. “Mmm-” He grunts off against the side of your ear. The hot breath sends goosebumps skittering down your exposed skin. “And who are you this wet for, sweetheart~?”

“Mmm, dunno.” You bat your lashes up at him. “Probably the best player on the team.”

A priggish smile toys at Gojo’s lips, and he’s leaning ever-closer to you. “And just who might that be?”

You’re pulling Gojo down as though this was a secret just between the two of you - and the man eagerly reciprocates closing the distance between you. You’re basked in his likely maddeningly expensive cologne as he leans in—“Geto Suguru, of course.”

And Gojo’s letting out just the softest surprised gasp—

He leans backwards with slightly-parted lips, and you’re getting the feeling that no one’s ever said anything like that to him before. Gojo’s eyes sweep down where your pretty body is pressed up against him- and before you know it, he’s crashing his lips onto yours. “Mmm—” He’s lappin’ at your moans- and the edge of your bottom lip. There’s a squeaky noise that’s being let out as Gojo tastes the lipgloss slathered on your maw. “Cherry.” He notes.

You’re stringing your fingers into his pure-white hair.

With the pad of his thumb, Gojo wipes off the remnants of glossy make-up on his mouth. “You taste sweeter than you are, y’know that?”

And with your fingers twisting into his hair so that he moans- you’re dragging him right back to you. “And you’re better when you shut up.”

Eventually, you’re backing him into your bed.

The hotel room wasn’t all that spacious, and it’s only a few hasty strides before you’re preparing to push him onto the mattress—

But Gojo’s reflexes are too quick. And he’s flipping the two of you around so that it’s your back that’s coming into contact with the springy bedcoils, falling onto the cloud-like bed with the MVP of the match. Mr. Hotshot Gojo Satoru himself.

Gojo smirks as he hovers above you. “Wanna hear a magic trick? I know exactly what you’re thinking about, pretty girl~” He husks.

And you’re letting out a gasp as his lips come kissing down your neck once more. You can’t help it - you’re arching into him already. “And what’s that?”

“Me.” 

As he chuckles, you’re rolling your eyes. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“Oh?” Gojo raises one of his white brows- like a challenge. If there was anything he was weak to—then it was a challenge. And maybe you, but…you didn’t need to know that just yet. “Then let me be clearer…you were thinking about me—” As he speaks, his dominant hands are exploring your body - starting at the right side of your tits, and massaging for a few moments before switching to the other one. “-running these trained hands everywhere on your body like this, weren’t you?”

Your heart leaps to your throat- and down there. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

He chuckles. “And then you must’ve thought about my fingers- I did have a little stint as a goalkeeper—” Through your fabric, he’s pinching your left nipple and you moan. “-did you know that?”

“I did.” You admit. Your reporting habits left you investigating every single nook and cranny of these footballers’ careers and lives.

“And then maybe these spectacular abs- I have them insured, did you know that?” The urge to roll your eyes is immense—but you’re more focused on the way that the world-class player was shuffling his body purposefully down yours, letting the button-up underneath his suit push against your core- you’re feeling his abs. As though he could read your mind, Gojo flashes you a devilish smile and keeps going down- “Or these arms.” Down. “Or these thick thighs. Heh.” Dooooown.

All the way until he’s between those tremblin’ legs of yours. At least his face was.

“But most of all…how about this glorious face?” Gojo shoots you his camera-ready smile inches away from your clothed cunt—pearly-white teeth and dimple to boot. “And I know m’fucking pretty- but I get the strange feeling that I’d look even prettier between your legs.”

And just as he’s about to lean in-

You’re sitting up and putting a hand on his shoulder. Stopping him.

Gojo looks up at you with a face full of concern. 

But you’re merely shaking your head. “You’d be hard-pressed to think that I’d let you get all the bragging rights.” You scoff. “Get up. Let me sit on your face.”

His blue, blue eyes gleam in delight. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

“Shut up and get over here.”

And you’re sure that Gojo murmurs something about ‘making him shut up’ (you’d be more surprised if he didn’t) and yet within seconds you suddenly have his 6’4 toned frame stretched-out beneath you.

With your knees making the mattress upon either side of his head dip, straddling him, you’ve straddled the two of you into an oh-so-perfect 69 position - but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he doesn’t care. Looking underneath you, you notice that the white-haired man has hunger consuming every inch of him, with his eyes half-lidded and his mouth slightly-ajar, licking his lips as he fucking chases your clothed cunt—

“But just ooooone thing.” You’re placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back down- Gojo lets out a cracked whimper. He stares up at your clothed cunt like the gates of heaven above.

“Yes, my demanding girl~? More demands? Isn’t having the great Gojo Satoru underneath you and begging for your pussy enough?”

“Hmm, nope.” You pop the ‘p’. Without wasting more time, you’re fumbling with Gojo’s outrageous dress pants until they’re managed off. What’s revealed to you first is his v-line that stands out—moving with every one of his impatient bucks; then his bulging boxers; then looooong smooth legs, toned from so many years of training. And then you’re almost done. “How about a bet that whoever makes the other cum first gets a reward?”

“A reward?” You’re not turning to look at him- but you don’t need to to know that Gojo’s eyes were probably shining by now. “What kind of reward?”

“Hmmmm, how about…” You suggest. “The winner gets to decide the position for se-”

“I’m in.”

And that’s all that’s being said before Gojo reaches up n’ pushes your dress up. He titters as he takes in the way your pussy was oh-so-wet being outlined against your underwear—that already-thin fabric hugging to your pretty lips n’ soaking wet for him already.

“What’s that about not being so wet?” Gojo hums. He makes the loudest noise as he leans in and presses a great big smooch right on top of your sopping lips. You’re keening out sweetly on top of him- he didn’t even know you could sound that sweet-

“You said that out loud.” You’re grumbling behind at him. “Don’t tell me you’re pussydrunk already, hotshot?”

“Awwww—” Gojo’s spankin’ that swollen exterior of your cunt. “You think I’m hot?”

And now about that damn evening dress obscuring his view- ah, he knows…

Soon enough, you’re hearing a rip-rip-riiiiip—! that makes your blood grow cold. The sensation of cool air biting into your skin is registering in your brain - and then only the realization that Gojo had just fucking ripped your best dress- “Now, I know that isn’t what I think it is.”

“Ah…” He grunts distractedly. Before reaching down to his dress pants and pulling out something dark, sleek, and cash-cold. “Buy yourself whatever you need usin’ this, sweetheart.”

Gojo reaches forwards and stuffs his black card between your pretty drivelling lips. And then he’s divin’ nose-deep between your legs and eating you out with the panties on—letting his looooong luscious tongue zigzag across your slit and accumulate every wad. Once he’s done stealing every drop of slick leaking out of you, Gojo wastes no time before slippin’ aside your panties using his tongue, then making your inner lining feel eeeeeevery coarse tastebud of his taking over you.

It’s just so much.

You’re arching your back and letting out a prolonged moan - or at least you’re attempting to. But what’s really coming out instead are a few muffled sounds as the black card holds firm between your lips.

Your eyes widen.

How could you let yourself be swayed by Gojo Satoru’s black card, of all things…?!

Spitting the black card out, you throw a glare at Gojo. “D-don’t think you’ve won the bet just because you’ve gotten a headstart.”

“Oh?” Gojo coos. “I think I’ve won the bet regardless by how much you’re stutterin’ and whining like a slut on my tongue.” He’s spitting every syllable out against your pussy- literally. He’s drizzling a splash of saliva that he’s using a hand to smack- to smear across every inch of your sodden lips.

You let out a sudden whine, and he laughs.

“Was I wrong~? Mmm- shell me. Who’s the bwest—?” Muffled by his burning-hot kisses.

And you won’t let yourself be bestest just like that, would you? Especially not when he sounds so silly already drunk on your pussy?

In sultry seconds, you’re spittin’ out his damn black card and dragging Gojo’s boxers down. By how much he’d been showing through his bulge…you’d already assumed that he’d be massive.

But Gojo was…really massive.

Mentally you’re counting about eight or nine inches- seriously. And each of those inches were fat and throbbing, the girth of a Coke can and the length of something you’re sure would leave you unable to walk. At least for a week.

As though somehow sensing what you were thinking; Gojo’s thickened tip pulses. Grows even pinker.

“Cock got yer tongue?” He giggles wetly. “Why’re you stupefied, huh? Looks like m’gonna win~”

From the top of his shaft, he’s ooooozing out a constant source of precum—and you’re leanin’ in to sweetly kiss away the syrup that clings to his tip. Just the softest kittenish kiss- but it’s enough to make the football player yelp from underneath you.

His toes curl. His hips buck up without him even seeming to realize - and Gojo lets out an echo of your name - like a prayer - as his fat tip sticks inside your mouth. “O-ohhhh, now you’re playing dirty, sweetheart.”

“M’just doing the same thing you’re- mmm, doing.” You answer- purposefully keeping your mouth on Gojo so that the vibrations shoot up his veins.

“Tch- yeah.” Gojo admits. “But s’only fun when you’re the one getting all drunk on my tongue-” And just because he’s babbling away doesn’t mean that he’s stopping his ministrations for a single second - he’s lavishing and lavishing the tight rim of your hole with his tongue. Licking. Lingering. Letting the top of it hook inside and stretchin’ you out just a little bit more. “Why can’t I be the one to have all the fun—?”

“Do you always have to win?”

“Yes.”

As ridiculous as that sentence sounded, it doesn’t surprise you that it came out of Gojo’s mouth.

The very same mouth that’s becoming more n’ more feverish on your cunt - as some form of revenge, you suppose. Gojo’s grabbing a handful of your left ass cheek and using it to drag you deeper into his mouth.

His jaw unhinges. His nose pushes against your skin. 

He’s sucking onto every tender spot of your pussy- eventually resting his pinkish lips on your hole and shoving his tastebuds in so deep. “Tch- this is my fuckin’ win—and this should be my pussy, girl.” Deeper. “C’mon. C’mon. Forget sucking my cock- just fuck back in t’me, sweetheart.”

“F-forget? Sneaky…you just wanna win.”

You can feel him smile against your cunt. “Awww, you know me so well—”

“So selfish, Satoru.” You huff. 

“Ohhhh.” And he’s shivering- wracking with something primal all the way head-to-toe. “Call me that again~”

“Satoru.” You’re plopping your mouth over his puckered, pretty head- he was just so cutely needy.

It wasn’t something that you’d expected over the hotshot player. Even though Gojo Satoru might not look like it upon first impression—his cock was so sensitive, so very honest with you that it almost gave you secondhand embarrassment to see. The moment you’re putting your mouth on him n’ starting to suck, he’s spurting out the sweetest honeyed wads of precum here n’ there. The moment you’re leaving him- Gojo throbs even angrily bigger and shuffles his hips to chase your warm mouth.

One of your hands reaches down to squeeze at his balls - so plump and perfectly-shaped. It was annoying that everything about him seemed to be handcrafted by the heavens themselves.

And you’re massaging his most sensitive spots using the mountain of your palm, grinding him against your hand every time your mouth sucks on him. You’re repeating this sequence a few more times. 

But he’s not holding back either - Gojo’s now started using the side of your waist as a handlebar, almost.

And he’s grabbing you hard- dragging you onto his awaiting mouth even harder.

“Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart- sweetheart.” He repeats like a broken record player. All whilst his tongue was open and ready—he hones it at the tip, sharpening, so that it can probe even deeper. Slithering it inside again and agaaaaaain until you’re soaking all down his face. “Mmm- again, sweetheart.” Gojo whispers, feeling the mess start to trickle down his chin. “C’mon- Satoru needs to hear you say his name when you cum.”

“Satoruuuuu—oh.” You’re gasping. “But you’re not winning before I do-”

 He’s immediately reaching for your throat with a vicious thrust of his hips.

You’re relaxing that muscle there so that he can delve deeper into your velvety cavern- the tresses of his veins scrapin’ against the roof of your mouth. Breathing through your nose as you have to win this. You fucking have to. It’s the competitiveness that’s getting to the both of you—and you’re moving in a fucking frenzy.

A stalemate.

Every zap of electricity, both of you reciprocate it twofold.

With your thighs wrapped around his head, with Gojo’s cock shoved down your throat. And the two of you move in synchronous tandem - you with the rapid bobs of your head, slobberin’ all down his plump inches—and him eatin’ away like a ravenous fucking wolf between your legs. The both of you were starved. 

But you have to realize…that a draw just isn’t enough for Gojo Satoru.

Because Gojo Satoru was a competitive motherfucker.

And without warning; he swipes three slick-buttered fingers ‘round the orifice of your cunt. ‘Round and ‘round a few times. Before he’s then letting them sliiiiiiiip in—he replaces his tongue with those long fingers of his that just manage to stretch you out so right.

You’re removing yourself from Gojo’s cock with a lecherous pop! Just to gasp n’ moan away as Gojo opens you up using his fingers.

“How about it now?” Gojo coos. He elongates his words- and something about it just makes your limbs twitch—as he’s probin’ inside in loooooong yearning thrusts with his seemingly never-ending digits. Again and again. “How about you say- ngh- ‘Satoru you’re the best~’ and maybe I’ll go easy on you when I win?”

Gojo mocks your voice by pitching it about a zillion octaves higher and making himself sound ridiculously flirty.

You scoff, embarrassment sizzling across your skin. “You fuckin’ wish.”

“Now, that’s not very nice~”

And he wasn’t going to play easy. He reaches his fingers back- then slams! them down all the way till the knuckles. The curvaceous tops of his digits were slightly thicker than the rest of him—so he’s able to drive apart your sticky walls n’ stick himself into every hidden spot and crevice. 

He was filling you up sooooooo good - “Oh p-please…” Tears drizzle down your cheeks. “That feels so good-”

“That’s not what I wanted you to say…” Gojo had amusement laced into his every syllable. “C’mon- tell your Satoru that he’s the best.”

“S-Satoru—” No—you can’t give up so easily. And lazily…you’re instead slobberin’ down his thick, vein-covered shaft instead. You can’t even take him in by now, because you were too afraid a sudden graze of Gojo’s fingers along your tender spots would leave you scramblin’ for air.

Speaking of tender spots…

“Y’know I’m real close to the goal.” Gojo trundles. Those long lashes of his flap, as though innocently. “Real close. I could just…” 

“O-ohhhh, fuck-” All three of those fingers are slippin’ around your g-spot - you get the impression that he was missing it on purpose, and it made you nervous over just what he might have planned next. Fuck he was massaging the softest areas of your cunt’s channel. “You’re bluffing.”

“By how much wetter you’re getting…” He smirks. “-I think the fuck not. C’mooooon the world’s strongest striker is eatin’ your pussy out, and you can’t even be nice?”

“N-no-”

“I sure can be.” The area of Gojo’s knuckles were practically gluuuued like adhesive to your cunt’s folds. His other hand lifts off of your hips- starting to knead your swollen nub—you’re starting to see stars as Gojo toys with your clit. “But only if you admit m’the best. C’mon, tell me I’m the best- tell me…and I miiiiiight just go a little easier on you.”

“S-Satoru…” It’s inevitable - between the constant probing, the suckling ‘round wherever he could reach, the targeting of your clit - that you’re about to reach your high. It’s simmering right underneath your skin. “Oh no-”

“Oh yes.” Gojo’s eyes glimmer with delight. “Close, huh? And what do you have to say—?”

“Satoru—” You knew that you’d have to do this if you wanted a satisfactory orgasm- Gojo would’ve gladly left you high and dry just to prove a point. “Y-you’re the best…”

The words feel sickeningly sweet leaving your tongue.

But just as soon as they’re rollin’ off- Gojo probes deeply into your g-spot. Hitting that exact area of nerves dead-on. And your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave - it’s burning hot and feels more blissful than anything you’ve ever felt before. Anything.

You hate to admit it, but you’re seeing stars as you cum on Gojo’s tongue.

And he has the audacity to giggle- giggle, pussydrunkenly. “Mmm, you think I’m the best, sweetheart?”

“Yeah…” You breathe. “When you shut up.”

Immediately, you’re pushing back into Gojo’s mouth - shutting him up. His mouth drops open for you on instinct. His cock’s floooooding silver, satiny spurts of precum at the mere act of being used—your walls fluttering around his tongue. Sucking him up. 

Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head. “G-goal…”

Your jaw drops.

His fingers are tunnelin’ straight to your g-spot during every peak of your high - those twinges of extra pleasure that he’s managing to prolong using his fingers, his mouth, his other set of digits kneading your pulsing clit. And what’s driving you even further past that tipping point is the way that Gojo whispers ‘goal, goal, goal, goal’ every time he strikes your g-spot.

Goal.

Goal.

Goal.

Goal.

Goal.

There’s no use trying to make him cum soon afterwards—you’re too drunk on your pleasure, and Gojo’s attempting to squeeze his thighs together to keep himself from cumming. Once your clit’s properly massaged, he uses that hand to squeeze his thickened hilt and prevent anymore beads of pearly-white from leaking.

Fucking unfair. 

By the time you’ve ridden through your high - you’re well and fully wrung out. Struggling to catch your breath. Struggling to stop your limbs from shaking- sensitively.

He’s left you oh-so-sensitive.

Gojo Satoru hadn’t even had to fucking try to overstimulate you—he’s just that good with his fingers. He’s just so flexible with his tongue. He’s just so-

“Is this some sort of subliminal? Why are you whispering those to my cunt?” You ask him. And it’s with a final squelch! - and Gojo whispering for a goal once his fingers detach from your g-spot - that you’re managing to untangle yourself from his ravenous mouth.

Though it wasn’t for a lack of trying from his part—Gojo chases after your drippin’ wet pussy like a bee chasing his beehive. Were you the Queen or were you the honey? He’s having a hard time deciding, as Gojo finally sits up on the bed- dazedly.

“Woah-” Now sitting opposite him, you steady him with a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay there, Satoru?”

His cock twitches. For both your dignities, you pretend you don’t see that. 

“You’re fucking asking me if I’m okay—?”

Using that same helping hand you’d lent him- Gojo flips your positions around so that now your back’s facing the creaky hotel headboard. And then you’re both shuffling down the mattress, so that you’re being bent into-

“A mating press.” Gojo grins. His eyes twinkle with something so…dark. “Since I won our little bet, I choose the mating press- oh, and that’s not all.”

To your astoundment, Gojo suddenly stands up and flounces off the bed. He scans for something on the floor- “Give the great Gojo Satoru one second.” And then saunters up to your open suitcases of clothes as though they were his—it doesn’t take long for Gojo to find what he’d been looking for. 

And you’re feeling embarrassment curdled with something akin to an unfamiliar shyness start to rise in your chest. Because in Gojo Satoru’s hands…was his own jersey.

“You had Geto’s jersey.” He smirks. “I knew you must’ve had mine in there somewhere, too.”

“Someone should teach you not to go through others’ things.” You huff, crossing your arms.

“Oh, my apologies.” Gojo says, sounding utterly unapologetic. “How about I make it up to you? Arms up, baby.”

And, well, a bet is a bet.

You’re raising your arms and letting Gojo take off the rest of your clothes. Before you know it, the Gojo 66 jersey on you—one you’d never even admitted to Shoko that you’d bought. In your defense, it was a buy-one-get-one-free deal that they’d been doing for the FIFA World Cup- but you doubt that Gojo would be open to hearing about your transaction history right now.

Not when he’s admiring the look of his name - his last name - emblazoned against your back. The look of his team’s colors rising and falling with every deep breath.

Your hardened nipples looked so pretty against the athletic fabric that he can’t help but reach out and pinch—

“Change of plans.” Gojo grunts- breathless, as if he hadn’t planned to say this. “We’re doing it doggy style so I can look at my name across your back while I hit it from behind.”

You grumble but you’re changing positions anyway. “Ever heard of the story of Narcissus, Satoru?”

“Are you the river because you’re so wet, or…?”

“No, don’t worry- that dried me up enough.”

He temporarily shoves a knee between your legs. “Lies.” Smirking.

You’re on all fours now. And Gojo shrugs off whatever else is left of his garments- and his rock-hard abs press into your back from behind, practically gluuuued skin-to-skin. A line of goosebumps shoot up your spine at the sudden feeling of him pressing into you—and Gojo takes the opportunity to lean down and kiss up your back.

All the way sloppily to your shoulders.

Your neck.

“Mmmm—and this is my win, isn’t it?” He rasps against your skin- there’s a…slightly crazed tone in Gojo’s voice that you’d never heard before. You shiver. You nod. “Mhm- then this is going to be how a winner fucks, sweetheart.”

In the time that you’d been distracted by Gojo’s incredible body, his ruby-reddened cock had slipped between your legs. There, Gojo had been keeping his length cushioned by your pretty, pretty legs.

Only now was he lettin’ his drivelling tip sliiiiiiide down your slit- giving you an experimental stretch along your first rim. “And yer wearing my name, aren’t you~?” It makes him fucking blush - out of everything…this is what breaks him - to see Gojo 66 and the blue jersey against your skin. You can’t help but nod again. “Then you’re doing to- fucking- take it- like a winner, sweetheart.”

Between each word, Gojo pauses to give a thorough slashing of his thickened cock.

He’s not even fitting in all the way at first- just the globular tip.

Just that decadent girth; where his shaft had flared out massively - all blushing red and plastered in precum - and then honing out into a perfect point to just dive right into you. Gojo’s length also had a slight curve reaching towards the top of your cunt—and he was built oh-so-perfectly to itch at your sweetest spots inside.

Not that you were going to admit it, of course.

“Cock got your-”

“You already used that line, Satoru.” You’re grumbling- though it’s a proper task to keep your voice steady in front of him. To pretend you’re not as affected as you really are.

And Gojo notices. Of course, Gojo Satoru notices. “Y’know…you might not be honest.” He titters in your ear. And then he’s shovellin’ in a few more thick inches—you’re feeling the near-spherical end of his shaft slip inside without too much resistance. You just wanted him so badly. “But this pretty cunt sure is. And what do you think she has to say about me?”

“I-I don’t need to—”

“She’s saying…”

Gojo trails off. Though not without reason.

Almost that very instant, he’s un-velcroing his chiselled abs from your back. A soft whimper leaves your lips as you’re startin’ to miss him already. Already.

But Gojo’s merely pattin’ at your utterly stuffed pussy. You only had a few inches of him pushed inside and throbbing inside you, but your cunt still struggles to take him. “Needy girl. Be patient for a fuckin’ minute- sheesh.”

And then he’s tugging at your jersey.

You’re looking up in confusion.

Then he’s pulling at your jersey—

And only too-late are you realizing that Gojo has that hem of your - his - football jersey bunched up. Using just a single one of his hands, he’s twistin’ his fingers around the velveteen fabric and trapping you right along with it—then he’s dragging you- just by the hold he has on your jersey. He falls back on his haunches.

And he’s taking you right along with him.

Now you’ve got your arms lifted off the bed- in a praying position…except Gojo’s fat cock was drilling into you from behind. With your ass cheeks against his pap-pap-papping hips, with his thick meaty thighs kneading into yours.

His hips are pushing and pushing and pushing—wielding his cock into yours so deeply, so furiously, that it’s as if the man’s entire body has been set alight. 

Raw desire runs through his veins instead of blood- and Gojo’s letting out such an animalistic growl- “S’my fuckin’ name on you…”

His mouth waters- waters at the mere notion.

Shit, what an effect you had on him. Maybe all that adrenaline during interviews was…

Gojo’s never felt so utterly drunk than he was in this very moment—pussydrunk. Like the most intense of alcoholics chase their vise, he’s chasin’ the back of your gooey cunt. Every thrust manages to scrape his pumping veins against that snug channel of yours, every thrust manages to push him a little deeper than he already was. What a wonder he’s managed to fit in the first place.

You were just so fucking tight and heavenly that it’s as though you were sucking Gojo’s sanity - and soul - right out of him.

“My fucking name.” He repeats. Breathless. Gojo thwacks! his extremely tight balls against the front slit of your cunt. More beads of syrupy slick end up leaking out of you—n’ they’re pouring down Gojo’s vast shaft. “My fucking number on you.”

“Sh-shiiiiit—” You’re clawing for a lifeline: anything. Your only hope is to bend your arms behind your head- and start clawin’ at Gojo’s own sweaty scalp instead. 

As he rams in again and again and again—your poor ass cheeks were stinging.

Gojo’s almost all the way bottomed-out now. It makes your back arch, and your throat bubble over with moans instead of answers. “Fuck-”

The audacity that he has…no one but Gojo Satoru could have. He’s mocking your moans- “Satoru, fuck~” Before rolling those azure eyes of his and emptyin’ every inch of himself into the back of your pussy. “Yeah, yeah- fucking you is exactly what I’m—oh.”

Oh, was right.

It was exactly right.

Because just then Gojo finally - finally - bottoms out. He’s gotten all of his inches happily trapped between your gorgeous legs.

And it’s not just that.

Just then Gojo’s breath hitches.

Just then Gojo thinks he can’t breathe- his entire upper half collapses on top of yours—and you’re being pushed back into a regular, sloppy doggy position. Gojo’s letting shivers run amok across his skin, Gojo’s letting his handsome features twist into something of pure euphoria as he bottoms out- how can it feel this good?

This fucking good?

And in the time it’d taken the self-proclaimed world’s best striker to shatter on your pussy- you’d gathered yourself up.

At least to the point where you can look at Gojo over your shoulder and smirk. “Pussy got your tongue, Satoru?”

He frowns. “Har har—very fun- fuck, don’t squeeze me like that.” Gojo’s eyes flutter shut- on the edges of his lashes, you think you’re seeing tears. “I th-think I might cum.”

“Just that from a winner?” You’re tutting. “I thought you were the strongest, Satoru.”

“I-I am-”

“Then wouldn’t the strongest also have incredible stamina?” You’re looking at him—Gojo’s peripherals are glazed-over with a thick layer of lust. His hair was a mess. His lips were kiss-bitten. There’s a sort of unleashed hunger within him that makes you wish for him to ravage you…You pout. “And here I was hoping we could go- all night.”

He shivers at the words - cock pulsating deep inside you.

But you’re not done just yet. “But ah…I suppose if you can’t, then maybe Get-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - not even your thought - before Gojo’s hips are pinning yours down. His upper half is cushioned against you. His bodyweight fully keeps you delightfully trapped- as Gojo’s starting to fuck you like an animal. 

He pushes you into the mattress.

He fucks you into the mattress.

His thrusts deeeeeep and loooooong—all the way from the slick-embellished top of his shaft, and then down, down, down until you’re feeling your cunt struggling around his incredibly thick base. The scruff of Gojo’s white pubic hair pushed n’ pulled against your pussylips-

Grinding.

And before you could even register the different sensation, Gojo already has one of his hands looped underneath you. The calloused tips of his fingers are instantly finding your clit, like magnets find one another, and he’s teasin’ that sweet nub. Again and again—tuggin’. “I c-can’t believe…” Gojo chokes out eventually.

“What was that?” You’re asking with a pointed clench of your sopping wet lips. 

And the man above you instantly shudders. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, girl.” He somewhat snaps- but rather than irritation it’s simply pure need in his words. Gojo pinches your clit. “It doesn’t matter h-hoooooow many times you clench- or just hooooow pussydrunk you’re getting me…”

You’re keening as he swabs your g-spot several times.

“But I- won’t- forget- whose- jersey- is on- you—” Gojo says between thrusts.

Every one of his movements was getting more n’ more erratic by the second- sweat drenched every part of him, and a curtain of his white hair obscured those laser-blue eyes. Locked in on his target: you.

Gojo’s touch is searing as he’s pinching your clit once again—“But just in case this pussy does- heh, get too rowdy…how about you remind me?” Your eyes are jerking open at his words. What does he…“Because it feels fucking gooood wearing the winner’s jersey as he fucks you, huh? Huh?”

Your lips quiver. Pressure was building at the pit of your stomach. “Y-yes…”

“Oh yeah? What does it say, then?” The team captain whispers. He’s using his dexterous fingers to twist your too-sensitive nub, and you’re whimpering.

“Fuck-”

“I already told you before- oh. M’already fucking you.” Gojo’s mirthful grin spreads across his face. He had that pussydrunken look about him as his hips accelerated. Even more. “But that’s not the- hah, question. What number is it?”

“S-six six…” You’re letting out in a defeated gust of air.

“Mmmm, good girl.” Maybe because you’re being such a good girl - Gojo takes the time to lazily and lethargically draaaaaaag his vein-covered cock wherever he felt like you were the most delicate. His zig-zagging patterns were getting outlined deep, deep inside you—and you’re shivering as he inches close to your g-spot. “And what name?”

He can’t stop himself from nudgin’ himself just a little closer and puuuushing down hard and thoroughly on that nerve-covered spot. “O-ohhhhh, fuck, there-”

Gojo’s face contorts - his brows furrow, his jaw drops. “Tell me the fucking name, sweetheart~”

“Gojo Satoru.” Barely even audible.

He leans in with an exaggerated smirk. “What was thaaaat?”

“Gojo Satoru- fuck.”

“And how many goals did I score today, Miss Reporter?”

You’re clawing at the pillows by now. “Th-three—!”

“Oh yeah?” Gojo hums. “M’gonna double it tonight.”

You don’t need to wait too long to find out exactly what Gojo meant- because in mere split-seconds, he’s reeling his hips baaaaack and snappin’ them. Once from the very blushin’ tip-top and down to the hilt. “Goal.” He whispers as he grazes past your g-spot - activating the white-hot pleasure from your cunt to your brain - and striking his target of your cervix. “H-heh.”

“Yellow card for being such a dick.” You whisper.

“Oh, but you love a winner’s dick.” He counters. And it’s barely three seconds later that you’re feeling another forcefield of carnal vibrations that set your teeth on edge—“Oh- and goal.”

Saliva puddles on the pillow in front of you. The hotel headboard has your nail marks on it- dammit.

Gojo repeats- faster this time. “Goal- oh, look at that…a hatrick.” His voice is on the verge of shattering- “Can we make that double hatricks?”

“O-oh my god, Satoru-”

“It’s captain.”

And then he’s pumping out those final few thrusts—hands a blur upon your throbbin’ clit, hips a blur between your legs. That jersey bearing Gojo’s name was drenched in sweat and stuck to you like a second skin- “Goal.” It’s radiating the heat that your body was giving off. “Goal.”

It’s displaying that number and that name so proudly. So fucking proudly.

And for that last and final score of his—Gojo’s bending down until he’s able to press his mouth against the area between where your shoulderblades should be. He kisses that spot. He licks his name on your skin. “Goal.”

And it’s inevitable that you’re crashing into your high as one.

Gojo holds you closely as incredible bursts of pleasure make your cunt convulse- you’re practically keeping him glued to your walls. It just felt too good to let him go, even if it was just to fuck you through your high. And it’s by pushing past that little resistance that Gojo’s managing to probe his rounded tip into you- to press those invisible buttons of yours that prolong your high.

More and more and more. This was an orgasm even better than your last one- and you hadn’t even known that’d be possible (not to boost Gojo’s ego).

Counting underneath his breath, he times the exact moment of your euphoria peaking—and then he’s bangin’ his rock-hard tip right on time. Bruising the back of your pussy.

White-hot pleasure was sizzlin’ just beneath your skin every time he did—and you felt as though your heart was beating too fast for you to keep up with. It’s a pounding drum in your ears, your chest…and your pussy.

Wrapped so vehemently ‘round Gojo’s own twitching cock.

He was pumping out wad after wad of looooong white cum that sticks to the inner lining of your pussy. Groaning. Grinding. Pleasure was tingling at the tips of his fingers, and all around him- soon enough you’re feeling a few tears of bliss splatter down your back. “You’re…” You just barely manage to breathe.

Gojo humps your behind like an animal- just shaking at the sheer force of his high. Gojo hums as he collects the droplets on the tip of his cock, and starts fucking it into your deepest depths- inside. Inside and inside.

It was just so warm and gummy inside you. Spreading. Seeping. 

Overspilling.

There wasn’t to be a single ounce wasted.

Gojo’s fingers alternate between rolling over your clit n’ helping push the excess amount of cum frothing around your entrance back inside. Some of it was currently forming a ring around his hilt, and he’s swiping it away using his thumb—popping it inside his mouth. “N-not bad for a guy you hate, huh~?”

Your eyes are shooting open. “Hate?” You frown. “I’ve never hated you, Satoru.”

And that makes the smile slip off his face. “Huh? But I always thought…you always asked me those probing questions and-”

“Satoru, that’s because I’m interested in you…as a player. Of course.” You’re admitting somewhat shyly. The two of you were past your orgasms by this point, and Gojo had taken to spooning you from behind whilst his cock was still inside. “I thought you hated me-”

“Me?” Gojo gapes. “When have I ever hated you? I flirt with you all the fucking time-”

“You flirt with everyone.” You huff. “But it’s just…that time after you’d gotten your offer for the national team. I don’t know if you remember, but it was my first interview then and-”

“Of course I remember.” He interjects.

Something warms in your chest. “But then- why didn’t you show up?”

“Pardon?”

“You promised you’d do your first interview with me- and I promised you’d be the first athlete I interviewed.” There’s a sadness in your tone - not overwhelming, just missing what might have been. “I waited and waited for you, but you never showed up.”

“You waited for me?” Gojo gasps.

“Yeah? I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the field-”

“I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the media room.”

You stare at Gojo. Gojo stares right back.

You sort of want to laugh- no wait, you’re laughing.

And he’s following right after. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

“Mhmmm, but first how about you pull out, Satoru?”

“Aw, man.”

“And then next I’ll let you put the black card in my mouth while you fuck me.”

“Fuck yeah.”

.

.

.

Eight years ago.

“Are you new here?”

Gojo startles.

The Japan Football Association (JFA) had a meeting room…as Gojo Satoru supposes that all football headquarters do.

He wouldn’t know.

But outside was the waiting room. 

He also wouldn’t know whether other places had such purgatories- but then again, he digresses.

It was a hallway with two rows of chairs pushed against either side of it—gleaming plastic chairs that sat emptily - and strangely ominously - before photographs of some of the JFA’s most famous recruits. Gojo felt a strange sense of pride and fear soar up in him as the only chair occupied—perhaps mirror images of all the great players that had sat in them years prior.

Well, as the second chair occupied.

So focused on reciting his name, his age, and his position to himself - things that should come as naturally to him as breathing, now strangely so foreign in this stuffy waiting room - he hadn’t noticed you until you actually spoke to him. Which…you must forgive him.

Everything tends to slip Gojo Satoru’s mind when he thinks of football: people, places, eating and sleeping. 

And yet…with your soft call- he turns to you. There’s an instantaneous and mad urge for Gojo to flash his best, most flirtatious smile that’d gotten him voted as Most Handsome Boy for every year of elementary school and middle school. And yet, the memories of high school come rushing to him unbidden—and Gojo’s suddenly tampering it down.

Expressionless. “Yes?”

“Don’t do that.” You huff. You looked about his age- and by the uniform you were wearing, it didn’t seem that you were another recruit. He wonders what you were doing in such a place. “That smile of yours is so pretty- did you know that you have a dimple?”

“I…” Gojo watches as you point at the edge of your left lip. He reaches a hand up to feel for that very spot, softly smiling—just for the experiment. “Oh- I suppose I do.”

You shrug. “Win ‘em over with that smile, I tell you. You’re Gojo Satoru—the youngest recruit for the team, aren’t you?”

He feels his heartbeat pick up. “I don’t know…I hope so.”

“Tch- don’t be silly.” And it shocked Gojo just how casually you’d waved away his uncertainties - as though they were mere annoyances, like easy-to-catch mosquitoes, and not blood-thirst buzzards. “The interview’s basically a formality. The entire building’s talking about you. Gojo Satoru: the youngest recruit in Japanese football history, the football prodigy from a small town in Hokkaido, the new generation of Japanese football.”

The more you spoke, the more Gojo’s eyes widened. The more he held his breath.

“You’re like the Luffy of football right now, man.” You smile. “Have some more confidence- you’re Gojo Satoru.”

At the time, he hadn’t known how to respond to that. So he’d simply asked—“And are you…”

“Not a player.” Turning to the chair on your other side, you pulled out a notebook and a pen, an audio recorder, and a camera. “I’m an intern for the sports reporting department- it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do when I was young.” And he watched in something he’d later come to recognize as awe as you stared at the photographs of players in much the same way he did. “All those photographs? All those articles? It’s because of reporters—and if I can’t play on the field, maybe I can write the field’s stories, y’know?”

You sigh. 

And he simply keeps on staring like a buffoon.

“Everything that happens on that field is a tale to be told.” And as Gojo’s awkward silence stretches, your smile turns sheepish. “Or- something like that…I don’t know it’s just-”

“Don’t do that.” He interrupts. This time, there’s a faint smile on his lips—and you could see the dimples. “Be confident, erm…”

You share your name.

He repeats it like a winning scorecard, a legendary play, maybe a last-minute unexpected goal. Extremely unexpected.

And from inside the meeting room, there’s a call of his name. Gojo’s jerking up to his lanky feet and looking at you- you shoot him two thumbs up. He nods.

He turns.

And he’s just about to enter through those doors that could very well change his life—

But, Gojo Satoru turns back.

He looks at you and flashes you that too-handsome smile. The first sight of it seems to shock you. “How about if- when I get back you can be the reporter to get the first-ever exclusive interview with the Gojo Satoru~?”

You blink. “I’d like that.” Surprise melting from your expression and letting you smile. “I’d really, really like that—oh, shit, I should get my good camera for the photos- good luck—!”

And with your cheerful tone echoing down the hallway, Gojo huffs out a chuckle. He’s almost at the meeting room door when he realizes that he hadn’t exactly gotten a time and place for this interview - and who knows how long this meeting will last - but when he’s looking back you’re already disappeared. 

Ah, that’s fine. He supposes.

He’ll find you anyway.

.

.

.

Gojo Satoru’s first-ever professional interview was alongside Coach Yaga with some veteran reporter he now can’t remember the name of.

Your first-ever professional interview as a sports reporter was with the long-retired striker, Gakuganji, who’d taken time out of his busy electric guitar shredding schedule.

The two of you shouldn’t have drifted apart.

But then again, the two of you shouldn’t have found each other either. We are all parallel lines of the same football field; untouching and unceasing—not unless there’s bound to be a—goal

Gojo Satoru was face-to-face with the goal.

He takes a deep breath.

He points.

He kicks.

He scores.

There’s a second of silence before anything happens - like the brief yet somehow deafening pause before a rocket takes off. And just as loudly—the cheers of fans, Japanese and non-Japanese supporters alike, erupt raucously until the very frame of the stadium seems to rattle itself. They were crying. They were jumping. They were cheering themselves hoarse, because—

“Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! For the first time in history, Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! Gojo Satoru has done it again—!” 

1-2 to Japan.

To say that the match had been close would be the understatement of the century; but you suppose you’ll write all about it in some exclusive article. Later.

Right now, your gaze was fixated on the flashes of white n’ blue barely discernible through the explosion of confetti. As what seemed like hundreds of members of the audience break through the bars and run to the embracing team, there’s only one that’s untangling himself free from the embrace and running straight—to you.

You’re in Gojo’s strong, sweaty arms before you even know what’s happening.

“And is that Gojo—?! Our MVP Gojo is breaking free from his team- running to the lovely lady, eh? All because of that bet. And here we have more celebrations from—”

His face pushed into the crook of your neck, and his chest hammering against yours- “We did it.” Gojo pants - and you’re vaguely aware of Shoko zooming in on the scene with a cackle. “We did it, sweetheart.”

You’re pulling back slightly from him and smiling. “I always knew you could.”

He kisses you and he’s never meant anything more.

A/N. WHERE’S MY GOJOOOOOOOO?? Anyways ugh I’d been SOBBING during Modrić’s final match.

No, you couldn't go back. If you did, you'd never be independent again. Instead, you'd be stuck as some upper-middle manager's wife while he banged his secretary. Then, twenty years from now, he's divorcing you for his intern, but you couldn't let that happen so you kill him to get the insurance, and she catches you in the act so now you have to kill her and—

Damn, you really needed to stop watching true crime documentaries.

As your car bumped up the rocky driveway, your eyes shifted to your cracked flip phone. The texts you’d sent your “friends” last night were still left on read. You gripped the steering wheel harder as you thought about Mei Mei, who had simply left you on sent. Ever since you told them you weren't in contact with your POS stepdad anymore, they started ignoring you.

If I get this job, I'll only have to work for at least two years instead of five. Maybe if I sell some old clothes and call them vintage, cut back on a few expenses, and start visiting different food banks...

You were lost in thought, calculating how you were going to survive off rotisserie chicken, when the porch light clicked on. As you shut off your engine and opened your door, the front door slammed open and Satoru Gojo stepped out.

Despite the fading sun, he wore a pair of dark sunglasses. The videos online really hadn't prepared you for the suffocating gravity of him in person. He was tall — impossibly tall. His broad shoulders filled the doorframe before he sauntered down the steps.

"Hey! Welcome to the ranch!"

His voice was a rich, vibrating baritone that soothed your anxiety. You had to crane your neck just to meet his face when he reached you. He made you feel incredibly small, but instead of feeling intimidated it was unnaturally pleasant.

"You came right on time. I just finished making dinner. There's extra if you're hungry."

The dying sun lit up behind him like a halo, gilding the white tips of his hair gold, but your eyes were transfixed on his body. The top half of his red flannel was unbuttoned, pushed back to reveal a tight, sweat-dampened white tank top underneath. The thin cotton hugged the thick slabs of pectoral muscles and the hard lines of his abdomen. You could see the faint sheen of sweat clinging to the hollow of his throat, tracing down into the shadow of his exposed collar bone.

He noticed you were zoned out and waved a hand in front of your face.

"Hey. Still with me?”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you rapidly nodded.

“Knew you'd eventually come.” He murmured. "Sorry about the directions. The hybrids are exotic, so I like to keep the location a secret. I can trust you, right?" He leaned down so you were face-to-face when he asked and you could smell the intoxicating scent of dark chocolate on his breath mixed with the whatever expensive cologne he was wearing.

It should've felt degrading, but the image of him slaving over a hot stove with his sleeves rolled up past his elbows exposing his thick forearms, overode your self respect.

"Yeah! Of course, Mr. Gojo or Gojo-san? On your ads, they call you Mr. Gojo." You stammered, feeling the heat radiate off his muscular body.

"Great. But call me Satoru." His jaw tightened imperceptibly. "Mr. Gojo makes me feel old."

He stepped around the side of your car. "Now-"

He peered into the side window, frowned, and moved to the back. Then, without asking, he opened your driver's door and popped your trunk. Without asking he began rummaging around, and grunted in confusion when it didn't have whatever he was looking for.

"Where are your bags?" he asked, shutting the trunk.

"My bags? You mean, like a work bag?" You asked anxiously.

Shit. I already showed up late, and now I'm underprepared. He didn't say anything about this over the phone, did he?

Your mind scrambled back towards the phone interview a few days prior, but his voice cut through your thoughts.

"I've got some spare clothes." Satoru said smoothly, casually leaning against your car, drawing your eyes down to the way his worn denim jeans hugged his thighs. "They won't fit you great, but you said on the phone you could tailor. That wasn't just a getting-to-know-you thing, right? I can't be the only one here who's any good with a needle."

“Isn't this the final interview?” You asked, confused.

You hadn't packed any clothes and the only thing you'd brought was a folder with your references in it. Though, you hope he didn't look at them since two of those references were just your friends.

Satoru tilted his head. Even behind the dark lenses, you could feel the heavy weight of his stare.

"The interview.” He said slowly. Now sounding just as confused as you did. “We did the interview. On the phone. You got the job. Why else would I give you the directions? I don't hand those out to people I'm still thinking about."

"I… I thought today was just to meet in person." Your folder suddenly felt incredibly stupid in your hands. "I figured if it went well I'd go home, pack, and-"

"Go home?" He let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. "No, no. It went beautifully last week. You're here now, so let's get you inside."

You looked back down the dark, rocky driveway, biting your lip anxiously. The directions had taken you over an hour, and you weren't sure you could retrace them in the pitch black.

"It's a long way back." Satoru murmured gently. "And you're already here. Stay tonight. I made some pasta using squid ink. You'll love it.”

As the sun finally set and darkness swallowed the road behind you, you nodded, following him into the warmth of his house.

꒷꒦˘꒦꒷˘꒷˘꒷˘꒷꒦˘꒷꒦˘꒷꒦˘꒷꒷꒦˘꒷꒦

◦° ∘ ﾟ ｡ ﾟ ｡ ﾟﾟ ｡ ◦ ﾟ ｡ ♡ ∘ ° ∘ ° ｡ ｡ ﾟﾟ

You weren't sure what you’d expected from a man who ran a ranch for exotic hybrids, but the inside of his house was immaculate. The hardwood floors were polished to a mirror shine, doubling the warm, amber glow of the house lights. A candle burned steadily on a side table, filling the living room with the comforting scent of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. You tried not to let it get to your head that he had likely lit it just for you.

Your apartment was the exact opposite. You winced thinking about the clutter that piled up because you were always too tired to deal with it.

"Like the house, huh? A friend gave me some ideas, but I thought up most of it. I'm trying out this style called maximalism. Looks great, right?” Satoru said, tossing a smirk over his shoulder as he led the way.

You'd been in plenty of houses that were flagrantly over decorated to show off their wealth, but Satoru's home felt homey instead. The framed photos lining the hall definitely helped. There were multiple shots of him and another tall man with long, dark hair. In one, the two of them wore matching school uniforms, leaning into each other and smiling brightly at the camera.

It made you think of your own years at school. How you didn't have a photo like that hanging in your apartment.

In a newer picture, the two of them sat together at the edge of a lake, except his friend's lower body had become a writhing mass of deep purple tentacles. Strangely, he looked happier in that one. Hybrids were considered 3rd class citizens in most places. Turning into one was usually a lamentatious time.

"Very close friend of mine. He's a late-bloomer hybrid." Satoru noted, catching your gaze. His pleasant expression shifted, and a brief flash of irritation tightened his jaw. "We have another one here who has a…unique personality. Don't let him push you around tomorrow. As long as I'm here, he'll behave”

You nodded, a little nervous at the warning. His large hand came to rest between your shoulder blades to softly urge you forward towards the kitchen. The smell of cooking grew stronger as you got closer and what greeted you had your mouth watering.

Hefty rolls of fan tuan sat on a plate, the sticky purple rice pairing with blackened-orange, char-grilled carrots. Beside it sat a heavy pot of pitch-black spaghetti the inky strands making the plump cherry tomatoes mixed into it pop like jewels. Sitting at the end of the table were two thick slices of dark chocolate cake.

"This looks incredible. You're sure it's okay if I have some?" You asked, a little too eagerly.

Satoru chuckled, throwing a heavy arm over your shoulders. Despite the savory aromas filling the kitchen, all you could smell was his expensive amber cologne.

"It'll be the best thing you've tasted all month." His voice rumbled right next to your ear as he pulled out a chair and steered you into it. "All year, actually.”

He pushed your chair in once you sat down, then settled into the one beside you closer than was strictly normal. A week ago it might have felt awkward, but you found his eccentricities almost endearing. You reached out and spooned a modest portion onto your plate. Satoru took the serving spoon from you and piled on more.

“No need to be stingy. Have as much as you want.”

He grabbed a rice roll, dipping it into a pool of chili sauce. Eagerly, you twirled the black pasta around your fork and took a bite. The flavor had a mild fishy taste, accompanied by a faint, metallic undertone that paired perfectly with the cherry tomatoes. Before you had even finished chewing, your fork was twisting up another bite.

“Satoru, this is amazing! I've never had anything like this before, but is there a lot of spice in this? I feel kinda warm.”

“Nothing you can't handle.” Satoru purred. “I used a special, spiced squid ink from a local source. It has a bit of a kick to it though. Are you feeling alright?” A look of worry crossed his face.

"Yes!" You replied hastily, not wanting him to feel offended that the pasta was too spicy.

You twist up another rope of pasta before you were even done chewing, feeling ravenous, over the best thing you had eaten in months. Having a man cook for you made you hungry for something else but you shamefully shook that idea away.

"Do you have a secret restaurant tucked away somewhere too?"

"Nah." He shrugged, pleased. "Didn't like my usual takeout, figured I could do better, so I did. I don't cook like this every night. Though, maybe I will with all this praise I'm getting.” He grinned at you and you felt your cheeks warm up.

You scarfed down the pasta while Satoru worked through everything else, when the warmth in your body began to spread. His cologne smelled stronger, and it made you realize how close his chair was to yours. He draped an arm on the back of your chair which made his thigh brush against yours. He was just being friendly and here you were treating him like a Victorian woman showing an ankle.

It’s just been so long. This'll pass. You prayed.

You twirled up some more pasta, when you noticed you were twisting up more than the last bite. You shook some of it off and started eating slower, feeling self-conscious about how much food you'd eaten. While you couldn't normally afford this much to eat, your stepfather’s constant criticism had you eating less and less. Any trip to the store had you automatically flipping to the back to check the calories. Even now, when you were no longer worried about your figure for your future husband, Satoru's toned body made you jealous. How he could eat so much and still look like a snack.

He nudged your shoulder as your fork slowed down and it made you jolt from how sensitive your skin was.

"Eat as much as you want. You'll need it. We've got a lot ahead of us tomorrow.”

His attentiveness made the warmth in your body spread even farther. You ate more pasta to distract yourself from what you were feeling.

He pushed the slice of cake towards you and you took a bite. The chocolate was decadently sweet and given a stronger flavor by…by what?

"Coffee." He said, before you could even ask. "I mixed it in to bring out the chocolate. Frosting's nothing special, though. I bought it pre-made and whipped some softened butter into it.”

You took another bite as he rose and opened the fridge. He took out a pitcher of tea and poured two glasses. The sharp crack of ice tinkled like wind chimes as he put a few in and set a glass down in front of you.

“Is this peach tea?”

"Apricot lemon. I've got an apricot and lemon tree — they grow them this big." He held out a hand and you raised an eyebrow. "Aww, don't give me that look. They're hand-sized, I swear. I'd show you, but they grow on a recursive island — it's an island in the middle of a lake — and you'd have to get Suguru or Kenjaku to pick them for you. But those two hog all the good ones. I get stuck with the runts.”

You couldn't help the giggle that slipped out at his rambling. Despite his build he seemed like a nerdy guy with the way he was so knowledgeable, technically he even had glasses on.

I just got hired and I'm already developing a crush on my boss. It's just because I haven't gotten out much these days.

But as you watched his throat bob as took another swig of sweet tea, and you knew it was going to be an uphill battle.

"It's getting late." He set his glass down. "I'll show you to your room and dig up something for you to work in later on. What you've got on is fine for work tomorrow — you won't be doing any real work anyway.”

You glanced down at yourself and cringed. You'd dressed for what you thought was a second interview: a high-waisted pencil skirt and a short-sleeved blouse. You looked like an elementary school teacher who'd gotten left behind on a field trip.

You picked up your plate, but Satoru slipped the dish from your grip, stacking it atop his own.

“I'll get the dishes since you're my guest today.” He said as he put them in the sink.

He then placed his hand on the small of you back and led you towards the stairs. You could feel the heat from his palm right through your shirt and despite how it was warmer than your body heat it felt good. The floorboards creaked beneath your feet as you followed him and soon you found yourself in an even cozier part of his home.

Woolen carpet comforted your feet as he walked you towards your room and inside was a fully furnished bedroom, minus any of his personal decorations. The plush mattress was covered by thin silk sheets for the hot summer climate. Right outside the window the lake gleamed under the moonlight. Considering how close it was, if you opened your window you could probably hear light splashing from the animals outside.

"I don't think I said it before but your decorating skills are stellar. It's so cozy in here."

"Got an eye for it." He leaned against the doorframe. "If I'd let Suguru have his way, there'd be plush toys piled in every corner. He swears women love them — probably just eavesdropping on his daughters."

"Actually," you admitted sheepishly, "I do love plushies. The jumbo ones are always sold out, though.”

You walked over and sat down on the bed, letting out a low moan of satisfaction at how incredible it felt against your sensitive skin. After sleeping on a rock for a mattress back home, this felt like a cloud.

"There's spare clothes in the dresser. Take whatever you like, I won't mind." He turned toward the door. "I'll introduce you to everyone tomorrow. Get some rest. You'll need it."

"Thank you, Satoru."

"No problem." He smiled back at you and his gaze made you shiver. "Welcome to the ranch.”

He closed the door and the latch clicked, leaving you alone to your thoughts. You opened up one of the dresser drawers and pulled out a large shirt with his ranch's logo plastered in the middle. The soft fabric felt good in your hands and you couldn't stop yourself as you pressed it against your nose. Your body felt electric and warm — too warm. You took your clothes off and quickly put his on before pulling up the collar and rubbing it against your nose.

Stop! What am I doing? I should be ashamed of myself for acting this way when he's just trying to be nice. God, he probably has a girlfriend. What am I doing.

You turn off the light and climb into bed as you try to ignore the feeling that maybe your stepfather was right. That you'd sell yourself just for a place to sleep.

He was twelve years old the afternoon he met you on his way to Partys Bar.

The evening sun was warm, summer was just beginning. He took steps that almost seemed like jumps as he hummed and stroked the overgrown grass. Surely someone would come by in a few days and cut it, because there was always a good neighbour who cared about this area. Especially grandma Yukiko.

That old woman, with grey strands so long they touched her knees and a white dress down to her ankles, had frightened Luffy more than once. She looked like a ghost if you saw her at night. Ace teased him for crying the first time, when he was eight years old and saw her returning from visiting Makino.

His older brother knew her. Despite being a serious boy, he often saw him shopping for the lady. And soon he joined him.

Passing by her cottage meant praying that she was well. She lived alone, amid leaks that reappeared every rainy day, yellowed, peeling windows with broken shutters, and creaky wooden steps at the entrance. The neighbours' proposal to find her a new place had been declined multiple times. Lady Yukiko did not want to move from her beloved home where she had grown up, nor did she want the brothers Dadan was raising to waste their energy on an old person like her.

Luffy understood her loneliness.

And he couldn't accept it.

Over the years, he became friends with that woman, sometimes having breakfast with her, other times singing and dancing to the rhythm of her guitar, played with the same passion of her youth despite the arthritis that bothered her.

He adjusted his hat, smiling as he heard her playing the guitar, opening the small unlocked door as if it were his home. He was about to shout at the top of his lungs so that the woman would hear him, but he stopped in his tracks, looking up at the ceiling.

Raising her head and wiping her sweat with her forearm, there was a girl. She held a hammer in her hand and a clove in her mouth, frowning in concentration.

Luffy tilted his head to one side curiously. She seemed to be his age. Or maybe a year older or younger? He opened his mouth to call out to her, but was interrupted by Yukiko.

"Luffy? You're back again? Kid, I told you to stop doing that. You should be enjoying your youth, not hanging around with this old woman."

You looked down at the garden, glimpsing only a straw hat with a red ribbon around it. You couldn't hear the conversation very well, and you weren't interested anyway. You had to replace some old wooden beams in the roof and fix the leaks. It was the least you could do while staying with your grandmother.

By the time Luffy finished entertaining Yukiko with his stories about training with his brother, the beasts he defeated in the forest, and his new attacks with his devil fruit, he looked for you again, but couldn't find you anywhere.

In the long run, you became a mystery he wanted to solve. No one could stop Luffy's curiosity. Especially when he had a fixed goal. And that goal was you.

Every afternoon he returned to visit the old woman, and day after day he found you doing something new. Removing the shutters, sanding the old wood and painting it a soft green. Sweeping the whole place. Mowing the lawn. Replacing the wooden steps. Painting the door the same colour as the windows. Cleaning all the glasses. Planting flowers all over the garden.

For two months, Luffy just sat next to Yukiko for tea, watching you do everything, without speaking to you yet. The little he had gathered about you only told him your name, that you were his age, and that you were the granddaughter of the owner of this cottage. Unlike him, you seemed like a more serious girl, which filled him with curiosity. He liked to play. You should like to play too.

That was his biggest undertaking that year. Especially when summer came to an end and you opened a flower shop there. Suddenly, this place seemed to come back to life, and Yukiko looked happier than she had since you came into her life. Not a single day went by without the cottage looking resplendent, the scent of flowers filling the air and delighting everyone who came to shop.

Your bouquets became famous in Foosha. Luffy saw the effort behind them every day. The care you took with your garden and the instructions your grandmother gave you so that everything would be perfect. Another difference he had noticed. You were good at taking advice, you didn't always do what you wanted. You knew when to stop and listen to your elders.

When he mentioned it to Ace, he just replied that he was a wild child of the forest. And you were a little princess who lived among flowers.

It was Makino's birthday that sparked your story.

Luffy was desperate. He didn't know what to give the woman. He wasn't as good as Ace at robbing nobles, and his brother didn't do it anymore. In fact, he had done a few odd jobs to buy her a nice, inexpensive necklace. He was the only one without a gift. Even the mountain bandits had pooled their money to buy her a ring! Oh, Luffy was bad with birthdays. Would Makino get angry if he gave her meat wrapped in paper?

The little rubber boy sighed, twirling his hat between his hands, leaning against the wooden floor of Yukiko's cottage. The cool air hit his face, relaxing him as it carried the scent of flowers for him to enjoy.

"Are you here again? Don't you have any other friends?"

He placed his hat on his chest and looked up at you. You had your hands on your hips and your brow furrowed. The apron you were wearing was covered in dirt and old mud stains.

"I only have Ace."

"Well, go to him."

"I can't! He's at the bar showing Makino his gift, and I'm the only one who doesn't have anything for her."

The pout he made brought a mocking smile to your face.

"Why don't you say it's a gift from both of you?"

"Ace will hit me."

You nodded slowly. You had no reason to help him, but your grandmother adored him. You had grown accustomed to his presence and to hearing him laugh over the past two months. Seeing him now, defeated and pouting, was not pleasant. You turned on your heels and entered the cottage. What used to be the living room was now the flower shop. There you prepared bouquets under your grandmother's instructions.

"Then give her some flowers. Is she allergic to pollen?"

"What's that?"

You rolled your eyes.

"She's the woman from Partys Bar, right?"

"Yes! Makino," he said, poking his nose. You grimaced.

"Does she usually have flowers in her bar?"

"Under the window and on the counter."

You nodded again, looking for a pot. Luffy followed you closely, standing next to you at the counter. The tiny spade caught his attention and he picked it up. There was a huge bag of soil nearby and other strange things. Everything you did, your explanation of how you did it or why you had chosen purple flowers, went in one ear and out the other. Had you said something about health and prosperity? Or love and talent? Or were those other flowers? At some point he got lost, but he appreciated the red bow around the pot and the little note that said what flower it was, its meaning, and how to care for it. Makino would surely like it.

From that day on, the rubber boy stuck to you. He drew words from your mouth effortlessly, making you laugh, tease him, and follow his jokes. Luffy was captivated by your smile. Little by little, you loosened up around him, and your grandmother liked that too. A twelve-year-old girl should be just that, a girl, and not someone who was forced to grow up too quickly.

As the months went by, Luffy learned your story. The death of your parents and the long search you undertook until you found your maternal grandmother moved him. The fact that he was your first friend somehow made him happy. It was no longer just Ace and him in his life. Now it included you too.

The day you met Ace, you were already thirteen years old. Something stirred inside Luffy when he saw you blush in front of his brother. He didn't understand what it was, why his heart tightened and made him frown. He didn't understand why that expression came out with the freckled one, and he only got a pinch of the nose from you. But he never asked.

That feeling vanished as quickly as his brother showed him the big bear he had hunted. Inviting you to Dadan's house with the bandits had been quite an experience. They had behaved so politely when they saw lady Yukiko's granddaughter, who was carrying a basket full of plants. Lots of colourful flowers to plant in their cabin, you had said. They were surprised to see someone so sweet with Luffy. The contrast between your white dress with tiny red flowers printed on it and the scruffy appearance of the rubber boy (who was forced to bathe) made more than one person sigh.

And when you finally met Makino, you never imagined you would receive so much love from someone. She was so warm, like a mother caring for her children. She welcomed you with open arms, praising your work and showing you how well she had cared for the plant that Luffy had given her on her last birthday. Now it looked bigger. She had learned how to propagate it with grandma Yukiko. The food you tasted at her bar was unmatched, and fighting with Luffy so he wouldn't eat your portions was daring.

Before you knew it, you were both fourteen. You loved running through the forest playing hide and seek. Chasing each other around like fools until you ended up exhausted. The laughter that escaped from within you filled the place, bringing huge smiles to Luffy's face.

It hadn't been long since he had nervously visited Makino, thinking he was ill. He told her how his heart beat fast when he saw you. You could do something as simple as make a bouquet for a local man who wanted to confess his love to his girlfriend, and he would be stunned. You could run alongside him, your hair floating and bouncing in the air with every movement, and he would be mesmerised. You could talk to Ace, giggling foolishly, and he would sulk. As if something that was his had been taken away.

The woman listened patiently, smiling tenderly. She did not explain what he was feeling, merely confirming that he was not ill. If Luffy found out, he would do so on his own. No one should rush his heart. Everyone in Foosha had bet that sooner or later something would happen between the two of you. But no one knew who would be the first to make a move.

The famous confession came months after Ace set sail, beginning his life as a pirate.

He had invited you to the tree house he had built with Ace and his other brother, Sabo, whom you had only just learned existed. You understood why he had never taken you there or why he had never mentioned him, despite how long you had been friends. For Luffy, it was an important occasion. You were both fifteen years old and seventeen was closer than ever.

"My dream is to be the king of pirates," he repeated, lying down, wrapped in an old blanket.

"It's a good dream. You'll make it," you murmured sleepily the answer you always gave him when he said that to you.

"I want you to be part of my crew."

It took a great effort to half-open your eyes and stare at him dazedly. It had been a hard day and sleep was overcoming you.

"What use would a florist be to the crew? Don't be silly, Luffy. You need strong people who will protect you and who you can protect. People who will fight."

"You can always learn to use a gun or a katana," he said, turning sideways to look at you. "You can even fight with your fists like me. Or with kicks."

You rested your head on one arm, stretching out the other to pinch his nose. You liked it when it stretched. And it didn't seem to hurt him.

"I don't like to fight."

"I just want you to come with me."

"Luffy..."

"I'll protect you! You can continue being a florist. I don't need my mates to be strong, I just need us all to have a great adventure," he insisted.

The sigh you let out made him shudder.

"Why me?"

"Because I like you," he murmured, frowning.

"I like you too, Luffy. You're my best friend, you know that. But I don't think..."

He interrupted you, sitting up abruptly and looking down at your body lying there, wrapped in an old blanket. Maybe Ace's. Maybe Sabo's. Or even his own. It didn't matter.

"You don't understand. I like you in that way, and you're coming with me."

They say you never forget your first love.

Luffy certainly wouldn't. By your side, his curiosity ran wild, doing everything that came to mind. Did he see a man in Foosha kissing his girlfriend? He would ask for one too. He liked the warm, soft feeling of your lips on his. Your arms around his neck and your fingers stroking his hair, all so that you could pull away slightly and whisper that he should cut it because it was too long. He wanted to tell Ace that he had had his first kiss, and that you were his girlfriend. As if the older one hadn't been one of the many who had bet on their relationship years ago.

Holding hands, continuing to play in the forest, watching him train, watching you make bouquets of flowers, being teased by Dadan and the bandits for having a girlfriend, receiving advice from the mayor that he never listened to. His fifteen years had been crazy. Beautifully crazy.

And maybe he should have listened to the mayor, that grumpy old man who always insisted that he shouldn't become a pirate because it would be a disgrace to Foosha. Protection? Luffy didn't like to use it. He was young and careless. He did everything his own way and you just let him, because you enjoyed it as much as he did.

The consequences came a month before you turned sixteen, when you got pregnant.

It was the biggest event in the village. The cheerful little boy everyone adored was going to be a father. A teenage father.

More than one adult scolded the two of you. Dadan went crazy after hearing the news, being held back by the bandits when she tried to hit Luffy, and everyone agreed not to tell Ace yet. There was no way to contact him either. Makino just looked at them. Her heart ached. Seeing Luffy about to have a child interfered with the image she had of him as a little boy, crying on the dock, clutching his straw hat to his chest because Shanks was leaving. The mayor shouted as he entered the bar, hitting Luffy on the head with his cane for not listening to him, doing the opposite of what he told him to do.

And your grandmother, that old woman who had lived so much in her life... The sigh that escaped her lips made you sob. She didn't have the strength to shout at you. She hadn't had any strength lately. Getting out of bed was impossible for her, so she relied on you to bathe and feed her. She didn't know if she would be there on the day you gave birth.

It certainly wasn't the life she wanted for you. Discovering that she had a granddaughter and that her daughter had died consumed her. She did her best for you, giving you what little she had. Now all she could do was support you in this new stage of your life.

Because having a child as a teenager would bring many difficulties into your life. Difficulties for which you were not prepared. But you would not be the first or the last woman to go through this experience.

Luffy was twelve when he met you.

And he was sixteen when he lost you.

He didn't know what had gone wrong.

He didn't understand.

He didn't want to understand.

He wanted to cry out loud, but the tears stopped as soon as he heard soft babbling. Dadan tried to explain. You had suffered a haemorrhage after giving birth. The baby was in perfect condition. She was a healthy girl. The information didn't register in his brain, he could only hold her in his arms with tears running down his cheeks.

He didn't want to lose anyone else.

He had to be strong.

No one else was going to take care of that girl. She was his girl. Yours.

The first month was torture. He didn't understand what to do. He didn't understand how to change a nappy or how he was supposed to bathe her if he couldn't put her in the water. And the baby wouldn't eat meat either. How could she not eat meat? If it weren't for Dadan and Makino, everything would have been a disaster. The women raised the girl in her first months, feeding her, bathing her, changing her nappies and dressing her up cute. They were delighted. She was a sweet girl, with Luffy's huge eyes and smile.

And when the long-awaited day arrived, everyone was anxious.

Luffy was already seventeen years old. He would set sail to fulfil his dream in a tiny boat, with only a barrel of provisions and a baby in his arms.

He had learned everything he needed to know from the women around him. Dadan and the other bandits watched them from behind a building, not wanting to alarm the inhabitants of Foosha, who hated them but had come to say goodbye to their beloved Luffy. Her heart beat with longing as she looked at the baby. At her babies. First Ace had left. Now Luffy and his little one. Tears stung her eyes. She couldn't stop the passage of time, she couldn't deprive these kids of their dreams or of living up to their expectations.

They watched him set sail, barely knowing how to change her nappy or feed her properly. Had it been a mistake? Should they have told him that they would raise her until he returned home? That the girl would grow up safe and sound in Foosha, in her mother's old cottage, witnessing her great-grandmother's final moments? Even if they had suggested that, lady Yukiko had begged the rubber boy to take the girl with him. No one knew how she had whispered that she didn't have much time left, that the baby would have no one there and would constantly ask for her parents or why they had abandoned her. No one but Luffy, who took her hand and promised to take care of her on his journey.

Now Luffy was leaving, and everyone prayed that he would find a good crew that would know how to help him.

He found them little by little.

First came Zoro. The events leading up to him joining the crew as the first member had not been seen by the baby, so he choked when Koby handed a little girl to Luffy, bidding them farewell so they could continue their adventure.

Zoro went crazy, not knowing what to do. He was more alert than ever, his hand on his katanas at the slightest sign of danger. He shook Luffy more than once, upset. His captain had a daughter. A baby girl just a few months old who babbled and squeezed the swordsman's finger with her tiny hand, laughing when she looked at him intently with eyes as big as those of the boy in front of him. He had to learn how to change nappies and prepare bottles. But they didn't understand how to bathe her.

The addition of Usopp and Nami to the crew was a blessing. The short haired woman knew how to navigate, and the long nosed man had secured a good ship for everyone. Their reactions to the baby were not the best.

Usopp was terrified, consumed by uncertainty. How would she survive the Grand Line? How would he survive? The fear haunting his soul faded with each passing day as he watched her crawl across the deck, giggling foolishly into the air every time the sun caressed her face. She often approached him, taking the things Usopp bought in her hands, preventing him from continuing to work because he had to watch her so she wouldn't swallow anything or hurt herself, but his heart warmed when he saw her. She was a cheerful and curious child. It seemed that when she grew up, she would like to build or fix things.

Nami had to sit down and listen to the whole story, apologising to Luffy for doubting him and Zoro, her harsh words about them kidnapping the girl dying on her lips.

The short haired woman unwittingly took on the role of aunt, following the baby everywhere. Her weakness for children was palpable from the moment they met her, and they could only watch as she took over the tasks they had been doing. The strange coloured baby purees that Zoro prepared were replaced by tastier and more edible ones. The bottles that Luffy gave her were almost replaced.

"Nami, feed her!"

"Huh? I already gave her porridge a few hours ago," she said, drawing a map.

"But she's hungry, she keeps babbling."

The woman looked up. Luffy was standing in front of her, arms outstretched, showing her daughter who was sucking on her fist.

"Luffy, go play."

"Feed her."

Her eye twitched.

"She's not hungry."

"You have boobs, feed her."

Nami took the baby from his arms. The blow Luffy received sent him flying out of the kitchen and onto the deck floor.

Sanji joining in was all Nami needed. Now she had more help. The blond had adored his captain's daughter from the moment he saw her at the Baratie.

"What's the princess's name?" he asked, leaning on the deck railing.

He tried to smoke away from her, watching the girl playing with Zoro's katanas, who was asleep on the floor. The pretty dress with a mandarin print indicated that Nami had taken good care of her. He didn't want to imagine what her first days at sea had been like, with only the swordsman and the rubber boy.

Luffy looked up, swallowing his meat.

"Nika."

"Nika?" Sanji murmured. "That's a strange name."

"Makino wouldn't let me name her Niku."

"Of course not!" Nami shouted, hitting him on the head.

"How could you call her meat, Luffy?" Usopp shook his head.

The journey was full of adventures. When Chopper joined them, the little one examined the baby to see if she had any pain or illness. It was a miracle that she was healthy so far. That whatever Nami had contracted had not affected her.

It was at night that the navigator watched her captain most closely.

Luffy used to spend every night on the Grand Line with his daughter by his side. He would sit on the deck with her between his legs, stretching his rubber fingers and making his little girl do the same. After a few hours, in the stillness of the sea and under the stars, they would both fall asleep. The captain would wrap his arms protectively around her, as if afraid she would slip through his fingers. If a tear or two escaped in his sleep, Nami said nothing.

Nika's mother was never mentioned. If Luffy was suffering, he would always pretend to be fine. Everything was hidden behind huge smiles.

The arrival in Alabasta had everyone on edge. The heat was so intense that it could almost rival the fires of hell. Chopper and Nami took care of Nika, keeping her hydrated and in the shade to prevent heatstroke. They would have preferred to stay on the Going Merry, but circumstances required them to remain alert.

That's why Luffy's brother's visit was ideal.

"Oi, Luffy, didn't Y/N come with you? I thought you'd still be obsessed with bringing her along," said the freckled man, drinking his beer.

The rubber boy tensed up and then smiled, biting his lip. A cry echoed through the ship, causing Ace to frown.

"Did you guys kidnap a baby?"

"No!" They all shouted.

Chopper left the room, moving his short legs carefully, trying to calm Nika down. Long arms picked her up, and the last thing Chopper saw was the baby flying through the air.

"Luffy! Don't do that!" the doctor screamed.

"Shishishi, it's okay," he placed the baby in front of Ace. "Look!"

The commander of Whitebeard's second division tensed up. A baby. There was a baby in front of him. She didn't look like anyone else there. And those big, bright eyes.

"Luffy..."

"Doesn't she look just like Y/N? Makino said she looked like me, but I think she smiles like Y/N."

"Luffy."

"Dadan told me not to bring her because it was dangerous. Even the mayor tried to convince me."

"Luffy!"

The boy looked at him with tears in his eyes, but without losing his smile.

"I'm all she has."

It didn't take long for the eldest brother to understand the situation.

The answer to your absence was right in front of him.

That girl who ran through the forest, playing freely after working at her flower shop for a plate of food, that girl who took time to watch her little brother's training sessions and congratulate him when he won, that girl who burst into Dadan's cabin holding Luffy's hand to eat with them, making a place for herself among the bandits, that girl he had nicknamed little princess. That girl was no longer among them.

She had taken his brother's love with her and, in gratitude, had left the baby he held in his arms. Only memories would take care of Luffy on this journey.

Ace did not scold him, not when he himself was a mess.

For a while, he stayed on the Going Merry, looking after his niece while the crew completed their mission. Nika's clothes were stored in a drawer in Nami's wardrobe. The number of patterns and colours he saw left him in no doubt. The navigator loved the little girl and treated her like her own doll. The commander of Whitebeard's second division had fun with her, watching her crawl around the deck, smear her face with ice cream made by Sanji, and play in the water in the tiny pool Usopp had built for her.

The following adventures were crazy for everyone. The addition of Robin, Franky, and Brook to the crew had brought more joy to their lives.

Luffy enjoyed watching the archaeologist tend to her plants. The sweet smile on his face gave the woman an idea of what he might be thinking.

"Y/N had a flower shop," he said casually. "It seems Nika likes flowers too."

The little girl played with the dirt and occasionally touched Robin's flowers. Luffy stroked her hair. She would soon be one year old. If it weren't for his friends, he wasn't sure he would have been able to raise her. He needed them. He needed the help of others and would never say otherwise. Sanji fed her. Nami bought her cute clothes that a little girl would wear. Usopp made her laugh. Zoro protected her. Chopper took care of her health. Robin let her play in her garden and had offered to be her teacher when she was old enough. Franky made toys for her. Brook played songs and made her clap her hands.

Would Y/N be happy to see them? Would she be proud of him? Would she smile when she saw how grown up Nika was? Would she like her name or would she think it was silly? Would she have liked to accompany him on this adventure or would she have told him she would wait for his return in Foosha?

His lower lip trembled.

"You're doing an amazing job, Luffy."

The affection in Robin's voice made the rubber boy hold back a sob.

"Not everyone would do what you did. You brought hope to the lives of everyone in the crew, and you gave us a great gift," the archaeologist smiled kindly at him. "It's difficult to raise a baby in her early years, but we'll all help you. Just like you helped us."

No one but the two of them and little Nika knew about that conversation. For some reason, Robin seemed to understand him very well. Always with good advice to give. Always trusting him.

The passage of time made Dadan anxious. Every year in Foosha, they prepared a party for Nika. Her first year of life, her second year, her third year, her fourth year. All were celebrated by the bandits, Makino, and the mayor.

And like them, the Straw Hats also celebrated.

"Come back here, Nika!" Usopp shouted, running across the Sunny.

The five year old girl burst out laughing as she jumped from the second floor onto the deck. Nami held her breath. Zoro didn't have time to react. And Luffy caught her in his arms, laughing.

Her brown curls bounced from side to side with every step she took. She was a girl with a lot of energy. The older she got, the more grey hairs she gave some people. Jinbe used to say that she would be worse when she turned ten. And at twenty, she would be a force of nature. Robin laughed, covering her mouth, thinking that maybe her name had something to do with it.

Her name, which had caused problems with the world government more than once. It took them two years to discover its meaning and why, when it became public knowledge that the Straw Hat Yonko had a daughter, some adored her and others sought to kill her. The only one who managed to lay a hand on Nika, squeezing her arm until it bruised, suffered a painful death at the hands of Luffy. He was not a violent man, at least not without a purpose. He did not kill. But he would do anything for his little girl.

"Sanji-san, can I have some more ice cream, please?" she asked when she saw him coming out of the kitchen.

They still remembered the night they asked the girl who her favourite member of the crew was. They thought she would say Luffy, after all, he was her father. But her answer was Sanji, because he cooked her everything she asked for. Then they fought for second place without receiving any comment from Nika confirming or denying who had it.

The bright eyed girl ran towards him after letting go of her father, hugging his leg and looking at him sweetly. Sanji smiled tenderly, ruffling her hair.

"Today you'll have all the food you want."

"You spoil her too much, shitty cook."

Zoro growled as he walked towards him. Although he wouldn't admit it, the fact that Nika didn't choose him as her favourite hurt his pride. He was the first one in the crew to change her nappy. He even had to cook for her.

"You're one to talk, stupid marimo. I saw you lending her your wado ichimonji the other day."

The two began to fight, distancing themselves from the girl.

Luffy climbed into his special seat on the lion's head, watching his crew interact with his daughter with a smile from ear to ear.

"Beautiful Nika, your favourite song," exclaim Brook, taking the little girl’s hand and spinning her around.

His violin played a tune familiar to all, followed by their voices.

"Yohohoho, yohohoho!"

"Sudden appearances and fated intrusions? I still don't understand."

You looked at him amused. It was the third time you had explained it to him.

"It's when..."

A person suddenly appears in your life, unaware of how timely their presence is. Using a force that is not force, they make a space for themselves in your daily life. You forget what your life was like before them, because every second by their side feels as if destiny had planned it all.

Luffy stretched out his rubber arm, slipping between his friends, until he managed to gently place his straw hat on his daughter's head.

He had been that person in your life. It had taken him several years to understand it. Only now, seeing the smile of his little girl, who was growing more like you every day, did he understand.

"Dad, come play with me!"

"I always beat you! I'll only do it for a prize."

Nami smiled happily, listening to them shouting at each other across the distance between them, something that had become normal since Nika started talking.

"Fine! If I win, I'll have all your meat for a day," shouted the girl, adjusting the straw hat on her head as she looked up at the man who loved her most.

Robin, Jinbe, Franky, and Brook laughed.

"Okay, but if I win..."

Usopp and Zoro agreed among themselves that he would ask for the same thing, all of his daughter's meat. Sanji, Nami, and Chopper agreed. He never asked her for much. He even let her win just to see her laugh.

Luffy let out a soft "shishishi" as he closed his eyes.

"I want a bouquet of flowers."

RORONOA ZORO

He never regretted his actions.

Every step he took, every decision he made, and every word he used had made him the man he was. His confidence did not waver in encounters that could push him to the brink of life and death. His confidence did not waver when someone stronger than him stood in his way, demanding a fight. His confidence did not waver when he had to protect those he loved. And it certainly did not waver when he had to be tough to control a situation.

That's why his imbalance upon meeting you baffled him.

It didn't make sense. Not to him.

Dressrosa was a lively kingdom. Its people danced to the rhythm of guitars under clear skies. Children played with various toys as they roamed the streets. Restaurants were packed with tourists. Zoro had only one mission: to find Luffy.

The sudden excited shouts caught his attention as he approached the city centre. Outside the Coliseum, a huge screen was broadcasting an event, and the inhabitants were watching the spectacle. He didn't know the reasons for the competition, but anything that involved a good fight appealed to him. However, he was forced to be just another spectator. Registration had closed.

And his search had not been a failure. He shook his head, adjusting his fake moustache, watching his captain compete against a whole block of experienced fighters. He couldn't say he had gotten himself into a mess. He wasn't breaking any of Trafalgar Law's rules. His straw hat was covered, and he was wearing a helmet, a beard, and a cape. He had even changed his name. He could relax, they wouldn't find him out.

Watching Luffy win entertained him. He was the most reliable person he knew. Whatever he was trying to achieve, he would succeed.

Or so he believed until he saw you appear.

A swordswoman. Two katanas.

There were few swordswomen he had ever met. His interest grew uncontrollably.

Your movements were graceful. Your turns were controlled, precise. The way you dodged your opponents made him grip his wado ichimonji tightly. There was something about your katanas that drew him to look at them closely. They were cursed. Could they be better than his? Could you withstand an impact with all his strength? What was your goal? Why were you a swordswoman? Your next attack made him smirk. In front of you were ten men ready to defeat you with their own weapons and fists, but you remained impassive. Your extreme concentration and the constant twirling of both katanas caused a tornado. He unconsciously read your lips. It was just an inaudible whisper to everyone else, but Zoro could understand you. Pandora's Delirium.

That single attack started your story.

Dressrosa became a nightmare. The Coliseum had collapsed due to an attack by Lucy, who had been crowned the winner of the event. By the time you managed to crawl out from under the rubble, pressing your palm to your bleeding forehead, the sunlight greeted you. You felt frustrated. You wanted the prize, you wanted to see if a swordswoman was stronger with a Devil Fruit, but once again you had to stick to your superior katanas. You trusted them and yourself in using them, but it felt distant. Your skill was no match for him. You were not close to defeating him yet.

You walked through those streets that had welcomed you with such joy. Their inhabitants were now crying and shouting. You didn't understand what was happening, but it didn't take you long to find out. The complaints and pleas were clear. What they were asking for was clear. The removal of their king.

A beeping sound deafened your ears. Doflamingo's voice echoed throughout the place. His face was seen on different screens. You looked at the blood on your hand, growling under your breath as you slid down a yellow-painted wall until you sat on the floor. As you looked up at the screen, a photo appeared. They were offering a reward for him.

Roronoa Zoro.

Your eyes sparkled as a contemptuous smile appeared on your face. So he was here. That swordsman from the Straw Hat Pirates. The one you had been watching for two years, following his progress in the newspapers as his bounty grew and he gradually became a promise of legend. His fighting style with three katanas caught your attention. Even if you tried, you couldn't control the third one in your mouth. But that was fine. He had his style. You had yours.

Knowing that he was in the same place as you, that somehow life had brought you together, excited you. You wanted to see him in action. With any luck, challenge him to a fight. And if you had time, ask him his motivation.

The blow to your forehead had left you disoriented. So much, that you thought you had hallucinated a speck of green hair flying in front of you, towards a huge stone person. How bad had the blow been?

As the minutes passed, the truth revealed itself. A city inhabitant was bandaging your head, asking you questions that you answered disinterestedly, your attention focused on the conversation a couple further ahead were having. Monkey D. Luffy had defeated Doflamingo, and Dressrosa once again had its former ruler. Everyone seemed to be living more peacefully, not caring if they became poor in the future. As long as they were happy and with their families and loved ones, that was enough.

You stood up and thanked the person who healed you. He tried to insist that you stay seated longer, saying something about shock, but you just refused as you took confident steps. You wanted to get to the hill. To the cabin where they said the straw hats were.

Zoro kept his eyes closed, but his rest was not continuous. He woke up at the slightest sound. The marine was still in the city and was not yet looking for them. He did not understand the reason, his main concern was that Luffy would heal so they could escape. Especially after Sabo's words.

He opened his eyes at the sound of jingling. Bells? Who could be announcing their presence so loudly? They must be confident enough not to hide. He took his wado ichimonji and opened the door, closing it behind him. He would only intervene if someone tried to attack his friends.

His steps stopped short when he looked ahead. In that field of flowers, completely surrounded by them and smiling broadly, was she. Two katanas. Incredible strength radiated from her.

Now that he could see them up close, he could notice the small details. You looked like a girl who left her mark on every object. A symbol of your existence. Silver bells hung from the handles of your katanas, jingling as they moved and collided with each other.

"You..."

"Roronoa Zoro, I want a duel."

"That sounds fun!" Someone shouted from the doorway.

You tilted your head to one side. It was the captain. His hair was sticking out in all directions; he looked like he had just woken up.

"Luffy, this isn't the time. We have to run away, the marine wants to capture us."

Nico Robin's melodious voice reached your ears. The woman spoke with an almost maternal gentleness and sweetness as she peeked through the door to see what was happening. Zoro watched you closely.

"It'll be quick. I'll defeat you," you insisted.

"Zoro is the strongest," said the boy in the straw hat, putting his hands behind his head.

"Why are you a swordswoman?" That deep voice rang in your ears, your attention focused on him in seconds.

It was impossible not to look at him. You were finally face to face with him.

"I want to defeat the red haired yonko, Shanks."

Absolute silence. Whether Luffy started a commotion upon hearing the name of the man who inspired him to become a pirate, whether Robin giggled, or whether Franky, who had just woken up, got excited about the idea, none of that mattered. Not when you had Zoro in front of you, smiling sideways, as if he saw something in you that no one else noticed.

"I've made up my mind! You're joining my crew."

Moments like that, where you lose all ability to make your own decisions, where your life undergoes drastic changes without you asking for them, happen. They had convinced you. You had heard the story from your now captain about the original owner of his hat, and you just burst out laughing, explaining that you didn't want to kill Shanks. You had faced him three years ago, when you were still a self-centred young woman who believed she could defeat anyone. The reality check he gave you when he defeated you while laughing at you, amused by the situation, was the catalyst for a new objective. A new goal.

What's more, you could train with Roronoa Zoro. Measure your strength against his. Find out what motivated him to improve. And one day have that duel that was left unfinished in Dressrosa.

Since then, every day of your life has been filled with chaos. Nami's shouts scolding Luffy and Usopp, Sanji's constant flirting and his delicious dishes, Robin's weird comments that made you laugh and her sudden compliments that made you blush, watching Franky build something new with incredible utility, listening to Brook play his instruments and invite you to sing with him (only to later ask you about your underwear), the dedicated training sessions with Zoro that left you panting on the deck, and Chopper's concern as he tended to you and grew larger to carry you to the infirmary.

You had fun. They were all unique, with different personalities, and they all got along and loved each other just as they were, without asking anyone to change.

You liked having sleepovers with Nami and Robin, using the face masks that the navigator prepared or having the archaeologist paint your nails. You liked playing with Chopper, pretending to have some illness so he would treat you. You liked joking around with Luffy and running around with him all over the Sunny Go. You liked trying Sanji's desserts and being the judge who gave him the highest scores.

The comfort that embraced you after a few weeks was, without you knowing it, what you had needed your whole life. The warmth they brought to your life made your journey no longer so lonely. Now you had friends.

Zoro could only watch.

When you thought he was asleep and didn't dare speak to him, he waited for you to turn away before opening his eye and observing you. When you thought he would deliver the final blow in training, he simply reached out his hand to help you to your feet. When you thought you would go alone to visit an island, he accompanied you. No wonder you ended up lost, because he was a stubborn man.

"Zoro, it's that way," you groan, pointing to a path that led to a village.

"No, woman. I'm telling you it's that way."

There was no way you could get to the shop to buy map paper if you went into the forest.

Your time together became constant. You used to fall asleep next to him after training, being found by Chopper who hid behind whatever he could find so you wouldn't notice him. He didn't want to wake you when you looked so peaceful, his mission to heal you interrupted. He couldn't do it when you had your head on his shoulder and he had his resting against yours, as if you'd done that a thousand times before.

Soon it became normal for Zoro to clumsily treat your wounds.

"Not so tight!" you shouted when his bandage on your thigh made it hurt more.

All you achieved was him tightening it even more. And then he loosened it as you requested.

"You complain a lot."

"You're a brute."

"Ah?!"

You used to stay on the Sunny Go to keep watch with him while everyone else visited a new island. You could catch glimpses of his smiles out of the corner of your eye, and when you least expected it, he started laughing beside you. It felt so natural to hear him laugh that you didn't notice Nami and Robin's questioning looks. Or Usopp's jokes.

At banquets, you moved from place to place, enjoying yourself and laughing with everyone. One second you were shoulder to shoulder with Franky dancing, and the next you were stealing Zoro's alcohol while he looked at you with a soft smile.

"I think that's enough for you today."

"I can!" The green-haired man raised an eyebrow when he heard you. "I can keep drinking... I swear."

"Don't lie to me."

"I swear, Zoro."

"I'll take you to bed," he murmured just for you.

Amidst the music and fun, Zoro walked with you on his shoulder. Everyone was oblivious to the situation unfolding between you. To the feelings that were beginning to blossom.

That night was the first time Zoro felt nervous around you. Nervous about his feelings. Nervous about an experience he had never had before. It wasn't like fighting someone powerful and feeling like he was losing. It was like fighting his heart and feeling like he was losing a battle he hadn't asked for. It was like fighting his urge to kiss you even though he didn't really know how to do it, as he watched you lying on your bed, covered with a pink blanket, looking at him with bright, curious eyes.

"Zoro?"

Why did his name feel good on your lips? Why did your lips seem to shine brighter after you licked them? Why did everything seem easier when he was drunk?

"Sleep."

"Zoro... Stay. I sleep better with you by my side."

Those were the words of alcohol. You couldn't really feel that. He didn't want to believe it.

"I won't move and I won't snore. I'll try."

Your insistence would drive him completely mad.

"If that witch Nami finds out..."

"I'll say it was my idea."

He didn't care about listening to you and giving in to your request. He didn't care about Nami's screams the next day, telling him never to enter the women's room again and that he owed her an exorbitant amount of berries for invading her privacy and corrupting her beautiful friend. He didn't care to tell her she would go to hell. How could he care when he woke up with you in his arms, your head resting on his chest and your hair tickling his nose? And that smile you gave him when you opened your eyes, resting your chin on his chest and whispering "good morning".

He no longer knew what to do with his heart.

He had to do something about it soon, before he exploded with pent-up jealousy when he saw you interacting with the cook. Or before he suddenly blushed when you beat him in training and smiled triumphantly, teasing him with your words.

It took him two months to do it. Zoro was not a man capable of confessing his feelings unless he was backed into a corner. That's why, at times like this, alcohol became his true best friend.

It all started with a foolish move.

The atmosphere was charged with joy, and you didn't know why you were still surprised by what your captain could do. He had liberated Wano. He had made an entire country want to live again, given them hope, given them food. You drank while sitting on a hill, not too far from the celebration, but not too close either. You smiled, tapping your foot lightly to the rhythm of the music, watching the people laugh gratefully. From above, you could see most of the place and where most of the crew was. But you couldn't find Zoro.

He had awakened from his injuries, and you hadn't had time to see him, running back and forth with Otama, who wanted to show you the beautiful kimonos for the women in Wano.

You jumped when something heavy fell beside you. You looked up, stopping drinking, to find Zoro in a beautiful green yukata sitting next to you. His knee was gently caressing yours. He decided not to look at you as he poured sake into a cup.

"How are your wounds?" You both asked at the same time.

You looked at each other for a second before you laughed softly and he smiled, looking away.

The passing of the hours and the constant drinking, while he listened to everything you had to say, how you had improved your katana attacks, how you had gotten a scar across your stomach, and everything you had heard about Zoro fighting King, came to an abrupt end when you gave in.

Your head rested on his shoulder and you looked at him enchanted.

The way you looked at him left him speechless, breathless, and he could only look away countless times so you wouldn't see him blush.

No one knew how it happened, but that night, slipping through the crowd, walking holding hands between paper lanterns and all kinds of scents of freshly prepared food, you ended up in a secluded cabin. The touch of his rough hands against your skin, the feeling of his fingers tracing every inch of your chest as he slowly moved down without taking his eyes off you was something you could never forget.

Your first time didn't end there. It wasn't an experience Zoro was willing to let go of. He wasn't willing to let you go.

So he blamed it on the alcohol every night you made love, every time he kissed you softly or buried his face in your neck, panting so softly that no one but you could hear. Something deep in your heart told you that this wasn't normal. That if you tried, confessing could work out.

But you weren't ready to confess something of such magnitude. You were afraid when you received the news from Chopper. The youngest member of the crew was bad at keeping secrets, you had to bribe him with sweets and lots of cotton candy so he wouldn't reveal why he called you to his office every monday. You didn't count on the doctor not being able to hide anything from Robin.

The archaeologist was the first to find out, telling Nami without hesitation, thinking you would need all the help you could get. It was a secret that included all three of you, but you weren't aware of it.

Zoro didn't understand your strange behaviour. Your denials when alcohol went to his head, your refusal of his invitations to drink, your constant escapes to Chopper's office, or how lately you told Sanji that you didn't like his food. You always flattered him and told him he was the best. A score of ten. If he didn't understand, Luffy understood even less.

The girls cornered you on a monday, both of them being in the doctor's office before you. You got nervous. You stuttered and tears welled up in your eyes, but Nami calmed you down. They both held your hands while you confessed. Your nighttime adventures with Zoro, how and when it started, your growing feelings, your failure to confess, and your refusal to talk about the pregnancy.

Chopper spun in his chair.

"But Y/N, Zoro will soon notice. Human females give off a different scent when they are pregnant."

Robin chuckled, stroking the fur on his head. Nami sat down next to you on the examination table, smiling.

"He won't notice until someone tells him. Zoro is an idiot," said the navigator.

"You should confess. He doesn't seem like the type of man who can't handle his actions." Robin's voice made you relax your shoulders.

"Oh, and you should tell him soon. If you keep telling Sanji that you don't like his food, he won't stop crying."

"Today I saw him banging his head against the counter when you rejected his breakfast!" Chopper shouted.

"See?" Nami let out a soft laugh, placing her hand on your belly.

"Zoro is going to be a dad," whispered Chopper, pausing to think for a second. The idea of the swordsman who protected him so much becoming a father was sweet in his mind. "Do you think it will be a girl or a boy?"

"I hope it's a girl. The four of us can go shopping together." The navigator was excited, caressing your belly affectionately.

"Something tells me that won't be the case," Robin refuted, crossing her legs.

"By the way, Y/N, how long has it been since you've eaten something without feeling nauseous?" Chopper inquired.

"Since we found out, I think. I don't like the smell of fish. Three weeks?"

"I'll tell Sanji to prepare a diet until you can talk to Zoro. I won't confess anything, this is Chopper's mission, the best uncle ever."

The confidence with which he got out of his chair and stuck to the wall, taking short steps towards the kitchen as if he were a spy, made the girls smile fondly.

Contrary to the advice you had received from your two friends, you believed you could keep it hidden for another week. You wanted to prepare yourself mentally before giving Zoro such big news. News that would change his entire path. His whole life.

And yours. What would you do in the future, when you had the baby in your arms? You couldn't carry a newborn and two katanas at the same time. You didn't want to give up your dream. But neither did you want to give up that little creation of love you had for the swordsman. Because it was okay if he didn't love you or if you didn't mean anything to him, at least you felt it.

"Doctor Chopper, do you smell that sweet scent in the air? It's as if someone is pregnant," Jinbe murmured when they were all on deck.

"Pregnant? I don't smell anything. Maybe your nose is wrong, Jinbe!"

You shifted nervously on the grass. You didn't know that the fishmen could know about those things too. A peculiar silence accompanied them for a few seconds.

"Pregnancy? Among us? Nami, are you pregnant?" Luffy asked.

The navigator hit him on the head.

Sanji frowned as he lit a cigarette. Recent events flooded his mind. Jinbe's comment. Chopper's nervousness and quick denial. Your sudden dislike of his cooking. The way you ignored Zoro. He paused, the cigarette suspended midway and his lips parted.

Zoro? It couldn't be.

That stupid marimo?

He looked at you again, but you were more attentive to the sea. Then he looked at Zoro. He looked at you intently and seemed frustrated that you weren't looking at him.

"It can't be Robin," Usopp said, laughing. "Is it you, Y/N?"

You frowned without looking at him.

"How could it be Y/N!? Although I did see her in Wano running away with Zoro, shishishi."

Luffy's words confirmed Sanji's suspicions. Robin and Nami said nothing about it, but others such as Usopp, Franky, and Brook congratulated Zoro, who frowned more and more. Jinbe understood that it was not a matter for others to concern themselves with, but with all the commotion, he did not know how to divert attention.

"I made a new chocolate dessert, Luffy, don't you want to try it?" Sanji asked, distracting everyone with just that one sentence.

The cook glanced at Zoro before leading everyone to the kitchen, leaving you alone with the swordsman. You would thank him later for covering for you, but now it was on everyone's minds. The next member of the Straw Hat Pirates could be in your belly. They would have a baby on board. No one said anything as they ate their desserts, pretending they didn't want to peek through the window to eavesdrop on the pending conversation between Zoro and you.

The green haired man sat down carefully beside you. His katanas rested in his lap. His expression was impossible to read. His thoughts were beyond your comprehension.

"Y/N?"

You played with the silver bells on your katanas, indecision written all over your face as the idea of confessing your feelings and the reality of confessing your pregnancy clashed with each other, almost fighting over which was more important. But you knew the answer. You knew what you had to do. You knew the reason why you should live in the future.

"I'm pregnant." Your voice came out almost as a whisper, not daring to look at him.

Zoro remained silent for a few minutes, just listening to the sound of the waves crashing against the ship and the jingle of those bells. He liked them. He liked to hear them every time they fought in training or against an enemy. With them, he could find your location on the battlefield. With them, he knew when to protect you and when not to.

They were a grounding force for you. He didn't know the meaning behind them, but he always saw you fiddling with them when you were indecisive or nervous.

Just like now.

"I will train him to be a good swordsman."

You blinked a couple of times until his words registered in your mind. You frowned and turned your head to look at him, your lips parted slightly.

"What?"

The green haired man shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest as he closed his eyes, ready to sleep. You noticed a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

He was calm. As if that news didn't change everything in both their lives. As if it weren't a problem. Not for him.

"Don't ever leave me again."

You raised an eyebrow.

Something in his expression changed and the tips of his ears flushed. His heart felt trapped by the weight of his words. He wanted to keep it inside a chest that you couldn't open yet, but it stumbled and cracked, becoming impossible to close. He didn't mean to sound like that. As if he missed you. As if those weeks without your attention had not been the greatest loss of his soul.

"I mean... You're pregnant now. I don't want anything to happen to the baby."

You nodded, turning your gaze back to your katanas.

Both of you were too stubborn to confess.

"Aren't you angry that I hid it from you?"

"No."

"Not even a little?"

"No."

"Really, not even a little bit?"

"Shut up and let me sleep, woman."

The confirmation of your pregnancy reached the crew the next morning. Luffy smiled broadly, patting your shoulder hard and saying he already knew before anyone else did. Nami pulled on his red shirt, scolding him for hitting you. Robin and Chopper smiled, both happy that you could finally be free. Franky shouted that he would make toys and a crib for the new crew member. Brook composed lullabies, one for a girl and one for a boy. Jinbe apologised to you for bringing up the subject in front of everyone without meaning to, grateful for your quick forgiveness. Usopp congratulated you both, arguing with Luffy over who would be the best uncle.

"Stupid marimo, a baby and a beautiful woman," Sanji whined, placing a cup of tea in front of you. "Sweet Y/N, why couldn't it be me? He doesn't bathe... Is that your type? Is that how I should be?"

"Get lost, you shitty cook."

"I hope you take good care of them," warned Sanji. Zoro's eyebrow twitched and he drew his katana.

Carrying your pregnancy with them was a blessing.

The months passed and your belly grew larger. Sanji's meals no longer made you feel sick. He had made sure you were eating a healthy diet and that all your meals were nutritious enough to give you strength. Zoro didn't say so, but he was grateful to the blond.

At some point, your usual clothes no longer fit, but you didn't have time to feel bad about it, because Nami and Robin were there to take you shopping and always find the prettiest things in the shop for you. Zoro would take a minute to just stare at you while you got ready in front of the mirror. You could hear him whisper that you were beautiful, and then he would take you for a walk around the islands, walking with one hand on his katanas and the other on your waist. Slowly, not wanting to rush you.

Brook sang you different songs every day with possible names for the baby. Jinbe entertained you with stories and adventures from his youth. Usopp and Franky showed you the toys they created, most of them for men. Luffy kept asking if he could be the favorite uncle, unaware that Zoro had already chosen him as such.

And Chopper... Chopper was worried.

Taking care of you had made him happy at first. Everything seemed to be going well. Sanji's meals kept you healthy. Then he didn't know what started to go wrong in the seventh month. He had to respect your wish to keep it a secret so as not to alarm anyone, but your constant headaches and fatigue made him stay closer to you than he should have.

Then he noticed your high blood pressure. And the grimaces you made when touching your belly. You weren't having contractions, but you whispered to him that it hurt and that surely, surely, it would pass quickly. He never knew that you were short of breath, that you felt your throat closing up and forced yourself to close your eyes and wait to stabilise.

On the day after your last check-up, you squeezed Zoro's arm tightly. He looked at you, alarmed, not knowing what was happening. He shouted for help and everyone came running. Chopper noticed your contractions and broke out in a sweat. Premature labour was not ideal. With the swordsman's help, they took you to the infirmary and the little blue nosed one tried to stop the contractions.

The serum was cold. Your gaze was lost, staring at the light on the ceiling, not fully recognising that Zoro was holding your hand. The green haired man squeezed it between his own when he felt you trembling. It was slight, but it was there. And your breathing. Your breathing was rapid. He didn't understand what was happening. He whispered that everything would be fine, that you should relax.

That Chopper would know what to do.

That you were safe.

The crew's doctor entered the infirmary again, climbing onto a bench to examine you. He frowned. Only Zoro noticed.

"Chopper?" His voice sounded strangled. He didn't like that expression.

"The baby's heart beat is slowing down." The swordsman didn't understand his words. But Robin and Nami standing in the doorway did. "Get ready for the childbirth! Y/N, everything will be fine, please... You can do this."

The speed with which things happened left deep wounds in the crew. Those listening from outside could only wait. Sanji paced back and forth smoking, Usopp bit his nails, Luffy stood in surprising silence leaning against the wall, Franky, Brook, and Jinbe silently prayed that everything would turn out all right.

Nami stroked your hair, whispering words of encouragement in your ear as you pushed. Zoro squeezed your hand anxiously. Robin helped Chopper.

When a baby's cry echoed through the ship, everyone breathed again. The girls smiled tenderly. It was a boy.

Everyone crowded around the door to see the newborn, distracting them a little from you. The only one who paid you any attention was Zoro, who kissed your hand tenderly and cried silently at the miracle. His son. And the woman he loved. He kissed your head and smiled sweetly at you.

But you were lost.

You tried to breathe, but your chest felt heavy. Zoro stood up, squeezing your hand.

"Y/N." His voice caught Robin's attention. The baby in Chopper's arms was placed in Nami's arms.

"Y/N?" Chopper said, rushing over.

"I can't..." That was the only word that escaped your lips.

You gasped for air that never reached you. You couldn't hear anything. You looked lost at Zoro. He squeezed your hand and shouted. Luffy shouted. Brook, Nami, Franky, and Usopp cried desperately. Jinbe's heart beat faster than it had in a long time.

The despair that afternoon in the infirmary tormented them from time to time.

Chopper fell to his knees on the floor, sobbing heavily.

He hadn't been able to do anything. He hadn't been able to save you. Did his promise to cure all the diseases in the world mean anything if he hadn't been able to save his friend?

The diagnosis he gave devastated everyone.

Amniotic fluid embolism and cardiorespiratory collapse.

You had passed away holding Zoro's hand, amid the pleas of all your friends and the cries of your newborn baby, disturbed by the commotion. Although Chopper did everything he could, from chest compressions to medication, your heart did not respond.

Zoro's tears of happiness soon turned to tears of sadness. The entire crew was devastated.

The little blue nosed one apologised over and over again, crying, while Robin hugged him and cried silently.

As the days passed, nothing improved. The atmosphere was heavy. Zoro barely ate. Sanji forced him to eat and sat silently beside him, smoking and staring into the distance.

The passing months made the swordsman nervous.

He had a premature son. A healthy son who had been cared for by Chopper, who even fed him for him.

It tormented him that you never got to meet him. To see how his hair was also green. But when he laughed so happily, holding his finger, it made him forget all his pain.

Everyone in the crew found it difficult to live with the fact that you were no longer there. It was Robin who cheered them up in the second month of the child's life, saying that you were still there through the little one.

Soon the women set out to teach Zoro everything.

Nami deducted nappies, talcum powder, wet wipes and everything else the baby needed from his treasure share. Zoro looked at her irritably. But it was valid. But she could be good with a single father. Robin taught him how to change nappies and bathe him. Unfortunately for him, he had to let Sanji help him.

"Stupid marimo! You can't feed him that! Do you think he's a beast like you?" shouted the blond man irritatedly.

The green haired man grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. The fight was stopped by the navigator, who hit them both. The swordsman had to accept that there was no one better to feed someone than Sanji. He made apple and banana puree, and Zoro ate it from time to time as well.

Jinbe always laughed at how similar Zoro and his son were. Usopp would shout every time he saw him crawling towards the deck railing, on the verge of falling, only to turn around and find his father sleeping peacefully under a tangerine tree. Relaxed, with his hands behind his head as if his son wasn't about to fall overboard.

The question that drove Zoro crazy was asked by Brook.

"Yohoho, I can't sing to this little one if he doesn't have a name yet, Zoro-san."

The swordsman drank his sake, squinting his eye.

"This idiot probably doesn't have anything yet. He'll reach the age of five without a name," scowled Nami.

Luffy held out a piece of meat to the green haired baby. When the little one tried to take it, Luffy quickly snatched it back and put it in his mouth.

"He should be named after me, so he'll be an incredible warrior of the sea," Usopp suggested, puffing out his chest and smiling.

"He'll be a swordsman." That was all Zoro said.

"Usopp... Usopp... Sweet Usopp..." Brook sang to the baby, who was eating his apple puree with his hands, not understanding the skeleton.

"Haku would suit him well," Robin commented.

Zoro considered it for a second. Haku. It sounded good. Would you have liked it too? He took another sip of his sake, silently agreeing.

Haku was growing quickly. And every day he looked more like Zoro. His green hair was short, just like his, and in his first year he already knew how to take a few steps before falling down. He never cried, which made the navigator and the archaeologist laugh quietly, noticing how similar father and son were.

The men pretended not to notice, closing their eyes every night, but they could hear it. At bedtime, the baby cried, unwilling to leave the warm chest of his father, who carried him all day. The only thing that relaxed him in his cot until he fell asleep was a sound.

A jingle.

The jingle of the silver bells on your katanas.

Haku giggled, making everyone smile, stretching out his tiny hands to touch the bells. Unknowingly claiming his mother's katanas as his own.

It was on his birthdays that Zoro missed you the most. Seeing him grow up, seeing him learn to talk, even if it was just silly words, seeing him play with everyone calmed his soul. But even with all that, he couldn't help but imagine you among them, carrying his son in your arms, wearing something pretty and singing happy birthday with a huge smile.

He had seen you interact with other children. He had seen you bandage their scraped knees after they fell while playing. You were sweet. You were caring. And he was sure you would have been a good mother.

All the unfulfilled dreams you had left behind hurt him. Wanting to defeat Shanks, wanting to visit thousands of places with him, wanting to raise the baby you had carried with so much love for months.

It hurt him that he had never confessed his love for you. It hurt him to hear from Nami that you did love him, but that you were just as stubborn as he was.

Life was uncertain. Destiny was uncertain.

Haku was three years old when he first picked up a wooden katana. He wielded it clumsily, it being enormous for his tiny hands.

"You're silly!" Luffy shouted from the lion's head, laughing at the sight of the child.

"Shut up!"

And Haku was rude to his father's captain. Luffy's playfulness amused everyone. Nami said it was like having two children on board.

"You have to be tall to wield one of those." The rubber boy stuck his tongue out at him.

"I'll be tall like dad!"

The green haired boy's lower lip trembled, frustrated at not being able to carry the katanas. Zoro lifted him up in his arms, placing him on his shoulder.

"Now you're taller than everyone else."

His giggle warmed the crew's hearts.

"I'll teach you how to use the katanas when you're five," he promised.

"I won't let a child carry katanas!" Nami shouted.

"He's my son!" Zoro protested.

"And Y/N's son," she replied.

"She would teach him too. And she wouldn't let him wear all those silly clothes you buy him. He should wear a haramaki like me."

"Dad looks silly in that," Haku muttered.

Sanji burst out laughing, making Zoro blush with embarrassment and anger.

Every day was like that. Jinbe taught him how to swim and many tricks with water, promising that one day he would show him the underwater world. Brook sang to him non-stop, only getting nods from the boy. Sanji made him try different desserts, wanting to find his favourite, but he could never guess. Haku was impossible with him. The cook thought that Zoro was teaching him to be that way.

Nami and Robin took him shopping, dressing him according to their tastes. They also made him bathe every day. But it seemed that in a few years he would be like his father, showering once a week.

Usopp showed him different gadgets that the boy couldn't understand how they worked, but he still thought they were great. Franky took him to his factory twice a week, letting him choose designs for new additions to the Sunny.

Chopper healed his wounds whenever he got hurt fighting his father with just a wooden katana. The boy flew into the wall more than anyone would have liked. And he and Luffy lived by fighting, as if the captain were a child.

Haku was five years old when everyone was sitting on the deck, enjoying the warm day.

A tinkling sound caught everyone's attention. A tinkling sound they hadn't heard in five years. Soft, slow with each step. A marked rhythm they only heard when...

All eyes turned to the little boy in front of them.

Your katanas hung from his hips. They were still too big for him. But they were his first real katanas. And they were yours. The girls pressed their lips together, holding back their tears. They thought they would never see them again. Zoro had kept them after your death, refusing to leave them on your grave, because he said they would find their new owner in a few years.

And those years had now passed.

Haku smiled excitedly. He looked almost mischievously at his father.

"Dad, I want a duel."

Some had déjà vu. Franky sobbed loudly, causing Haku to roll his eyes. He didn't understand what was wrong with everyone. Luffy bit into his meat, smiling broadly.

"That sounds fun!"

Robin rested her cheek on her hand, smiling tenderly.

"Haku, we're almost at a new island, that'll be impossible."

"I'll beat him! It'll be quick," insisted the boy, stamping his feet on the grass. His movement made the bells jingle.

Zoro smiled. He smiled broadly for the first time in a very long time. You were still there with them. You were still there in his son. In the end, he had been right. You were a woman who left a trace of your existence in every little thing. In every little detail.

The swordsman wielded his wado ichimonji.

"What is your motivation, kid?"

TRAFALGAR LAW

He still believed in miracles.

Being touched by them was reason enough. The loss of hope for his own future, his uselessness weighing heavily on his feelings, his inadequacy tormenting his dreams, and his resignation to an early death had marked a point in his life that had found redemption thanks to one person.

Cora-san had taught him to fight, to have faith, to trust in tomorrow no matter how difficult the present might be.

To dwell on his past or discuss it with others was not something he enjoyed. He carried it in his soul as something precious, cherishing the people who remained there as something to be treasured.

And you entered into them.

The toothless smile was something that came to mind from time to time, making him laugh in the solitude of his office.

The two of you were just kids attending school in Flevance. Restless as you were, one day you couldn't stop talking about your loose tooth. You touched it and touched it, loosening it more. You showed it to your classmates with a huge smile, saying you wanted it to fall out so you could see the new one, but that it was taking too long.

You decided to do the silliest thing in the world. Law watched everything from his seat, frowning slightly. Somehow you had managed to get some thread, and one of your friends carefully tied it to your tooth. The other end of the thread was tied to the classroom door handle.

Your scream echoed in everyone's ears when your friend pulled the door shut and your tooth was ripped out.

You were a silly girl. That's what Law thought of you as he looked inside your mouth, holding back his urge to scold you. You refused to go to the infirmary, and he knew a little about medicine thanks to his father. Treating his first patient couldn't be that complicated. Luckily, the tooth had come out clean, but the bleeding had stained your white shirt, and it was slowly stopping after he put some gauze on it.

The bad thing about the situation was that before he knew it, it had become an everyday occurrence.

You lived across the street from his house. Clinging to him after being healed by those tiny miraculous hands didn't seem strange to you, it was natural.

It was natural how you got used to knocking on his door every morning, waiting for him to go to school with him. Law suspected that you had changed your sleep schedule. He went to class early. And you arrived just in time. But now you smiled and said good morning, swaying your body from side to side as you tightened the straps of your pink backpack, eager to go together.

It was natural for you to leave your usual place in the classroom and sit next to him, just watching him study.

It was natural for you to become his friend. To enter his house, to insist on going to the fairs with his younger sister, the three of you holding hands, to catch frogs because you knew he liked to study them, to have him heal your scrapes every time you played and he would laugh quietly because you were crying.

That girl who called herself his best friend and promised to protect him from everyone disappeared one day.

There was no trace of you when tragedy struck Flevance. The screams echoing in his ears, the desperation in every cry and plea made him nervous. He had seen his parents die. He had been useless in saving his younger sister. He had witnessed the death of all his classmates. All because of that incurable disease. All because the world government did not want to help them. All because they believed it was contagious. That they were the plague.

He was devastated. He had lost everyone he loved. And he couldn't find you anywhere.

Hiding among the dead bodies until everything calmed down gave him time to look for you. Not finding you among them made him anxious.

It was a year later, as he was being carried on Cora-san's back, walking under the cherry trees after leaving another hospital, that Law told him about you. The man with the splendid make-up smiled broadly at him.

"Do you see the good in that, Law? She's alive out there. She's alive! So you must live to find her."

Law lived for many years believing those words. If Cora-san was right, and he always was, then a miracle would happen and you would come back into his life. Someone from his past, from his childhood in Flevance, was out there in the big wide world, waiting for him. He wanted to find you and hold on to the memories of his parents and little sister through you. To the memories of his friendship with you. To the happy memories.

And yet, he never found you.

His secret search caught the attention of Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo, the friends he had recently made. They believed you were his girlfriend and that he didn't want to introduce you, only to receive a threat from Law if they continued talking nonsense.

He had asked everyone he could. Normal people, farmers, and merchants didn't know you. Not even if they saw a half-burnt photo of you next to Law. A girl with that appearance never passed through the islands.

And when he began his pirate life, entering the Grand Line, he had his first encounters with the underworld. That dirty network he knew all too well since childhood now served him well. Some informant should get information about you, a clue that would show him your whereabouts.

Even if it's just a photo of how you are now.

Law was looking for a miracle that would never come.

You were a helpless child, screaming and crying amid the fire and dead bodies when a marine found you. You wiped away your tears, sobbing for help, feeling safe when you saw that uniform. The marines protected the weakest from the wicked. That's what they said at school. And that's what Law said when he talked to you about Sora.

You believed you could trust him, following him by the hand to a "safer" place.

Unique beauty. Perfect development. Fertile hips. Soft face. Fresh milk.

Words that should never have been used to describe a minor. That marine held a den den mushi in his hand, watching you out of the corner of his eye as you trembled on the "rescue ship".

It took you a few days to realise that something was wrong. You couldn't be the only survivor from Flevance. There should be more ships. There should be doctors trying to heal everyone. You were lucky enough not to contract the disease. Law's father had said he should keep an eye on you for a few more months in case you developed antibodies that could save lives. You could help them. You could talk to that marine who saved you. You could talk to the doctors yourself if necessary.

But it would never work, because the place you were in didn't look anything like a marine barracks.

The high walls made you dizzy. The white marble everywhere blinded you, and that skylight didn't help, with the sun beating down on your face with its intense rays. The marine gently pushed you forward, towards a golden throne occupied by a man who must have been about fifty years old.

You squeezed your eyes shut tightly and opened them again, trying to get used to the brightly lit room.

The man in front of you had little hair, which he concealed with an enormous crown. He stroked and stretched the moustache on his face between his fingers as he scrutinised your body with his gaze. Every inch was analysed for several minutes.

"She is perfect. When she has her first period, I will make her mine." You heard the man, the king, say.

The tension in your muscles was an immediate response.

The passing of the years had not healed the wound of that memory. It had not made you forget.

You had been sold by someone in the marine as if you were nothing more than an object. As if you were nothing more than your body and a beautiful face. You had been stripped naked by that man who took you away, with the eyes of the king of that country in North Blue upon you. He ignored the trembling of your body, your pleas for him not to do it, your lower lip quivering and the tears running down your cheeks. You had seen the king's erection at the sight before him. You had felt the marine captain's hands on your undeveloped breasts as he explained to the king how you would develop.

You remembered your first attempt to escape. The blow you dealt the marine captain with your elbow, running towards the enormous doors. All resulting in your hands being handcuffed and your imminent confinement in a room adjacent to the king's.

If you could make one wish in your life...

If only you could...

No matter how much you imagined it, the door connecting the two rooms from the inside would never disappear.

The trauma that began when you were ten and lasted until you were thirteen would never go away. If you closed your eyes, you could still hear that door slowly opening. The shuffling footsteps on the wooden floor making their way towards your bed, the king's ragged breathing and his presence standing next to your face.

If you closed your eyes, you relived the sensation of his seed staining your face, leaving you a nervous, sobbing wreck in that dark room when the door closed again.

You had tried everything in your power to escape. You jumped out of your window on the second floor, stifling your screams when you landed badly and broke your ankle. You forced yourself to heal yourself through tears, a botched job on the bathroom floor. You could never perform surgery on yourself, and you would never let anyone see you like that. If you weren't perfect, they would kill you. And yet, despite everything, you wanted to live. Something told you that you had to. And that something was a white hat with black spots that came back to your mind whenever you had to treat yourself in solitude.

You limped whenever you were alone. You held back your grimaces when you were in front of the king or when you passed by the servants or guards, walking as best you could.

You dug a hole in the garden bushes, which was always covered up by the gardeners. You dissolved sleeping pills in his wine when no one else was looking, but the guards surrounded the garden and the entrances every night. The dream of escape grew more distant with each passing day.

Sometimes you lamented. You believed your fate was cursed. That not even a miracle could save you from this hell.

Your first period came when you were fourteen. You were late for breakfast, and one of the maids was sent to get you ready. Everyone was waiting expectantly. You were entering three crucial years.

And when the king saw your bloodstained sheets, he was excited.

If you talked to someone about your nightmares, you wouldn't know whether to talk about the ones that tortured you in your dreams or the ones that tortured you in all your senses.

At some point, you stopped crying.

You could only wait in your bed, staring at the ceiling with a blank expression. Always naked. You would be punished if you made him wait or if you refused. You felt his hands on your body, every inch of it. His lips in places he shouldn't touch. His fingers inside an area that should be off-limits.

You could only wait in your bed with your eyes closed throughout the encounter, praying for it to end soon.

And when he did, leaving your room muttering curses at you because you no longer satisfied him as before, because you were already too "used", you would run to the bathroom to get into the bath. An hour. Two hours. Until the water cooled down and the sensation of his release inside you faded away.

You were eighteen when the visits to use your body became less frequent. The king had found a new girl. A twelve year old who shared your fate.

You couldn't say you were grateful. You couldn't say you felt at peace now that it wasn't your turn. Not when you hugged that little girl after finding her crying every night in the garden.

But even though your body was no longer his favourite, he found another use for it.

He wanted riches.

He craved more power.

He wished to have the favour of the celestial dragons.

This way, your body became the ideal object for experimentation in your twenties.

One of the five elders requested a report once a month. Your body's responses to the injections. The reaction to the first stimuli. Any anomalies observed. All in exchange for being affiliated with the world government.

Your first symptoms never appeared. The king took it as a good sign. Whatever they were asking him to inject you with, it was making you look more beautiful than ever. It was almost as if you were once again that girl he once had in front of him, radiant and innocent. His desire for you returned and with it, the visits every night.

Three years later, between injections and occasional nightly visits (because you were too old for his taste), the first symptom appeared. But it wasn't from the disease that one of the five elders was developing in his laboratory in Mary Geoise. It was a symptom of pregnancy. Your period hadn't come that month, and the nausea from the medication was unbearable.

When the confirmation of your two-week pregnancy reached your ears, you cried inconsolably in your room.

What else could happen to you? What else did life want from you? What else did they want to take away from you? Your body, your freedom, your happiness, everything had been stolen from you.

You were not allowed to have an abortion. Surveillance was extreme. The maids accompanied you to the bathroom, counting the minutes you spent inside, forcing you to keep the door open. Your meals were served especially by the chef in front of you. Four guards followed you to the garden if you wanted a single moment of peace.

But it never crossed the king's mind that what he should control most were those injections.

The black eruptions that appeared on your skin overnight disturbed the entire personnel. Suddenly, no one wanted to touch you. No one was interested in the six-month pregnant woman.

They shouted that it was contagious. That you shouldn't come near. The king spat at you, keeping his distance, claiming that both you and the baby were sick.

San Saturn's exact words upon receiving the report were "discard her, she's no longer of use."

Sometimes you lamented. You believed your fate was cursed. That not even a miracle could save you from this hell.

But the miracle was within you. In that disease. In your womb.

The miracle was happening right before your eyes when they threw you out onto the street. At twenty three years old, with a huge belly, an incurable disease and a lame foot, you allowed yourself to take a deep breath.

You walked carefully, one hand caressing your belly and the other holding a bag with some stolen berries and a few dresses. The fresh air filled your nostrils as you admired the landscape far from the palace that had tormented you for so many years.

Seeing the villagers looking at you with uncertainty because of the marks on your skin didn't hurt you as much as you thought it would. You didn't know the name of your illness or how much longer your body could endure it. But if this was the price you had to pay for your freedom, to free yourself from all your traumas, then you would take it.

In your seventh month of pregnancy, you had arrived at a new island in the North Blue. Sailing had become your escape from your memories. You believed that the further away you got, the more peace you would find within yourself. You didn't stay long on any island, just two or three days, and then you gave yourself over to the sea, excited about tomorrow.

You fought against the thoughts that sought to undermine your morale. So close to giving birth, you couldn't help thinking that the baby you carried in your womb was the fruit of a man you hated deeply. But it wasn't the child's fault for the father it had been given. It wasn't its fault for having a sick mother, from whom it would inherit an incurable disease.

The time you had left was beyond your control. You had surrendered yourself to death. It could take you whenever it wanted.

But if you could make one wish… It would be for your baby to be born. And for you to find someone who could take care of the child before you had to abandon it.

You walked through the winter village, hiding your body under a cape. The black spots spreading across your arms and legs required attention more than once. After five days, they grew in size, creating blisters that, if they burst, bled. Tolerating the burning sensation and seeing how the strange disease made your open wounds look dead upset you.

You entered a coffee shop ready to order some tea. You sat down at a table to wait, observing the cosy interior. On one of the walls there were lots of bounty posters. The woman who appeared to be the owner of the shop came in with a newspaper in her hand. She stretched out her other hand to pin a new poster on the wall.

"Trafalgar Law? Who is this kid?" murmured a man at the table next to you. "Now everyone thinks they can be pirates."

You opened your eyes in confusion. You groaned at the pain of turning your head so quickly, but you couldn't help standing up, running towards the wall with one hand on your belly.

Your eyes stung.

"Hey, Law, stop studying already, you promised we'd play after school!"

"I study after school. You're irresponsible."

"I'm not!"

"If you deny it, it's even more true."

The man on the bounty poster was not the kid you had in your mind, in your sweet memories. His features had become refined. There were dark circles under his eyes. He had two gold earrings in each ear. A well-groomed beard. And that hat. That white hat with black spots for which he had hit you on the head more than once for taking it from him.

Law was alive.

Law was an adult.

Law was a pirate.

You left your tea behind, stole the bounty poster from the wall, and hurried to the dock.

If Law was a pirate, what were his goals? Did he want the famous One Piece? How did he end up becoming a pirate? Would he still remember you? You laughed as you looked at his photo. Your friend was alive! Despite running, with a lame foot and pregnant, you were going very slowly. You could see a woman with long, brown, curly hair loading barrels and bags onto a small ship. It looked like she would be setting sail soon, so you quickened your pace.

Her face filled with surprise when she saw a girl clutching the edge of her ship, breathing heavily.

You held your hand out in front of her, silently asking for a minute.

"Please, tell me where you're going."

"What the hell?"

"I just want to know where you're going."

The brown-haired woman clicked her tongue as she hoisted another barrel onto her ship.

"Get lost. I'm not taking anyone with me."

"Please..."

She looked at you for a second and then ignored you again.

"I want to go to Grand Line!" you shouted, drawing the attention of more than one person on the dock.

"To Grand Line? Have you lost your mind? No one survives there. And you least of all," she muttered the last part, looking down at your belly.

Your cape had opened, revealing your seven-month pregnancy. You covered yourself again, muttering under your breath.

"I want to find someone," you insisted.

"So do I. All the pirates I can find, to get the bounty on their heads," growled the woman, hoisting a fifth barrel onto her ship.

"It will only be for a while. I won't stay long. Just until the first island in Grand Line."

"I'm not taking a pregnant woman with me. What's wrong with you? Just look at yourself! If you set foot on an island there, that baby will come out of your belly with a pop! As if it had been waiting too long to come out."

You pressed your lips together, amused.

"Just to the first island, and then I'll leave you alone to continue on your way."

The woman adjusted her orange hat, letting out a huge sigh.

"Fine. But if you're willing to go to such a dangerous place to look for that baby's father, I swear..."

"He's a childhood friend. He's not the father." You quickly corrected her.

She nodded and then reached out her hand to you, helping you up.

"My name is Ikkaku, by the way."

"I am Y/N."

Sailing with Ikkaku was like a caress to your wounded soul.

She didn’t turn away when you showed her what the disease was doing to your body. Her compassionate eyes were soothed by her delicate touch as she tended to your attempts at healing. She washed each wound with warm water, disinfected it with alcohol, and sterilised a knife with fire to remove the dead skin. She caught your attention with all the ointments she kept in a box, from medicinal mud and herbal oils to antibiotics.

Her knowledge of medicine was more advanced than yours.

She listened to your story during your eighth month, crying her eyes out trying to hug you, but you kept laughing and then letting yourself be. Opening up to her, vocalising your traumas, letting go of everything you had held back for years in broken sobs, held in warm arms, was unknowingly what you needed most.

From time to time, you could see the frustration in her furrowed brow, her foot moving anxiously as she drew lines in a notebook. She would look at you for long minutes and draw you without saying anything about it. If you asked, she would only say that it was scientific research.

She couldn't prevent the spread or stop the advance. She could only control the infections, prevent you from having fever and pain, change your bandages daily, and every few hours let the wounds heal in the open air. But healing often did not occur. This disease, which she had never seen before, behaved strangely. Despite all her efforts, Ikkaku noticed a new level of depth in the wounds every day.

As if a worm were eating your skin down to the bone.

"So? Who are you looking for?" she asked one day, sitting down next to you on the deck floor.

She had forced you to rest, even though you hated staying still in one place. She took a bite of a peach and gave one to you. You accepted it with a smile.

"His name is Trafalgar Law."

Ikkaku looked at you, swallowing her peach with force.

"You're joking. That pirate from this sea who got a huge reward?" You nodded, biting into your fruit. "That's the friend you're risking your life for!?"

"He's a good guy."

"He's a pirate. No pirate is good," she hissed in frustration.

"Ikkaku, I think you noticed it too." She frowned. "I don't have much time left."

"Don't say that. I'll find a way..."

You interrupted her.

"With luck, I'll be able to live through the first few months of my baby's life. But when I'm gone, I want Law to have it."

"A pirate raising a baby in Grand Line? It's dangerous. Y/N, reconsider. I can stay on the first island and raise it myself, with you. Don't take any more risks."

You shook your head. Ikkaku had a goal. A dream. You couldn't ask her to give that up to look after a baby for you when you were dead. Asking Law was just as bad. You'd be getting in his way, imposing something that had nothing to do with him. But he was the only one you could leave it with without feeling guilty about abandoning it.

"Law will understand."

"A baby shouldn't live at sea. A sick woman shouldn't be making this journey... And you can't make him shoulder such a responsibility. It's selfish. It's..." She looked down. "I'm sorry."

You patted her shoulder.

"I understand what you're getting at, but he's the only person from Flevance who's still alive." You rested your head against the railing. "He's my best friend. If he raises this baby, I can leave this world in peace. It doesn't matter if it's at sea."

Ikkaku bit her lip, unsure.

"We have to hurry, then."

If someone had told Ikkaku in the past that her entry into the Grand Line would lose all meaning, that her life as a bounty hunter would be left behind and she would instead be helping a pregnant woman give birth just as they crossed the reverse mountain, she would surely have laughed.

But that day, she didn't laugh at all. Her hand was on the rudder as she watched you lying next to her, breathing deeply through the contractions. The continuous movement of the ship made you dizzy, and she could see how the black spots were ravaging your belly. At some point during the descent, as you were about to reach Twin Cape, Ikkaku let go of the rudder, praying that everything would turn out all right as she crouched down beside you.

She had been referring to your illness as living putrefaction for two months without you knowing. Your arms and legs were about to show bone in different areas, so she covered them with bandages so you wouldn't see. You could no longer feel anything; the nerves in those areas had died. And when the smell of rotten flesh was noticeable, Ikkaku pretended not to notice. That it was nothing bad.

You didn't notice the tears welling up in her eyes as she watched the inevitable happen.

You reached Twin Cape safely. It was as if something stronger was watching over you. Neither of you got off the boat to ask for information at the lighthouse. The man who guarded the entrance to Paradise sat frowning, looking at the ship without understanding.

No ship ever arrived alone.

Crocus jumped onto the deck of the small ship. He walked towards the door and, as he opened it, he got a surprise.

Two women were on the floor, crying, while the one who appeared to be the mother held a baby in her arms and the other sobbed happily.

For a few hours, he heard the other girl, Ikkaku, crying and repeating over and over that it was a miracle. Crocus checked the vital signs of the mother and child. A girl had been born in such a violent and unique sea. Both were fine. But the rare disease in the mother's body was now ravaging her womb.

The miracle Ikkaku was referring to was now understandable to the old man. With the bone exposed in her arms, it was a blessing that the girl had been born before the disease touched her. And she did not seem to have contracted it.

The three stayed for a few days at Twin Cape, Crocus helping to build a cradle for the girl. He gave them a log pose and invited them to eat.

"Why are you in Grand Line?" asked the old man, discreetly observing the sick woman.

"We're looking for a man," said Ikkaku, biting into her fish.

"The girl's father?"

"I wish," mumbled Ikkaku under her breath, and you kicked her foot with yours.

Whenever she could, she repeated that your childhood sweetheart must be the girl's father, not that monster. She consoled herself with the thought that, at least, he would raise her. But she wasn't sure she could abandon that baby.

In recent months, she had made an incredible friend who looked at her with sparkling eyes and admired everything she could do. Your compliments and sweet comments every time she sailed or healed you brought a thousand smiles to her face. You were a good woman. Crossed by evil beings.

"We're looking for my best friend, Trafalgar Law," you said with a smile.

"Trafalgar Law? I think I've heard that name..." Crocus put a finger to his chin thoughtfully. "Ah! The rookie with the Ope Ope no Mi. I remember now. He was here two months ago."

"He was here?" you asked excitedly.

"Ope Ope no Mi?" Ikkaku continued.

When Ikkaku heard Crocus, she was quick to get you and the baby onto the ship. The man said goodbye to the three of you, wishing you luck in finding the man quickly.

Your friend was excited. It was crazy that a Devil Fruit of that magnitude existed. If you were lucky and found it, then you could live. It could heal you. You could watch your daughter grow up.

Sailing those waters was torture. Ikkaku kept you inside the small room with the baby. Complete rest for you and protection for both of you from the high temperatures and sudden storms. The information she got on the first island about Trafalgar Law was useless. He hadn't visited it. He had taken another direction.

Ikkaku climbed onto the boat in a huff, sitting down next to you on the deck as she opened the bag of food. Buying two meals hadn't cost that many berries, and she was grateful for that. She had spent the rest on nappies, clothes for the three of you, all sorts of things the baby might need, and baby formula.

The two of you sat down to eat while the baby slept in the cradle in front of you.

"She looks just like you. A carbon copy."

You choked on your noodles.

"Do you think so?"

"She has your hair, your eyes, your nose, and she'll have your smile. It makes me happy to see her," Ikkaku stated, laughing.

You ate happily, without taking your eyes off your daughter. She looked like a healthy baby. There were no marks like yours on her tiny body. And she was cheerful. Ikkaku always made her smile, even without teeth. You didn't have to do much to make the baby smile.

"What will you call her?"

"I haven't the faintest idea."

"I bought a book of names too," said Ikkaku, opening another bag.

You giggled as you read the book beside her. There were so many, and you didn't like any of them. You looked up to observe the child and discarded names from A to C when you didn't think they suited her.

"Look at this one!" Ikkaku shouted. "Cora."

"Cora?"

"It means love, affection, and sensitivity." You were about to dismiss it, but Ikkaku put a hand in front of you. "But also rebirth, cycles of life and death, and transformations."

Your heart tightened as you watched the baby in the cradle open her eyes, closing them in annoyance at the sun.

Over the next two months, you watched her grow a little more. You fed her a bottle, bathed her, and dressed her in pretty outfits. Ikkaku had decided to take you to see the islands. She didn't want you to spend your last days, with your illness so advanced and your bones showing through your skin, locked up between four walls.

The two of you visited many places, towns, and customs in Paradise. Together, you chose clothes for Cora, who had taken on that name. There was no name more perfect for her. Rebirth and transformation. You wanted your daughter to have a free life and grow up as she pleased, without anyone taking anything away from her. You wanted her to have a life different from yours.

Finding Law was difficult. It was as if he had vanished into thin air. You asked around in every seedy bar. You saw how his bounty gradually increased, and you kept all his wanted posters.

It was in his fifth month on the Grand Line that Law received information from the underworld.

The young captain held the paper in his hand, sitting in his office. It was nothing. It just said that a woman had been looking for him for three months. And many people were looking for him to take revenge. There was no guarantee that that woman was you.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. Shachi and Penguin should have already obtained the supplies for the Polar Tang, but like Bepo, they were probably wandering around the island. They would set sail in an hour. Rushing to get ready for it irritated him.

Bepo was walking around the new island eating from a bag of crisps. What should he buy? What would his captain like? Maybe a new pen? He pretended not to, but he knew he kept glitter pens in his drawer. He never used them, but he didn't throw away his gifts either.

In his moment of distraction, he bumped into a woman.

Bepo blushed and tried to apologise quickly, but he stammered when he saw her. She had curly hair and wore a cute orange hat. Her face was covered in tears, she tried to speak, but her lip trembled violently and a sob escaped her throat. He looked down at her hands. She was carrying a basket.

He had to look twice to discover that there was a baby inside.

The woman fell to her knees, devastated, and Bepo knelt in front of her, nervous and not knowing what to do.

"Is Trafalgar Law with you?" she managed to whisper to the polar bear.

Bepo's expression shifted from surprise to confusion to uncertainty in a matter of seconds. What could a woman and a child want from their captain?

"Depends who's asking."

"Y/N."

The polar bear gasped as he looked at the woman and the baby, but she looked nothing like the girl in the photo Law had hanging in his room. The girl he had only mentioned twice. The woman standing in front of him couldn't be Law's best friend.

"She passed away," whispered Ikkaku.

Bepo carried the basket with the baby and dragged the woman, who couldn't stop sobbing, with him. On the way, he ran into Penguin and Shachi, who stopped joking around with the bear and quickly followed the three of them, worried. No one understood what was going on.

No one understood why their captain had been locked in his office with a woman and a baby for fifteen minutes. If the mink knew anything, he wasn't saying.

Ikkaku wiped away her tears and told him everything. How she met you. Why you looked for her. How you became friends. Your pregnancy. What had happened in your life. Your illness. Nothing was withheld from the golden-eyed man who listened attentively without taking his eyes off the baby.

Cora-san had told him not to lose faith.

One of his many missions as a pirate was to find you. To reconnect with his past through you, to remember how good life was when childhood innocence had not been taken away.

He waited for a miracle that would bring you before him, only to be struck by your past, as painful as his own. Only to hear how this woman, Ikkaku, had witnessed your last wish a week ago. Law couldn't hear, his ears were ringing, he had lost you.

Now, as they spoke, that ship in which you had searched for him for months was carrying your body, adrift, among flowers and a blanket that belonged to your daughter.

Law squeezed the edge of the examination table where the baby was sleeping, letting out a couple of tears.

"Did you say a disease?" he murmured.

Ikkaku handed him a notebook. When he opened it, he found several drawings. They were good, even detailed.

"I called it living putrefaction. It was the result of an experiment. The spots were like... Like a worm was eating her skin, digging and digging until there was nothing left," she whispered.

Law looked at the child.

"She was in the bones when she forced me to take the baby."

"Did she force you to leave her alone?" Law growled.

"Her daughter was important to her."

"So was she. I could have done something. My fruit... I could have..." The frustration in his voice was not lost on Ikkaku.

"Cora needs a good father," she said. "Those were her last words."

Law's heart skipped a beat. The girl's name was Cora? Cora, like...

"Cora?"

"Isn't it a pretty name? Y/N chose it." Ikkaku smiled.

Law swallowed a sob. Of all the names, you chose that one. Somehow, everyone in his past was connected. The baby babbled something, catching Law's attention. He let her take his tattooed finger in her hands and smiled painfully.

"And by the way, I'm joining your crew."

"Excuse me?"

"You may be Cora's father, but I'm her favourite aunt. I'm not leaving her side." Her authoritative tone wiped the smile off Law's face.

Life on the Polar Tang became chaotic.

Cora crawled from one corridor to another. If she wasn't in his room or his office, she was in the control room staring at the screens in amazement. The good thing about travelling in a submarine was how much it could entertain a little girl. She would often sit on the floor of the control room, surrounded by cushions with her little legs stretched out, putting things in her mouth. Her hand, her bottle, her dummy, Penguin's hat, whatever was within reach. And it was also common for Hakugan or Shachi to juggle to avoid stepping on her when they stood up from their posts distracted and didn't see her.

The addition of a baby girl to the crew was not taken badly. Bepo was delighted with the child. He said there was no safer place in the world than their submarine. Shachi and Penguin took her on trips to all the islands to find women, saying something about how women liked men who were affectionate with children. In the end, they would return disappointed, without even having received a kiss themselves, but with Cora's cheeks covered in lipstick.

They would get scolded by Law, who would wash her hands and cheeks whenever they brought her back from their walks, muttering something about germs.

Hakugan loved showing her the different fish through the screens in the control room or through the few windows there were. They would get scared if a very large one appeared. When Cora cried, Law would snatch her from his arms, taking the girl with him while he calmed her down.

No one but Law could calm her down when she cried.

Ikkaku wanted to take care of buying her clothes, especially for her first birthday, but Law wouldn't let her. He was a devoted father. And he had a soft spot for those chubby cheeks and cute animal outfits for babies. He would never admit how much he loved cute things.

"Cora-chan, happy birthday!" Penguin shouted, holding up a cake. The single candle on the cake was a sad sight.

"Couldn't you buy a candle with the number on it and some other decorations?" Law grumbled.

"Captain, you're offending me. I did everything I could," he complained, leaving the cake on the kitchen table.

"That's a lie, he spent the berries on clothes for a girl who ended up giving him nothing but a smile as thanks," Bepo said.

"Bepo!? You promised not to tell!"

The polar bear shrugged, smiling at little Cora, who was wearing a cute polar bear costume.

By the time Cora was two years old, she could already say "daddy" and a few other words. Her favourite was "boring".

Law smiled at her, showing her a frog. The girl looked at what was in front of her on the desk with disgust. Why was her father showing her something so ugly?

"So, you use the scalpel and make a clean cut in the centre," he murmured as he made the cut.

Cora leaned back in his chair, frowning.

"Frogs are an incredible subject of study. When you grow up and become a doctor like me, I'm sure you'll understand when..."

"Daddy, boring," she complains, jumping out of his chair.

The last thing Law saw was her running towards the door, asking Bepo to go and play on the deck. The polar bear happily carried her. And Law lowered his arms in defeat.

Cora was restless. She enjoyed playing all the time, which resulted in the occasional scrape. The number of times he disinfected her knees and elbows was countless. The older she got, the more he realised how much she resembled you. It wasn't just physically. Cora's personality was lively, similar to yours.

The little girl was three years old when Law decided to teach her to read.

He wanted her to have an advantage over others. There was nothing better for a child than to be educated, cultured, and remain free from illiteracy. An educated person was the key to the future. So, every Tuesday and Thursday, he would sit the girl in the kitchen while Bepo and Ikkaku prepared onigiri for her.

The tattooed man was thrilled when his daughter told him it was her favourite food. His chest swelled with pride at the thought that his daughter thought he was cool. With cool tastes.

He opened a page of the book that showed the entire alphabet. Cora bit into her onigiri without looking at the page. Law tapped his finger twice to get her attention.

When Cora didn't look at him, Shachi and Penguin covered their mouths to hide their laughter. But everyone could hear soft "pfft" sounds.

"Hey, Shachi, do you think child prodigies are born or made?"

"I don't know, Penguin, but I think someone at that table is dumb."

"My daughter isn't dumb!"

"Dad isn't dumb!"

Father and daughter stared at each other. Penguin and Shachi filled the air with their laughter, making Cora blush.

"Penguin and Shachi look dumb in their uniforms."

The two stopped laughing and turned to look at the kid, hands on their hearts. Law blushed too.

He had chosen the crew's uniforms.

"Are you calling your father dumb?" Penguin hinted.

"Calling parents dumb is disrespectful, Cora-chan," Shachi said, shaking his head.

"Dad doesn't look dumb! He has that cool hat."

That single sentence sealed Cora's fate. Or so everyone in the crew told their captain. For her fourth birthday, Law gave her a hat just like his, made to measure. They walked everywhere together wearing the same clothes. If Law wore a yellow shirt and his spotted jeans, Cora wore a yellow shirt and a spotted skirt. If Law bought a blue feather coat, Cora wanted the same one in black.

She was a mini Law with your face.

What surprised Penguin and Shachi the most was how easily the girl learned to read. Law had told them that his mother was a restless child who refused to study, but Cora had picked up all her father's habits. Ikkaku, Bepo, and Law (in denial) were dying of love when they saw the girl sitting on the deck railing every morning with a book in her hands. Her favourite subject to research was birds. There was one in particular she wanted to find in Grand Line. A phoenix.

It didn't take her long to learn from her father that there was a Phoenix Devil Fruit. And Cora wanted it. She wanted to fly, to see the world from above. She was disappointed when they explained that Marco, Whitebeard's right-hand man, already had it.

That same year, the girl ran up to him. As a father, he was concerned and thought she had scraped herself again. Ikkaku gasped when she saw the black spot on her arm. It was the same disease her mother had had.

But this time, the curly-haired woman was able to witness what could have happened to her friend.

Law worked diligently. He asked his daughter to remain calm as he extended his hand and a blue dome, as thin as a curtain, enveloped her. Within his power, Law could perform miracles. This was the greatest one he could perform. To save your daughter and allow her to live peacefully, just as you wished. He separated the little girl's body into many small pieces until he found the source of the disease, and removed it.

Ikkaku prayed that, wherever you were, you could rest in peace, without stopping laughing when Law returned the little girl to normal and she jumped into his arms, shouting that it was fun to see her limbs floating. As if that were normal.

The girl was five years old when a scream caught the attention of the entire crew. They had gone to a small restaurant to celebrate Bepo's birthday. They rarely indulged in going out to celebrate. They usually did so in the kitchen of the Polar Tang, but if they could, they appreciated food prepared by someone else.

The Heart Pirates ran after Cora's voice. Law found it suspicious that Penguin and Shachi were not at the table when the scream was heard.

When they found them, Cora's white shirt was covered in blood and she was holding her mouth.

Penguin and Shachi stood next to a closed door, the first one pulling a thread towards him. They high-fived each other while looking at the tooth.

Understanding the situation, Law's eye twitched. He stretched his hand out in front of him without taking his eyes off his friends.

"Room."

“Bye, guys! Stay safe!”

 Seated on Franky’s mechanical shoulders, Chopper waved back at you. His adorable laughter drifted past the treelines along with their farewells and energetic chaos fleeing towards another mini adventure. One you would not be a part of this time.

 The rest of the crew left you on board with the promise to return soon as they scoured for supplies on an inhabited island, but with the way Luffy sped away— and Nami shouted after him— you knew there wouldn’t be much hope reigning in the Captain’s excitement.

 You could trust Luffy to disrupt a plan and completely derail a simple situation. His shouts and the crew’s calls for him to slow down faded faster than the dust he left behind.

 The seconds ticked.

 You held your breath.

Standing alone, you listened intently for the silence to shatter the way you have become accustomed to— only to hear nothing but the squawk of birds resting on the mast. Undisturbed and unthreatened. Without so much as a song or laughter to burst, the ship rocked against the crystal waters of the shallow shore as you stood on the massive boat.

 The world quiet, the view serene.

 “Yes!” You let out an excited squeal, stomping your feet on the grassy deck in a silly dance of freedom and peace. “It’s finally quiet!” You shouted, laughing to yourself when no one answered you but the flaps of the wind against the furled sails above you.

 There were no shouts other than your own, no arguments or explosions— no disturbances of other people. Finally! After five weeks of non-stop excitement and open sea, you twirled, jumped and danced your butt off with no one to interrupt or insult your ridiculous display of glee because you were alone!

 “They all left, yes, yes!”

 You sang merrily, taking up space with wide arms and a beaming smile.

 You loved the straw hats. Travelling with them has been the most thrilling adventure of your life. They were amazing! Incredible, free-spirited— but sometimes, when the songs turn repetitive, and the merriment mutates into mayhem, you just want time to yourself.

 Having grown up alone, you had become accustomed to the stillness of an empty room. It was comforting, the calmness of your own company and the hyper-independence it developed. A stark contrast to the life you started with your new makeshift family, and after so long of bumping and sharing space with colourful, loud personalities, you were thankful for the chance to stretch your arms and lay on the soft grass.

 A moment to unwind, relax, and hear nothing but the waves below and revel in the tranquillity of solitude.

 “Now, iced tea on the deck or a long bubble bath?” You mused out loud, whistling while making your way to the kitchen, “or both?” You paused up the stairs.

 You sought to utilise all the time you had with maximum relaxation — with the way Luffy screamed over the odd-looking animal that stole his fruit; reading a book in the bathtub right now would guarantee no disturbances or uncomfortable attention for a while. No long lines or perverted interferences. You could take your time soaking in the warm water, and if they arrived by late dinner, they would find you already sated, happy and relaxed in the kitchen.

  Right, decisions finally made, you went back down the stairs.

 First, you needed your book back from Usopp, who swore he would finish and return yet never did, so you made your way to the boy’s quarters. They have lockers with their names, so it wouldn’t be too difficult unless he stashed it somewhere else, hopefully, the room wasn’t too messy— “Damn,” you heard someone hiss, a low voice that stopped you in your tracks, followed by inaudible murmurs that most definitely belonged to a man.

  Fuck. Just like that, your good mood died, snatching your solitude away before you had the chance to indulge in it fully.

 There was someone else here wrecking your fantasy and all the excitement of relaxing alone. No one ever said you would be guarding the ship with another person, yet the sounds of shuffling filled you with instant disappointment as you stood outside the room with the door slightly ajar.

 You eyed them carefully through the crack, peeking in to seize a glimpse of who was ruining your day of fun, only to catch a wisp of blonde hair and a streak of smoke before you heard him hum something to himself as he shrugged off his suit jacket, clearly undressing.

 Oh.

 Swallowing your nerves, you spied from the slim gap through the door— watching smooth, slender hands loosen and tug on the tie around a pale neck until it slipped out and neatly folded on the dresser in front of him. 

 You paused, disappointment somehow melting as something else fluttered through your body. Something hot. Something wicked and indecent thumped an ache in your core as you watched him unbutton his top collar.

 Then the second.

 Third.

 Unwittingly, your thoughts began to drift. Obliviously slipping into a heated dream envisioning how his strong hands would feel on your hips, your waist, gripping your supple skin when he presses you into his chest. The hot wisps of smoke and spice fogging your perception when he tilts his head down to yours, lips soft and slightly parted…

 Sanji rolled his neck, popping the tension that released a low hiss from him, startling you out of the fantasy you unknowingly faded into before a sudden realisation rooted you to the spot— you were watching a man undress. 

  You were watching Sanji undress.

 You only needed your book— a simple noise or shuffle would make your presence known, but you watched Sanji rake his fingers through his hair instead and toe off his shoes, standing in the middle of the room.

 You weren’t all that sure about the layout of their quarters, considering you were usually respectful— but you could tell Sanji was closer to the beds and had a medium-sized dresser beside it with a sink and mirror in the corner. The room was spacious, bigger than the girl’s quarters, including a sofa and table in a sunken spot nestled in the middle of their room. It wasn’t as disorganised as you pictured. A lot of colourful knacks matching different aesthetics, but they all had a place that belonged to them. A piece of individuality.

 You leaned back, hoping you went unnoticed by the man who often sang for your attention— and Nami’s and Robin’s, and any pretty girl he laid his eyes on. He was shameless, obscene. Yet there you stood, watching him unwind and strip ever so slowly exposing a physique you never expected from the ship’s cook.

 The wavering sense of guilt drifted from your consciousness, fading into a vague afterthought with every second you spent gazing into the rift through the door as if it were luring you into depravity.

 You wondered why you held your breath when his humming stopped.

 Say something before—

 His tired groan flushed warmth on your cheeks as you ducked behind the frame, shamefully peering into the room and watching him finish unbuttoning his blue striped shirt with deft fingers. Gingerly unclasping the buttons one by one until the shirt hung loosely on his shoulders. Over soft skin and hardened muscle.

 It was almost elegant how he shifted his cigarette with his teeth to avoid the tiny trickles of ashes from falling on his suit, then gently placed his black jacket on the bed with grace you couldn’t fathom as he slid the shirt off his broad shoulders in the same motion.

 Brightening the room, hitching your breath.

Sanji... he was beautiful.

 In a gentle sort of way, with poise, strength and a style all his own. In an amorous way that kept you fixated on his toned back. His broad shoulders, smooth chest, and the cut of his well-defined abs. In the sense that had you admiring the grace of his movements and all the years he must have spent perfecting them.

 You have watched him work while travelling with the strawhats these last few weeks. For no other reason than admiration, at the time, because you respected his power and the regency of his fighting style. But now, in the absence of stubborn rivalry and heart-eyed temptations— to glimpse the softness of his smile for yourself was like witnessing the shimmer of undisturbed water shining in the light of a spring day.

 Peaceful.

 A smile all his own, no snarky comment or perverted leer to taint the innocence or sincerity of his expression— you could only describe it as pretty.

 It had you clutching the hem of your sundress, crouching down slightly when his lithe body sauntered from your sight. Was he preparing to take a shower? Did they have their own private facilities? Or is he about to walk out and catch you and your hidden decadence for unassuming men?

 Your mind raced with questions, mixing with a perverted sort of fascination you dared not to admit, leering behind the door that hinged on the stillness of your presence.

 Sanji turned back to your frame, humming another tune that was all too familiar when music played merrily on the deck. He sounded at ease, his voice carrying through the room softer than the smoke that swirled around him.

 You bit back a smile, unintentionally slanting into the door, craving more than a slim peek into the room. deeper than a glance, especially when his hand inched towards his pants.

 His movements were effortless— if it were not for the click of the buckle and the loud snap of leather, you would have missed how he unclasped his belt with one hand and yanked it fluidly with one rough tug out of the loops.

 Fuck, that should not have been as attractive as it was, yet heat flushed anyway like it was coursing through your blood vessels, pumping your heart into a sensual beat out of its control. As much as you wanted to deny it, and turn your guilt away, it forced you to realise how difficult it was becoming to justify your presence— and even tougher to care about the intrusion of Sanji’s privacy.

 He would have done the same, right? Though Sanji would have been less conspicuous and ten times more audacious, it was still innocent for you. For now.

  “Where’s?” He mumbled before a soft aha came right after, a blue towel appearing in your field of vision. Hard muscles and a lean torso shifted through the gap, his back to you as he fiddled with something you could not see.

 Your gaze lingered, slinking down every tight ridge and exposed skin you were blessed to witness.

 There was a beauty to him you had not seen before, a tenderness to his features you only noticed now through the sliver of light. The colour on his cheeks, the tilt of his lips, the little curl of his eyebrow most people teased him for. There was something feminine about it— a spark of gentility he may have inherited from his mother, not that you knew much about that, just a softness he seemed to be blessed with.

 It was admirable how he took excellent care of his things too. Rolling his belt, setting aside his cufflinks, buffing his shoes, even hanging his shirt over the chair to be later washed and pressed— you know he did after Brook thanked him for kindly ironing his shirts as well.

 Perhaps there is more to him than silly sexual deviances. More than hazy eyes over full tits and round ass-cheeks. Sanji was diligent. Thoughtful. Tender.

 Whereas you were the deviant leaning in a little too intently now, your perverted gaze following the veins on his forearms as he stretched them above his head, emitting low groans when his back pulled tautly and the muscles constricted tight.

  You squirmed, the sounds of his groans and sighs making you clench your thighs as you watched him stretch, then admired himself in the mirror, rubbing his chin over the dark hairs you wished he wasn’t thinking of shaving. You liked the facial hair— almost as much as his ass when he leaned forward to splash some water on his face. 

 “Wait..” you murmured out loud without thinking. When did he snuff the cigarette?

 Shame filled you instantly. Sanji’s ass distracted you for too long because now he was wiping his face with a clean blue towel, droplets of water rolling down his sturdy neck before they were selfishly wiped away just when you began imagining licking it off his skin.

 You huffed, your feet planted to the floorboards, unable to speak louder than a tortured gasp while your thighs cinched to ease an unpleasant ache when he ran his hand through his hair again, with pretty blonde strands falling wet over his face. Over sweet eyes and high cheekbones.

 It was exhilarating, intrusive, and extremely impolite, yet you could not turn away or apologise for the violation, too mesmerised by the physique usually clad in lavish suits. Only witnessing a faint glimmer of the man you had never known before— lurking behind the shadow of the door frame that separated you from him and spared him from your wandering stare.

 There was a clink and a small flame before the smell of smoke wafted through the door once again. A thick cloud of vapour swirled around Sanji as he tilted his head back, eyes closed and basking in the serenity of the surrounding silence. Much like you wanted to before you became lustfully distracted, spoiling his privacy. Invading his space. That guilt you previously estranged yourself from inched back into your consciousness as Sanji sighed softly, looking every bit of the peace you intended for yourself earlier. 

 Your teeth latched on your bottom lip, nervousness churning, desire twisting into a sick delusion— your prying had to end. Even Sanji deserved the politeness of privacy.

 So, you turned to leave, determined to ignore all you had seen, just for the floorboards to creak under your weight when your feet shuffled a little too loudly.

 Your body stilled, you felt your pulse explode, and excuses and apologies were ready to spill from your trembling lips as you whipped your head back to the door— only to freeze when you caught him unbuttoning his pants.

 He stood there, shirtless, hair damp and dark pants low on his hips as the zipper rang louder than the blood rushing in your head.

 A smothered gasp escaped behind your hand, an inaudible “Oh god,” choking out beneath the pleasured grunts you heard through the wall. Sweat beaded down your temple, somehow feeling hot and sticky despite the chilling wind that ruffled your hair, tickling the flushed skin of your chest as your breathing quickened.

 He was... touching himself— idly, lazily, using the heel of his palm to rub on his crotch as it steadily grew into a heavy bulge pressing into the teeth of the zipper.

 “Fuck... ”

 You squeaked, thankfully no louder than his own low grunt.

 His teeth peaked through his smile, chuckling at something past your sight. His smile was sultry, his laugh airy. Thank God, no one could ever see the creeping blush up your neck over Sanji. Or feel the stickiness that marred your panties over the sight of his erection lewdly shaped beneath the fabric of his dark pants. The man who needed blood transfusions whenever he saw a pretty girl.

 You would have felt humiliated if you weren’t so distracted. And breathless, lightheaded, and not to mention wet.

 His ridiculousness was why you never noticed these things before, like the slenderness of his long fingers, or how his sharp jaw clenched to keep the cigarette in place— or the elegance of his strides across the room to place his shoes in the locker and hang his suit jacket before stepping into the sunken sofa.

 A new light, a new Sanji to you— a voyeuristic secret you could never confess even through the stuttered breaths of your own arousal.

  Shit, shit, shit!

 He was right there, facing you— yet unaware of the glowering eyes and thundering pulse a few feet away from him. At least, that’s what you hoped as you watched him throw his head back over the couch and rub the back of his neck tiredly— teasing you with a view of his sculptured body and the heavy tent straining against the zip of his pants.

 Fuck… he was a vision. Perhaps if he had a fraction of this elegance towards women, he would have them falling at his feet, begging for his attention— panting his name— raking your nails down his smooth chest.

 Caressing him the way your fingers unconsciously mimicked on the door as you pressed yourself against it, tits hot and heavily squished into redwood, desperate for cool relief on your flushed skin while straining to see past the hem of his pants. He was so close, yet out of reach, as you watched his hand run down his neck, gliding it on his chest sensually before grasping the chubb that had him sighing lowly into his own touch.

 “Just a little,” he groaned, rubbing on his cock lazily, as if he was convincing himself to indulge in his own pleasure, “before they come back.”

 Oh god, oh god.

 You weren’t in the right state of mind to be making decisions when every grumble and low hum of his vibrated straight between your thighs. Pooling slick in your panties that had you chewing on your bottom lip to sanctify some sanity when heated arousal rushed through your body.

 “We have time,” he murmured, shifting in his seat to tug down his pants a little more, dark blonde tufts of hair peeking through, giving himself room to breathe with his underwear sliding just beneath it. His chubb was fat and still hidden, but you could see the tip twitch with every squeeze of his abdomen, teasing himself with the friction rubbing upon his dick. “uhh, yea, please.” He moaned a sweet sound seeped in desperation, his eyes closed and hips jerking, playing his fantasy out loud, his hands clenched by his sides. “Touch me, please, I’ll be good”, he whispered, smiling as he did, a flush colouring his cheeks. “Jus’ for you, yea? All you. Pretty girl, make me so hard.” He choked the last word, taking the cigarette out of his mouth for a steady breath of air before clenching it back in his teeth.

  You were a mess.

 You had to stop, turn away— breathe.

 Sanji was begging, whining to be touched as he bucked his hips, using his abs to move his cock in his pants. Edging himself in a fantasy you only hoped to be a part of— but you could never dare to interfere. Your chest heaved, nipples taut and stroking against the door, gripping the handle so it stayed put even as your legs shook from the pressure to keep you upright.

 Leave, you had to leave.

 Move your feet, release the grip on the door and shift your weight to the side.

 You manually counted your breaths, ripping your gaze from Sanji’s pleading stare.

 Leave, just leave.

 “Don't leave,” he whined, sitting upright. “at least let me watch you too, it’s only fair.”

  It was as if a wave of cold, salty, ocean water dunked on you from the way you shrieked at the sound of your own name.

 The door creaked, opening wide, betraying you by exposing the statue you had become and on the brink of collapsing from shame or even darting from his sights if you could have managed to work your knees.

 Though his eyes were free from shock or disgust, he looked almost excited. Eager. The cigarette clenched in his wide grin; hair pushed back— you could see how his eyes glowed.

 You gaped back at him, shock contorting into a dry wheeze you couldn’t control while his smile curled into a light chuckle, amused by your flustered expression.

 “Don’t leave,” he repeated, the invitation sounding almost kind coming from his lips, a charming smile hidden behind an obscene request while tugging on his pants when his hard cock pressed too tightly in its confines. “Watch me, please.”

 Sanji asked you not to leave.

 Sanji said your name while asking you not to leave— not to leave watching him masturbate.

 Your breath fell past your lips, frozen just outside the bedroom door, your blood still humming through your body. You were stuck. Mortified. No matter how many times you rephrased or repeated it in your head, you could not move or answer him in anything but a squeak. “Why?”

 “Why not?” He countered, striding towards you, bulge still prominent. “You’ve been watching me the whole time. Why stop now?”

  “No! I-I didn’t mean to—”

 He nodded teasingly, “you liked it.” Sanji snickered when you snapped your mouth shut, your denial ruined by the searing shame choking your words as he stalked closer. “I liked it too,” he said lowly, “made me so hard.”

 “I wasn’t—” you huffed, desperate to explain yourself despite the way your gaze flickered down at his chest with every pathetic stammer. “I just wanted- and then you- it’s only—”

 Sanji laughed, waving his hand dismissively with his cigarette pinched between his fingers, twirling a ring of smoke between you. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. No harm in a little peeking,” his teeth flashed prettily, excitement shining at your bashful glances towards his shapely crotch. “If you want, maybe you can make it up to me. I’d hate to tell the rest of the crew what you did.”

 “How?” You hated how timid you sounded, so you cleared your throat and stood straighter, only taking a small step back when he got closer, heart thundering and not at all bothered by his proximity. “It’s not like I’d let you watch me. I know what you’re like.”

 “Do you?”

 “Y-yes.”

 His curly brow quirked up, amusement glossing his tone, “You don’t sound so sure, dearie.”

 “I know you’ll just brag about me looking at you as if I’m some horny perv lurking around the boy’s room—”

 “But you are,” he interjected, taking a slow drag of smoke and blowing it downwind. “I wasn’t the one caught lurking—”

 “This time!” You bristled from the accusation, digging an accusatory finger at his firm, muscled chest, lingering a second too long before snapping. “You’re the one always butting in when the girls bathe. You’re the one trying to sneak a glance when we change! You’re the rude one!” You shouted, guilt clawing in your chest when all he did was smile. “I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry, okay? But don’t make me out to be a pervert like you.”

 Sanji rubbed his chest sadly, palming the exact spot you touched as if he were cherishing the contact with his big hand sprawled on his own skin. “Aw, darlin’,” he cooed with a cute pout on his lips, “do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No!” you shrieked a little too quickly, “I-I mean, yes! When you—”

 “When I undress?”

“God!—”

 “When I rub my cock?”

 Your cheeks burned, a strangled whine slipping before you could clamp your teeth on your bottom lip, “That’s not! You—”

 “I, what?” he purred, tilting his head down again, the simmering scent of smoke tickling your lips, “you can’t even look at me in the eye, but you had no trouble watching me stroke my cock to you. Did watching me make you wet, darlin’?”

 The lie spilled in an undignified splutter, the word no holding too many syllables when you tried to say it.

 His laughter chimed in your ears, a vibrant sound that brightened his face, and though he was laughing at you, a part of you softened from the sight. Mesmerised by it.

 Pretty. Shimmering waters.

 Somehow, it helped you release a steady breath, perhaps for the first time since you discovered him. Putting you at ease and in control.

 Taking another step back, it was easier to blurt out your next half-lie. “I wasn’t watching you, I came for something.”

  “Is there any chance that thing being me?”

“There is a better chance I slap you if you don’t back the fuck up.”

  “Promise?” Sanji chuckled, a rosy blush tinting his cheeks. He invaded your space again, smoke and soap stroking your senses while his hands stayed respectfully by his sides. “Wow, dirty words sound so pretty when you say it.” He tilted his chin, inching closer, lips inviting, “Say fuck again.”

 In your head, you slapped him. You pushed past his large, dominating frame, and went on your way to enjoy the bath you had planned and forget all that you have seen.

 In reality? In the sensuous bubble of arousal he encased you in— the curse tickled his lips in a low murmur. Like a pre-emptive kiss he savoured by swiping his tongue on his bottom lip just so he could taste the words you teased as an insult.

 “Again,” he pleaded, slanting you into the wooden railing. Gripping the beam. Almost chest to chest. Almost touching.

“Fuck,” you breathed, “you.”

 “Please…again..”

“Sanji—”

 “mmhh..”

“—fuck… you.”

 “Shit.” his laugh strained into a desperate husk.

 You could almost taste it. And you wanted to, to taste him that is, because you could tell he was cracking. In a singular moment, you turned the tides on him, taking the upper hand and the dominance he flexed exposing you. And like a switch, Sanji was pleading— his adams apple bobbed, lips parted, eyes blown. Not anything like the charm he exuded earlier. He sounded helpless. Distraught. Struggling against the invisible line you still held between you, yet honouring the boundary you have placed because he was still a gentleman.

 You admired that.

 Part of you— the wretched, drunk on lust part you shoved in a cage most nights to escape her fantasies— wished for him to push the waters and break the barrier. To feel the warmth of his skin pressed against yours. His hands, his lips.

 His eyes shined instead. Hooded and sparkling a desire you mimicked with your slow breaths.

 The birds squawked above, and Sanji finally found his voice.

“Can I masturbate to you?”

 “Huh?”

“You’re so pretty, so tempting,” he said. Flexing his grip on the beam as if it were a lifeline. “I loved it when you were watching me. If you don’t want me to touch you, that’s fine. I won’t push you. But please, watch me. And I promise it will be just between us, okay?”

 You squirmed. The words of rejection faded faster than they formed while you tried not to shrink under his pleading stare. You could feel your back pressed against the rail, digging into your skin as Sanji stood tall, shirtless and strong— caging you with his hand gripping the wooden beam right by your hip. Your bodies close, breaths hot and almost in sync, yours just a little shakier as you contemplated his invitation.

 To watch him. Openly.

 Why was it so daunting with his permission? With his lust blown eyes homed in on yours. Longing for something more than your stuttered breath to brush his skin.

 Even in the open air, all you could feel was the heat raying from his bare chest and the twinge of smoke fanning around you. His arousal straining yet inches away from contact with your thigh he keeps achingly out of reach. It was just him, you, and the birds sitting on the mast, but it felt like you were locked in a steel cage with hundreds of spectators waiting on your next move.

 You couldn’t hear them above the raging waves of your own thoughts. However, it was hard to stay objective when the currents that pulsed in your blood rushed between your thighs, dousing you with a tender ache that was becoming harder to ignore.

 When you took too long to respond, his smile faded. “I’ll leave you be—”

 “Sit back down,” you commanded, pushing on his chest and smiling when he shuddered beneath your palm.

 Sanji grinned. He took your hand, your name spoken softer than any ballad as he whispered it into your skin and placed a kiss to accompany the warmth it spread. “Yes, my lady.”

 In the depths of his eyes, you fell. The world blackened and you plunged deep into his domain. Into his desires.

 Tethered only by the delicate hold he kept of your hand, you stepped into the room behind him, keeping your head up despite the nervousness that swirled within.

 The anonymity you deluded yourself into believing snapped when the door closed behind you. Sanji was freakishly deceptive. Of course, he knew. Of course, he was teasing you. But the genuine plea that shined in his eyes made it impossible to walk away.

 He looked so cute. So masculine and vulnerable at the same time. You wanted to see more of him it drove you right into the lustful fog that blanketed the space in between.

 When he released your hand, you found yourself missing the contact of his large palm clasped in yours.

 Sanji took his place back on the sofa, thighs spread, and lips parted in breathless excitement. But before anything else happened, he snuffed his bud in the ashtray in front of him. “You can walk away any time you want, sweetheart. No hard feelings or awkwardness, okay?”

 Your shoulders visibly relaxed, unaware they were ever tense, but it made you smile anyway. Grateful for the reminder and the familiarity of his gentlemanly deference.

 “I know,” you give him a genuine smile, “just between us, yeah?”

“Of course, darlin’.” His smile mirrored yours like the glimmering waters they are modelled after. Putting you at ease and in control once again when he affirms; “Just between us.”

 With a deep breath— you cooled your expression, while his eyes shined as an air of apathy befell around you.

 There was no turning back from this, and as you stood there, shielded from the cooling wind and the anchoring weight of the door you once hid behind, you realised that you truly didn’t want to.

 You were inside.

 You had his attention. You could watch him— Sanji, undress, and pleasure himself without anything obstructing your view or fixate on the shame twisting in your gut this time because he invited you in. Led you by the hand while you pretended the contact didn’t ignite anything.

 That the warmth of his hand clasped in yours didn’t buckle your knees when you stepped over the threshold. Or that you could still feel the brush of his lips on your fingers.

 You could continue pretending none of it mattered because this was just a game, and you were good at playing games. You could play this one with him too.

 “Sit back,” you ordered after finally finding your voice, “—and show me what you were doing.”

 “Fuck,” his hands fumbled.

 His excitement forced you to chew on your bottom lip to surpass a snicker. It was endearing, but you held onto your indifference like a vice. You were looking forward to seeing him unravel.

 “Keep—” he swallowed thickly. “Keep talking to me like that.”

“Like what?” you watched him palm his cock through his pants again, his erection growing harder with the new stimulation beneath his hand. “Tell you how I like to watch pretty boys touch themselves?”

 “uhh-ha,” Sanji choked softly. “You think I’m pretty?”

 You crossed your arms, smirking when his attention locked on to the swell of your breasts curving over the top of the dress, flashing delectable skin that had him swiping his tongue hungrily. “I think you’re a little pathetic,” you shrugged, “and predictable.”

 His lip tilted. “I guess I just can’t help myself.”

“Hmm, well, you can have a little more decorum, though. Be a little less obvious too.”

 He chuckled airily. “Not when I’m stroking my cock to you, darlin.”

 Sanji shifted slightly, dragging his pants down lower and exposing more of the dark blonde trail that led past his waistband. Taunting you with a flash of skin you couldn’t turn away from. “Want to see how hard just looking at you makes me?”

 A smile peeked through despite your best efforts. “I can see well enough from here.”

 “That’s not what it looked like before,” he teased, cupping his balls through the fabric. “I thought you might fall through the door from how far you leaned in trying to sneak a peek.”

 “I wasn’t—”

“I thought we were passed the bashful lies, sweetheart?”

 You peered down at him through your lashes, ignoring the flush creeping up your neck from his sultry gaze.

 Neither of you said another word for a minute as the room filled with Sanji’s breathy sighs. He was using his abs again, clenching them and bucking his hips to rub his cock against his pants. The friction making him grip the sofa. His lips part.

 Your thighs cinched watching his reddened tip slip through when his pants slid further down. He looked wrecked already. Pearly dribbles of pre-cum smeared over his abs, trickling over the toned lines and ridges with every jerk of his hips, adding a lewd sheen to his skin as the rise and fall of his chest quickened.

 Just standing there stumbled whines from his throat, you wondered about the sort of sounds he would make into your neck.

 “Sanji”. His gaze snapped up. “Use your thumb for me,” you said softly. “Rub on your slit, I want to see your tip get sensitive.”

 “Sh-it, like this?”

“Good boy.”

 He moaned.

“Oh,” you grinned. “You like that, huh?”

 Sanji nodded timidly, his blush darkening when his control slipped. He didn’t mean to confess such a kink, but the way you purred the praise sent shockwaves up his spine. Made his cock twitch, hand tremble.

 “I like how you talk to me,” he confessed lowly. “Your voice, how it sounds when you say my name. How you lower your tone, or your breath catches when I groan— fuck. It drives me crazy.”

 You hummed playfully, nibbling on your bottom lip when he canted his hips into his hand rhythmically. Now completely free from the confines of his slacks, his cock stayed caged in his fist, his shaft long and slender throbbing with a hue that matched his cheeks as pre-cum slicked loudly, coating his fingers in its sticky mixture while you stood there ignoring the wetness soaking your own panties.

 “You look desperate already, Sanji-kun.” You teased lightly, hiding your hands behind your back so he couldn’t see you dig your nails into your palms. “Do you like being watched that much? I can see you leaking, your cock is so wet, and we’ve just started. Are you going to cum so soon? That’s sort of pathetic, don’t you think?”

 “I can’t help it,” he groaned, damp blond strands falling over high cheekbones. “It’s like your eyes set me on fire. Igniting everything that sits under my skin, burning me through, it feels so good, it almost hurts. Fuck, sweetheart, I can’t imagine what would happen if you touched me. Your hands on my chest, your sweet lips on my neck. If you so much as leaned into me, letting me breathe in your scent, uhh-shit- I’m ashamed to admit I might cum untouched.” His throat constricted, seizing his words into a tortured rasp. “Darlin’, for my sake, for my sanity, you have to stay back and let me just watch. Let me look at you and imagine all the ways you’d set me alight with just a kiss.”

“Would you let me?” you asked breathlessly. “Kiss you, I mean.”

 “Oh, in a heartbeat.”

“Even if you’d gush blood and pass out?” you couldn’t help the giggle.

 “Even if it were my last,” Sanji groaned desperately. “To kiss you would be the end of me, and I would pray they’d bring me back so I can do it again.”

 Your chest tightened hearing the affection hidden beneath his moans.

 There were deep crescent shapes in your palms now, the skin reddened and pinched from your efforts to maintain even an ounce of control, but the sting paled in comparison to the drum of your heartbeat slamming against your ribs. Rattling the bars of your sanity the longer you stood in his presence.

 Sanji looked at you as if— as if he would never see the light again.

 With awe, longing, and something close to anguish when the light shines further away from him. As something beyond his reach yet to be cherished and marvelled at all the same. To be revered. Desired. Loved but never possessed because it wasn’t his place to assert his will, but to bask in the warmth the light spread.

 It was intoxicating, and he was unravelling faster than you anticipated.

 You could tell from how he thumbed the thin veins forking along his length, how pre-cum spilled over his fingers, pooling at the base of his cock and how his chest heaved that he was chasing a fast-approaching release that had him stuttering your name past his lips— involuntarily rising heat all the way to the tips of your ears.

 Sanji was too erratic. Too frenetic.

 Moaning and thrusting and rolling his wrist over and over his shaft so fast, it was a wonder he remained conscious. He looked unbalanced. A sort of frantic that reminded you of all the times he over-excited himself and exploded into a fit leaving him comatose and bloodied.

 You had to slow him down, to set the pace for now only to have him moan in a melody of salacious cries later on, and then bend him into a rhythm only your pulse can match.

 At your mercy, your control.

 In a way that wouldn’t end with the rest of the crew returning to find Sanji dead on the floor seeped in his own cum and blood. This is exactly how this was heading if you let him continue down this path.

 Whining incessantly while fucking his tight fist in faster strokes, his teary gaze seared straight into your core, almost certain you could feel the warmth of his touch from across the room as you fought the urge to squirm and find the power to bark:

  “Stop.”

 The command shot straight through him. Snapping him at attention like a stinging whip on his back.

 His jaw ticked. Veins pulsed.

 Sanji’s rigid composure would have been comical if his erection hadn’t slapped against his stomach. Angry red and swollen with need, it looked almost painful, especially with the way his brows twisted miserably as he panted heavily glowing with sweat and desperation.

 “Breathe.”

 When he inhaled a wheezing, sharp breath— you shook your head, instructing him to go slower. Calmer. Until his shoulders laxed and his throat swallowed a decent gulp. “Good boy, just breathe for me.”

 Sanji nodded meekly, even managing a smile as he clenched and unclenched his hands on his knees, wiping off the gooey, sordid evidence of his arousal in quiet shame.

 You observed him critically, assessing his mental and physical state and deeming him a little untethered. As if he were floating, glassy-eyed and adrift in his own mind until enough deep breaths grounded him back to your focus. You watched him come to grips with things— his attention shifting to his pants bunched at his thighs, to his cock standing full mast, to the hot air suffocating the room.

 Sanji sighed wistfully, threading his trembling hand through his sweaty bangs and out of his face, a deep blush colouring his cheeks.

“Feeling better?” you asked gently. “I just can’t have you passing out on me before things really get started.”

 It took him a moment to find his voice again. His throat was dry despite the wetness clinging to his skin.

 “Sorry. I’m just— I’m so hard,” he chuckled weakly. “Can’t, uhh— I can’t imagine what you might think of me right now. How ridiculous and pathetic I might look being so— so enamoured by you.”

 You shrugged to lighten the mood. “I always assumed you were a two-minute man, but I won’t tell anyone.”

 The laughter didn’t quite reach his eyes as he flexed his fists, actively avoiding the erection pulsing against his stomach, or the truth of his blinding lust and the dizzying spell it held over him.

 “I thought I could— I thought I had more control, like when we were on the deck.” Sanji said sullenly, vaguely aware of the festering insecurities. “It was exciting being the one to tease you, to look down at a beautiful woman like you and make her flustered. Being so close to you was- it was so hot, electric even— but having you watch me right now in that commanding tone is ten times more intense. It’s addicting— it’s also humiliating and thrilling all at once. I feel so contorted and … I’m embarrassed to admit how far I’m willing to let you break me”. He confessed shyly.

 “Sanji…”

 “But that somehow turns me on even more. It’s just… you’re so beautiful”. Sanji whispered gravelly, “It’s just not fair what that does to me.”

 “It’s okay,” you released your own shaky inhibitions with a slow exhale and offered a tilted smile, warmth tickling your cheeks upon his conviction. “I like seeing you this way. It was fun on the deck, how dominating you were teasing me. But right now, your eyes shine and it’s really flattering.” You smirked playfully, “Pretty boys like you look best when they’re sweaty and desperate.”

 Sanji’s blush was much more obvious than yours, his fair complexion making every inner thought radiate through his skin, but he stayed quiet for a few seconds, his smile strained.

 “Be honest with me. If-if I hadn’t said anything, would you have walked away without a word afterwards?”

 You thought about it for a moment, stunning him with your impassive gaze towards his raw vulnerability.

 There was a touch of wistfulness in it— in the tenderness of his question making it clear that your answer would mean more to him than simply feeding his ego— he needed to feel desirable, worthy— so with a wicked idea, you took those steps forward to bridge the gap between you and relished when his chest hitched visibly as you stood planted between his open thighs.

 You pulled him back from the edge, only so you could push him down yourself.

 You were so close he could reach out and touch you now if he wanted, his leg could press against yours. His arm could brush your thigh and call it an accident, or he could even brazenly drag you into his lap to finally feel relief on his aching cock. It wouldn’t even take much strength on his part, to grab you by the arm and yank you into his awaiting heat. Your body warm and pressed against his. Flushed and tight.

 But as you peered down at him— his lashes wet, face burning, pre cum glistening. Hands stilted on his knees as he inhaled your scent so deep it filled his chest— you know Sanji would never cross that line, not without permission.

 You felt powerful in that fact. In the knowledge that you could break a man as powerful as him with a caress, a word. A kiss.

 “Yes. I would have walked away,” you confessed firmly. When his expression fell, you bent down at the waist, the words brushing on his lips. “But I would have paid extra close attention to you.”

 His mouth fell open, your name almost coherent in the pitiful whimper that escaped disguised as a breath. Yet he still managed to smile despite the blood rushing to his head. “Sweet God, you’re cruel.”

“And you’re shaking.”

 He was.

 Already unsteady and trembling to keep himself upright. To stay conscious and not let his vision completely glaze over as white spots danced across your face, sparkling you in a tantalising light he fought to keep in his sights even if it muffled his other senses when your scent enveloped him too. Erotically feminine and something so distinctly you his pulse ticked beneath his jaw.

 “More, please..”

“mhmm— you have to open your eyes and look at me, Sanji-kun. I might get sad and walk away if you don’t.”

When he finally opened them, you were blessed by the sight of shimmering tears glossing wide, love filled pupils.

 “y’know…” you sighed, fighting the warmth spreading between your thighs, “watching you made me realise something.”

 “What?”

 “That there are layers to you, and I liked discovering them.” The noise he made resembled a strangled animal when you brushed your thumb over his soft cheek. “Your patience, tenderness, diligence, I never paid it any special attention until today. How you take care of your things, how gentle your hands are— I never thought you would be so…” you swiped your tongue upon his bottom lip. “Beautiful.”

 “Fuck..” his eyes rolled. A full body shudder raked down his back this time, prickling every fibre etched in his being and ultimately triggering sensitive blood vessels in his nose to pop suddenly as spurts of cum pre-emptively dribbled out of his tip.

 You giggled. “Are you okay, Sanji-kun?”

you watched him shake his head inaudibly, hips humping the air for much needed relief as the blood trickled down his nose in slow drips. Almost mimicking how his cock drooled obscenely.

 He wouldn’t last much longer like this. Every muscle, nerve and vein burned to keep himself tethered to the seat. “More, I beg you. T-talk to me more, ‘m so close..”

 His plea sounded hoarse even to his own ears, but it made you smile all the same.

 “I think,” you trailed off, flickering your eyes to his lips, then wiping off the blood gently. “I would have paid attention to your laugh.”

 That sobered him a little bit, the confusion furrowed his brows.

 “You looked at ease, even though you were teasing me. I liked hearing you hum, chuckle, seeing you smile. You looked relaxed. There was something attractive about it, I can’t quite explain how much I enjoyed seeing that, even before you unzipped your pants. I think I was a little enamoured by you.”

 His expression glowed. “R-really?”

 You nodded earnestly. “You’re beautiful, Sanji. That’s why I was watching you, why I had to walk away cause it made me feel guilty to see you so … unguarded.”

 “I—”

“Do me a favour,” you cupped his jaw with a warm palm, “don’t pass out.”

 Before he could reply, Sanji tasted heaven.

 It was the slightest touch on his lips, barely a kiss, hardly a brushstroke, but it was enough to hear something akin to an angel’s song as he was bathed in a white light.

 Or …

 His eyes rolled so far back, his vision became discoloured, and the sound he heard was a high-pitch whine that tore through his own throat and reverberated in the room.

“On your knees.”

 Sanji collapsed, gasping and quaking on his hands and knees as if he’d been fighting for his life. Which, in a way, he really was. Fighting to keep some blood in his system that hadn’t already poured into his cock or down his nose when the heat coiling in his belly burned that much hotter from your kiss. Scorching him, blistering the goosebumps that prickled along his flesh making him hypersensitive and numb all at once— numb to the sounds outside this room, hypersensitive to your every move. And if anyone were to find him like this— no, he didn’t care. You were a dream he never wanted to wake up from, even if it ripped him apart, and he’d be damned if anyone came to ruin it now.

 Instead, he chewed on his bottom lip, savouring the taste of you, of your sweet gloss and plump lips and dizzying scent— but when he reached to fist his cock to the memory of you pressed against him— Sanji couldn’t stop himself from keening loudly when your foot pushed his hand away.

 “I didn’t say you could touch yourself, cutie’.”

 “What can I do?” Sanji quivered up at you pleadingly. “I’ll do anything, please. Oh please, please tell me what to do for you, darlin’.”

 “Take off my shoes.”

 You lifted your right leg for him, offering up your foot clad in the strappy sandal and watched him inhale sharply through his nose.

 “I—” his adams apple bobbed as he sat back on his heels, “I can touch you?”

 This was a test, a prank. You were only playing with him. the kiss was enough to kill him, and your smile was too sinful to be sincere, but he prayed, nonetheless. Pleaded and hoped and then choked on his own spit when you nodded firmly.

 “Yes, but only my legs. And if you’re a good boy, I’ll give you something better.”

 Sanji nodded heartily, murmuring his thanks and gratitude for the opportunity presented to him, his voice carrying a thick layer of emotion he didn’t have the sense to evaluate for this blessing. Only knowing the relief he felt when your bare skin pressed against his, whispering the praises into the cleft of your ankle— his lips brushed a chaste kiss, a sweet touch that could only be seeped with devotion.

 You wouldn’t have heard it at all if it weren’t breathed into your skin, ardently sincere like the last prayer whispered by the helpless. So, in an act of mercy, you brushed his hair back and tilted his head up towards you, holding him delicately as if he’d shatter by your hands. Which you were fully capable of doing— but you presented him the tenderness of your smile instead, verbalising your consent and letting it flow soothingly between you.

 He took a few seconds to stabilise himself, though even with your permission, Sanji’s touch felt shaky against your skin as if he was unsure about your words or his own strength to maintain consciousness, but he did anyway. Willed himself with the strength to harden his spine and indulge in his deepest desires. Just this once, while you still graced him with it.

 His hands were warm, soft, and gentle. Everything like the man they belonged to as Sanji stroked your leg sensually, starting from your knee all the way down to your ankle. His long fingers pressing and squeezing the supple skin beneath his palms, curving along your plump flesh pulling quiet sighs you didn’t bother to hide that he drank in greedily, relishing in your pleasure as if it was pierced straight into his vein.

 “y’so beautiful,” Sanji groaned into your leg. “I can’t believe—” he shook his head, ridding himself of the doubt that plagued him before dragging his lips along your calf as his fingers fiddled with the strap that wrapped around you. Achingly slow and deliberately unhurried. “You’re so soft, it’s incredible. Even your legs are gorgeous.” he spoke as if thorns were scraping his throat, every word coming out in a low rasp filled with need. “Every part of you sets me on edge,” he continued, his kisses following where the straps once curled, “— as if I’m holding on by my fingertips, and the only thing that keeps me from breaking— from plummeting and colliding into the ground is you.” He slipped your shoe off and placed it gently to the side, your foot now bare, then moved on to the other leg and gave it the exact same treatment. “But… its also like you’re waiting for me at the bottom, ready to unearth me and giggle as you dust off the dirt from my shattered bones.”

 You feel his kiss on your ankle again, a breathy sigh tickling your flesh as you swallowed your nerves. “What if I am? I like you beneath me.”

 “I don’t mind,” he replied easily. He held you up carefully, his grip firm yet tender as he kneaded the taut muscle, every caress and gentle stroke pooling desire deep in your core. “If it were anyone else, I would have done what I usually do by making a fool of myself as soon as the rest of the crew left.” The heat of his stare was almost unnerving. “But it was you, and I never felt more compelled to fall.”

 Fuck.

 You lost your resolve, and your expression softened with a laugh that fluttered out like the butterflies tickling your chest. “You shouldn’t look so attractive with your cock so wet, Sanji-kun. It’s unfair, and hard to remain impassive when you look so beautiful desperate for me.”

 “I’m sorry, darlin’.” He laid his cheek against your leg, exhaustion weighing him. “We can stop”, he offered sincerely. This momentary pause gave him the clarity he needed, the fog inhibiting his senses cleared enough to think. Though his cock still ached, there was a layer of calm settling too. Your comfort important to him above all else. “You’ve done more than enough for me,” Sanji pressed another kiss to your knee, your shoe accompanying its twin on the floor, “more than I could have hoped for already. It won’t take much for me to finish on my own. You were wonderful, darlin'.”

 “You would stop, just like that?”

 “Of course,” Sanji affirmed candidly, his eyes kind. “Like I said, I would do anything for you. My pleasure is secondary.”

The words hung in the air, but your plan was still in motion.

 “Tell me, then. What would happen if I touched right…here.”

“Ahh-uhh!”

 “Does it hurt?” you cooed sickeningly sweet. “hmm, from your expression it looks like you’re enjoying it a little too much.”

 He bobbed his head frantically, blonde hair flailing with the movement, your devious plan wrecking him immediately. “Ye-es, in the-uhh best way, angel. Fu-uuck, I-I can’t believe you’re tou-ching me like this.”

 “Yeah? y’like it that much?” you laughed airily. “Your balls feel soft on my foot, all rounded and heavy.” Lifting your leg up higher, you rubbed your leg on his length, sliding it up and down, skin to skin, until those salacious moans spilt from his mouth in loud cries. “wow, it’s’warm and wet from all the pre you were leaking earlier, too. How gross.”

 “Oh-oh, god, pl-ease, sweet darlin’. Fuck-ngh!”

 You hummed delightedly, watching his cheeks blossom into another sweet blush, his eyes glazing over immediately as Sanji shuddered and keened beneath you with the familiar scent of desperation clouding the room in a thicker layer. A potent, charged atmosphere that had you panting as you watched Sanji unravel once again in the short time you had him under your command— your plan a success.

 “You’re dripping all over again.” you teased with another slow drag of your foot, his balls resting on top while his shaft twitched upon your shin. “Look at how your pretty cock leaks! All red and cute! So much cum, I’m surprised you haven’t squirted.”

  “ohh-ahh, sw-sweetheart don’t be me-eean!”

 “I’m not!” you insisted through unfiltered giggles. “Look at you, humping my leg! Gettin’ yourself all worked up from just touching me, you’re so cute, Sanji-kun.” Your laughter seized as you clicked your tongue, faux disgust colouring your tone as you rolled your foot over his long shaft, collecting the stringy wetness that drooled from his tip on your toes. “Tsk, your cock is makin’ a dirty mess all over my leg, though. Could you be anymore pathetic?”

 “’m so’rry,” he squirmed. “Ca-an I clean it uhh-up?”

  You leered down at him, “only if you use your mouth, pretty.”

 Sanji licked long strokes along your leg, collecting the sticky essence that spit from his tip the harder he rolled his hips. Swallowing his own dirty arousal while fervently grinding his cock along the curve of your leg with no sense or rhythm, only following the lust you stoked within him, stumbling moans, hitching his whines. Begging and squeezing his eyes shut to prevent the tears from falling, but you saw them anyway.

 You saw everything. How his chest concaved with every breath he took, how his balls pulled tight on your foot, how deeply and utterly he was at your mercy.

 It filled you with pride. Along with a dark sense of satisfaction you couldn’t quite place to have Black-leg Sanji— bounty over a billion berries, the left wing of the future king of the pirates— whinging and coating your skin with his arousal.

 And you had one more trick up your sleeve. One that could possibly kill him, but you wanted to push the boundaries.

  See how far you could bend him before he snapped.

 “You can’t cum yet,” you sang cheerily, weaving your fingers through his hair again. “You have to be good for me, okay?”

 “Fuu-uk, ‘m tryin’!” Sanji cried out, his last threads of control almost slipping from his grasp, stitch by stitch, seam by seam, but he gripped them tighter in his fists, and fiercely blinked away the fog misting his vision just to have the chance to gaze upon your smile for a little while longer. “I wo-on’t, jus’ for you. Cause you-you asked.”

 “Good boy. Now, tell me you like it.” you gave his hair a firm tug, directing focus to his bucking hips. “Tell me how much your cock aches, how hard it is, how much you love touching me.”

 Sanji shuddered, another frantic nod dizzying his vision as he jerked his hips harder. “I do! So-so much”, he hiccupped. “I lo- ohhh, uhh, yes!— I love you touch-in’ me. Teasin’ me, makin’ a mess of me-eee— ahh, shit! Tou-uch me, please, fuck! Please, I love it— love your eyes, your voice, your touch. I’ll die, ohh, god-oh god, lemme jus’ die like this, it’s oka-ay if it’s you. For you, all you, fuck-fuck!”

 “I think you deserve your reward now, Sanji-kun.”

 Sanji snapped his head up, his hips stilting. “This-this isn’t the reward?” how could it not be? He was touching you, kissing your body, smearing his cock all over your pretty leg. What could be better than this?

 You pulled back from him, and slowly, painfully slow, deathly slow, you lifted the hem of your dress.

 He first saw your thighs, thick and supple, making him swipe his tongue along his bottom lip just imagining the taste of your sweat, of the grooves of your cellulite.

  your dress lifted higher, and his hands flexed, picturing squeezing on the squishy flesh and feeling it fill his palms and pudge out against his fingers where he couldn't quite grasp.

 This was the reward, yes? Pretty, coloured thick thighs he’d be happy to touch, to worship with hips he could sink his teeth into, full and curved and beautifully rounded.

 But your hand lifted higher. Higher. Until he ascended so high he heard the angel’s song again, welcoming him to paradise.

 “Sanji, you’re shaking an’ whining loudly.”

 Was he?

“Wipe the blood first… good boy. Come here, it’s’okay,” you tugged him closer, his face inches away from your panties. “You’ve been so good, I thought you might like to ...” your cheeks burned, “To touch.”

  He could smell it now, the wetness that made your thighs clench earlier. That had you sighing and chewing on your bottom lip as he chased his own pleasure. The arousal that allowed him this far with you, coating your pink panties and, fuuck.

 You-your panties… they— they had the cutest bow on it. right above your mound and the lewd wet patch he ached to… “Did-did you say touch?”

 You nodded, tugging him closer by his hair. “I won’t take off my panties, but I don’t see why you can’t use them to get yourself off, just this once. It’s what you always wanted, right?”

 What he always wanted.

 “Are… are you sure?”

 What he always wanted and prayed and dreamed and lusted after— but he had to make sure. To know this is what you wanted. Sanji couldn’t— he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if it weren’t your desire too. Even if he was seeing double and the room tilted on its axis or his blood pooled on the floorboards more than his own body, he wouldn’t be able to stand again without hearing you say—

  “Sanji-kun, touch me.”

 You tugged him closer, cooing your affirmations, stroking his hair. Going slow and speaking so softly, he wondered if you were talking to him at all.

 “It’s okay,” you purred, your eyes gentle. “You can use me to cum. I want to see you cum for me.”

Use you?

His brows knitted. That didn’t sound right.

Use.

 Use.

Use?

 That word felt wrong, dirty. Even in his inebriated, lust-filled fog, Sanji knew that it wasn’t right. That it was tactless. That you deserved better than that.

 “I don’t— I don’t want to ever use you.” he husked. Just saying the word made his stomach churn, and though his limbs felt heavy, he lifted himself a little taller on his knees. “Don’t ever say that to me again.”

 Sanji’s sudden coherency surprised you when he was trembling moments before, but there was no mistaking the sincerity in his tone, and you could only stare— awed, heated and incredibly wrecked with the emotions he stirred. Yet rather than replying, your grip on him tightened, a challenge tilting your brow, waiting to see what move he’d make with the offer you raised.

 “Okay… oh-okay, ‘m gonna touch you now, darlin’.”

 With all the strength he could muster, Sanji pushed forward and inhaled deeply, pressing his nose in your crotch, and filling his lungs until the only air that could possibly flow through him was you. “Ohh, fuck.” Sanji groaned, the sound vibrating on your most intimate parts, pulling deep from his throat, and sounding nothing short of sinful that had you keening lowly in response.

 “Oh, fuck- oh fuck, darlin’ you’re a dream.” He murmured into your cunt, his words bleeding back to babble as he breathed in long and deep. It was intoxicating, the heady scent of your pussy. Driving him mad, sick, practically delirious by the slick that marred your panties, creating the most dazzling patch of arousal right in the middle. Oh fuck, his tongue immediately began lapping at the damp fabric caging your plump lips. “Fuck!”

 You choked on a moan. “Is that all you can say?”

 Sanji shook his head, his hands finding your full-figured hips and squeezing, eliciting a low mewl with the fat filling his palms and bulging out at the sides just how he pictured it. “Fuck!” he grunted again into your cunt; his mouth muffled but his shouts reverberated from the intensity that shook him at the core. “Fuck-fuck!”

 You huffed out a chuckle. “Sweetie, if it’s too much for you—”

 He couldn’t hear you. Sanji held you tighter, drew you closer into his open mouth, his jaw slack, muscles taut, cock aching— but it was a sensation he could ignore while his tongue messaged and rolled and lapped at your clothed cunt. Dragging along your labia over and over until it wettened enough to slip his tongue down the seam of your pussy, spreading it to finally circle your pulsing clit and suck, the fabric damp with a lewd mixture of slick and saliva as your whimpers rang loud.

 “Fu-uhh, shit, you taste so goo’ fo’me”, his words were gruff, his mind addled— Sanji couldn’t focus past your cunt, your scent, not when it wafted through him and settled deep in his abdomen— twisting lust straight down to his neglected cock drooling on the floor.

 “Sa-anji! Fuck, hmm, keep-keep going!”

 He groaned, digging his fingers into your hips and shoving you harder into his mouth. “Su’ch a pretty cunt, shit-fuck.” He held you firmly, his strength unrelenting even as you swayed, letting you writhe on his face. “Darlin’, sweet girl, sweet sweet cunt, uhh, y’make my cock hurt so-so much. Make me so hard, so dizzy. All you, shit-shit. Uhh-uhh, s’wet fo’me. Tha’ank you. thank y-you, than-k you.”

 You moaned for him, and the sound of it tingled his spine, acutely aware of the sharp tugging on his scalp, but Sanji paid the rest of it no mind. He was touching you, licking your pussy through your pretty panties, inhaling your arousal, making you moan.

 Making you cry his name, making you wet.

 And he answered it all with low hums and deep grunts of praises, thanking you fiercely, his devotion syphoning from every breath as if you poured into him yourself.

 Sanji flickered his tongue on your clit, alternating between soft and hard strokes that had you grinding your hips on his tongue, and he revelled in it while your pussy rewarded him by staining your panties with sticky fluids he drank greedily. Devouring your cunt with his whole face, bumping his nose into your clit, his chin wet, cheeks flushed.

 “Imma cum!” you tried to warn him, to stave off the flutter in your belly and not embarrass yourself by cumming so soon, but his touch, his tongue— even with the panties in the way it only added to the friction. To the burn flooding over your body from the moment you discovered him. You squirmed, rocked, and sighed as the coil tightened in your belly— a sensation so intense you attempted to cinch your thighs, but Sanji pinched your hips, pulling you apart for him, ignoring your pleas.

 Holding you closer, grunting praises, flattening his tongue, pressing hard until you came with a loud cry.

 “Su’ch a goo’girl, so good for me. that’s it, lemme clean that up for you, darlin’.”

 Sanji lapped at your cunt, your panties ruined and almost dripping from your release that he swallowed as best he could before you ripped him off with a harsh tug.

 “Stand,” you panted harshly. Your balance was shoddy, but you stood firm, yanking the man to his full height, and wrapped your fist around his cock. Gently tugging on his flushed sex in quick strokes. “Cum for me.”

 Sanji curled into your touch, white-hot and just barely keeping himself standing with a hard grip on your hips— he slumped into your chest, fucking into your hand chaotically. “I-I didn’t— y-you. Uhh, fuck!”

 “What is it?”

 Tears stung his waterline. “I di-idn’t clean u-uhh, ahh, mmm, I wanted— wanted to clean you u-uhp.” He cried out, fidgeting in your grasp, his cock overly sensitive and shamefully drooling all over your wrist. He wanted to be strong, to make you cum and slump on his chest, but Sanji could hardly keep his eyes open at this point. He felt airy, foggy, every sensation felt like it was dolled up to ten and he couldn’t find the strength to keep standing.

 And it hurt, fuck, his cock hurt. His balls hurt, his chest hurt, breathing hurt— it ended up as short gasps and high-pitch whines into your neck until you brushed your thumb over his slit and Sanji saw stars.

 “ahh! Im-imma cum! ‘mma cu-uuh, fuck-fuck!”

 “It’s okay, sweet boy,” you jerked him firmly with one hand and pulled down the bow of your panties, exposing your plump mound. “Cum right here, I wan’ feel you cum on me.” you slipped his tip between your pussy lips, a low, wet, squelching noise added to his moans now.

 To yours and the raunchy sounds that swirled in between.

 “Sweet-sweetheart!” Sanji squeaked, bucking his hips widely, your pussy smearing wet kisses all over his cock. Hot and squishy and so so delicious his orgasm crashed through him like a tidal wave, surging and pulsing and dousing him with a pleasure that raked a voiceless cry— splatting his cum in your panties and slathering your slit with gooey, icky glops of his release. Your panties filled with both stains of arousal.

“Good boy.” your kisses feathered over his rapid pulse, the praises almost as gentle as your lips. “Such a good boy, shh. I got you, hun.”

 Sanji held you close, shivering through his climax, pitifully cowering his face into the warm crook of your neck until his cries settled into cute whimpers and the spots misting the corners blended into colours he could actually see.

 “Shh, you did so well, cutie.” You stroked his back, unbothered by the sweat clinging to his skin or the sticky, hot mush that was caged to your cunt. the latter tingling the nerves of your spine in an addictive way. “That felt amazing.”

 “Ye-yea?”

“Yes, hun.”

 There were a few seconds of heavy breathing, then shuffling of clothes, and suddenly, Sanji was seated back on the sofa, but the comforting weight of your plush body sat on top of him too. He liked it, it was grounding. Safe.

 Sanji held you tight, his strong arms locking you in place over his lap. Your bodies hot and tempering down ever so slowly in each other’s embrace.

 There’s was a gentle hum in the room, or maybe it was your voice, tenderly washing over him as Sanji came to grips with his body again. With the heat, the sweat and throb of arousal cooling into a low ebb in his abdomen. With the reality that you both stood in and your roles in it. But he couldn’t bring himself to care of anything else but you curling in his lap.

 You smelt nice, you played with his hair and hummed in his ear, and you felt so… so good in his arms.

 “Thank you.” he croaked after a while. Feeling satiated and satisfied sinking into your embrace, Sanji could do nothing else but whisper his thanks into your lips over and over, his kiss filled with all the gratitude of an answered prayer. “Thank you for this, for holding me. I don’t know when it got so out of hand.”

You smirked, patting his chest playfully, hoping he did not notice how your heart soared as you attempted to joke. “probably as soon as I agreed to this little game.”

 This time, Sanji’s smile beaned wide, pretty teeth shining bright. “I just can’t help myself, darlin.” he nuzzled into your cheek, savouring the intimacy. “I told you what would happen if you got too close.”

 You laughed softly, “I suppose I was warned.” You shifted in his lap, straddling him now instead with the gooey mixture flushed hot in your panties, squishing against your achy clit, it made you breathless. Eager. “If you’re a good boy—”

His stomach flipped excitedly.

 “—Maybe we’ll play again.”

 Sanji shuddered, his smile waning as his lips parted cutely. “Don’t tease me. I—”

 “SANJI! OI! I GOT THIS BIG FISH! IT HAS TWO HEADS CAN WE EAT IT?!”

“Oi, Shitty-brow! I found this buried sword, lemme cut you with it!”

 You stifled the laughter behind your hand, the cutest frown scrunching his face from their untimely interruption. Even so, you began moving to crawl off his lap before the other straw hats walked in with their treasures, but Sanji gripped your wrist, his pleading stare shooting familiar sparks in your core.

 “Promise we’ll do this again?”

You smiled warmly, leaning in for a kiss only to swipe your tongue upon his bottom lip, “Yes, and it will stay just between us.”

 Sanji blushed, savouring the taste of you on his own tongue. “Yea, of course. Just between us, darlin’.”

 This time, you stood up to leave, but not without one final look over your shoulder, “just like your cum soaking my panties right now.”

 You quickly slipped out of the room before anyone could notice, twirling your shoe as the sound of a heavy thud crashed behind you and the boys shouts followed shortly after.

 “WOW! So much blood! Was there a fight?! Are they still here?! I wanna fight!”

 “LUFFY N-NO THAT—”

 “EW SHITTY BROW! WAKE UP AND CLEAN THIS SHIT YOU PERV—”

˓ — ISAGI YOICHI

the type who loves to cum inside your warm cunt more than anything, but he supposes he can settle on your thighs just this once — and plus, he doesn’t mind licking the mess off of you like the good boyfriend he is!

“you’re not on the pill?”

he’s trying so hard to sound mad, to look irritated and annoyed on how you didn’t buy a new bottle after you ran out, especially since you know that this was going to happen — but the way your walls were clinging onto his pale shaft was making it so hard, harder than he had initially thought.

his eyebrows furrow together, lips parted in ecstasy as his hips stutter slightly. his grip on your hips grew tighter, tight enough to leave burning red marks which surely will make itself comfortable as claiming your hips as home for the next few days.

“fuck. y-you should’ve — ah , told me —” he grunts, and he’s finding it hard to put his hips to a halt from plummeting inside of you from the back.

He looks mad, with the furrowed brows and darkened eyes, but the shakiness in his voice and the tremble of his bottom lip as he throws his head back with a groan that came straight out of a pornographic movie is telling you that he actually couldn’t bring himself to be mad.

not with the way you were pressed up against him, that is.

“c-can’t you just — unh, pull out and slip a condom on or sumthin—?”

and he almost laughed, laughed at your words if it wasn’t the way you looked up at him so sweetly through your shoulder, eyes glossy and wide — arching your back oh so deliciously for him with that stupidly innocent look on your face.

you fucking minx.

“hah — easier said than done, baby.”

how could he pull out when you were gripping onto his twitching cock so tightly, warming it good enough to send shudders throughout his entire body.

saliva coated lips make contact with your shoulder, canines sinking into the soft flesh of your shoulder. His pupils dilate, the scent of your shampoo and lotion and the light taste of sweat on your body making him moan, moan — his dick twitching inside of you. you were a fucking sex pollen to him and you knew it.

He can’t find it in himself to stop pounding into you, the thought of him cumming inside of you and possibly getting you pregnant making his hips move faster — meaner. You were too addicting, you had a chokehold on him and the sweet whimpers and moans escaping your throat only adds more fuel to the already large, suffocating fire.

“y-you know,” he grunts, chest heaving with each needed breath he takes, his mean hips finally coming to a stop as he speaks, leaning your cunt needy and pulsating, “I’m startin’ to think that you actually want me to cum inside.”

the whine that bubbles from your chest makes a wolffish grin tug the corners of his lips, watching the way your half lidded eyes focus slowly on his dark blue ones.

“w-what? ichi — th-that’s not wh.. hngh!”

he cuts off your words, burying himself as deep as he could inside of you — slender fingers pressing down on the bulge of his needy cock on your stomach, watching the way your eyes rolled back and back arched further, ass hitting against his pelvis.

“c’mooon. really?” he drawls out, tilting his head to the side slightly, “I’ve reminded y’to buy a new bottle already. and I know damn well you wouldn’t have forgotten — unless you really wanted to be filled with my babies, ha? all swollen and full.”

He punctuates his words with a sharp thrust, picking the pace back up — relishing in the way the tears stream down your cheeks as you body jolts forwards from the impact, a loud moan ripping out of your throat.

Surely, he’s got to have some personality disorder. The once sweet, innocent yoichi was now a mean, unforgiving one — toying with you as he flips you onto your back now, his ears picking up on the way you squeak at the sudden change of position.

And he swears he could feel your gummy walls clench tighter around him at the thought of you full with his children, making him grunt softly — fingers digging deeper into your hips.

“oh? so I’m right, aren’t I?” he mused, the already large shit eating grin on his face growing larger, if that was even possible.

“s-shut up— I’m c-cumming,” your fingers move onto his biceps, nails digging into them as a desperate attempt to ground yourself. meanwhile his hands find solace onto your soft thighs, pinning them down against the navy silk sheets of his bed.

“yeah? a-are you now?” his eyes narrowed slightly, teeth gritting together and brows furrowing as he himself is desperately trying to restrain himself from doing anything he’d regret, which would obviously busting his load into you suddenly and, perhaps, getting you pregnant with his kids.

“fuck — cum with me then,” soft pants escape his parted lips, his body chasing yours.

he could see the way you panic in your eyes. the way you desperately try to muster up your voice to tell him to stop despite knowing all attempts to tell him off would be futile, to hold his load or to pull out, and the way you were so drowned in the pleasure he was giving you that he had rendered you into a speechless little thing.

“f-fuck ! yoichi, don’t —” you gasp out, head pressing back against the soft pillows propped up behind your head, jaw hanging open from the immense euphoria.

as soon as the creamy white liquid gushes out of your sensitive ring of muscle, you could feel him swiftly pull out — and with a few jerks of his hand, he coats your thighs with his own sticky mess, head thrown back as the number one striker lets out a uncharacteristically pathetic moan.

the room washes over with silence, the sound of your and his soft pants filling the rather quiet room until you break the silence, eyes peering down at the wet spot on the sheets beneath your thighs and the sticky feeling of cum kissing your thighs.

“shit. gonna be such a mess to clean up,” you breath out, chest still heaving gently from the workout he had just made you do.

he simply grins, licking his lips.

“who says I’m not gonna help you clean up?”

and with that, he sinks down onto his knees, hands finding home onto your thighs once more.

˓ — RIN ITOSHI

the type who lets you get the consequences of not telling him — leaving you needy and on edge! after all, it’s not his fault that you forgot to tell him …

“what did you just say?”

slender digits come up to grab a fistful of your hair, hips coming to a stop as he forces your head to tilt back to look at him — chilly teal eyes lean down to peer straight at yours, his nails digging into your scalp. his grip was tight enough for it to almost be considered painful.

almost.

was he annoyed? yes. was he horny, needy, and needed desperately to cum? also yes.

“I-I’m ah — n-not on birth control ..” you managed to squeak out, shrinking under his gaze — your fingers clenching around the silk sheets of his bed, the material curling and wrinkling beneath the grip of your fingers.

you could see the way his brows furrow slightly, clicking his tongue once more in slight annoyance. he’s been edging himself and you for what, an hour now — constantly forcing your back into a deep arch so he could hit deeper and deeper into you, hitting places you never knew wlere even inside of you — listening to your pretty sounds and such pitiful begging for him to let you cum, just for you to tell him that at the very end, he won’t have the chance to cum inside of his favorite place to do so?

such bullshit, he thinks.

That doesn’t mean he can’t have any fun, though. After all, you have some compensation to make for him.

His brows soon relax slowly, and he was slight thankful he dumbed you down just enough for you to miss the small, yet sly smirk tugging the corners of his lips as he leans down, lips gently grazing your neck — moving closer and closer until his teeth reached close enough to tug your earlobe right between his teeth, warm breath tickling the skins on your hair.

“It’s okay, baby.”

His voice was condescendingly sweet, a hidden meaning laying deep down beneath his words — but gosh, how could you ever focus on his words when the cock drilling deep into you and rearranging your guts was stealing all of your focus instead?

“I’ll just hafta pull out, hm?” He bites the inside of his cheek, finding humor in the way you seem to relax at his words — forgetting that he wasn’t a man to forgive and forget so easily. His fingers leave the soft locks of your hair gently, instead, moving to the back of your head to have a firm hold of the back of your head — pushing your head against the soft pillows on his bed, muffling your whines and pretty little moans of his name as his hips slowly start to resume its steady rhythm against your ass.

You choke on your own sounds, feeling the way he pounds faster — meaner, deeper. And it was weird, because the youngest Itoshi has never went this rough on you. Drool seeps out of their corners of your lips, jaw hanging open — a wet patch of your drool forming on the Itoshi’s pillow covers.

If only you had knew, that behind the mean, pounds of his hips, would be a sinister intent to leave you needy and on edge — desperate enough for you to get down on your knees and beg.

“R-rin, cummin’, please — ” his ears perk up at your words. And as if to prove your point, he could feel the way your thighs quivered and tightened, struggling to hold yourself up properly. And amidst the lewd sounds of skin slapping mixed with the sounds of your moans, he could hear his sheets crinkling underneath your tight grip against them — nails digging into the soft mattress, your words coming up as hardly audible hiccups and whines.

“Shit, that so?” His breath hitches softly, feeling the way your walls clamp up around him. His dick twitches inside of you, and you gasp at the feeling — because you know what’s about to happen, or — what you expected to happen, at least.

“Such a needy little thing. Go on, then.”

Before you could say anything else, he pulls out, edging you once more this night, relishing the way you grunt softly in complaint as you squirm, moving your hips back to press against his pelvis, silently begging for him to put himself back in.

But instead of being met with him aligning his tip right back in, you’re met with a soft shake of his head, his left arm wrapping around your waist as he leans down, lips grazing your earlobe once more.

“ ‘m sorry, sweetheart, but I think you’re right. Think’ we should keep it just the two of us for now, hm?”

He leans back slowly after pressing a gentle kiss onto your cheek. Fuck, he could feel his blood rushing south once more at the way you pout at him — eyes watery and teary, before they eventually flutter shut from exhaustion.

Guess he’ll have to find another way to relieve himself ..

˓ — BACHIRA MEGURU

the type who’s pull out game is, weirdly.. good? Either way, he doesn’t mind settling on cumming on other parts of your body — after all, all of you is perfect in his eyes ! .. and, well — maybe also because he wants to take a few pics of you covered in his cum .. but you don’t have to know that!

“And? I really don’t see the problem here ..”

A childlike pout starts to form on his lips, tilting his head gently to the side slightly like a kid stuck on a math question written on the board — his fingers reaching up to intertwine with your own, which were pushing against his chest, trying uselessly to push him off of you — a poor attempt on trying to make distance between your cunt and his mushroom tip nudging your entrance.

“I-im not on the pill-! That’s the problem,” you huff out, your fingers squeezing his gently — blood rushing to your cheeks at the amount of personal space he has taken away from you. But he merely shrugs, a cheeky smile tugging the corners of his lips as soon as the realization hit him.

“Ah — that’s what all this was about? no biggie, trust me. I can jus’pull out!”

He seemed oddly casual about the situation, to your surprise. The playful glint in his eyes seemed to shine even brighter than the soft, silver light of the moon slipping quietly through the white curtains of your room — even brighter than whenever he would score a goal during a match. Maybe it was because this situation was no different, you’ll never know.

“I’ll take good care of ya, I promise.”

And you should’ve known better from the earlier signs of him being waay to casual for a situation like this, considering how he’d use to pout whenever you’d tell him to slip on a condom — that he had a secret intent behind the unusually sweet and understanding talk of his.

Click, click click!

His phone in his right hand, while his other hand held firmly onto your waist, holding you down against the soft bed to prevent your from squirming too much. After all, he couldn’t let you ruin his piece of art!

A satisfied grin tugs the corners of his lips, giggling at the way you use the back of your hand to cover the lower half of your face. Cute, he thinks. How you think that would stop him from taking any more pictures of you painted with his cum — cheeks flushed with your skin glistening slightly from the light sheen of sweat on your body, the creamy white liquid trailing down from your chest to your stomach makes him let out a soft groan.

“Cmon, don’t — hah, don’t get shy on me now,” he breathed out softly, continuing to gently pump in and out of you, trying to coax out another orgasm out of you to coat your already sticky thighs. His hand leaves your waist, fingers trailing up your arm, then to your wrist, and finally laces your fingers together, gently pulling your hand away from your face. A seemingly innocent smile tugs the corners of his lips, leaning down to coo intoxicatingly sweet in your ear.

“Just one more, one more. yeah baby?” His warm breath fans over the bare skin of your neck, sending a low shudder running throughout your spine.

He bottoms out slowly, before thrusting back in as deep as he could — relishing the way your back arches off the bed, head lolling back against the soft cushions of the pillows beneath your head.

Setting his phone down on the bed, he diverts his entire focus to you, and how your hands tensed, trying to ground yourself by squeezing his own hand like he was your lifeline. He grunts softly at the sharp sting of your nails digging into the outer layer of his hand, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on your hip — a rather strange contrast to how rough we was with plummeting inside of your hole, stretching and molding the walls accordingly — marking you as his.

“B-but — hng, ‘guru - came twice already-”

He could only grunt the way you look at him so pleadingly, so lovingly - eyes glassy with tears and saliva prodding at the corners of your wet, kiss bitten lips.

“That so? Ah, well - y’know what they say,” he manages a breathy chuckle, his fingers digging a little deeper into your hip as he bottoms out, again, leaving you feeling empty and craving for it despite being oh so overstimulated already - your body shaking slightly from just how overwhelming the pleasure really is.

“Third time’s the charm.” He grins, before slamming right back into you - just like how he previously did minutes ago.

“T-thats not even how it works in this contex- mmfh!” He cuts you off simply, pressing his lips onto yours gently to swallow and muffle all of your noises. After all, he’s received a noise complaint once from the grumpy neighbor next door - probably just jealous that he can’t ever get someone as good as you, he thinks - but he’d rather not get another one even though he really does want him, or the whole apartment complex for that matter, to hear who’s making you feel good.

He licks your bottom lip, his smile growing wider at the gasp you let out, easily taking it as the opportunity to slip his tongue right in. He presses his tongue against yours, and your head is all fuzzy and dizzy - unsure on if it was his dick inside of you that was making you cum again, or if it was the way his tongue seemed to press and prod against yours that was making you on the edge of cumming again.

Actually - you don’t think you’ve even realized that the heat was already building and pooling inside of you again until now.

“Now, now-” he pulls away softly, feeling the way your thighs seemed to tremble and how your breathing got just a little more labored as your walls dragged across his milky shaft.

“Y’might hafta quiet down, sweets.’ He smiled against your neck, and he knows - knows just how close you were.

Slowly, he reaches for his phone once more - hand leaving your hip as he opens the camera, angling it just right without looking, like he’s been training for this moment his entire life.

“Can’t have the neighbors complaining again, no?”

And with that, the shutter clicks as soon as the knot in your stomach snaps.

˓ — CHIGIRI HYOMA

the type who’s a little upset about not being able to flex his speed his speed inside of you this time, but doesn’t mind too much, he’ll just have to make you flex this time, right?

“Fuck - I don’t know if I’m still upset about you forgetting to take your pills, or if I’m ah - happy at the new sight in front of me,”

His chest was heaving from a mix of exhaustion from his recent football training just now and of arousal from how pretty you looked desperately grinding on his bare thigh like a dog in heat.

Truthfully, his mind was a dizzying mess during his training, you constantly came into his mind, whether when he was stretching, talking to his teammates - it drove him crazy, especially with the way his teammates would point out how he’d suddenly doze off with cheeks flushed out of no where. He’s been dying to feel you around him and fill you up since morning, morning - thats just how desperate he was.

And it seemed like that same, needy desperate urge was now bubbling inside of you like how it did to him earlier today. Perhaps it was you facing the consequences of your own actions, having have forgotten to buy a new bottle of pills, but he can’t find it in himself to complain.

Not when he has such a pretty sight in front of him.

Instead, the corners of his lips tug upwards into a lazy grin, opting to lean back against the couch with his arms hanging and rested behind them, refusing to help you.

“I-I’m sorry, Hyo-” you whined out breathlessly, your hands rest on the rough muscle that your needy cunt has been desperately trying to get the right amount of friction out of. Through the dizzying texture of his skin against your folds that was keeping you teetering on edge, you could vaguely remember just how eager he’d been when he stepped through the front door of your shared apartment - like he’d been a man who’s been walking through a dessert for days and is in dire need of water.

It made you feel guilty, it really did - when you broke the news to him sheepishly and watched the way he paused slightly, like if he was deciding whether he was disappointed or if he could live on without craving into his urge and desires today.

“why are you apologizing, hm? there’s ha - nothin’ to apologize for.”

He’s certain he couldn’t even comprehend your apology with the way you looked so desperate on his thigh, the muscles tensing beneath your puffy folds. A light sheen of sweat on your forehead, trembling fingers supporting yourself up against his thigh, nails piercing the skin lightly.

“In fact, think I just found myself a new obsession,” his grin grows a little wider - a little more dangerous, one that screamed he wasn’t letting you get out of this one so easily. The grin he gets when he reaches in range to shoot his goal.

He bounces his knee gently, watching the way you crumble - fingers digging deeper into his skin, almost deep enough to draw blood - and your back arching, like you were desperately seeking for his touch that he wasn’t going to give.

Not yet, at least.

“Hyo, please ..” you plead so prettily, all breathless and seemingly so out of it. It was nearly enough for all of his self restraint to snap with only the filthy, squelching noises of your wet cunt rubbing against his thigh - leaving a mess that he can’t take his eyes off of.

But he’s not that mean. He suppose he can cave - just a little.

That’s what he wants you to think, at least.

His right hand lifts, sliding from your thigh to your hips - giving it a gentle squeeze, thumb moving to caress your hips gently, close but not close enough to where you need him the most.

“use your words, pretty girl. I don’t have clairvoyant powers.”

He bites back the breathless chuckle at the way you huff and pout, struggling to find the right words.

“need your help,” you choke out so prettily, all quiet and struggling. Hair falling over your face as your head tips forward, biting down on your bottom lip.

“on what?” He leans back, enjoying the view - watching the way you mewl and whine at the game he’s playing. At the way he’s pretending not to notice how your entire thighs tremble atop of his from effort of desperately trying to get yourself off.

“n-need to come —“ you finally manage through gritted teeth, peering up at him through your lashes, wet with unshed tears of frustration.

“yeah?” He hums, fingers digging deeper into your hips, leaving red angry marks.

He bounces his knee slowly, biting back a moan at the way your breath hiccups from the sudden friction.

“can’t do anything yourself, huh?” He snickers almost mockingly, dragging your hips over the hard muscle of his thigh. He enjoys the way your lips part into a silent scream, fingers trembling and clawing at his thigh.

He clicks his tongue, grinding you faster on his thigh. He wants to draw this out as long as he can, but with the way your eyes are slowly starting to roll, eyelashes fluttering to try and keep your eyes on him, he really ‘can’t’ resist.

“Come, sweetheart,” he leans down, breath fanning over the skin of your neck, smiling against the skin at the way your body shudders and trembles when you feel the coil in your stomach grows tighter and tighter.

A hand shifts to your back, running his palm over the small of your back in soothing circles, pushing you to lean against his chest.

The way you whine when his other hand stops your hips, just mere seconds before you were about to let go, digging his blunt nails to leave faint crescent marks against soft skin.

“poor baby,” he coo’s softly, did you really think he’d let you come so quick?

“‘m sorry. I don’t think you deserve to come just yet.” he watches the way you claw at his shoulders instead, whines and whimpers muffled into his shoulder.

“but maybe..” he trails off, slowly guiding your hips against his now wet thigh once more. The hand on your back trails up, carefully pushing a strand behind your ear, lips tugging wider into a smile when you look up at him all teary.

“maybe if you prove it to me, I can let you come.”

A N . I initially wanted to include nagi n reo but maybe if this does well enough for a p2 🥹.. but as usual, reblogs very much appreciated!

Subtle flirt(straw hats x flirtatious reader)

Abandonment (Zoro x reader)

Decayed (law x reader, luffy x reader, kid x reader. MULTI ENDING)

Candy (luffy x sweet tooth reader)

Mis (Alex g song vers| sanji x reader)

Past & future (luffy x f!reader)

Broken facade (straw-hats x F! Reader)

Explained distance (zoro x f!reader)

The one who thinks (straw hats x mind reader)

Forced Family (zoro x reader)

Hidden love (sanji x reader)

A Familiar horizon (zoro x reader)

The Moss and the Muse (zoro x reader)

A quarter masters heart (zoro x reader)

The straw hats gentle heart (straw hats x reader)

Oblivious compassion (zoro x reader)

Order up, love (MODERN!sanji x reader.)

sirens secret on the sunny (Strawhat pirates X reader )

A stoic heart (zoro x reader)

the sunny’s silent embrace (zoro x reader.)

A killers Promise (straw hat pirates x reader)

the gentle demon (StrawHat pirates x reader)

beyond the blade (zoro x reader)

drawn to you (nami x reader, ussop x reader)

Fringes to Family (Straw hat pirates x reader)

Oath of the sea (zoro x Reader)

recipe of reassurance (Sanji x reader)

Claws of chaos (straw hat pirates x reader)

echoes of starlight in shadow (straw hats x reader)

scent of affection (zoro x reader)

More then a kiss (zoro x reader) SUGGESTIVE

A mothers watch (Straw hat pirates x Reader)

+Part two! (more of an add on)

unspoken pedals (Robin x Reader)

In close quarters (sanji x reader)

A weightless wonder (straw har pirates x reader)

A whisper in the walls (Straw hat pirates x reader)

The artist’s unraveling (straw hats pirates x reader)

The scholars fury (nico robin x reader)

hazardous hearts  (zoro x reader)

Echos of emotion (straw hat pirates x reader.)

Scales of bondage (straw hats x reader)

Unsheathed truths (zoro x reader)

Crimson tide (straw hat pirates x Reader)

When a Myth Met a Monster (straw hat pirates x Reader)

Queen Of Chaos (Straw hat pirates x reader)

Navigating love and luffy (nami x reader)

Reluctantly Yours (Luffy x Reader)

sweet beginnings (Straw hats x candy reader)

A harpy’s shiny obsession (straw hats(zoro) x reader.)

Speaking in silence (robin x reader)

A Fiery Misrepresentation (straw hat pirates x reader)

Sun-kissed secrets (straw hats x reader)

When confidence crumbles (straw hats x reader)

The ghosts feast (sanji x reader)

The deepest devotion (robin x reader)

A kiss to remember (Luffy x Reader)

A Bounty On His Heart ( Luffy x Reader)

A breathless pursuit ( straw hats x reader)

The Blind Bandit (straw hats x reader)

The Logbooks Latest Hatchling (straw hats x reader)

Scars of the sky (Straw hats pirates x reader)

Hugs Ahoy! (Straw Hat pirates x reader)

Whispers of a Warrior (Straw hat pirates x reader)

The Sea’s Strongest Vow (Luffy X Reader)

Under the Sirens Spell (Robin x Reader)

A recipe for forever (sanji x Reader)

The Scarred Survivor (Straw Hat Pirates)

The Weight of Tomorrow (Straw hat pirates x reader)

A bullet for a bloodline (Luffy x Reader)

In-Law of the Sea (Zoro x reader, father!jinbei)

ᯓ★ WhiteBeard Pirates

Unveiled strength (white-beard pirates x reader)

The secretary storm (thatch x reader)

A pirate’s heart, a singer soul (WB pirates (ace) x reader

rekindled fire (ace x reader)

Admirals paradox (Whitebeard pirates x reader)

Scars and Solace (Marco x Reader)

tethered flames (ace x reader)

The Echo Of Us (Portgus D. Ace x Reader.)

ᯓ★ The Heart Pirates

Decayed (law x reader, luffy x reader, kid x reader. MULTI ENDING)

A shift in this grip (law x reader) 

ᯓ★ Red Haired Pirates

The red haired pirates love (shanks x reader)

Ties That Time Couldn’t Cut (shanks x reader)

Aboard the Red Force ( red haired pirate x reader)

The Anchor (shanks x reader)

ᯓ★ Kidd Pirates

Decayed (law x reader, luffy x reader, kid x reader. MULTI ENDING)

ᯓ★ Marines

A secret and a government agent (Lucci x reader)

The princess and her shadow (Rob Lucci x Reader)

Admirals and Ashes (Akainu x reader)

^ part 2!

Limitless and Lighters (smoker x reader)

my beautiful possession (rob lucci x reader)

ᯓ★ Misc.

Tallest (ASL x f!reader)

Wife of the Mayer (Iceburg x f!reader.)

The anchor in the storm (asl x reader)

SOFT HEARTED (OP villains x reader)

Rekindling the embers (sabo x reader)

(🧠)ASL as yanderes! (ASL X READER)

(🧠A tiny obsession (King!Katakuri & Knight!RobLucci x reader)

You were barely a teenager when the drums of conflict began to beat, echoing across your island, a relentless rhythm of oppression under a cruel government. Your hands, still small and slender, learned to grip a blade before they truly knew how to hold a pen. You fought for them, for your family, for the very ground beneath your feet. There was a raw, undeniable craving for blood then, not born of malice, but of desperation. Each swing, each parry, was a prayer for survival, a desperate plea for freedom.

The air on those nights was thick with the scent of fear and smoke, illuminated by the orange glow of burning homes. You were a phantom in the chaos, a blur of motion, driven by an instinct to protect. You remembered the sickening crunch of bone, the wet thud of bodies hitting the ground, and the desperate cries that mingled with your own ragged breaths. You were good at it, terrifyingly so. Every move was etched into your muscle memory, a brutal dance perfected through countless skirmishes.

Then came the night the island finally cracked. The citizens, pushed to their breaking point, rose up in a desperate, last-ditch effort to reclaim what was theirs. You were in the thick of it, a whirlwind of fury and hope. The shouts of defiance mingled with the crack of gunfire, a chaotic crescendo. You saw your brother, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and determination, just meters away. And then, the sickening crack, the way his body crumpled, a dark stain blossoming on his chest.

You were there in an instant, cradling him, your hands slick with his lifeblood. His breath hitched, a desperate gurgle in his throat. His eyes, already clouding, found yours. "Y/N," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper, "Promise me… promise me you'll stop. Stop this… this bloodshed. Live, little sister. Live for peace."

Your own sobs tore through you, a raw, primal sound that was swallowed by the surrounding cacophony of battle. "No… no, please," you choked, tears streaming down your face, mixing with the blood on your hands. But his gaze, unwavering even in death, held you captive. And through your agony, through the despair of watching your people fall, you made the promise. A promise whispered to a dying boy, a vow to forsake the very thing you were terrifyingly good at.

The weeks that followed were a blur of grief and hollow victory. The island was free, but at what cost? Your hands, once so quick to grasp a weapon, now trembled at the thought. The very sight of a blade sent shivers down your spine. The craving for blood, once a driving force, was replaced by a profound nausea. You sought solace in quiet, in the simple rhythm of everyday life. You learned to cultivate a garden, to mend torn sails, to appreciate the quiet hum of a peaceful existence.

The years stretched on, each one a testament to that solemn vow. The killer within you, once a roaring inferno, was carefully, painstakingly banked. You embraced a new path, one of gentle understanding and quiet observation. The Straw Hats saw a calm, collected presence, a kind soul who offered comfort and support. They saw your refusal to fight as a quirk, perhaps even a weakness. They never knew the raging storm you had tamed, the monstrous capability you held in check, all for the sake of a promise made to a dying brother. And you would keep that promise, no matter what.

They didn't see the killer you had been, or the one you still held at bay. They saw the person who’d zone out at the sight of blood, a distant look clouding your eyes as memories, sharp and unwanted, pricked at the edges of your consciousness. They saw the one who’d stay behind when they went to fight, a silent sentinel on the deck, watching the chaos unfold from a safe, agonizing distance. And they saw the one who refused to even hold a weapon, your hands always empty, even when a spare blade or a discarded pipe lay conveniently nearby.

This was the person they had taken onto their ship, a non-combatant in a crew defined by their fighting prowess. Most of them didn't understand it, least of all Luffy, your captain. He tried—he really did—to make sense of your pacifism.

"Hey, Y/N!" Luffy would shout, bounding over to you with a wide grin, a rusty old pipe already in his hand. "Look! This looks like a fun weapon! Wanna try swinging it?" He'd offer it to you, his eyes bright with genuine enthusiasm, completely missing the subtle tightening of your jaw, the faint tremor that would run through your fingers. You'd just shake your head, a small, polite smile fixed on your face. "No thank you, Luffy. I'm not really good with weapons." He'd deflate for a moment, then shrug, already distracted by the next shiny object or the promise of meat.

Another time, during a particularly chaotic skirmish with some minor thugs, you found yourself near Zoro, who'd lost one of his swords in the fray. It lay glinting on the deck, just inches from your foot. "Y/N! The sword!" he grunted, fighting off two assailants. For a split second, your gaze locked onto the hilt, your fingers twitching with an involuntary, phantom grip. The muscle memory screamed, pick it up, it's right there, you could end this. But then, your brother's dying eyes flashed in your mind, and the brief surge of adrenaline receded, leaving behind a cold dread. You simply nudged the sword with your foot, pushing it closer to Zoro, and mumbled, "Here, Zoro, it's just by your hand." He snatched it up, giving you a quick, puzzled glance before diving back into the fight, none the wiser to the internal battle you'd just won.

Even Nami, ever observant, once tried to hand you a small, ornate dagger she'd acquired, thinking it might be a good self-defense tool. "It's just for emergencies, Y/N," she'd said kindly. You'd held it for a moment, the cool weight of the metal strangely familiar, and then, with a deep breath, handed it back. "I'm sure you'll make better use of it, Nami," you'd replied, a lightness in your tone that belied the tension in your shoulders.

They saw your calm demeanor, your quiet support, your occasional bouts of distant silence. They saw a crewmate who chose not to fight, and they, in their own unique ways, respected it. They didn't see the constant vigil, the unyielding strength it took to keep the killer buried deep, all for the sake of a promise whispered to a dying brother on a war-torn island.

For the most part, they accepted your unique stance, but sometimes, the teasing would come, lighthearted jabs that still managed to prick. Zoro, ever the blunt one, would sometimes just snort when the topic of fighting came up, a dismissive sound that spoke volumes without a single word. You'd just offer him a small, unreadable smile in return.

Usopp, in his usual dramatic fashion, would often proclaim, "See, even Y/N's more afraid than me when the fighting starts! At least I try to fight, even if I get scared!" He'd puff out his chest, completely oblivious to the quiet strength it took for you to simply be there, unmoving, while chaos erupted. Chopper, bless his innocent heart, would sometimes fret, "Are you sure you're okay, Y/N? You always look a little… sad when everyone else is fighting." You'd reassure him with a gentle pat on his head, a warmth in your eyes that masked the underlying ache.

Franky, with his boisterous enthusiasm, once tried to entice you. "C'mon, Y/N! Imagine the SUPER moves you could do with a custom weapon! We could build you something amazing!" You just laughed, a genuine, melodious sound. "I'm sure you could, Franky, but I think I'll stick to enjoying your creations from a safe distance."

But there were always those who saw more. Sanji, ever the gentleman, would instantly spring to your defense. "Leave her alone, you louts! Y/N does plenty for this ship! She doesn't need to fight! Who do you think keeps track of our supplies so meticulously? Or helps Nami with her charts? She's an invaluable member of this crew!" He'd glare at the others, apron fluttering dramatically, while you offered him a grateful, soft smile.

And then there was Robin. She didn't tease or bully. Her eyes, perceptive and ancient, saw past the surface. She saw how, when blood bloomed on the deck during a skirmish, you didn't pale, shake, or even run. Instead, you paused. It was a fleeting moment, a subtle stiffening of your shoulders, a sharpening of your gaze that lasted only an instant before it softened again.

She'd seen you, for instance, when Luffy had taken a nasty cut across his arm. While others gasped or rushed to tend to him, you simply watched, your eyes momentarily distant, focused not on the wound itself, but on the way the dark red liquid spread. There was no revulsion in your expression, no fear. Just a profound, almost analytical stillness, as if you were recalling something, reliving a moment only you could see. Then, as quickly as it came, the intensity would fade, replaced by your usual calm demeanor as you moved to grab bandages for Chopper.

Another time, when a low-level pirate had been knocked unconscious, a trickle of blood emerging from his temple, your gaze had drifted to it. You didn't flinch. Instead, your fingers had subtly flexed, an almost imperceptible clenching and unclenching, as if recalling the sensation of a blade. Robin had caught it, a flicker of recognition in her own eyes. You were a mystery to most, a gentle soul among a crew of fighters. But to Robin, you were a locked book, and she, with her quiet observation, was slowly deciphering the chapters within.

It was supposed to be a normal stop, a quaint little island with kind villagers, bathed in the soft glow of a perpetually setting sun. Usually, this was your cue to stay back, watch the Sunny, enjoying the quiet solitude of the ship while the others explored. But the Sunny needed repairs from the last brutal skirmish, a gaping hole in her hull and a splintered mast calling for Franky’s immediate attention.

"You stay put, Y/N," Franky had boomed, already surrounded by tools, "I need to get this baby shipshape. You go have some fun!" When you offered to stay with him, a quiet assurance that you preferred the calm of the ship, Nami had practically pulled you away, a determined glint in her eye. "No way, Y/N! You've been cooped up on the ship too long. Robin and I need your keen eye for shopping! You need a break from watching the Sunny!"

So, you went. It was a rare occurrence, walking alongside the entire crew into town. Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Sanji, Chopper, Brook, and you—a motley parade heading for supplies.

Luffy, predictably, was already causing a stir, pointing at every food stall with an eager cry of "Meat!" Chopper bounced excitedly beside him, mesmerized by a street performer’s juggling act. Usopp was haggling loudly over what appeared to be a very ordinary slingshot, convinced it was a rare, ancient artifact. Sanji, ever the doting chef, was already flirting with a local baker, his eyes practically turning into hearts. Nami, ever practical, had her nose in a map, muttering about good deals, while Robin calmly browsed a book stall, a serene smile on her face. Brook, of course, was asking every woman he passed if he could see their panties, much to Nami’s exasperated groans.

You walked a little behind them all, taking in the sights and sounds. The smell of freshly baked bread mingled with the salty sea air. Children laughed, chasing each other through the narrow streets. For a moment, a fragile peace settled over you.

Then, it went to hell.

Luffy, in his usual boundless enthusiasm, had tried to "help himself" to a giant, glistening leg of roast meat from a grumpy vendor’s stall. The vendor, clearly not used to pirates, let out a furious bellow, brandishing a cleaver. One thing led to another, a spilled drink, a mistaken shove, and suddenly, the entire market erupted.

"You damn pirates!" a burly man roared, swinging a fist at Usopp. Tables overturned, baskets of fruit scattered, and the air filled with the angry shouts of villagers. This wasn't a organized enemy, just a furious, uncoordinated mob.

Zoro was already a blur of green, dodging flailing arms and legs, his hands instinctively going for his swords, but holding back, clearly not wanting to cut down civilians. Luffy, surprisingly, was having trouble, overwhelmed by the sheer number of angry hands grabbing at him, pulling his rubber body in every direction. He wasn't fighting back with full force, merely trying to escape the human tide.

Nami shrieked as someone tried to snatch her bag, retaliating with a well-aimed kick that sent her attacker sprawling. Sanji was a whirlwind of kicks, protecting Nami and Robin, but visibly holding back, his precision strikes aimed at disabling, not injuring. Chopper, in Brain Point, was frantically trying to administer first aid to accidentally injured villagers while dodging clumsy swings. Usopp was firing pop greens, creating clouds of smoke to disorient the crowd, his usual bravado replaced by genuine panic. Even Brook was struggling, his cane-sword parrying blows, but the sheer chaos of the unarmed, enraged villagers made it difficult to fight without causing serious harm.

The Straw Hats, used to fighting hardened criminals and powerful marines, were struggling. This wasn't a battle; it was a riot. They were holding back, trying not to hurt these innocent, albeit furious, people, and that hesitation was costing them. Punches landed, kicks connected, and the sheer weight of the mob began to push them back, deeper into the narrow, winding streets of the island town. The gentle sounds of the market were replaced by shouts, screams, and the dull thud of bodies. And in the midst of it all, you stood, a quiet observer as the world around you dissolved into chaos, the familiar scent of blood beginning to prick at your senses.

They weren't winning. They were losing. The sheer force of the furious villagers, fueled by indignation and misunderstanding, was overwhelming. Luffy, usually invincible, was being dragged through a fish stall, momentarily tangled in a net. Zoro, still holding back, found himself pinned against a wall, his swords sheathed, his brow furrowed in frustration as he tried to disarm rather than wound. Nami was pushed into a fruit cart, scattering apples and oranges everywhere, her weather egg useless against a mob.

And you? You just froze.

The sounds of the riot, the shouts, the thuds, began to warp, twisting into the familiar cacophony of another time. The smell of fresh blood, now mingling with the scent of spilled produce, brought it all rushing back. Your brother’s face, pale and streaked with dirt and blood, swam before your eyes. The gurgle in his throat. The final, desperate plea. "Promise me… promise me you'll stop. Stop this… this bloodshed. Live, little sister. Live for peace." The memory was a physical weight, pressing down on your chest, stealing your breath. Your hands, the ones that had cradled his dying form, felt cold, clammy, and useless.

You were vaguely aware of the chaos around you, a swirling vortex of anger and fear, but it was distant, muffled by the roaring in your ears. Your gaze was fixed on nothing, seeing everything. The way the light caught a splash of blood on the cobblestones, mirroring the dark stain on his shirt. The panicked look in Chopper’s eyes as he was shoved, reminding you of the fear in your brother's before it faded. The sheer, overwhelming helplessness of that night, replicated here, now.

"Y/N! What are you doing?!"

The shout pierced through the fog of your memories, a sharp, insistent demand. It was Usopp, his face streaked with dirt, his nose a little crooked from a glancing blow. He was struggling, pinned against a wall by a burly fisherman, but his eyes, wide with fear and exasperation, were fixed on you.

"Even if you're weak, Y/N, now is not the time to freeze and not do anything! Just do something! Anything! Throw a punch, trip someone, scream!" His voice cracked with a mixture of fear and genuine frustration. He probably meant it to snap you out of it, to shake you into action, but his words, especially "weak," struck a raw nerve, twisting the knife in the wound of your past.

The world tilted. Your brother’s dying words echoed, demanding peace, demanding an end to violence. But then, the faces of your crew flashed before you—Luffy, struggling to stand, Zoro grimacing in pain, Nami yelling in distress. Their faces, trusting and desperate.

The promise you made to your departed brother, a sacred vow etched in blood and tears, warred with the silent, desperate plea of your found family. To fight, or not to fight? To embrace the killer within for their sake, or to honor the peace you had so painstakingly built? The choice was agonizing, a chasm opening beneath your feet, demanding you leap one way or the other. You stood there, trembling, caught between a sacred past and a terrifying present.

You couldn't let anyone die. Not again. The thought, cold and sharp, sliced through the fog of memory, shattering the chains of your promise. The terrified look on Usopp’s face, the strained grunts of Zoro, the desperate shouts of Nami—they were alive, right now, and they were in danger. The ghost of your brother’s fading breath was overridden by the visceral need to protect.

Something deep within you snapped.

The world around you, once muffled and distant, sharpened into brutal focus. Every angry face, every flailing limb, every shouted threat became a target, a problem to be solved. The tremor in your hands vanished, replaced by a terrifying steadiness. The gentle, peaceful persona you had meticulously built over years disintegrated, revealing the chilling efficiency beneath.

Your first move was instinctual, a blur of motion. A burly man, still grappling with Usopp, suddenly gasped, his eyes wide with shock as he was effortlessly lifted and then sent sprawling with a single, precise strike to his midsection. He landed with a sickening thud, unconscious before he hit the ground. You didn’t even look at him.

You moved like a predator, a silent, deadly force. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion. Your fists became weapons, each strike delivered with devastating power. A flurry of blows, so fast they were almost invisible, connected with a group trying to overwhelm Sanji. There was the sharp crack of bone, the sudden collapse of bodies, a choked gasp here, a pained groan there. You weren't just fighting; you were destroying.

A man lunged at Chopper, a heavy wooden club raised. Before he could bring it down, you were there. Your hand shot out, catching his wrist with an iron grip. There was a faint pop as something dislocated, and then, with a terrifyingly casual twist, you spun him around, using his momentum to slam him headfirst into a nearby fruit stand. The stand splintered, fruit exploding on impact, and the man slumped, unmoving amidst the wreckage.

Your movements were fluid, graceful, yet utterly brutal. Each punch was designed to incapacitate, each kick to shatter. There was no anger on your face, no fear, no relief—just a chilling devoidness of emotion. Your eyes, once soft and empathetic, were now flat, vacant pools, reflecting the chaos without absorbing it. You moved through the mob like a reaper, a terrifying force of nature. The sounds of the villagers’ shouts began to turn to whimpers, then to silence, as those who hadn't fallen scrambled away in terror.

The Straw Hats, moments ago struggling, slowly began to realize the shift. Luffy, finally free, stared, his rubber limbs frozen mid-stretch. Zoro’s eyes, usually so sharp, widened in a mixture of awe and something akin to fear. Sanji, usually so quick to defend you, now watched, mouth agape, as you effortlessly dispatched three men with a rapid succession of strikes that were almost too fast to follow. Nami clutched her head, her face pale, as she saw a woman go down with a single, precise strike to the temple, utterly silent. Chopper whimpered, burying his face in Usopp's side, while Usopp himself stood paralyzed, his earlier taunts dying in his throat. Even Robin’s serene expression cracked, a flicker of something unreadable passing through her eyes as she witnessed the cold, efficient savagery you unleashed.

You were hovered in blood, not your own, but the splashes and smears from those you had incapacitated. Your clothes were untidy, your hair a little disheveled, but there was not a drop of sweat on your brow, not a hint of exertion in your posture. You stood amidst the broken bodies and scattered debris, the quiet returning to the square, save for the distant cries of a few fleeing villagers.

The Straw Hats stared at you, their breathing ragged, their own fights now over. The air was thick with the scent of fear, and a new, unsettling aura. You were still their Y/N, the quiet, kind crewmate. But now, they had seen the shadow, the terrifying truth of the killer who had laid dormant. And it was scary.

The square was eerily silent now, save for the distant sounds of alarmed shouts from those villagers who had retreated, too terrified to approach. Some lay groaning on the ground, others were utterly still. They looked at you, the figure now covered in the blood of their family, friends, their eyes wide with unadulterated horror. You were no longer the quiet, unassuming visitor. You were a nightmare made manifest.

It was in this chilling tableau that the Straw Hats saw you commit the final, grotesque act that solidified their terror. A lone villager, bolder or perhaps more desperate than the rest, had stumbled out from behind an overturned stall, a small, desperate cry on his lips. In his hand was a transponder snail, already open, its receiver crackling to life, no doubt attempting to summon help. You turned, a slow, deliberate movement, your eyes locking onto the small device. There was no rage, no malice, just an almost detached calculation.

Before anyone could react, you moved. With a frighteningly swift and precise motion, your hand shot out, not towards the man, but towards the snail. Your fingers closed around the device, crushing it with a sickening crunch. The small receiver let out a final, distorted squeal before dying. Then, with the same casual ease, you brought your fist down, the now-shattered pieces of the transponder snail still embedded in your knuckles, directly onto the man's temple. It was a single, clean strike. He crumpled, unconscious, a faint smear of blood blossoming on the cobblestones. The act was so quick, so devoid of emotion, that it was utterly chilling.

That was the moment the Straw Hats knew. This wasn't just a fight. This was something else entirely. Luffy, his face pale, was the first to murmur, "Run."

Just as you took another step towards a cowering figure huddled behind a well, Zoro moved. He was there in an instant, his hand clamping around your arm, his grip surprisingly gentle yet firm. "That's enough, Y/N," he rasped, his voice low, a mix of warning and something akin to a desperate plea. He didn't ask, he didn't question. He simply pulled you away from your soon-to-be victim, guiding you with an almost desperate urgency.

"Everyone! To the Sunny!" Nami shrieked, already turning and sprinting back the way they came.

The rest of the crew didn't need to be told twice. Luffy, shaking himself from his stupor, bounded ahead. Sanji scooped up a still-dazed Chopper, sprinting after him. Usopp, his earlier fear replaced by a new, profound terror, scrambled after them, Brook hot on his heels. Robin, her eyes still on you, moved with a quiet, efficient speed, her expression unreadable.

You offered no resistance as Zoro pulled you. Your movements were still fluid, your body coiled, but you allowed him to guide you, your eyes still distant, unfocused on the fleeing forms of the villagers, or even on the worried glances of your crew. You were a weapon sheathed, but the terrifying capability still hummed beneath the surface.

As you ran through the stunned silence of the town, the image of your bloody knuckles, the shattered snail, and the unconscious man echoed in the minds of the Straw Hats. They had always thought they knew you. But now, as they fled with the living ghost of a killer in their midst, they knew they had been terribly, terribly wrong.

The dash back to the Sunny was a blur of ragged breaths and pounding feet. The salty sea air, usually so invigorating, now felt heavy, thick with unspoken questions. As the first of the crew scrambled aboard, Franky emerged from the lower deck, grease smeared on his face, a wrench in hand.

"You guys are back early, what—" he began, his booming voice cutting off abruptly as his eyes swept over the group. His gaze snagged on Luffy's slightly bruised face, Usopp's trembling hands, Nami's wide, fearful eyes, and then, finally, landed on you.

You stood on the deck, a silent, stark figure, drenched in blood that wasn’t your own. Streaks of crimson marred your clothes, flecked your hair, even stained the skin of your face and hands. It was a visceral, horrifying sight. Franky’s jaw dropped, the wrench clattering to the deck with a metallic clang. "Holy—" he managed, his voice barely a whisper.

Before anyone else could react, Zoro’s arm was around you, a firm, almost possessive grip that guided you aboard. He didn't say a word, just steered you towards the grass deck, the softest spot on the ship, and gently, but firmly, put you somewhere to sit. You offered no resistance, your body moving with a strange, disconnected compliance.

You were dull. Zoned out. Your eyes, still wide and empty, stared blankly at the railing, seeing nothing. Your mind was not there, lost in some terrifying echo of the past, or perhaps, simply numb.

Chopper was the first to approach, his small hooves padding softly on the deck. "Y-Y/N?" he whispered, his voice trembling. He held out a clean cloth, but you didn't react. It was Nami who gently took the cloth from him and, with a sigh that was more tremor than breath, began to clean you up. She started with your hands, wiping away the dark, sticky residue, her movements slow and deliberate, as if unsure of how much pressure to apply.

Sanji, for once, was silent, hovering nearby, his usual boisterous energy replaced by a profound unease. He watched Nami, then you, a cigarette dangling unlit from his lips. Luffy, having finally caught his breath, plopped down beside you, cross-legged, his usual boisterousness completely absent. He tried a shaky, forced smile. "Hey, Y/N... d-did you see that guy fly when Usopp hit him with a Pop Green? He went, like, whoosh!" His attempt at a joke fell flat, the silence on the deck stretching, thick with unspoken questions and profound worry.

Usopp, still a little pale, tried too. "Y-yeah! And remember when I tripped that big guy? Classic! You know, I'm pretty sure I heard him say 'owwie'!" He even forced a nervous chuckle, but his eyes darted to you, then to the blood-stained deck, then quickly away.

Robin sat a little distance away, observing, her gaze unblinking. She didn't speak, but her posture, usually so relaxed, held a subtle tension. Brook stood beside her, his skull tilted, a silent, profound sorrow in his empty eye sockets. Franky, meanwhile, was still staring, his large hands clenching and unclenching.

No one dared to directly ask what had happened, not when faced with your utter unresponsiveness. They just hovered, their worry palpable, a heavy blanket descending upon the ship. You remained still, a statue carved from trauma, while the kind hands of your crew tried to wipe away the crimson evidence of the monster you had unleashed.

The quiet hum of the Sunny’s engines filled the tense silence, broken only by the gentle lapping of waves against the hull. Nami had finished cleaning your hands, but the blood on your clothes remained, a stark testament to the sudden, brutal shift in your demeanor. Your eyes were still distant, unfocused.

It was Robin who stepped in. She knelt beside you, her movements fluid and unhurried, her voice a soft, steady murmur that cut through the lingering shock. "Y/N," she began, her tone gentle, almost hypnotic. "You did what you had to do. You protected your crew." Her words were a balm, not an accusation. She understood the unspoken truth, the desperate need that had driven you. "It was a difficult situation. They were going to hurt us, weren't they?" A pause, allowing the words to sink in. "You ended the conflict swiftly. Efficiently." She reached out, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder, a gesture of quiet understanding. "You've been through a lot, Y/N. It was a rough fight. You should take a shower and get some rest."

You didn't speak, didn't make eye contact. You simply nodded, a slow, deliberate movement. Then, with a quiet sigh, you rose, your blood-stained clothes clinging to you, and turned towards the women's quarters, presumably to take a shower and find the rest Robin had suggested. The door clicked shut softly behind you, leaving the rest of the crew in a stunned, uncomfortable silence.

The moment the door closed, the dam broke.

"Holy crap," Usopp whispered, his voice trembling. He clapped a hand over his mouth, his face a sickly green. "Did you guys see her? That guy... the one with the snail... she just... she just..." He couldn't finish the sentence, a shiver wracking his body. "We don't kill people! Not like that! We just rough them up, maybe break a few bones, but innocents?! She just... she was like a demon!"

Luffy, unusually subdued, was sprawled on the deck, staring up at the mast. "She was strong," he murmured, almost to himself, a hint of awe in his voice, but also something else – a flicker of confusion. "Really strong."

Sanji finally lit his cigarette, taking a long, shaky drag. "She protected us, you idiots," he snapped, though his own voice lacked its usual fire. "They were going to hurt Nami-san and Robin-chan! Y/N did what was necessary." He exhaled a cloud of smoke, his eyes narrowed. "You saw how they were closing in. We were holding back too much."

"But... the way she did it," Chopper whispered, still clinging to Usopp. "Her eyes... they were empty. Like she wasn't even there."

Zoro, who had been quietly wiping blood from his own clothes, finally spoke, his voice low and gravelly. "She’s always been like that, I bet." Everyone turned to him. "Just saw it for the first time. The real Y/N." He met their gazes, his own steady. "She's not weak. Never was. And she didn't just hurt those guys. She ended them. Fast."

"That's what scares me, you moss-head!" Nami exclaimed, pacing agitatedly. "It was so... cold! We don't fight like that! We're pirates, not murderers of innocent people!"

"They weren't innocent the moment they started attacking us with murderous intent," Sanji retorted, though his defense felt a little hollow, even to him.

Robin, ever calm, finally added, "Y/N has always been a gentle soul. But as I said before, some books are written in a language only a few can understand. Perhaps we've only just begun to read this one." Her gaze lingered on the women's quarters door. There was concern in her eyes, yes, but also a profound, unsettling curiosity.

The air hung heavy with their fear, their concern, and the dawning realization that the quiet, gentle Y/N they knew held a terrifying, deadly secret. What did this mean for their crew? For her? The silence that followed was filled with unspoken questions, questions that, for now, had no answers.

Back in the women's quarters, the small, enclosed space felt oppressive. You stood before the sink, your reflection a distorted mess in the fogged mirror, the crimson smears on your clothes a shocking contrast to the pale fabric. Your fingers, still trembling slightly, fumbled with the buttons of your shirt, then the clasp of your trousers. Each piece of bloodied clothing fell to the floor in a silent heap, a grim testament to the violence you had just unleashed. The cool air on your skin was a stark reminder of the heat that had flared within you.

You stepped into the shower, the spray immediately hot against your skin. You watched, mesmerized, as the water sluiced over your body, carrying with it the red, swirling down the drain in a macabre dance. It was mesmerizing, and horrifying. With each streak of crimson that vanished, another image surfaced, sharp and unwelcome.

The water became the rain on your island, cold and relentless, washing away the blood of the fallen. You saw your brother, his eyes wide and fading, the dark stain on his chest spreading, mirroring the blood now swirling around your feet. You heard his gasping breath, the wet, desperate sound that haunted your every quiet moment. The cries of your island, the screams of the innocent, the metallic tang of fear and death in the air – it all came rushing back, not as distant memories, but as a visceral, present reality.

Your breath hitched. The walls of the shower seemed to close in, the steam thick and suffocating. You squeezed your eyes shut, but the images persisted, playing on the inside of your eyelids: the flash of steel, the desperate scramble, the way the light had caught the glint of a government soldier's bayonet. Your own hands, so small then, stained with a lifetime of violence that had started far too young.

A choked sob tore from your throat, raw and painful. You pressed your palms against the tiled wall, trying to steady yourself, but your legs felt like water. The sobs escalated, rattling through your chest, stealing your breath in ragged gasps. Your vision blurred with tears, the hot water scalding your skin unnoticed. You slid down the wall, collapsing onto the shower floor, curling into a tight ball.

"No… no…" you gasped, the words thin, reedy, lost in the roar of the water. Your chest tightened, a crushing weight making it impossible to draw air. You clawed at your throat, desperate for a breath that wouldn't come. Your body trembled uncontrollably, wracked by the force of the panic attack, a culmination of years of suppressed trauma finally breaking free. The peace you had built around yourself, the quiet, gentle facade, shattered, leaving only the terrified, broken girl who had seen too much, fought too hard, and made a promise she couldn't keep. The blood continued to wash off, but the indelible stains on your soul remained.

The porcelain gleamed, reflecting the harsh fluorescent light of the shower stall. With a raw, guttural cry, you punched the wall, the impact jarring your already trembling body. The dull thud echoed in the small space, a physical manifestation of the turmoil raging within. Sliding down the tiled wall, you collapsed onto the cold, wet floor, your hand pressed hard against your heart, as if to physically contain the frantic drumbeat against your ribs. You broke the promise to your brother—you… you broke it. The words, unspoken, screamed in your mind, each syllable a fresh wound. The image of his fading eyes burned behind your own, accusing and sorrowful.