Juza and Wriothesley Brainrot

Usually, you were the one who came to him. 

Tonight was different. 

Crocodile barged into your shared room, half annoyed, half worried you were home. As your boss, he was a little pissed and a whole lot vexed when you left the grounds of your mission to come back earlier than anticipated. However, as your significant other, he was worried and ready to kill whoever wronged you. 

When he saw you on the bed, sitting with your legs crossed and pouting, the confusion took over him. 

You were a professional. As his top spy, you would never get out of a mission before time unless it was absolutely necessary — in other words, unless you had been caught and unmasked as a Baroque Works employee, which would surely ensue a physical confrontation. And it would have to be a tough one to make you flee. 

Still, you didn’t seem hurt. Only… bothered? 

He raised an eyebrow. Surely there had to be a good reason why you sent a message telling him you were home and needed to meet as soon as possible, if not earlier. When his Den Den Mushi rang and his secretary told him about said message, he stood up and came to you in record time — you wouldn’t disturb him for no good reason. His heart, that he didn’t even know he still had before meeting you, was beating way too fast for a man of his stature and age. 

Your eyes met his and you whined like a child, “I hate it there!”

Oh. Okay. 

That was a first for both you and Crocodile. 

You had been specifically assigned for a mission within the division of the Alabastan army near Rainbase to gather information and report back to your boss — a.k.a. Crocodile. He had chosen you for your discretion and resilience, as well as handy abilities when it came to the military. 

Yet, there you were, as unprofessional as you could get, whining to him. He couldn’t believe his ears. Amused and relieved, he let a half smirk appear, tilting his head, as patronizing as he could get. 

“You hate it there?”, he asked back, approaching you with easy, slow steps. Predatorial. 

You pouted. “The men are smelly and rude, and talk spitting in my face”, you argued, “I hate it”.

It was endearing, really. He stepped closer, closing the space between you and him. He stood tall by the bedside, especially given that you were sitting, and took your chin in his hand, thumb caressing the side of your jaw before all fingers squeezed your face, making you pout more. 

“That’s why you blew the mission and came back early?”, he tilted his head to the side again, eyes sharp, “Because you threw a fit over ill smelling idiots?”

“I didn’t blow the mission”, you tried to say, but he was squeezing you so tight you almost couldn’t. You probably sounded like a child, trying to let out words with a forced pout and lips smushed, “I snuck out”.

That made Crocodile’s grip lighten, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he used his hand to force you upwards by the jaw, making you stand on the bed. Still, even with the extra height from the furniture beneath you, you didn’t quite match him. 

You were so close to his face you could feel his breath on you. He smelled of sand and salt, something familiar and, yet, distant. Your hands immediately came up to his shoulders, using it as leverage both to balance yourself and to feel him some more. After all, you missed your husband dearly.

“You… snuck out?”, his words were careful and calculated. Knowing him, anything could follow that tone. Praise or punishment equally — and truth be told, you would enjoy them both. 

You nodded yes, jaw still encased by his large hand. Heavens, how could a man be so huge? Before you met Crocodile, you had no idea how tall a man could stand. Not only physically, but his very personality made him bigger than others, perhaps even bigger than life. Gravity shifted around him.

It’s no secret you were shocked to your very core upon meeting some of the others Shichibukai. The warlords (and lady) were all physically well-composed, so to say. Doflamingo specifically horrified you with his gigantic figure, but not in the same way Crocodile did. No, he was much more dangerous. You prayed never to cross his path again. 

Crocodile promised, on the day he took you to this meeting some of the Schichibukai attended, that he would never put you in harm's way. At least, not harm from which you couldn’t defend yourself.

But, my, oh my, how could you defend yourself and keep a clear head above your shoulders against disgusting, sweaty, bad mannered young men? It was far too much for your poor, poor heart. 

It wasn’t your fault, really. Crocodile had gotten you used to a life of luxury and not wanting for anything. He spoiled you beyond belief, showering you with riches, luxuries, exquisite cuisine and lingerie. How could he ever expect for you to give that up? Above all, to give up the comfort and safety of his arms? 

Still, every now and then, when he didn’t trust anyone else with a mission, he would put you on the field, but those times were becoming rarer and rarer. 

So, it was his own fault you couldn’t stand your ground around new recruits whilst you tried to charm your way into the General’s war room. You would be much better off just sneaking in and out of said war room than spending days gaining the trust of the squad and infiltrating slowly but surely.

Crocodile didn’t agree. It was more effective to have oblivious informants than to outright steal something in the dead of night. He might not be above killing, torturing and stealing, but only if it gets him somewhere. Never careless, never rushed.

You knew he was right, of course. It didn’t make you any less annoyed, though. 

He lifted an eyebrow in front of you, expecting a response that hadn’t come. 

“Yes, I snuck out”, you admitted again, defeated but relaxed to be home, “They don’t know I’m gone”.

His smirk was growing, dangerous. The way his eyes squinted above his scar was like a lighting bolt straight to your core. 

“I missed you”, he confessed. It wasn’t what you expected — for your husband to appear with words of endearment and affection before your annoying and megalomaniac boss did. 

He knew he took you by surprise when your mouth opened slightly, despite his grip. Letting out a small chuckle, he let go of your face, instead moving his hand and arm to cradle your waist and bring you even closer. 

Your chests bumped, and you felt the warmth radiating off of him. It was like no other feeling to be touched and to touch the man you loved so dearly after weeks apart. Horrific weeks with disgusting teenagers and even more gruesome adults. 

The air was thick with tension and you couldn’t even remember your name as you nodded yes, forgetting your words but still trying to let him know you missed him as well. 

“Is there anyone I need to kill for you, my love?”, his words were sweet as honey as he lowered himself to kiss your neck. His arm pulled you impossibly close, and the arm with the hook began moving slowly next to your leg, caressing gently. 

This time, you nodded no. If there was a need for killing, you would have done it yourself. You were simply overwhelmed at the military base, and you felt the need to come home, to his arms — where you belonged. 

For once, you weren’t running away, but towards something. It felt good.

“So, you came back out of…”, he moved his head to the other side of your neck, showering it with the same affection as the other, “...a whim?”

You stood quiet, surrendering yourself to his ministrations and trying to avoid the matter at hand. To that, Crocodile almost laughed. As if you could ignore his questions. 

The hand on your waist shook you as he stood straight in front of you again, the hook now resting under your chin. He purred your name, and nothing ever sounded as good on his lips quite like it.

“I asked you a question”, the calm in his words was lethal, and you knew it. 

For once, you took no time in answering, “I came back out of a whim”. 

It was true, you did. You might have screwed your operation, although both you and him already knew you probably didn’t — you were just too good. 

But still, there would be consequences. Obviously, and both of you knew it. 

“That was deeply unprofessional of you”, he replied, and the disapprovement almost broke your heart. It didn’t. You liked being bad for him every now and then. “And what happens when you act like a hurried half-witted beginner in a mission that I specifically told you was important and to which I trusted no one but you?”

“Well, it has never happened before”, you tried to joke. After all, you didn't ever find yourself in this situation specifically. Out of pure logic, you wouldn’t know what was the outcome. Of course, playfulness didn’t sit well with a Crocodile on a good day, and it certainly didn’t on a day like this. 

Before you could even process what was happening, your back was already hitting the mattress beneath you. He threw you as delicately as he could, but it was still rough. 

You propped yourself up on your elbows to watch him, and he just raised an eyebrow, taking his fur coat off. 

Even if this — lying in the same bed, undressing — was a personal dynamic, Crocodile was never one to not mix business and pleasure, at least not when it came to you. His life was mostly business, and if he didn’t find a way to scooch in some pleasure, he would never have it. So, if you screwed up in business, you were getting screwed right back. 

Simple. 

It kept both of you more interested in your jobs, too. Not that he needed it. You did sometimes, regardless of the fact that the punishment was so good it almost made you want to fuck up just to earn it more often. 

After you began to settle more and more, happy to reduce your workload of espionage and backstabbing to make way to studying and helping preserve history — an endeavour Miss All Sunday seemed eager to help you with —, those punishments became rarer and rarer. It made sense, yes, but you missed it nonetheless. He did too.

You didn’t take off from the military base because of this. However, it would be a big fat lie to say it didn’t get you all the more excited to come back. 

You wanted nothing more than to take his clothes off and just worship his body, but Crocodile, being his usual self, had different plans. 

He removed his shoes and his scarf, and then he undid his belt in the most unholy way possible. With a whip — accidental or not —, he threw it on the bed, next to you. 

Next thing you knew, you were being pulled by the ankle to the edge of the bed. He had you sat down in front of him, eye level with his crotch, before he had you standing. With swift motions, he removed every layer of your clothing. First, the top. Then, the shoes. Finally, the pants. He was pleased to see that, even in the precarious state of the military base, you still found it in you to wear black, lacy lingerie. 

It wasn’t the most practical on a day to day basis, but when you got dressed today, you knew were going home anyway. No reason to avoid dressing up a little. 

In an act of clear manhandling, which was very common and turned you on immensely, Crocodile, with one hand on your hip, turned you around and positioned you just right on all fours, ass up to him. 

You let out a surprised yelp, trying to adjust yourself on your arms, but Crocodile had other plans.

His hand came down on your ass cheek hard and unforgiving. The force of it caused your body to jolt forward, and you almost lost balance. He did it again, and again. Each time, you couldn’t help the whimpering sounds nor the way your pussy was clenching around nothing. 

When he felt he had done enough, he used his hands to grab a significant amount of your ass cheek and squeeze. It was far more painful than a quick slap, and you could tell by the way he grabbed on to you that he was still holding back. 

Of course that made you go for the kill. 

“S’that all you got, boss?”

You regretted the words as soon as they came out of your mouth. Shit, why did you always do this? Lose your mind around your husband and just tease, forgetting the fact that he was many years your senior and much larger, taller and experienced than you. 

The chuckle he let out was pure evil. 

You heard his trousers drop to the floor, and although you didn’t even have time to turn around and see his face, you could tell he looked wicked. All was quiet for a beat, and then a sound of spit was heard amidst the night. 

Your gigantic husband pushed you down on the bed, laid on your stomach. The hook came between your legs, parting them open, and then slowly, teasingly, almost dangerously, it was opening your folds. The cold metal caused you to shiver, but the excitement and anticipation warmed you up. 

You felt the mattress beneath you dipping a little due to Crocodile supporting his knees on either side of your legs. It was all really fast, but yet, it wasn’t hasty. Without any warning, you felt the tip of his cock on your entrance. Just the feeling of his tip was nearly too much. You missed him far too much to stay sane right now. 

Even though he was a huge man with a proportionally huge dick, you still could take it. He was made for you to take, and you were made for him. 

Inch by torturous inch, he pushed himself into you. You were moaning and mumbling nonsense the whole damn time, unable to hold yourself back. One of your hands reached back towards him, and he just took your wrist and pinned it on your lower back. 

“Did you almost blow your cover to get fucked, hm?”

It wasn’t like Crocodile to use such dirty words. He preferred elegance — he might be a pirate, a warlord and a criminal, but at least he is a classy one. The fact that he was thoughtfullessly teasing you was a sign of just how badly he wanted this too.

“Fuck me”, you whispered, almost crying. 

His body lowered, so he was almost laying atop of you, squeezing all of you into the mattress. You were a fraction of his weight and height, so it wouldn’t be hard to do so. Yet, you felt so deliciously full you couldn’t care less.

His lips found their way to the shell of your ear, and you could feel his breath slightly short. 

This was where you two belonged, you were sure of it. You couldn’t ever leave this man’s arms without making him feel empty, and he could never leave you without also leaving behind an emptiness in your body and soul. 

He kissed your ear with such care you almost forgot the brutal spanking a couple of minutes before — almost.

You knew he was being softer and letting you adjust to the size of him because it’d been a while, but you didn’t care. You meant it when you said it: you needed to get fucked into oblivion.

You rolled your hips the best you could beneath him, making sure to squeeze his length too. He groaned in your ear, and you weren’t really sure he was annoyed or turned on. Probably both.

“You little minx”, he punctuated each word with a sharp, deep thrust, still laying on you. You yelped at each movement, because he was just so thick and going so deep. Unbelievably so.

His hips crashed against yours with so much force you felt like he was trying to fuck you into merging with him. 

The hook was used to support his body a little higher, giving you room to breathe — not that you needed it, of course. All you needed was him. Him, him, him. 

He stood on his knees, leaving your body for a second. That caused the saddest little cry to fall out of your lips before you could help it. He shushed you, turning you over so you laid stomach up. 

“Shh, dear”, he whispered, and even though he was further from you than before, you heard him perfectly. The look in his eyes was of pure devotion, even if he still thought you did wrong by leaving your post. Baroque Works could wait when he had you in bed, warm and sweet and real and all his. 

He pulled you closer again, sticking your legs up, knowing how much you enjoyed this variation of missionary. With both your legs up, your body almost in a L shape, he pushed his cock into you again, holding back a moan. He was Sir Crocodile, after all, he could not let his wife’s thigh pussy make him moan pathetically. 

Although, if anything could bring this man down to his knees, it was the pleasure he found between your thighs.

Your legs fell forward to his shoulders, and your hand instinctively found its way to your clit. The depth you could feel him in this position was enough to drive you insane, and with just a little help, you would have a mind blowing orgasm. 

Crocodile, obviously, was aware of it. 

When he saw your hand moving south, he just slapped it out of the way. He wanted your high to come from him alone, he was just possessive like that.

You whimpered in both frustration and arousal, wanting to get off, needing it more than you needed air itself. 

He let his body lower, chest against yours, whilst your legs still rested atop his shoulders. His movements grew slower, more controlled as he took charge of your pleasure. 

Crocodile, despite common belief, was a simple man. Staying close to you, feeling the heat of your body and tightness of your pussy was enough to send him to Heaven. He had missed your body every cold desert night you were away on the mission. Every thrust, he was closer to his release. 

However, and this was according to common belief, he was proud. There was no way he’d ever let himself cum before you.

He angled his hips so his body could press onto your cunt and apply some pressure where you needed it. The new sensation made the unholiest of moans to come out of your lips. So pretty, he thought. How very his you were at this moment. 

The hook pressed down on the mattress, and how unfortunate for your silk sheets, but Crocodile needed to stop himself from putting all his weight atop of you. He kept thrusting, hitting that one spot that made you clench around him and roll your eyes back in pleasure.

Then, his hail mary — he opened one of your legs to the side with his hook, letting him see your entire puffy pussy. The sight of him leaving and then entering you was beyond delicious. He took advantage of the new position to play with your clit, drawing small circles and pressing on it like you would with your own fingers. 

After all this time together, he knew your body and knew just how you liked it — not only stimulation on your clit, but deep, hard thrusts, the kind that left you sore in the morning. 

Many things could be said about Crocodile, but no one could deny his devotion — to his goals, to his work, and above all else, to you.

Despite his bullying of your pussy, so intense and so deep, he still looked at you with a very specific care. He would hurt you, spank you, do the dirtiest things, all while his eyes simply could not lie. He adored you.

You came hard looking into his eyes, and he didn’t stop moving for a second, prolonging your orgasm and already loud moans. 

He owned the place. His wife could scream in pleasure all she wanted. 

One finger stayed on your clit as he thrusted into you. You were coming down from your high and it was almost too much already, but you couldn’t ask him to stop, even on the brink of overstimulation, because it just felt so good. 

His movements became slopier and even deeper. Every time he watched as his cock claimed you, and heard as you whimpered for him, he got closer and closer to the edge. 

With a grunt amidst quick thrusts, he came inside you, spilling all of him as deep as humanly possible. You took full advantage of his vulnerable state and wrapped your legs around his hips, bringing him into a semi-hug as your pussy milked him for all he was worth. 

His hook came down besides your head, and you could tell, even in the haze after an orgasm, that he was controlling himself not to let his entire weight fall on you.

Screw that. 

You pulled him closer, impossibly deeper in your cunt and head finding refuge in the crook of your neck. Screw his weight crushing your organs, you needed this — to feel all of him. 

Contentment flooded through you. Oh, how you missed this. You hadn’t even been gone for a month and it was torture.

He happily murmured into your neck, in a very out of character manner. Both your arms hugged him, caressing his large back. 

“So…”, you said after a few minutes, as he was still inside of you, mischief clear in your voice, “I’m off the hook for playing rookie?”

He lifted his head and, oh, boy, if looks could kill. You just laughed at your scary husband and even scarier boss, fully aware that you were the only person in the whole world who would get away with the pun and for screwing up a mission. 

He wouldn’t dignify your schoolyard taunts with a response. You felt his body rise and fall on your side, and you couldn’t help the little moan of sadness in losing such an intimate contact. Him being inside of you, even if without moving, already soothed your nerves and brought immense happiness. 

Perhaps one could call it dependency, but your husband’s dick was just that good. 

“You don’t have to go back”, he finally whispered, after a few minutes. It was the dead of night, and you two still were laying in bed together after he fucked you into the mattress.

You turned to your side, looking at him. He was looking up towards the ceiling, stoic and seemingly disinterested — which you knew he wasn’t.

“I know”, you replied, falling onto your back, “I will go because it’s important. And I will come back because you’re even more important”.

There, in the silence, bodies naked and covered with sweat, he took your hand. Gentle, almost a phantom of a touch. 

“And also because I appreciate hygiene and perfume", you added, joking. That good a small huff out of him. 

He tended to be serious after sex, taking aftercare and your wellbeing with the utmost thoughtfulness. It was good to lighten the mood, as Crocodile could get deep into his head and lose focus on the present. 

You schooched your body towards him, finding a place to worm into and lay your head on his chest. There, you pressed a kiss to his pecs.

He just hummed. 

“I love you”, you said, looking at his face, searching for his eyes — and there they were. The entrance to the soul. There was so much truth in that glare, you didn’t need to hear his answer.

You knew it in your bones. 

“You’re not off the hook yet, miss”, he replied, hand coming to squeeze your butt. “You’ll have to work for it all night before going back on the field”.

You let out a tiny scream, climbing off of him to try to run away. Before you could catch it, he was already hiding his smile beneath his serious façade. 

You raised an eyebrow, already knowing how that would end. “Hopefully not near your regular paperwork.”

“If somebody finds it while digging through my personal belongings, I won’t even need to reprimand them. The embarrassment would be punishment enough.”

“Or you’re going to be asked why your informant is sending such dirty letters.”

“It’s written in code,” he said as though it was the simplest answer in the world.

You laughed quietly. “One hell of a code. Maybe we should continue using it for this conversation too? Might be fun.”

Sabo laughed and kissed you properly, his breath warm where it mingled with yours. “Business first. Before I’m accused of being distracted.”

He tried to move back but you caught the edge of cravat between your fingers before he could. He let you pull him in for a second kiss, one that lingered even longer than the first.

“To tide me over,” you told him.

“Come on,” he said though he didn’t move away from you. “I’ve already started a fire at the house. It should be warming the room up nicely so you don’t freeze anymore. And we should probably stop blocking the main road through the marketplace.”

You pecked him once more for good luck before you stepped away.

The walk itself was familiar. You’d visited this island before and often enough that it might even compromise your position but you found little true care about that. Sabo’s hand brushed the small of your back whenever the crowds thickened too heavily, guiding you through the streets with certainty while you stole glances at him that made him smile.

He hadn’t been lying. The safehouse was warm enough that the chill clinging to your sleeves began to loosen the moment you stepped inside, the low crackle of firewood filling the small room that held not much more than a tiny kitchen, a couch, and a bed tucked too close to everything else. You slipped your shoes off near the door while Sabo shrugged his coat from his shoulders and tossed it carelessly over the blankets, already crouching near the fireplace to coax the flames higher.

You wandered closer, grateful for the warmth. “You’re becoming more domestic the more I leave you alone.”

“I’ve been practising,” he said with a proud smile. “Cooking too. Koala’s been my taste tester.”

“Send her my sympathies.”

“You’ve said my cooking is good,” he protested as he stood.

“Lying is quite literally my job.”

You smiled despite yourself and followed him to the couch, settling firmly against his side the moment he sat. He rested an arm loosely around your waist and for a second, you let yourself sit there without thinking about reports or uniforms or the base waiting for you across the sea. There was only the crackling fire, the weight of him beside you, and the warmth slowly working its way back into your hands.

Then Sabo sighed, his voice slipping into the more clipped and formal tone he used in meetings. “I did have a reason to request we meet up,” he said. “Your last letter concerned me. There’s potential trouble with your cover?”

“My commanding officer,” you said. “Has propositioned me twice now.”

“He has?”

You nodded, a slight cold slipping under your skin despite the heat from the fireplace. “I’ve not outwardly rejected it yet because it might provide a good opportunity. With the right sway, I can have access to private records.”

Sabo tapped his fingers against your hip, expression unreadable. “That could work,” he said. “But it would be a dangerous escalation. You’d have to create a pattern before taking anything to avoid suspicion.”

You didn’t like it and you’d be a fool to think he would either.

“It would ruin everything if I was caught,” you said. “I’m thinking I just continue with regular integration.”

“The only difference will be the speed. You might gain more ground if you play into it but you’ve gotten far without needing this kind of sway.”

You hummed and adjusted your seat, pushing closer into his side and wishing, just for a second, that there was nothing to be gained from being inside this marine base. That you could say to hell with it and make your way back into your warm bed.

“Unfortunately, there is one other problem,” you said. “I’m getting the idea that I might end up transferred if I reject it.”

Sabo’s expression twisted. “That’s considerably more problematic.”

“I know.”

He ran his fingers along the side of your body, tracing patterns along your hip as he thought. “You’re the best person for us to have in that base but… there are limits to what we can ask of you. This isn’t worth it.”

“I didn’t think so either but I knew I should mention it to somebody.”

Technically, it shouldn’t have been Sabo. You had a reporting officer in the army who you were meant to transmit your information through but if there was even a chance of being recommended to go for it… so you’d sent a letter with just the right prompts to get him here.

His fingers dug into the flesh of your leg slightly, grip surprisingly tight. “Well, then we’ll have to let you get transferred and see what happens.”

“I’ll put it through on your orders?”

He nodded. “If they ask why you came through me, I’ll tell them the situation required immediate reassessment.”

You knew from the moment the first sleazy comment was made that choices be damned, it wouldn’t happen. You wouldn’t do that when you had Sabo who, though you’d never defined him as anything, was so clearly yours that it hurt. He dropped his head to your shoulder, staring into the flames.

“It would be potentially compromising either way,” you said. “But I’ll send through the update once I’ve openly rejected him.”

He pressed a small kiss to your shoulder. “Good. A small delay is hardly the biggest problem we’ve faced with this base. As long as you keep your foot in the door, everything will work out fine.”

“I’m sure of it,” you asserted. Then, with a slight nudge, you smiled at him. “Business talk finished.”

“Absolutely.”

By the time you woke the next morning, sunlight spilled weakly through the curtains; pale gold stretching across tangled blankets and the still-glowing embers of the fireplace. You argued with your own sleep-addled thoughts to get up.

But Sabo’s arm was heavy across your waist and his breathing stirred softly against your back and you struggled to try and get up.

You finally urged yourself awake but the moment you moved, his grip around you tightened insistently and dragged you back to him.

“Not yet,” he mumbled, half-asleep.

“I don’t yet have the rank to make a ship wait for me,” you teased.

He sighed but his hold on you relented just enough for you to turn over and see the golden strands messed over his face. You brushed your thumb beneath one of his eyes lightly. “Did you not sleep at all?” you asked.

“I tried,” he said, muffled by a yawn. “But I didn’t want to waste time.”

You laughed softly. “You’re so cute.”

“I’m your boss.”

“Not right now.”

By the time you finished dressing, Sabo had finally dragged himself upright properly. He raked one hand through messy blond hair and kept yawning. The temptation to slip back into bed with him was far greater than it had any right to be.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot,” he muttered. “In my coat, there’s a little box. It’s for you.”

You reached into the pockets, soon finding the box he was talking about. Inside, a locket sat, round and gold-edged with enough wear along the metal to suggest it wasn’t new. He watched your hands rather than your face, as though your reaction mattered more than he wanted to admit.

“It can be a necklace or attach anywhere else,” he said. “Good for keeping important things on you.”

You flipped it over in your fingers. A pretty gift but it felt a little too heavy. “Do I want to know what’s inside?”

“Insurance. In case you need me.”

You didn’t open it yet, just dropped it into your pocket and gave up, crawling onto the bed to kiss him again until you physically could not stay any longer.

By the time you returned to your base, warmth still lingered beneath your skin and your mouth kept threatening to curve whenever you weren’t paying attention. The polite decline may have come off a little harsher than you meant for it to. You were reassigned that very day with a smile far too pleasant to mean anything good.

Technically, it wasn’t even that much of a punishment.

You were still in the same base but in a different division with a different commanding officer and all the work you’d put into your potential advancement was gone. You would be restarting again… but your careful work wasn’t entirely derailed. Just adjusted.

You fixed the collar of your uniform as you received your introduction to the unfamiliar halls of the new base section. Not entirely unfamiliar – you’d walked this area before.

He was strict, certainly, but not needlessly cruel. He corrected mistakes without raising his voice and seemed more interested in order than punishment. He seemed very committed to making sure every one of his subordinates was functioning well and that type of acknowledgement was dangerous for you.

The worry followed you for most of the afternoon while you filled out paperwork and got your new division orders.

And while you were signing the last document, something felt like it bit your leg.

Your hand immediately dropped to your pocket where you felt a small vibration and you bowed your head toward the officer watching you sign, handed over all your documents, and immediately hurried away.

There was an office here that you knew was often used by the head nurse and her favourite officer when they met up which meant one very important thing: no cameras.

From inside the locket, a baby transponder snail hummed quietly.

You frowned and brought it to your ear, already fighting the urge to smile. This was a no-contact job and yet…

“Hello,” you said. “This is unexpected.”

“Hi,” Sabo’s voice came through, clear and not even pretending to be surprised. “Did things go as expected?”

You hummed, strolling through the office toward the glass window. “You gave me a transponder snail?”

“I was concerned there might be worse consequences for your rejection,” he said. “And you might need an escape route.”

“I have one of those.”

You had several actually. Throughout your time integrating into this base, you’d set up a thousand contingency plans. But nobody suspected anything strange about you. This little snail could easily change that.

“I know,” he said. “But another one can’t hurt. So, you’re okay?”

“I am,” you said. “I’ve been reassigned but not moved away from this base, just put under a new officer. There’s no real room for growth but I’ll look for another transfer out. I’m safe.”

“Good,” he said. “Keep me updated when you can.”

You paused. You certainly weren’t meant to talk about the Revolutionary Army openly which meant… you laughed softly to yourself. “Keep you updated about just what’s going on? Nothing else.”

“Nope. You can send the regular updates still. This is… more of a personal channel.”

“This is why I say you’re cute.”

He coughed, probably blushing on his ears like he so often did. You could see it in your mind and the thought made your heart throb a little.

“I have to return to work soon,” you said, already dreading moving away from his voice. “I’ll keep you updated as things change.”

“Do you have a private room?”

“No, I’m sharing with others but don’t worry, I know this building well enough to escape their eyes for a while.”

“Okay, that’s good… and you’ve eaten right?”

You giggled softly to yourself, catching a glimpse of your own reflection in the window. “Yes, I’ve eaten. We don’t often skip meals even with transfers.”

“I’m just being sure.”

His voice was making your heart ache worse. Even before, the separation had worn on you but now it felt harder than ever to be so far away when all you wanted to do was hug him and tell him not to worry so much.

“I’ll speak to you later,” you said.

“Right. Of course. Be safe.”

“Always.”

The young snail had clearly been taught to call silently but unfortunately, that meant it tended to bite you rather than make a sound. You were already drifting off when it did so a few evenings later, sharp little teeth pinching through the edge of your nightwear and dragging you back to yourself. With a muffled curse, you slipped from bed and padded down the dark corridors until you found a storeroom shoved full of haphazard furniture.

A large mirror leaned against the wall, half-covered by a grey sheet. In the dim light, your own reflection looked softer than it had any right to look in a Marine base, hair mussed from sleep and mouth already threatening to smile before you even lifted the snail to your ear.

“Evening, sir.”

Sabo chuckled, a low sound that sent warmth through your stomach. “Hey.”

It was far too dangerous to be able to hear him like this and not have him close enough to touch. The cold air around your shoulders felt worse than ever.

“Are you just calling to say hi or is something wrong?” you asked, only partially teasing.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, the sound making it far too obvious that you’d caught him out. “I… All my other transponder snails stopped working this morning because I forgot to feed them. I figured I should check in. Just in case you needed something but couldn’t contact me when they were down.”

“Aw, you always forget to feed the poor things,” you said with a small laugh. “I should leave you with a note next time I go.”

“I’d probably still forget, honestly. I think that one’s probably very happy to be with you.”

“I’m certainly happy to have it,” you admitted.

Maybe it was a potential hazard for your actual mission but you couldn’t help yourself. It was nice to not feel so alone in this sterile base.

“I did tell Koala I lost it by the way. If she asks. It’s technically not approved so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention it.”

“You gave me an unauthorised device?” you asked though you’d already known that. “Should I be worrying about your standards slipping?”

“Technically it’s your fault for distracting me.”

You laughed again, quieter this time to avoid the sound from carrying beyond the room. The mirror across from you caught the expression before you could school it away entirely and you found you looked far too fond for your own good.

A moment of melancholy passed through you as you noticed just how alone you were in the room.

“How’s the new division?” Sabo’s voice cut through your brief sadness with ease.

“Strict,” you answered. “Efficient too. Everybody walks around here looking more disappointed than usual but it’s nothing too interesting.”

“Sounds like the average marine experience.”

You hummed and leaned. “The only problem is my commanding officer is far more competent here. Not in the same way but… he notices things more. Less full of himself than the previous one which could be a problem in the future.”

“Then you need to be more careful with these calls.”

“I’m careful with everything I do,” you laughed. “Should I continue writing you letters though? If we’ll speak through here?”

There was a moment of hesitation on his side. “I looked forward to every one but if they’re more observant, you shouldn’t risk it. There’s a chance it caused the interest from your last officer given how detailed you are in them.”

You pressed your lips together. “I know letters can be checked but I don’t think that’s what made him feel so entitled.”

“Still.”

“He… was also interested before that. He just didn’t make any blatant comments before so I could ignore it.”

Silence fell for a while. “Can you try being less pretty?”

“Sabo!” you laughed.

“I’m just saying,” he said with a slight chuckle. “I should have considered giving the job to somebody less attractive.”

“You’re just saying that because you find me pretty.”

“I really do,” he admitted far too easily.

Outside the storeroom, footsteps passed down the corridor and you instinctively lowered your voice further. “I should head back soon. They might notice I’m gone.”

“Right.” His voice softened slightly. “I just wanted to make sure everything’s alright.”

You ran your fingers over your arm. “Everything’s alright, I promise.”

“Good.”

Neither of you hung up.

You tried to bring yourself to do so but being able to speak to him was filling a gap in your chest you didn’t know had been there. “Is this really for emergencies?” you asked. “Or am I allowed to call you again tomorrow?”

“I’ll wait for your call.”

“You’re getting clingier,” you teased. “Should I get concerned?”

“Only if you plan on getting rid of me.”

“Never.” You rose from your seat, brushing dust from your nightwear. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he agreed. Then, after the smallest pause, “Just make sure you get enough sleep, alright?”

“Is that an order?”

“Absolutely.”

Your smile softened before you reached for the door handle. “Goodnight, Sabo.”

“Goodnight.”

It turned into a routine with frightening speed. You crept out every night at the same time like a child sneaking into the kitchen, bare feet quiet against cold floors as you searched for whichever room the base had forgotten about that day. Then you whispered and laughed in the dark while pretending to talk business.

Then one day, while you were filing records, the snail stuck its head out to nip at your chest and you stood.

“Bathroom,” you said to your colleague.

The other marine barely looked up from his own work as you stepped out, panicking briefly as you searched for a safe spot. You finally found an interior balcony and stepped out, closing the door behind you and praying nobody was around before you reached for the snail.

“Hi,” you said. “It’s a bit of a bad time.”

“Sorry,” Sabo said and your panic smoothed so quickly it was embarrassing. “But did you feel anything strange happen?”

“Strange how?”

“There was an earthquake on an island close to yours. It sounded like it was quite sizeable.”

You shook your head and looked out over the base where everything appeared irritatingly normal. Grunts crossed the courtyard below carrying weapons while somebody shouted drill orders near the training grounds. “Nothing out of the ordinary here. Was it serious?”

“I don’t know. It’s not really our business but…”

“But you wanted to check in?”

There was silence for a second before Sabo sighed. “I don’t know if giving you that snail was a great choice or a mistake,” he said with a brisk laugh.

“Should I stop answering to let you acclimatise to not hearing my voice again?”

“Please don’t.”

You smiled and turned your attention up toward the churning grey clouds overhead. It was probably going to rain later that day.

You rested your elbows against the railing. “Nothing happened here,” you reassured. “No earthquakes. I’ll ask about it though.”

“Good,” he said.

“You worry too much, do you know that?”

“I wasn’t worried.”

“Liar.”

“Fine, maybe a little but I – ”

Whatever he was saying got cut short when the balcony door behind you creaked open. The sound scraped straight down your spine. You turned too quickly, heart slamming painfully against your ribs as your commanding officer stepped onto the balcony and stopped short at the sight of you.

You closed your hand tightly around the little snail, breaking the connection before Sabo’s voice could betray you.

“Sir,” you said smoothly, hoping your expression looked calmer than you felt.

His gaze lingered on you briefly before it flicked toward your strangely raised hand. “Everything alright?”

“Fine,” you answered easily. “I just needed some air. Though I felt the ground move a little.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “There was an earthquake nearby so perhaps you felt the edges of it. Don’t stay out here too long.”

And then he left.

When you called Sabo back later that evening, it was to learn he had already started mapping extraction routes. You explained what had happened between soft laughs, promising you were okay and nobody suspected a thing.

If you’d continued being careful, you were sure you could continue with the snail indefinitely.

But at some point, you forgot he wasn’t meant to be part of your daily routine.

You were busy carrying supplies through the hallways toward the evening’s end when the snail nudged awake. Without anybody around you, you didn’t waste time looking for privacy and just brought it to your ear.

“Hey,” you said. “You’re not keeping to our schedule.”

“I’ve got a meeting later so I didn’t want to miss our call,” he said. “And I had an important question.”

“Mm? What’s it about?”

There was an entirely too-long pause before he answered. “I heard that standard-issue blankets in the marines are quite bad,” he said. “And it’s winter so I don’t want you getting cold. Do you need us to send you some?”

The absurdity of the question made you laugh. “These excuses are getting weaker.”

“I’m worried you won’t sleep well tonight,” he continued. “You’ve sounded exhausted all week and I don’t want you getting too tired. It might cause mistakes.”

“You’re one to talk about poor sleep schedules.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.” Your grip shifted slightly on the reports in your arms. “It’s just been a long few days.”

The hallway remained quiet around you, your footsteps echoing softly against the floorboards.

“Too long,” he mused.

“Mm, I miss you,” you said, the words slipping out honestly in your exhaustion. “Hearing your voice every night is very addicting.”

Silence answered you briefly from the other side of the line. “…Yeah?”

You smiled faintly to yourself, slowing near the corner of the hall. “It’s annoying actually. You’ve made me terribly attached.”

“You have no idea what that does to me. I’m trying very hard not to come see you. Been fighting the urge the whole week.”

You smiled helplessly at the floor for a second before turning the corner and stopping dead.

Your commanding officer stood almost directly in front of you, a document held loosely in one hand. He had been reading it, or pretending to, but your voice had clearly caught his attention.

For one horrible second, nobody moved. The hallway felt much longer than it had a moment ago.

Then his eyes shifted slowly toward the transponder snail tucked against your ear.

“Sir,” you said, attempting professionalism despite the fact that your commanding officer had almost certainly overheard enough to know what was going on.

“And who exactly would you be speaking to?”

You hesitated before you removed the snail from your ear, placing it carefully into your palm to show him.

“He’s my…”

You trailed off, the commanding officer staring at you, waiting for an answer. You could have said he was your brother. Could have offered family as an excuse.

But instead, you covered the microphone and sighed. “He’s an old friend,” you said. “I’ve been in love with him for years but… I’ve never told him.”

Sabo made a soft cough on the other side of the transponder snail because covering it didn’t really hide your voice and he could definitely hear you. You tapped against it playfully as though encouraging him to stay quiet.

The officer’s expression softened, just a tad. “It’s very much against regulation for you to have this, you know.”

“I understand sir.”

He sighed. “I should write you up for having this but… I suppose you’re lucky I’m a bit of a romantic. If you fill out a request form, I can authorise it as a personal family line. After hours only. If I hear it during work again, I confiscate it.”

Oh?

“Really?” you asked. “Sir, if you’re certain…”

He smiled and gave you a wink. “I overheard enough to understand the situation. Tell your lover boy he can call after official hours and not before.”

You flushed a little and lifted your earpiece, slipping it back into your ear. He nodded to you and continued walking, leaving you alone in the hall. “Did you hear all that? Looks like being overprotective can get you places.”

Sabo chuckled softly. “Overprotective?”

“Do you think you were being subtle?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I missed you enough that I’m not sure I care anymore.”

“I suppose you ought to find a mission somewhere nearby. I’m starting to think I might be able to get some free time to see my lover boy.”

“Whenever you want. Two hours, if I leave now.”

“You’re that close?”

“Maybe.”

“Sabo?”

“See you then,” he said, softer than before. “And, for the record, I love you too.”

“Sabo!” The call went dead, leaving you frozen in the hallway with your heart beating far too loudly for such a quiet place. Then you laughed to yourself but surprisingly, it didn’t feel so alone anymore.

Establishing a solid presence in the town would allow less hostility from these groups. Especially if no trouble was caused.

Although, you did notice something interesting.

As you walked from the port, you saw further along the coast, where two pirate ships docked. Their flags waved in the wind; one recognisable and the other much less so.

That concerned you.

Whitebeard had a pretty strong foothold in this part of the ocean but he had yet to expand his reach to this island. Though this, at least, appeared to be a small scouting ship and it was unlikely to carry too much trouble.

Your men stopped behind you, following your gaze over the waves.

“Pirates,” you told them. “Avoid them. They are not our business.”

Hesitation flashed through a few of the younger men and you gave them a stern look before you dismissed them. You shed your coat as you made your way through the town, steps clipping gently against the ground.

Beyond the harbour, vineyards climbed the rolling hills in neat green terraces, olive trees twisting silver beneath the afternoon sun. A weathered watchtower overlooked it all from the cliffs, unmoving against the blue sky, as though even it had grown lazy beneath the heat.

You found a quaint coffee shop and bought yourself a small drink, taking a seat in the back corner of the patio to look through the vine-wrapped terraces.

The clock on the wall gave you an hour before you had to work and your coat hung loosely over the back of your chair.

But, as your unfortunate assumption proved correct, your peace couldn’t last.

A gunshot cracked across the town like split timber. Another answered it almost immediately, then three more in quick succession. An explosion rolled through the narrow streets hard enough to rattle the café windows, sending birds scattering from the rooftops. The coffee shop’s window rattled and you sighed, lowering your cup back down and standing.

You walked toward the gunfire while everyone else fled it. Panicked townsfolk streamed past in waves, shoulders colliding, baskets abandoned where they fell, children crying as parents dragged them onward. The crowd broke around you like water around stone.

The market square had become almost unrecognisable. Stalls burned where they stood, striped awnings collapsing into the flames. Smoke drifted heavily around the fountain at the square's centre, swallowing whole sections of the fight before revealing them again in flashes of steel and gunfire.

You stopped right as a spray of bullets flew past, looking around what had once been a market. Smoke and flame curled heavily across a small fountain in the center, blocking you from even seeing who was firing at who.

White coats caught your attention.

A small group of your men were crouched behind one of a cluster of scorched crates, their guns aimed toward the market stalls. You could see the crack of fire shooting back. And in amongst it all, familiar faces – identifiable through their bounties and the marks they bore.

Joyful. It would appear Whitebeard’s men were there too.

Though they had no interest in your men, their swords and guns aimed toward the other crew. Blades met beside the fountain.

One of the marines turned his gun to the swordsmen as you approached and you kicked his barrel hard, sending the shot into the ground. Their heads immediately snapped toward you.

“What are you doing?”

“Sir!”

You didn’t bother ducking behind cover as you looked down on them.

“I told you not to engage with pirates!”

“We thought they had taken a civilian hostage,” one managed to stammer out.

“Thought?” you repeated, the word alone annoying you. “Based on what?!”

No answer came.

Your jaw tightened. Before you could press forward, a blunderbuss roared from across the square and you jumped away, ducking behind a wall.

Fire erupted across the street in one sweeping wave, heat striking your face a heartbeat before the flames themselves roared past. The stone beneath them blackened instantly, smoke curling upward in shimmering sheets.

You turned your head toward the source and sighed. Perfect. Fire Fist Ace. Because you had been hoping for some low-level scouting group.

But he hadn’t aimed it at your marines. The flames cut the unfamiliar crew off from a group of civilians huddled inside one of the nearby shops.

Your men hadn’t resumed firing. They stared between you and the pirates as though waiting for somebody to form their thoughts for them.

Wonderful.

You’d somehow been assigned an entire group of school children.

“I think,” you said, very careful to phrase your words without snapping, “That you should focus your efforts on the enormous number of civilians caught up in this. I do not want collateral on this mission. I have enough paperwork with this alone.”

They startled into movement and you pulled out your snail as a tear of gunshots exploded at the wall by your side.

You were going to file so many complaints about the group you’d gotten this time. Overeager children always caused you trouble and you despised babysitting. Ideally, whatever dispute the Whitebeard Pirates had with this group would have been left to them to organise. But they had not been fighting before your arrival.

And you had an idea what caused it.

You stepped out the way of crumbling debris as flames engulfed the wall beside you, still looking over the battlefield to try and squint through it all.

“Sir!”

You turned your head toward the shout. A group of your regular squadron members had arrived, their coats barely clipped together properly.

“What?”

“Orders?”

You waved them off. “Use your heads! I don’t need to nanny you.”

A sound tipped you off and you stepped closer to one of the damaged buildings, looking behind the rubble to find a civilian woman shaking nervously. You caught her beneath the arm before she could stumble over the fallen stone, steadying her long enough for her breathing to return.

Behind her, two children huddled beneath a collapsed beam while an elderly man struggled to drag himself clear of the rubble. Your squad understood before you spoke. They spread into a rough corridor through the smoke, ushering civilians through.

Fire Fist wasn't the only one throwing flames around. You could see him holding his ground against one of the pirates while an eruption of flame grew from the smoke. It seemed the other crew were contributing to all this nonsense.

You took a step and stopped dead, hearing the sound over the shouting.

A fuse.

You covered your ears as a cannon roared from far too close. Stone exploded outward. The blast rattled your teeth. Before the cannonball could plough into the crowd, a twisting column of fire caught it mid-flight, forcing molten iron sideways into a ruined wall.

Was that one of yours?

You turned to look for the source but it was far too chaotic to make out. If you returned to your ship and found so much as one cannonball missing, you would be giving new meaning to the term disciplinary action.

Boots thundered against the cobbled streets, dozens of them, the rhythm echoing between buildings before the men themselves appeared through the smoke. You pulled out your transponder snail to talk, stomping out a flame by your foot.

“What are you lot doing?”

“Moving in to surround, sir. We’ll contain the square and prevent the danger from spreading outwards.”

Shit.

They were right to do it and you could hardly order them not to. But knowing your company, they wouldn’t easily distinguish between pirate crews. Whitebeard’s men were targets by existing and any marine would see value in bringing them in. Without considering the international incident that might follow.

And if it started because of your men, earlier than the allocated time you’d been given to conduct your operation…

“The majority are on the west side,” you said. “The guarantee of a few is far better than losing them all because of greed.”

“Sir?”

You didn’t answer. It wasn’t technically an order.

Just a very strong suggestion you knew they would follow.

Then you stepped between two abandoned carts, ducked beneath a splintered beam, and stepped over one of your men being dragged away by his fellows. He was breathing. You saw his injuries as consequence enough.

Whitebeard’s crew were smaller than the other group in number but you still didn’t risk getting too close before you raised your voice to them.

“Is this a territorial dispute?”

Fire Fist turned immediately, as did at least three of the others. They readied their weapons but you kept your hands purposefully away from your own gun.

There was a second where you waited for a response and then he grinned beneath the brim of that ridiculously bright hat, easy as could be. “That’s one way of putting it!”

“Lucky day for you then,” you said. “Retreat to the east. My men came prepared for devil fruit users.”

He looked toward the west side now where the sound of boots were louder than ever. They had taken your suggestion to heart and thus, the Whitebeard Pirates had an escape. And you avoided a potential incident with a very high stakes crew.

He nodded to you. “Fall back! Marines!”

Even as he shouted, you heard the sound of the net cannons fire. The Whitebeards fell back quickly. One by one, they broke away from the fight, retreating through the smoke and confusion as the first ranks of marines surged into the square and fell atop the others.

“They’re running for it!”

“Don’t let them – ”

A pistol cracked. Fire Fist didn’t even flinch as the bullet passed harmlessly through his shoulder in a burst of flame. He answered their shots with a sweep of fire that forced them back long enough for the last of his men to start disappearing down the street.

“I’ll catch up!” he called out for them.

You had to resist the urge to sigh. He didn’t need to cover their escape when you’d basically handed it to them.

A net was fired through the flame. It arced through the air as you drew your pistol and fired. Your shot hit the weight at the end and sent it spirally off course, crashing into the ground before it could touch him.

Fire Fist blinked at you and you holstered your pistol again.

“Do you not know the word retreat?”

“That was a good shot,” he said, ignoring your question.

He was grinning at you and you checked over your shoulder toward the smoke before you marched your way closer. He didn’t move. Not until your palm landed squarely against the almost-feverishly hot skin of his chest. He gave ground with an amused smile that suggested he could have stopped you at any point.

He took a small step back as you pushed him toward an alley, moving as slowly as he suspected he could get away with.

“Leave.”

He laughed under his breath but took a step away from you. He held his hand up to his head in a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

You rolled your eyes and turned back toward the square. Fingers hooked into the back of your shirt. Before you could protest, you were jerked a full step backwards, into the tight alley with him.

A net tore through the air where you’d been standing, iron weights clipping the corner of the wall before crashing to the ground. You looked at it for a second and then turned your head back over your shoulder.

“Am I speaking some kind of strange language to you?”

“Nope,” he said with a grin that was a little too proud of himself. “Didn’t want you to end up caught by your own men.”

“Whichever poor fool hit me with it would be cleaning barnacles off the hull until the day I retire,” you reassured. “Do you need directions to your ship or have you developed a sudden desire to see the inside of Impel Down?”

Fire Fist held up his hands in brief surrender. “Hey, you can’t blame me for being curious. You shot a net away for a pirate. Kind of feels like it goes against marine rules.”

“Not specifically,” you said. “Perhaps ideals but no rules have been broken today.”

“Hm… you sure?”

“I’m also not working currently,” you said. “And in several minutes, I will begin an investigation into potential revolutionary business on this island. I have no time for catching pirates.”

“But you just did? The other group.”

The transponder snail in your pocket rung loudly and for a second, he froze, muscles drawing tight as though the sound might change your opinion on shooting him. For all the good that would do. You tapped your finger against your lips to symbol him to be quiet.

The snail crept out your pocket and you lifted it up, tone sharp when you answered. “I suggest you make this brief. I’m in a foul mood.”

“Understandable, sir. It appears the Whitebeard Pirates have escaped. We have seven unknowns in custody currently. Should we conduct a full search of the port and surrounding areas to ensure they’re not in hiding.”

“No,” you said. “Why waste time looking when you can assure seven? You have twenty minutes before I expect you all ready to start our investigation.”

“Twenty minutes?”

“I would walk quickly.”

Fire Fist tilted his head at you and you nodded at him, receiving an acknowledgment from your men as you disconnected the line. You slipped your hand into your pocket and drew out a small treat, offering it to the snail before you returned him to his place.

“Okay now that one has to be against the rules?”

“It would be if I could see any pirates,” you said. “Suppose it’s lucky for you that there aren’t any around me.”

He chuckled. “Guess so. You hate your job or something?”

“Not in the slightest. I actually thoroughly enjoy my job and I’m damned good at it,” you assured. “But I’m not chasing bounties for the thrill. Go. If we ever meet again, then I can see if I earn myself a promotion for catching you.”

You stepped away, making for the square so you could retrace your steps to the coffee shop where you’d left your drink.

“Hypothetically,” he called after you, “Where do you usually get stationed?”

You gave a short laugh. “Absolutely not. Goodbye, Fire Fist.”

His laughter followed you as you walked back through the destroyed town, the streets quiet now that most civilians had taken shelter in their homes. He did give you an excuse, in some way, for all this carnage. At least, there was that.

Still, whichever fool had fired first, and you would find him no matter how long it took, would face the full consequences for this nonsense. You could think of several unique ideas as consequences.

The coffee shop itself looked untouched by the unexpected fight even if the streets were littered in dust and blood. But your coat did not sit untouched.

A blond man replaced it as you approached but he made no move of retreating from your table. You didn’t need a perfect memory to recognise his face. Its familiarity stemmed not from a prior meeting but from far too many discussions taken with operatives who didn’t exist to most of the world.

“I don’t keep any personal identifiers on my coat, if I can help it,” you said as you walked to the table and took a seat, sliding your drink back to you.

It was no longer warm but you took a sip from it all the same. It tasted faintly of dust and your lip curled in irritation.

Barnacles would be a mercy for whichever idiot started this.

The revolutionary’s shoulders drew tighter and you watched, carefully, in case he reached for a weapon. But right now, his hands stayed very permanently where you could see them. It was appreciated. You didn’t wish to draw your gun yet.

Then, he unexpectedly, drew out the chair across from you and sat down.

“Is this a meeting or a threat?” you asked.

“Neither,” he answered smoothly. “Just a drink.”

You inclined your head to him, looking toward the clock still ticking away inside the café. You supposed you were not technically working yet.

Reasonably, off-duty or not, you should be making a move to arrest at least one of the two high-profile criminals running around this street. But you were annoyed enough to be petty. Not only with the day’s incidents, though they didn’t help, but with being there in the first place.

“A lot of damage was caused today,” he said. “And not by pirates alone. Your men fired first.”

You hummed. “I’m well aware. Not even the best orders can quell an overeager fool but once I am working again in around ten or so minutes, I will quickly show them the repercussions of such idiocy.”

“You’re not working right now?”

“No. I’m still having my coffee break. Which is why you’re here, peacefully.”

He laced gloved fingers together in his lap. “Rather strange code of morals for a fairly high-ranking marine to have.”

You smiled. “Morals are a heavy topic for a first impression, are they not?”

“I suppose so.”

“Besides, has nobody ever told you that it’s considered rather rude to discuss work over a coffee date?”

He smiled at that, faintly but clearly caught off-guard enough to laugh at it. “Is that what this is? A date?”

“I’m hardly arresting you and it’s not a meeting,” you said. “So, I assume it’s social.”

He chuckled softly. “Not the strangest thing I’ve heard.”

He was rather handsome, you had to admit, but he dressed far too formally for walking around a seaside town even before the fighting had broken out. You couldn’t help but wonder if he had intended to blend in or not.

You removed your transponder snail from your pocket and put it on the table, offering it the biscuit that had come with your drink. It eagerly munched away.

It was looking a little sick. You couldn’t help but worry for it.

“You have unusual priorities,” he said. “I’ve been trying to understand the type of marine who rises through the ranks by pushing pirates away from arrest. Nor shoots nets from the sky before they can land.”

You scratched the snail and looked up. “I’m not here for pirates. They’re an unfortunate coincidence.”

“You’re here for us.”

“Yes.”

“Yet you haven’t reached for your cuffs nor your weapon.”

You shrugged and nodded toward the clock. “Seven minutes. Then I’m busy looking for revolutionaries. If I see signs of their presence, I file a formal report on this island and a full search is conducted at a later date.”

He hummed. “Strange thing to confess to me.”

“We won’t find anything,” you said. “You’re not based here. Only passing through.”

“You’re very sure of that.”

“I was sure of it when I informed my superiors that this was a waste of time but oh well. They’re not my resources.”

He considered that carefully before he answered. “If you see the problem in that then you surely recognise that it’s ridiculous for you to be sent to this island, not because a local pirate crew were causing trouble, but because of the potential for revolutionaries. The Whitebeards were here to actually help the people who live here.”

“I’m not in charge of the orders I’m given,” you said. “But I can choose how I follow them.”

“And the people you’ve been ordered to chase have caused the least trouble today.”

You nodded in acknowledgement. It was true enough that you couldn’t deny it. But you’d known from the beginning it would be the case.

“I’m no turncoat,” you warned. “Before you take my disappointment in my men as such.”

“I didn’t think you were,” he said. “Though I have learned more about you today than I think you realise.”

You hummed. “And yet, the only thing I know about you is still your name. This certainly is one of the worst dates I’ve been on.”

He chuckled then, a small, rich sound behind a gloved hand. “Rather unfair for you to complain. I didn’t even get a drink.”

“I suppose the tight schedule has something to do with it,” you said, looking once more toward the clock. “Unfortunately, if we meet once I’m working, I’ll make a far worse first impression. I’d advise avoiding it.”

“Would be more helpful if you could avoid that meeting too.”

You shook your head and finished your coffee. “As long as I have my orders, I’ll be trying to make it happen. Though with a face like yours, I’m sure you’re no stranger to being chased.”

Sabo smiled and stood. “I think we'll meet again,” he said. “When you have another coffee break.”

“I’ll make sure to order you a cup next time,” you promised.

Tags: @miwn8 ; @aceincase ; @chaeisrichnow

Luffy is already in that needy, instinct-driven mood.

His hips are slamming into you, balls hitting against your ass, his thrusts are fast and rough. “Hnghh! s’good!” His voice is spilling out loud moans and gasps without holding back. He’s not thinking about the pace or rhythm, he’s just lost in the feeling of your pussy squeezing around him, too tight every damn time. His mouth is open, drooling against your neck, teeth grazing skin like he can’t decide whether to moan or bite.

“y/n, fuuckk.. s’tight!—“ he moans out, hands running down your body before gripping you, his fingers digging in your hips as if he’s keeping you tightly in place while his cock slides even deeper inside your wetness, as far as he can go. His leaking tip hits against the end of your cunt each time, pre-cum coating your already-wet velvety walls.

You're a mess underneath him. “L-lu!—Ah!“ your body is limp but so alive, shaking from every thrust. Your thighs quiver and your back arches helplessly, your mouth keeps falling open with these uncontrollable sounds that get louder and louder. “I—hnghh, ahhn! Luffyy!—“ Your pussy can’t stop clenching around him, and the overstimulation is so much that your whole body searches for something to cling to.

And then without thinking, it happens.

Your nails drag down Luffy’s back. Not gently. Hard. Deep red lines bloom down his skin as you scratch, desperate, grounding yourself in the only way you can. You’re crying out Luffy’s name, sobbing from the pleasure, your hands raking over Luffy’s sweaty back like if you’ll let go, you’ll drown in it.

Luffy shudders the second he feels it. His moan cuts into a sharp gasp, his whole body jerks like electricity shot through him. He’d never felt that before, never had someone mark him like that. And it drives him insane. His instincts kick in—he snarls into your neck, rutting into you harder, chest heaving, but there’s this huge grin splitting his face too.

“—Haa! y/n!! That feels good!!” he cries, voice cracked and needy, and he starts chasing it, almost angling his body so your nails keep dragging along him with every movement.

Your voice is hoarse.. breathless: “l-luffy—luffy please!~ I can’t— it’s so much—!” but your nails dig deeper anyway, your hands trembling as they tear lines down his back again and again.

Luffy is so gone that the sting just fuels him. He doesn’t slow down once, doesn’t even notice his own back burning from the scratches—it just eventually shoves him right over the edge—like his body wants it. “‘m gonna cum, gonna cum—!”  the feeling of your nails deep in his back while his cock is getting hugged so tight from your sweet pussy is just too much, it feels too good. His cock throbs deep inside you, and then he’s cumming hard.

Thick, hot spurts fill your cunt in heavy waves, way more than usual, so much it leaks out almost instantly. His moans are loud, breaking into desperate little cries.  “Ahhh ‘m cummin’—c-cummin’ s’good.. feels s’good!..haaah—!!” He moans out, eyes half lidded and glazed with pleasure.

His back is still raking against your trembling nails, every sting sparking another throb, another spurt. His hips jerk through it, rutting sloppily, chasing every last drop, still thrusting deep in you—fucking himself through his orgasm.

And you—the moment Luffy empties inside you while rutting so hard, your body shatters, a sharp aching jolt running down your spine as your cunt clenches hard around Luffy’s length, fluttering and sucking him deeper, overstimulated to hell. Your legs quake and lock around Luffy’s waist, heels digging in. You sob out, voice high and broken “hngh—! ‘m—ahhh!!”

And then you're cumming too, hard, pussy spasming. The overstimulation is unbearable, your nerves feel like they’re on fire, every thrust dragging you through wave after wave. Your scratches get even deeper into Luffy’s back, nails trembling but desperate, carving red streaks as you cry out helplessly while he continues to fuck into you.

By the time it ends, Luffy is still above you, panting, drooling on your neck with the dopiest, bliss-drunk grin. His back is a canvas of red marks and welts, but he’s giggling breathlessly, voice hoarse, “Shishishi… that was s’amazing… y/n, you scratched me sooo good… it made me cum s’hard…” he sighs happily.

Luffy’s back is covered in raw, red lines, some still stinging, some bleeding lightly, but he doesn’t care at all—he’s still just grinning like he just had the best meal of his life, “You scratched me a lot, y/n. Do it again next time, ‘kay?” While you just whined underneath him, your pussy fluttering weakly around luffy’s cock as you can’t think straight right now.

Luffy’s humming to himself after, pulling his blue shorts back on, tying his yellow sash lazily around his waist. He’s still sweaty, hair sticking out in every direction, but his grin is wide and boyish.

You’re sitting on the bed, blanket bunched around your waist, legs trembling, face still hot and flushed. You catch a glimpse of Luffy’s back as he straightens up—and your eyes widen.

The whole expanse of his tanned skin is covered in angry red scratches, some raw and welted, a few with little beads of blood. They run all the way down his back, vivid and shameless. You instantly go pale, your hands flying to your mouth. “Luffy—!!” Your voice cracks, horrified. “I–I did that?! Oh my god—I’m so sorry! Does it hurt?! I didn’t mean to—!”

Luffy glances over his shoulder, blinking. “Huh? Oh.” He cranes his neck to try and see his own back, but then just shrugs like it’s nothing.

You're scrambling, cheeks burning, trying to reach for him. “I-I scratched you so bad! You’re bleeding a little—Luffy, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

But Luffy just laughs, that carefree, belly-deep laugh, his grin stretching wide. “Shishishi! Why’re ya apologizin’? I liked it!”

You froze, speechless. Your whole face goes pink, ears hot, lips fumbling to form words. “Y-You… you liked that?!”

Luffy just tilts his head, totally serious but playful. “Yeah! It made me cum way harder. Ya should do it again next time!”

You make this tiny strangled noise, burying your red face into your hands, completely overwhelmed. You don’t know if you want to sink into the floor or kiss Luffy senseless. Your chest is pounding, and all you can manage is a muffled “l-luffy..”

Luffy just plops down next to you with that goofy grin, eventually pressing your foreheads together. “What? It’s true! You’re the best, y/n!” He giggles as he wraps an arm around your waist, nudging you to get up. “C’mon, let’s go!” He announces, that made you let out a sigh, at least he doesn’t mind the scratches you desperately made on him.

Later, when Luffy’s still wandering around shirtless, you're trailing behind him like a little stormcloud of nerves. Every time you see those deep red scratch marks across Luffy’s back, your stomach flips, especially because the crew definitely would notice.

You finally tug him into their room, cheeks pink, holding a little jar of cream Chopper gave you for cuts and scrapes. “Sit down, Luffy..” you mutter, voice all wobbly but stern. “I need to clean your back.”

Luffy blinks at you, tilting his head like a puppy. “Huh? Why?”

Your face heats. You gesture weakly at his back. “B–Because you’re covered in scratches! And they’re from me… If the others see, they’ll—they’ll ask questions!”

Luffy just grins at that, plopping down cross-legged on the bed like this is some big fun game. “So what? I’ll just tell ’em ya did it.”

“Luffy!!” You squeak, nearly dropping the cream. Your whole face is glowing red now. “Y–You can’t just say that! Do you want everyone to know?!”

Luffy blinks at you innocently, totally confused. “Why not!? I told ya I liked it!” He’s so cheerful about it, so blunt. His big smile is making you want to melt into the floor.

You let out a groan, covering your face with one hand, but you still scoop out some of the cream with trembling fingers. Carefully, gently, you smooth it over the angry lines down Luffy’s back. Your touch is tender, almost reverent, even as you stammer out “jeez.. you’re so shameless, y’know that? Aren’t you embarrassed..?”

Luffy giggles at the cold cream, wriggling but letting you work. “Embarrassed? Why? You’re mine! If ya scratch me, then ya scratch me. I don’t care if they see.”

You go silent, your throat tight, you can’t argue with that blunt honesty—it always leaves you speechless. All you can do is keep tending the scratches with careful little touches, your heart pounding like crazy. When you’re done, Luffy twists around and suddenly wraps both of his arms around your waist, hugging you tight with a cheeky grin. “Thanks, y/n! You’re always so nice to me!” 

At night, the ship is quiet, everyone else is asleep. But Luffy’s sprawled on top of you, cheek squished against your chest, drooling just a little with that blissful knocked-out smile. His arms are wrapped around you like he’s never letting go.

You’re wide awake, though. Your fingers keep ghosting over Luffy’s back where the scratches are still faintly raised and red. Every time your fingertips trail across them, your chest squeezes with guilt and warmth all at once. You pout down at the mess you left, whispering softly even though Luffy’s practically half-asleep “..You really could’ve told me to stop…”

But Luffy shifts at the touch, a sleepy hum slipping out of him. “Mmm… don’t stop...” His voice is slurred, half-asleep but honest.

You sigh, blushing furiously, eventually you duck your face into Luffy’s messy hair with a shaky little smile. Your nails drag so carefully now, just tracing the lines you left behind, softer than soft. Not hurting—just petting, retracing what you did. Your voice is a whisper, shaky but affectionate “I’d never hurt you… I was so scared that I did… but you really did like it, huh?”

Luffy giggles against your chest in his sleep “mmm.. liked it… ‘lots…” he mumbles.

And your heart melts completely at that, your chest aching with love. You keep scratching lightly, almost massaging up and down Luffy’s back until your own eyelids grow heavy. Before you drift off, you press a kiss into Luffy’s hair and whispered “…love you, lu..” after that, you finally let yourself sleep, your arms locked protectively around your beloved captain.

“It was glowing.”

“That is usually a reason not to touch it.”

“It looked interesting.”

“The chest bit Rockstar yesterday.”

“Rockstar startled it.”

Beckman stared at him.

Shanks sighed. “Fine. Maybe I touched it.”

The coin flashed.

The ship lurched.

Somewhere above deck, Yasopp shouted, “If that was another sea king, I’m not helping!”

Then the air in the hold twisted.

Like the world folded wrong for half a second.

When it snapped back into place, someone was standing beside the chest.

Barefoot. Shirt half-laced. Red hair loose around his face. Straw hat tipped back. Younger by ten years.

The hold went silent.

Young Shanks looked around.

Then at Beckman.

Then at present-day Shanks.

His grin widened.

“Oh good,” he said. “I age well.”

Beckman shut his eyes.

Present Shanks stared at him.

Young Shanks looked down at himself, then back up. “What year is it?”

Shanks told him.

Young Shanks blinked. Then whistled. “Thirty-seven?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not. I just thought we’d look worse.”

Beckman said, “You act worse.”

Young Shanks turned to him, delighted. “Beck. You got meaner.”

“I adapted.”

The noise had drawn half the crew by then. Faces crowded the stairs. Yasopp pushed in front of Lucky. Limejuice leaned over Building Snake’s shoulder. Hongo took one look and muttered, “Oh, this’ll be bad.”

You arrived last, still holding a mug from the galley.

“What happened?”

Young Shanks turned toward your voice.

And stopped.

Not for long.

Just long enough that everyone noticed.

Then his expression changed, bright and interested and entirely unashamed.

“Well,” he said, looking you over with open appreciation. “Nobody told me the future got this pretty.”

The hold went dead silent.

Then Yasopp made a sound like he had swallowed his own tongue.

Present Shanks went very still.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

Young Shanks stepped around the chest like nothing about this situation concerned him. “You heard me.”

“Oh, she heard you,” Lucky said, delighted.

Present Shanks turned his head slowly. “Lucky.”

Lucky held up both hands. “I’m just observing.”

Beckman reached for his cigarettes. “This is going to be educational.”

Young Shanks came closer, still smiling at you. He had the same face, mostly. Same eyes. Same red hair. That same warmth when he focused on someone.

But where the Shanks you knew had learned restraint, this one wore his interest plainly.

“So,” Young Shanks said. “Do I know you?”

You glanced at present Shanks, then back at him. “I don’t think so.”

“That’s a shame.”

Present Shanks stepped forward. “That’s enough.”

Young Shanks looked at him.

Then at you.

Then back at him.

His grin sharpened.

“Oh,” he said. “Interesting.”

“It isn’t,” present Shanks said.

Young Shanks leaned slightly to see around him. “Is he always this tense around beautiful women?”

The crew erupted.

You should have been more alarmed. Probably.

Instead, it was very difficult to panic while young Shanks was smiling at you like you were the best part of his accidental time travel.

“You’re taking this well,” you said.

Young Shanks shrugged. “I’ve had stranger mornings.” He leaned in closer. “What’s your name?”

You told him.

He repeated it once, testing it like he liked the sound.

Present Shanks’s jaw tightened.

The crew noticed, of course.

They had been waiting weeks for him to do something incriminating. The betting board in the galley had become less of a game and more of a record of his ongoing failure.

Young Shanks glanced toward the stairs. “Why is everyone looking at us like that?”

“No reason,” Hongo said.

“Just enjoying the view.” Lucky added

Present Shanks closed his eyes. “Do not start.”

“Start what?” you asked.

The entire crew found the ceiling, the floor, the walls, and one another’s shoes fascinating.

Young Shanks leaned closer to you. “They’re hiding something.”

“They usually are.”

“I like her,” Young Shanks said immediately.

Present Shanks opened his eyes. “Of course you do.”

Yasopp slapped a hand over his mouth.

You looked down into your mug, trying not to smile.

Present Shanks saw anyway.

His expression changed for half a second. The annoyance slipped. Something softer took its place, familiar and almost too warm.

Young Shanks saw that too.

His grin faded a little.

Then came back worse.

Young Shanks laughed once, bright with disbelief. “You’re in love with her.”

The hold exploded.

Yasopp actually shouted.

Lucky grabbed Building Snake by the shoulders.

Someone above deck yelled, “Pay up!”

Your face went hot.

Present Shanks looked like he had just been stabbed by himself, which was closer to true than anyone wanted to admit.

“You,” he said to Young Shanks, very evenly, “are going in the brig.”

“For helping?”

“For breathing.”

Young Shanks leaned around him again, eyes still on you. “Has he told you?”

You looked at present Shanks.

He looked away.

That was answer enough to make the crew lose their minds all over again.

Young Shanks stared at his older self in open horror. “You haven’t told her?”

“I was getting there.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“None of your business.”

Young Shanks turned to the crew. “How long?”

“Months,” Yasopp said instantly.

“Longer,” Beckman corrected.

Present Shanks pointed at him. “Traitor.”

Young Shanks looked personally offended. “Longer than months?”

You folded your arms, attention still on present Shanks. “Longer than months?”

Shanks gave the crew a murderous look.

Young Shanks stepped beside you, lowering his voice in a way that did absolutely nothing to hide it. “This is embarrassing for us.”

Present Shanks moved between you again. “There is no us.”

“I am literally you.”

“You are a cursed incident with poor timing.”

“I have excellent timing. She knows now.”

You did know now.

Or at least you knew enough that your heart had started beating differently.

You looked at Shanks.

Not the young one.

Your Shanks.

He met your eyes for half a second, then seemed to realize there was nowhere left to run.

You asked quietly, “Is it true?”

The hold went still.

Even Young Shanks shut up.

Present Shanks let out a slow breath.

The teasing left his face. The embarrassment too.

“Yes,” he said.

Then Yasopp whispered, “Finally.”

The moment broke.

Present Shanks turned his head. “I heard that.”

“You were supposed to,” Yasopp said.

Lucky wiped at his eyes. “I never thought I’d live to see it.”

“You’re all very dramatic,” Shanks said.

Beckman looked at the younger Shanks. “You have no idea.”

Young Shanks grinned again, but there was something softer underneath it now. Almost wistful.

Then he stepped forward and clapped present Shanks on the shoulder.

“Good news,” he said. “She’s pretty and patient.”

Shanks caught his wrist. “Brig.”

Young Shanks laughed. “For fixing your life?”

“For flirting with her.”

“With her or with destiny?”

“With my patience.”

You laughed.

Both Shanks looked at you.

That was deeply unfair.

Present Shanks’s hand fell from his younger self’s wrist. He turned toward you fully, and this time, he did not look away.

“I was going to tell you,” he said.

You smiled at Shanks. “Were you?”

Young Shanks leaned beside Beckman. “Does she always make him look like that?”

Beckman glanced at present Shanks, who was looking at you like the rest of the ship had blurred at the edges.

“Yes.”

Young Shanks was quiet for a beat.

Then he said, softer, “Good.”

Later, in the galley, under Beckman’s old line of Never, someone added:

Cursed coin incident.

Then, in smaller handwriting beneath it:

Still faster than the captain.

The Thousand Sunny rocked gently with the rhythm of the waves, moonlight spilling through the windows of your shared quarters. Everyone else had long gone to sleep, their laughter fading into the creaks and sighs of the quiet ship.

You were just about to crawl into bed when the door opened.

Luffy stepped inside slower than usual. No energetic leap, no wide grin. Just him, shoulders heavy and eyes unreadable beneath the shadow of his straw hat.

You straightened. “Luffy?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just shut the door behind him and walked toward you with uncharacteristic silence. You studied his face, there was no visible injury, but something deeper was off. His fists were clenched. Jaw tight.

“Tough day?” you asked gently, opening your arms.

That was all it took.

In an instant, he was on you pulling you into him like he was afraid you’d disappear. He buried his face in your neck, arms locked tightly around your waist. He didn’t say anything at first. Just breathed. Deep, trembling breaths that you felt all the way to your bones.

You whispered, “I’ve got you, Luffy.”

That’s when he pulled back just enough to look at you.

His eyes were darker than usual. Focused. Hungry. Still quiet, but something was shifting inside him. That energy you were so familiar with it wasn’t chaotic now. It was concentrated. Dangerous.

He lifted his hand and gently pulled your shirt over your head, not breaking eye contact for a second.

“You’re mine, right?” he asked, voice low and rough.

You blinked. “Of course.”

His mouth crashed onto yours. Not soft. Not sweet. It was desperate and full of fire. His hands grabbed your ass roughly, lifting you with ease and carrying you to the bed before you could catch your breath.

He tossed you onto the mattress and stripped in seconds, revealing lean, defined muscle and that scar across his chest, reminders of battles fought and won.

“You always let me have you so easy,” he muttered, crawling over you, voice gravelly as he leaned down to nip at your collarbone. “Tonight, I need more.”

Your breath hitched. You'd never seen him like this.

“Luffy- what do you- ”

He cut you off with a bite to your neck, his hand already sliding between your thighs. You gasped, bucking into his touch.

“No talking,” he growled.

You stilled, heart pounding, thighs twitching as his fingers pressed through your panties already damp. He grinned against your throat. “Knew it.”

Then he was dragging them down and flipping you over in one rough motion, chest pressed to your back, cock hard and hot against your ass. His fingers tangled in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to whisper in your ear:

“You're gonna take everything I give you. No running. No hiding. Just me.”

Your lips parted to reply but then he was pushing inside, thick and unforgiving. You cried out, body arching at the sudden stretch.

He didn’t give you time to adjust.

His pace started hard and fast, hips snapping into yours as the headboard slammed against the wall in rhythm. His hand gripped your hip like he owned it, because he did.

“Feel that?” he rasped. “That’s what you do to me. What only you get.”

You moaned, helpless beneath him. He was usually so carefree. But now? He was wrecking you, using your body like it was his personal salvation.

Every thrust had purpose. Like he was pouring all that unspoken weight into you, the stress of leadership, of battles, of protecting everyone. You were his anchor, and he was making sure you felt it.

“You’re mine,” he said again, pounding harder. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, tears pricking your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure.

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, Luffy!”

“Good fucking girl.”

He reached around to rub your clit, and your whole body jerked under him. The heat in your belly was unbearable, pressure building with every punishing thrust.

“Don’t you dare cum before me,” he warned, voice strained.

But you couldn’t help it. He was everywhere inside you, over you, claiming you.

“I-I can’t- !”

“Yes, you can.”

He pulled your hips higher and slammed into you harder, chasing his own release now. You clenched around him, sobbing his name, broken and blissed out.

And then he growled, a deep, primal sound and came with a final thrust that sent you over the edge, your body convulsing around him as you screamed his name into the sheets.

He stayed like that, buried deep inside you, panting hard against your shoulder.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then he kissed your back. Once. Twice. A soft hum vibrating in his throat as he slipped out and pulled you close.

The dominant haze melted, and his usual warmth returned as he wrapped around you, nuzzling your neck with soft little kisses.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I needed you.”

You turned in his arms, brushing the sweaty hair from his eyes. “You never have to apologize for needing me. You haveme.”

His grin finally returned, lazy and satisfied, as he snuggled in, tucking his face into your chest.

“I love you,” he whispered.

You smiled, heart still racing. “I love you too, Luffy.”

♡♡♡

The sun was dipping low, casting a golden sheen across the deck of the Sunny. The crew buzzed around, cleaning up after the latest island showdown , weapons being stowed, bandages wrapped, bruises proudly shown off like trophies.

And then there was him.

Monkey D. Luffy. Bare-chested, grinning, still buzzing with energy as if he hadn’t just wiped the floor with a Warlord and his army.

You stood frozen by the mast, a rag in your hand and absolutely no thoughts in your brain except:

“Holy hell. When did he get so ripped?”

Luffy’s torso glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, muscles tight and cut like they were sculpted from sun-kissed stone. His abs flexed every time he laughed , and oh, he laughed a lot and his biceps looked like they could casually throw a mountain or two if you asked nicely.

You were not drooling.

Not literally.

“You okay over there?” Luffy’s voice cut through your mental spiraling, and when you looked up, he was staring at you eyes wide, cheeks a little pink.

Busted.

“I-uh, yeah. Just-cleaning,” you said, waving the rag like an idiot and definitely not staring at the way his chest rose and fell with each breath.

He tilted his head, still grinning, but his flush deepened. “You’re lookin’ real hard, y’know.”

You almost choked on your own tongue. “What?”

“Your face’s all red,” he said, stepping closer, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, I get it. I am kinda awesome.” He flexed an arm half-jokingly, then dropped it when he caught you actually checking it out.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, covering your face with both hands.

Luffy laughed, the sound bubbling like soda. “You do think I’m hot!”

You groaned. “Luffy-”

“No, no, wait, I like it!” he said quickly, his voice getting higher, his own face nearly glowing with how flustered he was. “I mean-you always look cute when you’re all bossy and mad, but now you’re like-squirmy and pink and kinda…kinda kissable.”

That shut you up real quick.

He blinked. “Was that too much?”

“No,” you said, heart hammering in your chest, “but if you say ‘kissable’ again I might actually pass out.”

He stepped closer, until his toes nearly touched yours, his breath warm against your cheek. “Wanna try it? Just so I know what it’s like?”

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “You serious?”

Luffy gave you a grin that was almost shy almost. “Been thinking about it since before the fight. Now I feel strong and you look all shiny-eyed. Feels like a good time.”

You barely managed a nod before his lips brushed yours, soft, sun-warmed, a little clumsy, but so Luffy. His hands landed at your hips, warm and grounding, and you sighed into him, threading your fingers through his messy hair.

When you pulled back, both of you looked dazed.

“…Wanna help me clean up?” you teased, voice breathy.

He smirked, muscles flexing just a little. “Nah. I wanna make you red again.”

--

The deck was quiet now.

The rest of the crew had cleared out, most asleep or below deck, leaving only the soft sway of the sea and the lingering heat between you and Luffy.

Your back pressed against the wood of the mast, heart thundering in your chest as Luffy’s fingers ghosted over your skin , featherlight, curious, hungry.

“I really like when you look at me like that,” he murmured, voice lower, rougher than usual. He leaned in, brushing his lips against your neck, sucking lightly until your knees nearly buckled.

“Luffy-” you breathed, eyes fluttering shut.

“Hmm?” he hummed against your skin. “You looked like you wanted to eat me earlier. Thought I’d return the favor.”

You gasped as his hand slid up under your shirt, palms rough from battle but his touch soft ,reverent, even. He pulled the fabric over your head with a gentle kind of urgency, eyes flicking down over your body like he’d just found treasure more valuable than any One Piece.

“Whoa…” he whispered, dazed. “You’re so pretty.”

The way he said it , genuine, like he was seeing you for the first time made heat bloom between your thighs. He bent down slightly, mouth brushing the top of your chest, teeth grazing as he teased.

“You always act all cool,” he said between kisses, “but you’re squirming so bad right now.”

“Shut up-”

“Nope,” he grinned, lips trailing down your stomach. “Not when you’re about to beg.”

You opened your mouth to argue then yelped when he dropped to his knees and pulled your bottoms down with one smooth motion, tongue flicking out to tease right where you needed it most.

Your hand flew to his hair, gripping tight. “Luffy-! Wait, you don’t have to-”

He looked up at you from between your thighs, eyes half-lidded, cocky smirk on his face.

“I want to.”

And with that, he buried his face in you, tongue warm, wet, relentless.

His grip on your thighs tightened, keeping you steady as he sucked and licked, building you up fast too fast and yet not enough. His nose brushed sensitive skin, his tongue working in maddening patterns, switching between deep licks and soft flicks that made your hips twitch.

“Y-You’re good at this-” you panted.

“Rubber tongue,” he murmured smugly against you. “Told you I’d make you red again.”

You came with a cry, head thrown back, thighs trembling against his shoulders.

But he didn’t stop.

You whimpered, twitching, the overstimulation making your whole body jolt.

“L-Luffy-!”

He looked up again, glistening lips, eyes glazed with lust and pride. “One more. Just one more. Then I’ll let you make me squirm.”

You didn’t even have the strength to argue not when he leaned in again with that damn smile.

Your legs were still shaking when he stood.

Luffy’s mouth glistened with the aftermath of your first orgasm, and yet the look in his eyes said one thing: he wasn't nearly done.

He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand then leaned in to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. The kiss was deeper now, messier, full of unspoken hunger.

“You okay?” he murmured, breath hot against your lips.

You nodded, dazed. “More than.”

His grin turned wolfish. “Good. ‘Cause I need you. Now.”

You didn’t even get a warning before he hoisted you up by the thighs, pinning your back to the mast. His strength , casual, overwhelming ,made your breath catch as your legs wrapped around his waist out of instinct.

“Didn’t know you could carry me like that-”

He pressed his hips against yours, and you felt him , hard, thick, twitching through his pants. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet.”

“Show me,” you whispered.

That was it. His restraint snapped.

He yanked his pants low enough to free himself, letting his cock slap against your thigh, hot and heavy. You barely had time to brace before he lined himself up and pushed in slowly, but not gently.

“Shit-Luffy-!”

“Feel that?” he hissed, head falling against your shoulder as he bottomed out, his hips flush with yours. “Fuck- you’re tight.”

You gasped at the stretch, the heat, the way his voice sounded deeper, raspier, needy in a way you hadn’t heard before.

He pulled back almost completely, then slammed in again, hard enough to make the mast behind you creak.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he groaned, hips snapping into you at a quickening pace. “Since Alabasta. Since Water 7. Since forever. Wanted you, so bad.”

Your nails dug into his back as he fucked you harder, the raw sound of skin slapping skin mixing with the crashing waves below. He was moaning openly now, whimpering your name between thrusts like a man possessed.

“Look at me,” he panted, grabbing your chin. “I wanna see your face when I cum in you”

You bit your lip, nearly sobbing from the intensity , the way he hit just right, the way his voice cracked with every needy thrust.

“Gonna cum inside you,” he muttered, mouth by your ear. “Wanna see it drip out. Wanna stay inside, keep it warm.”

You clenched around him at the words, and he felt it.

“Oh fuck, you like that shit?” His voice broke into a breathless laugh. “You want me that bad, huh?”

You barely had time to answer before he was pounding into you like he couldn’t stop, couldn’t even think. His grip bruised into your thighs, his thrusts erratic now, desperate.

“I’m- fuck- I’m gonna-”

You nodded, your own orgasm building again, faster than you expected.

“Do it,” you whispered. “Come inside, Luffy.”

His whole body shuddered. With a low, wrecked moan, he buried himself deep and spilled into you, his hips stuttering as he came hard warm, endless, claiming you in the most primal way possible.

You followed right after, clenching tight around him as your second climax hit, nails raking down his back.

For a long second, the world was just heartbeats and shaky breath.

Then his head dropped to your shoulder again, body still twitching with the aftershocks.

“…shit,” he mumbled, voice hoarse. “That was way better than meat.”

You laughed breathlessly. “High praise, Captain.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you , eyes soft, cheeks still flushed. “Hope you’re ready for more. ‘Cause now I know what you feel like, I don’t think I can stop.”

You leaned in, kissing him slow this time. “Good. I don’t want you to.”

♡♡♡

Luffy 

Your captain has no clue what day he lives in, much less that Valentine’s is coming, but thankfully, he’s got Sanji for that. 

So, when the day comes, he’s shoved into your room with a box of chocolates, a bouquet of flowers and the threat that if he dares eat any of the chocolates, the cook will shove his foot so far up inside his ass it will come out of his mouth. 

Sanji still can’t believe you decided to give your heart and soul to that monkey (he swears he loves his captain) 

You spend the evening in your room. Hearing him rant about anything and anything, laugh at his own jokes and play a guessing game only he can understand. 

In many ways, Luffy is a simple man and that brings you comfort. There are no hidden intentions, no mixed feelings or miscommunications. His love is clear and honest. Luffy just is. 

Which is why the words that come out of his mouth do not surprise you. 

“If I finger you, can I finish the rest of the candy?” 

No need to ask. 

Luffy might be oblivious to most things, but he knows you. And he knows exactly how you like it. Two of his fingers explore your insides like a map, massaging your walls and pressing against the places that make your toes curl. His lips suck on your tits, tongue running on top of them, his saliva making your skin shine. 

“Luffy...” You whine, grabbing onto the pillow with one hand and palming his cock over his shorts with the other one. He’s rock hard but seems to be in no rush to fuck you, content with the taste of your skin on his tongue. 

He hums against your skin before pulling away, a thread of spit connecting your nipple to his lips. He looks around, looking for something on the bed, but his fingers don’t stop for a second, his middle and index moving in a “come hither” motion while his thumb toys with your clit, “there they are!” He’s quick to grab the box of chocolates and open it up with his free hand.  

Food and sex together aren’t a weird concept in your relationship, so you pay no mind to it. That is, until he’s biting on a jam-filled candy and letting some of its filling fall on one of your nipples. Your eyebrows furrow, and your mouth opens in a gasp when he sucks it off you. 

“You make them taste even better, sweets”, he says more to himself, but you can see that the sweet treat has done something to him. His eyes are now half lidded, his mouth dribbles even more, and his pace grows harder. 

“Luffy! Fuck just like that!” You push your tits closer to his mouth. 

He continues the action again and again until the entire box is empty and you’re blissed out from the pleasure. It’s then that he says, 

“Now, I’m craving something else.” He licks the remains of the sugar off his lips and pulls down his shorts; his cock slaps against his abdomen. 

“That candy was great, Sanji! Thanks!” The younger man says as he pats his cook on the back. 

“Sure,” Sanji answered, defeated. No anger or energy left as he knows it was his fault Luffy got laid last night... fucking lucky monkey. 

Zoro 

Marimo is dumb when it comes to a lot of things. Directions, for example. But when it comes to you, one or two gears work in his brain. 

“You don’t have to remind me, twirly brows.” He says as he does crunches. 

“We don’t?” For once, Sanji is pleasantly surprised by the mosshead. 

“I’ve already got covered.” 

Nami doesn’t buy it. She narrows her eyes as she asks, “What did you get her?” 

“There was this fine liquor store at the last isla...” A punch landed on his head before he could finish. 

“I fucking knew it!” 

He isn’t that stupid... It’s just that alcohol clouds his thinking. 

Sanji and Nami have to punch him and get him back to his right senses, but in the end, it all works out. 

Rice balls, your favourite dessert, and, of course, sake. All while looking at the stars from the crow’s nest. You lean on his chest while he hugs you from behind. No words are needed; his touch and love are all you need. 

It isn’t until you feel his lips travelling down your neck, sucking on the skin, that you remember that drunk Zoro tends to be more handsy than sober Zoro. 

Your face is squished against the cold wood, your hands barely able to keep you in place, but that’s the last thing on your mind. His thrusts are brutal, unforgiving. Your juices spill down your cunt and his cock and land on the floor. Screams and cries of pleasure fall from the window, alerting the crew and any other ships near you. And Zoro couldn’t feel any prouder. 

“You like it rough, don’t you, woman.” He says as he takes a sip from the sake bottle. 

“Mmhm,” you nod, “yes, Zoro, please fuck me harder”, you whine. 

He laughs, but gives it to you, “You are such a whore for my cock.”  

His balls slap against your clitoris, your boobs bounce at his rhythm, and your hips bruise from his hard grip. His cock stretches and moulds your insides with every stroke; you have never been able to get used to his size, and you are sure you never will. Tan, long, thick, with multiple veins running across it, and a bulbous tip. You have explored it with every inch of your mouth and cunt; you are completely in love with his cock, and Zoro knows it. 

His hands spread your cheeks, watching the way his dick goes in and out of your sweet cunt, a white, milky ring around every time it comes out. 

“Tightest fucking cunt,” he moans. His dirty mouth is always what drives you crazy, he’s got no shame and no regard, speaking freely of how he feels or likes about fucking you, “you gonna make me cum, baby? Want me to fill you up?” 

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes, Zoro. Please cum inside me.” 

“Don’t worry, girl. I’m gonna fuck you full.” 

His pace quickens, his hips moving with purpose. At this point, you can barely gasp his name; your head filled with only air and him. Your fingers press on your clit, your legs quiver and clench, desperate for release. 

“Come on, woman. Cum on my cock.” 

Your legs give out, but his hands are there to support you. He pulls you and presses you against his chest, continuing to move his hips as you chase your high. Your clit is beyond sensitive and exhausted, but the look he gives you is enough to fire you back up. 

“I’m not done with you.” 

The next day, while you can barely walk, he’s training his heart out. 

You sit next to Robin and Usopp, your head lying on the table as you groan from your tensed muscles. 

“Rough night?” Robin teases. 

“More like he gave it to her, rough,” Usopp adds. 

You feel like dying from embarrassment and tiredness. 

Robin just laughs behind her hand. 

Sanji 

The absolute master when it comes to romantic holidays 

He’s been preparing himself for this date for months (mentally for years, but no one must know that) 

Buying the finest ingredients at every island the crew stops, spending his entire share of money in things he knows you’d love and that remind him of you. 

In a calendar, he crosses out each day, getting closer and closer to the fateful date (Zoro makes fun of him every morning, and that’s the first fight of the day for both) 

Makes a list of everything he plans on cooking, decorating and doing for you and the crew (well..., more like you and the girls) 

The night before, make sure to secure the fridge with what appears to be a thousand locks and traps. Luffy still tries, but the sea stone chains seem to do the trick (thank gods) 

When the morning finally arrives, you find the cutest outfit hanging on the door, courtesy of your boyfriend’s money and Nami’s fashion input. 

And Sanji between your legs.  

He couldn’t help himself; he just had to have dessert first. 

“Sanji!” Your nerves and senses are just waking up, but you can feel every single stroke from his mouth. He alternates from sucking on your clit, humming around the little bud, and swiping his tongue up and down your entrance, licking and thrusting himself inside you. 

“Good morning, my love.” He pulls away for just a second, giving you a bright smile. His lower face is covered in your slick; the view makes you clench. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.” 

You open your mouth to answer, but only a moan escapes it. Sanji’s fingers were unforgiving in their pace, looking for that tender place inside of you. 

“You look absolutely beautiful, mon amour.” He mumbles against your core before diving back in. 

Sanji is no messy eater. He’s careful, precise and romantic; he knows your body better than he knows his own. You are a delicacy and deserve to be eaten as such. 

You grip and pull on the sheets, your legs tremble and close around his head, and your teeth break the skin of your lips, trying to conceal your moans so as not to wake up the rest of the crew. 

“Please, please, please, Sanji...” you beg, but he’s giving you everything and more. 

“Come on, my love. Give it to me, cum on my mouth.” He says against your lips, his tongue coming out to give a long lick on the underside of your clitoris. 

One of your hands comes up and pulls on your nipples while the other pulls on his hair, your head is thrown back, and you lift your hips off the bed. The chef is immensely enamoured with the view, his hips thrusting and humping against your bedding, trying to relieve some of the tension. 

“Cum, baby, please, cum for me.” 

And you do. The knot finally snaps, and your juices fly out of you, his face and the bed getting covered in them. His hand quickly moves to your clit, rapidly flicking it to prolong your pleasure. 

“Yes, yes, just like that, baby. Thank you, my sweet.” 

After that wonderful wake-up, he brings you breakfast in bed and continues doting on you. 

(By the way, Luffy is quite annoyed at the fact that only you get to have breakfast in bed.) 

Ace 

He’s somewhat prepared. 

He asked Thatch to teach him how to make a cake, but he figured if the cake took forty-five minutes at 175 °C to bake, then he could just triple the temperature, and that would lessen the time. With his Devil Fruit, that would be easy enough, right? 

Well, a burnt kitchen, a punch to the head and a visit to Marco made it clear that no, that wasn’t the way. 

One burnt cake and a lot of begging later, Ace found himself with a perfectly good cake. One, he had to fight the urge not to shove it down his throat. 

Izou was also nice enough to help him choose a lipstick for you. Ace was quite hesitant to ask him for help (since you still harbour a crush on the older commander), but the wanojin was a gentleman about it. Or at least, he tried. 

“I think this one will look nice on her, Ace,” Izou said, handing him the small tub. 

“Thanks, man.” He put on his backpack. 

“Sure. I’m sure she will look just as gorgeous as that night...” The samurai teased. 

“Okay, okay, man. Fuck off.” 

That night you had eaten cake, drank sake, laughed, danced and kissed by the light of the moon and the ease of the sea. The world seemed to disappear when it's just the two of you. 

You were elated and so, so grateful for your boyfriend, and you needed to thank him, repay him for such a date. 

A lightbulb went off. 

“Oh gods, baby girl.” Ace moaned, leaning back against the ship’s mast. 

You moved your head back and forth, lips wrapped around his thick cock, tongue tracing the underside. Your eyes firm on his, tearful from when you’d gag. 

His tongue traced his lips, then his teeth bit them, moans, cries and promises came out of them. He’d give you world, sun, moon and stars, whatever you want, just please, please suck him deeper. 

“Fuck, I fucking love your mouth, baby.” He let out a pleased laugh. 

Relaxing your throat, you took him deeper. Your jaw protesting, your breathing heavy and laboured, cheeks covered in tears, and you fighting back on your gag reflex, but you loved every second of the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. 

You moaned around him, sending shivers down his spine. Then, you pulled away, gasping for air, your hand quick to replace your mouth. Saliva dripped down his shaft, your lips and hands, but you didn’t care. Your hand tightened around his length, jerking him just like he likes it. Your lips wrapped around the head, sucking and licking it, next your tongue travels up and down the rest of his dick. 

“You are so fucking good, so fucking good.” He groans. His fingers thread through your hair, pulling you closer to him. His hips move involuntarily, thrusting inside your mouth. His skin feels warmer than usual, and you know he’s losing control of his powers. 

You pull him out and spit on it, your hand focusing on the tip, “cum in my mouth, Ace.” 

He looks down at you and moans loudly. He absolutely loves cumming inside your mouth; it’s his second favourite thing. 

You show him your tongue, slapping his cock against, “please, please daddy, cum in my mouth.” Your eyes beg for it. 

His breathing grows heavier, his abs contract, his neck and face are pink-tinted and sweat runs down his freckles. One of his hands runs over his hair, pulling on it while the other caresses the back of yours. His hips move desperately; he can feel it, it’s coming. 

“I’m gonna, I’m gonna cum, baby girl.” He moans. 

You suck harder, faster. You need it. 

He fucks your mouth with such fervour you know there will be a bruise at the back of it, but you don’t care. 

“Fuck!” Spurts of his thick seed fill your mouth; his grip tightens on your hair, and hearts cover your eyes. Ace cumming is the most beautiful view in the world. Drowsy eyes, plumped, bitten lips, blushed, freckled cheeks and chest and the sweetest, hottest smile in the world. 

Ace went about his day as any other, happy and blissful from last night's events, oblivious to someone’s eyes. 

“’s a good, it was me who was on night watch and not Pops, right Acey?” 

The freckled went stiff, turning to the man watching him on the side. Izou. Izou with the biggest smile on his face. 

Law 

Sucks at romance and anything love-related but know he’s trying. He’s just stupid. 

Sachi and Penguin desperately try to help, but he quickly realises that even if those two get laid, it does not mean they know jack shit about love. 

(Dear gods, what would Cora-san do?) 

(Trip downstairs and light himself on fire probably, but with a bouquet of roses in hand nonetheless) 

So, Ikakku and Bepo are his best bets on that ship. 

Law may be a great captain, surgeon and pirate, and he happens to be hot, but my gods is he dumb. 

“Captain, you’ve been dating her for months; you cannot be this clueless.” Ikkaku groans. 

Law pouts and crosses his arms over his chest, looking away. Just like a small child, “I fail to see what’s wrong with my idea.” 

“Looking around for and classifying coins is not a date, Captain,” Bepo says, trying not to cry from the absurdity of the plan. 

“To me it is.” The surgeon grumbles. 

He and the polar bear plan and coordinate to stop at an island so you can have a date. Everything's been carefully examined and detailed to Law’s standards, but when does life ever go his way? 

That morning, he finds out the fucking Marine has completely taken over the island and its perimeters, so you had to change course immediately. The nearest island is two days away. Well, fuck. 

He’s pulling his hair out from the stress, barking orders around and hysterically looking for an idea. 

“Law?” You poke your head inside his office. His eyes are scanning every romance novel on the ship, but he finds nothing; all of them end in suicide. He just might... 

“Law.” You try again, this time stepping in. A tray in your hands. Two cups of tea, a candle, some matches, and two cups of instant noodles. 

His heart instantly churns at the sight. Of course, you had been the only one to pull something together. He can’t help but think you deserve better. 

“Love...” He’s out of words, the anxiety and exhaustion of the date finally catching up to him. 

“Bepo told me. Do not stress about it, babe. Happy Valentine’s Day.” You leaned down, kissing his cheek. 

Law groans, that wide mouth bear. 

The rest of the evening is spent with you sitting on his legs, sipping tea, recounting old tales and discussing various themes, and you love every second of it. 

Law is bad with feelings or words, but he knows there are other ways. 

“Law!” Your nails scratch his back, leaving angry red marks over the Jolly Roger tattooed on his skin. 

But he can’t seem to care less; his hips continue their assault on your cunt. His lips whisper sins against your ear, his hands grip on your hips, pull you closer and prevent you from slipping away from the pleasure only he can give you, “feel good, sweetheart? Do you like the way my cock’s so deep inside you?” 

You are long gone. Two orgasms with his fingers, one with his tongue, and now chasing another with his member, knocking on your cervix. Your mouth only knows his name, and your eyes gloss from the sight of him. His eyes dazed, passion and lust fill them, his eyebrows furrow and his lips open and close with every thrust. Moans and groans end up in your neck, along with some hickies. 

Law usually doesn’t allow himself to lose control like this, but he figures today is a special date. Sex tonight is loud, messy, and raw. He hasn’t felt this alive in years. 

His pace quickens, his rhythm grows desperate with every second, and the idea of you cum around his cock is the only thing on his mind. 

“Harder, faster, more, more, more, Law!” You don’t know what else you are asking for, but you can feel yourself hanging over the edge, just a bit more. 

And it's like he knows, his fingers press on your clit, drawing circles on top of it, that’s enough. You cum around his cock with a gasp and trembling, but he doesn’t relent. Your nerves cry in overstimulation, but Law is not done, not until he feels you again. 

“You are going to give me another one.” He declares. His hips don’t stop, and neither do his fingers and mouth. 

“’s too much...” you whine, throwing your head back and pushing against his chest. But he doesn’t allow you to run away. 

“One more, give me one more. Milk my cock, love.” His words are getting crasser, nastier, and that’s how you know Law’s head is filled with pleasure just as much as yours. 

“Law!” You cry out. 

“One more, one more...” He continues saying. Even if his cum drips down your cunt and legs, even if it can’t fit anymore inside of you. 

The next morning is payback for keeping the crew awake the entire night. 

“My gods, if you two are going to be that loud and nasty, at least have the decency to invite me, even if it's to watch,” Shachi says, while drinking his coffee, a smile on his face and dark bags under his eyes. 

“Shachi!” Law scolds him. 

Sabo 

You firmly believe there’s nothing hotter than a revolutionary. 

Sabo is that in the complete sense of the word. Dauntless, radical, rebel, mighty, strategic. His sense of justice took your breath away the second he opened his heart and mouth. 

And while your boyfriend is all that, he’s also a clueless idiot whose head is filled with food, his brothers, Dragon..., and, of course, you. 

It’s up to Koala and Ivankov to help him not disappoint his girlfriend on such a day. 

“You may be chief of staff, but you are also so unbelievably stupid it almost hurts, Sabo-kun,” Ivankov says as they arrange a beautiful bouquet of flowers. 

Koala nods as she watches him write a letter for you (that actually was his idea, but she left a big bump on his forehead just so he didn’t forget to do it.) “I know, I know.” He laughs but is secretly scared of receiving another “reminder” from his best friend. 

Dinner, flowers, gifts, the letter and a walk along Ivankov’s island’s beach. Quite the date if you were to ask Sabo, yet he couldn’t help but feel like something was once missing. 

Ah, right. 

Your thighs are burning from the motion, your knees crying from the sand that’s digging itself onto your skin, but you don’t dare stop. For his pleasure, and, selfishly, mostly for yours. His cock is hitting right on the spot, your entire body shivering in delight and encouraging you to go harder. Your hair disheveled, clothes wrinkled and stained, panties pushed to the side, tits popping out of your dress, and his pants pulled down just below his waist. 

Sabo is lying on the sand, arms behind his head and a bright smile on his face, biting his lips sometimes, moaning freely. The view is simply immaculate. You, jumping on top of him, choking his cock as your life depended on it, your tits bounce deliciously, and the ethereal look on your face is the most gorgeous you’ve ever looked. Using him for your own pleasure, he won’t complain about it. 

“Come on, baby. Give it to me harder, I know you want to.” His words rile you up, making you clench harder around him. 

“Oh gods, Sabo!” You close your eyes and scream, as nobody can hear you. And if anyone does, your boyfriend doesn’t care. 

He lifts one of his hands, “Slap!”, a hard smack against your bottom. 

You cry out, loving the pain, craving more of it, “Yes, please, please, more” 

He lands an even harder slap, “You like that, baby? You like being treated like a slut?” 

Your muscles are begging you to stop, but you can’t, you won’t, “Yes, Sabo!” 

“Who do you belong to?” Smack! 

“You!” 

Smack! “Who?” 

“Sabo!” Tears spill down your face, euphoria crawling all over your body. 

“Louder!” Smack! 

“Sabo!” It was simply too much. Your climax exploded between the two of you, head spinning, vision blurred, your legs shaking, and finally giving out, making you fall on top of him. You pressed yourself closer to his neck and cried out when his hips continued where you left off. 

“The island is big, Sabo; you guys didn’t have to fuck twenty feet away from the base,” Dragon said, pressing his hand against his eyelids, exasperated. 

You banged your head against the window when the bus lurched to a sharp stop.

"Ow, fuck—?!"

You sat upright immediately and rubbed your temple. Hopefully, you wouldn't get a bruise or anything. You'd been resting your head against the cool glass and had nearly drifted off when this sudden jolt woke you.

Thankfully, it didn't hurt too much.

Blinking away the remnants of your very much needed sleep, you glanced at the view outside.

Three stops left.

An elderly woman climbed aboard at the next station, looking around for an empty seat. Not thinking it much, you pushed yourself up and gestured toward yours.

"Here."

The old woman smiled at you. "Thank you, sweetie."

You gave her a small nod before moving toward the back of the bus. Once you found a spot to stand, you slipped your headphones back on and scrolled through your playlist.

The rest of the ride passed in a blur.

When your stop finally arrived, you practically hopped off the bus.

Fresh air.

Well...relatively fresh.

The afternoon heat hit you immediately. Summer was creeping closer every day, and the humidity was already making your shirt stick uncomfortably to your back. Still, it was infinitely better than being trapped inside the stuffy bus.

...Why did they have to build the college on top of a damn mountain, anyway?

Seriously, you hated how drivers always seemed determined to cram every last passenger inside, too. By the end of most rides, everyone was packed together like sardines in a can, smelly and hot.

...You really should get your driver's licence.

Not that you had much to spare for lessons.

Adjusting your backpack, you headed toward the overpass and started the walk home.

God, you were exhausted.

Your professor had decided that today was the perfect day for a three-hour block lecture. Three hours, nonstop. Despite his students' very vocal complaints. And since you usually sat near the front, you couldn't even sneak a glance at your phone without risking getting called out.

At least it was finally the weekend.

Two whole days to rest, study for Monday's quiz, and start working on the paper your group had been assigned.

You hated the social sciences so much!

Actually, no. The paper wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was that your friend had invited her boyfriend into the group without asking anyone first.

And the guy was useless!

You could already see how this was going to play out. The two of them would spend most of the project acting like they were the only people in the room, being all lovey-dovey, while you and the other two members of the group did the actual work. Then, as if that was not enough, you'd have to proofread whatever half-finished nonsense they submitted at the last minute if you wanted a decent grade, because you were a damn pushover.

Needless to say, your mood wasn't great.

You really should practice telling your thoughts more. Putting boundaries and all that nonsense. Or else this will just follow you into the workplace as well.

On the way home, you stopped at the small grocery store near your apartment, next to the pharmacy. And the moment you stepped inside, the blast of air conditioning felt heavenly.

You wandered through the aisles, looking for something easy to eat. Cooking sounded like far too much effort right now, and you definitely didn't trust your roommate to have made food for both of you, either.

"She'd better have washed her dishes this time," you muttered, or else you would put them all in her desk until her room stank up.

Eventually, your eyes landed on a cup of Yopokki.

You picked it up and turned it over.

Rice cakes.

You'd never actually tried them before, at least, not this kind, but how different could they be from instant noodles? Just thicker, right?

After a brief internal debate, you grabbed a can of soda as well. "Fuck it. It's not that expensive, anyway." And a nice meal wasn't finished without something tasty and cold to drink.

The cashier barely looked up when you approached the register.

"It'll be 1,205 berries. Cash or credit?"

"Cash." You handed over four 500-berry bills.

Honestly, you couldn't hold his grumpy attitude against him. For all you knew, he'd been dealing with rude customers for hours and just wanted to go home.

Besides, you'd be in his shoes yourself in a couple of hours.

The cashier counted the money, handed back your change, and immediately turned to the next customer.

You thanked him anyway before leaving the store.

A few minutes later, you reached your apartment building. It wasn't much to look at. It was old, so were most of the residents, and half the plumbing sounded like it was one bad day away from giving up entirely.

At least, your landlord was a decent enough guy.

He was polite, never talked down to his tenants, and if rent was a few days late, he'd usually let it slide as long as you warned him beforehand. He didn't even mind that you had brought your cat in without telling him, too.

Honestly, it was a massive upgrade compared to last year.

That old fart during your second year had practically spent the entire semester trying to kick you and Adele out under the excuse of "wanting to sell the apartment."

As if.

He just wanted to rent it to another person who would pay more, that was all.

You and your roommate had managed to drag the whole thing out until summer break arrived, but it had been exhausting with all the phone calls, threatening texts, and emails about starting legal action that he never did, by the way, whining about how much he needed money for his kids.

The bastard hadn't cared that throwing two university students out in the middle of the winter could leave them scrambling for housing, so why should you have cared about his renovation plans? Or his precious plans?

Besides, you'd checked.

The place was still on the market.

Months later, at that.

Apparently, according to one of your old neighbors, he was already looking into renting it out again, just like you had thought, since nobody wanted to buy the dump.

What a shock.

Honestly, what exactly had he even expected? That someone would pay several million berries for an apartment that could barely stay warm during cold nights?

"That bastard," you muttered under your breath. You hoped his next tenants would turn the entire building upside down. Maybe then he'd finally regret being a shitty landlord.

The elevator sat all the way on the fifth floor when you entered the lobby.

You stared at the ancient thing for a second, then shook your head.

The stairs would be faster.

Probably safer, too.

You climbed up to your floor and fished your keys out of your bag. A moment later, you pushed the apartment door open and kicked it shut behind you with your hip.

You slipped off your shoes, lined them up near the entrance, and called out.

"Hey! Adele! You here?"

No response came. She was probably still at the university. Looked like for once, you'd get a little peace before having to leave for your next shift. Nice, wasn't it?

Dropping your backpack beside the couch, you headed into the kitchen and filled the kettle. A few moments later, water was heating on the stove while you examined the Yopokki packaging.

Then you frowned.

Microwave.

The instructions wanted a microwave, and you did not have one. Just the old oven you and your roommate shared.

"Shit."

You considered it for about three seconds. Then immediately discarded the idea. The last thing you needed was accidentally setting the apartment on fire because you wanted rice cakes, after all.

A pot would work. Probably. Hopefully. You emptied the contents into a saucepan and prepared everything according to the instructions as best as you could.

Before adding the sauce, you dipped a finger into it and tasted. It was indeed pretty good!

Three minutes later, your meal was ready.

You carried the bowl to your room, opened your laptop, and pulled up the next episode of that historical Alabasta drama you'd started binge-watching a month ago.

Then you picked up your fork and took your first bite.

...

.....

.......

Okay, this was...not as good as you had hoped, to say the least. The taste was fine and all, but the texture was...definitely not up your alley, let's just say. It definitely tasted nothing like the ones you had eaten in that Korean restaurant you had gone to last year with a few of your classmates.

You still ate the whole thing, though. You'd paid for it, after all, and it was far too expensive to just throw it out. Then, to get rid of that awful aftertaste, you chugged the whole soda.

Part of you was glad the rice cakes had tasted so disappointing. At least now you wouldn't be tempted to waste money on them again.

The other part of you, however, mourned the fact that you'd spent over a thousand berries on something that had the texture of spicy wet paper.

...Life was cruel.

You washed your plate and ignored your roommate's cups that she had made a mountain at the side of the sink, because there was no way you would be her mommy, and returned to your room.

You threw your bag to the side so you wouldn't forget about it later and collapsed onto the bed. A heavy huff left you as you reached for your phone and set an alarm.

You briefly considered taking a shower before heading out, but the thought died almost immediately. You’d just sweat through your shift anyway. So what was the point? It’s not like anyone you knew ever came to that store, anyway.

You shut your eyes.

Sleep came fast.

And the alarm went off exactly one hour and fifteen minutes later.

You groaned, still too damn tired to work, but still forced yourself upright. Your body felt like it had been unplugged and plugged back in wrong. Still, you dragged yourself out of bed and changed into something more comfortable.

Thankfully, your boss didn’t insist on those cheap, itchy uniforms that nobody ever cared about except corporate.

You were still hungry, too, by the way.

But you only had about twenty minutes to reach Kajika and swap shifts with Mrs. Lucie. Once she left, though, hopefully you could sneak a few snacks from the counter. Maybe a chocolate bar, or maybe something salty. Anything, really.

You grabbed your jacket and phone, and don't forget your charger, then headed out after locking the door, and checking it three times to make sure you had actually done it, because, why the hell not?

The sun was going down by now, and the weather was a bit more tolerable than before. This little town of yours was pretty silent, and most people had already brought themselves into their homes to get dinner, then go and sleep after watching a bit of TV.

It was a bit of a boring place; there was nothing a college student could do to entertain themselves, but at least this also meant nothing bad happened. Rarely. Maybe a fight or two. Or a thief breaking in. Nothing more.

You wished they would at least have a book fest or two a year, though, or maybe bring better movies to the cinema? They only showed stuff from the 80s or cheaply made kids' movies for some reason.

It took longer than you wanted to reach the convenience store. When you finally pushed the door open, the familiar, and admittedly quite annoying, bell chimed over your head.

And immediately—

“Oh, look who decided to finally show up!” Mrs. Lucie stood behind the counter, arms crossed, looking pissed. Were you really that late? “I thought I’d have to close the night shift myself at this rate!”

“I’m sorry, Aunt Lucie!” you said quickly, trying to stop her nagging before it actually started. “I’ll clean the store to make it up to you, yeah? It won’t happen again, promise. You know I’m usually not the type to cause trouble.”

“You better,” she said sharply, already walking toward the back to grab a broom. “I had other arrangements tonight, you know? I can’t wait all night just for you!”

“Yes, yes, you’re right,” you agreed. “It was really inconsiderate of me. I guess I’m a bit under the weather these days, haha.”

She gave you a long look like she didn’t believe a single word of that, but didn’t press further.

“I’ll be going now, then,” she said, placing the keys on the counter and showing the broom into your hands. “You know the drill. Don’t forget to cash out before leaving.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She paused at the door. “...Have a nice night.”

“You too,” you replied and smiled.

The door chimed again as she left.

Alone now, you sighed and then started to sweep the narrow aisles one by one. Thankfully, the store was already pretty clean. Mrs. Lucie ran it like a military base disguised as a convenience shop. There wasn’t much dust, and nothing really out of place except—

Of course.

Someone had abandoned a few items on different shelves. A soda bottle here. A bag of chips there. A sad little Snickers was left sitting beside the dish soap.

You clicked your tongue, slightly annoyed, even though you were guilty of the same crime from time to time.

Was it really that hard to put things back where they belonged?

Apparently yes.

And then there was the bathroom.

You opened the door, immediately regretting it.

“Ew.”

A piece of gum had been stuck directly onto the wall, and there were some stains on the ground. Piss most likely.

...How do you even miss the toilet, man? Some people were so damn disgusting, really!

And, of course, you had to go and clean that, too. Thankfully, this convenience store sold gloves as well. You hoped your boss wouldn’t be too snippy at you for taking a pair because there was no way you would touch that with your bare hands.

Some teenagers came in not long after that, talking and laughing loudly. They made a beeline for the snacks. You watched them through the counter as they argued over flavors of chips and which soda had “the most aura,” whatever that meant. You know, the usual.

The girl, however, was a little too interested in the energy drinks. You saw it immediately. The subtle glance. The slow slip of a can into her hoodie pocket. Not subtle enough, however, especially since back in your middle-school days, you yourself had done your fair share of shoplifting, after all.

You cleared your throat.

She froze.

You pointed lazily at her pocket. “Really? You aren't supposed to have that, you know?”

She glared at you for a moment, then she pulled the energy drink back out from her jacket with an annoyed huff.

“Come on, I drink it all the time,” she said, like that was supposed to be a legal defense. "I've got the money, too. Just sell it to me."

You shrugged. “Sorry. I’m not getting in trouble for you." That woman checked the cameras sometimes. "Either get an adult to buy it for you or give it back.”

Thankfully, without putting up much of a fight, she slammed the drink on the counter, then left after showing you the middle finger. She and her friends left laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world, too, those little shits.

Whatever.

Then, later in the evening, a man with a balding spot came in. He didn’t say hello. He didn’t even look at you. He just grabbed a bottle of water and a pack of mint gum like he had to go on a date in the next few minutes, then slammed the money down on the counter.

Asshole.

You gave him his change anyway.

As he walked out, you caught just enough time to see him nearly trip over the step outside. He caught himself at the last second, but barely, and almost ate the pavement. From the looks of it, he was embarrassed, too.

You considered that karma.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Once he was gone, the store slipped back into silence. You pulled out your phone and leaned against the counter, opening a movie you’d already seen twice but were far too lazy to find something new to watch.

The convenience store was basically in the middle of nowhere anyway. Most of the traffic came from cars heading toward the nearby gas station. Nobody really “hung out” here unless they had no other choice.

Which meant loooooooong stretches like this.

A couple came in later. They looked exhausted and clearly overwhelmed. They had a crying baby and a teenager who looked permanently one scream away from snapping himself by their side, too.

The woman approached the counter. “Excuse me… could you tell us how to get to the highway exit?”

You tried to help them, you really did.

You pulled up a map, turned the phone, explained the turns, zoomed in, zoomed out, and pointed at roads you weren’t even sure you were pronouncing correctly.

The teenager sighed the entire time. The baby kept fussing between her arms, and the man looked like he wanted to be anywhere else in the universe other than the damn road.

When they finally left, you weren’t even sure you’d helped. You just hoped you hadn't made things worse for them, honestly.

That was the last customer until around midnight. You, of course, were bored out of your mind, but at least you didn’t have to deal with anyone, you guessed. It could always be worse, after all.

You tried your best not to look at the clock during all of this because you were pretty sure that whenever you did, God took that as a personal challenge and did his best to slow the time without causing a rip in reality.

Then, around one o'clock, when the night had fully settled in, and even the gas station outside looked half-closed, the store TV kept playing its low, looping commercials, the kind with overly cheerful jingles with weird products they only showed this late.

You were half-listening, chin resting on your palm, when the bell above the door finally rang once again.

A customer.

You straightened a little.

The man who walked in looked rough, for lack of a better word. Rumpled clothes, wobbly legs, and that unmistakable sour, stale smell clinging to him like he’d been wearing the same clothes for the whole week.

He was probably drunk. Or well on his way there. If you had to guess, he’d already been kicked out of somewhere and decided this place was his next stop.

Just damn great, wasn't it?

“Good evening, sir,” you said.

He didn't respond, just glared at you, and wandered off into the aisles like the greeting had been background noise.

You heard things moving a moment later; chips rustling, maybe a box of chocolate bars tipping over. Then a crash.

“Just what I needed,” you huffed under your breath, and leaned back slightly. “Even more cleaning. Fantastic.”

After a few tense minutes, he came back to the counter with two six-packs and a handful of chips and slammed them down hard enough to make you flinch.

For a split second, you thought he was about to throw them at you.

You kept your expression neutral anyway, even when your heart started to beat a notch faster. No point escalating things unless you absolutely have to, right?

You started scanning the items.

Of course, you did not try to make any small talk with him, either.

“Your total is 66,750 berries, sir,” you said, then. “Cash or card?”

“What the fuck?!” the man barked instantly. “Why the hell is it that much?”

“You got two packs of Déesse,” you explained, trying to keep your voice steady. “They’re 30,000 each. That’s standard pricing.”

“Hell no!” he snapped again. “The tag said 7,500!”

You had to hold back a groan.

No alcohol was that cheap!

“Sir,” you tried again, “I can assure you that’s the correct price—”

He slammed his hand onto the counter. “No, it’s not!” he roared, leaning forward. “You’re trying to swindle me, aren’t you, you little cunt?!”

A drop of spit hit your cheek.

Your stomach tightened immediately.

This was exactly the point where things started getting bad. Not loud-bad. Not annoying-bad. Physical-bad. The kind of situation where you started mentally calculating whether running or apologizing would get you out faster before you definitely had to call the police.

You opened your mouth, ready to swallow your pride and say whatever it takes to de-escalate the situation, maybe even accept the loss just to make him leave, then—

The bell above the door rang again.

You didn’t even look at the entrance at first. Not until the drunk man in front of you looked away from you to glance back, at least.

That's when you saw him. Tall, broad shoulders, slick black hair, and a sharp, tailored suit. He probably had a decade or two over you. His watch alone must have been more expensive than this rundown convenience store, really. He also had a scar cutting across his face. It didn't ruin his looks, however, if anything, it made him look even hotter.

He didn’t speak immediately, just stepped inside. And for some reason you couldn’t explain, the drunk man suddenly didn’t look quite as confident as he had a second ago.

He glanced between the two of you, then, looking almost bored, and finally started walking toward the counter like nothing he had all the time in the world.

“Good evening,” he said once he was close to you.

“Y-yeah, good evening, sir..!” you sputtered, straightening so fast you almost knocked over the scanner. A smile appeared on your face before you could stop it. God, you were being embarrassing! Stop it! “How may I help you?”

God, his voice was so gruff and deep, too. He was definitely a smoker, wasn't he?

Why did you have to meet such a handsome man when you were wearing a days-old uniform, looking like shit?

“A pack of Winston Slender Blue, please,” he said, and rested his left hand on the counter.

You nodded, “Of course, sir. Please wait a moment."

Before you could even turn around, however—

“Hey—?!”The drunkard shoved past him. At least, he tried to, because the suited man barely moved from his place.

But the energy in the room snapped instantly.

“Wait your turn, asshole!” the drunk guy slurred, pointing aggressively. “This skank is taking care of me first! You blind or somethin’?!”

Your face went hot.

“Hey!” you yelled back for the first time since this shit had happened. “Watch it!"

The man in the suit didn’t even look bothered. If anything, he looked mildly amused.

“Skank?” he repeated. Then he let out a scoff. "It looked like to me you couldn't pay for your stuff and were bitching about it, though. Can't even pay for some cheap booze?" He mocked the other. And, dear Lord, even that faint, condescending little smirk tugging at his mouth made your legs feel like jelly. "Go search for some change if you're that desperate for a drink."

“O-okay, it’s fine, really—” you tried quickly, stepping between them slightly, hands raised. “Let’s just calm down, alright?”

But the drunk man wasn’t listening anymore. He muttered something under his breath, something nasty for sure, and raised his fist. “You piece of—”

Before he could even swing, however, let alone land a punch, the handsome man caught the drunkard by the throat, and in one smooth motion, without even hesitating for a single moment, slammed his head down onto the counter.

You heard something creak, then there was blood, oh, so much, at that, making you take a step back again.

...Why the hell had you found this so hot, though? Were you really into brutes or something? Because why did that make you—

Nope, you were not going to think about that. Not right now.

Then, the man let go of the bastard, and he slid down to the floor with a painful groan, clutching his nose, almost whimpering.

The other glanced at him for a moment, like he was nothing more than a piece of trash he had just noticed on the ground, and straightened his cuffs.

“I apologize, Miss,” he said to you, then. “We made quite the ruckus.”

Your heart was still doing something very stupid in your chest. “O-oh, it’s fine, really…!” you said quickly and cleared your throat. “I was actually scared he might do something to me.”

You glanced down at the man on the floor.

It didn't look like he would get up any time soon.

“...You actually came just in time, sir.”

The black-haired man stared at you for a moment, then hummed, "Is that so? I'm glad to hear that, then."

His eyes were so dark and captivating, weren’t they?

You quickly looked away, suddenly very interested in the cigarette rack behind the counter, and reached for the pack he had requested.

“You wanted Winston Slim Blue, right?”

“Slender,” he corrected you.

“R-right, of course."

You turned back to the register and scanned the pack. Your hands felt… slightly less steady than usual. “Your total is 9,550 berries, sir.”

He gave you his card, “Here.”

You processed the payment quickly, printed the receipt, and returned the card. “Done. Here is your receipt. Have a good night, sir.”

You waited for the man to turn away and leave, but his gaze shifted towards the man still groaning on the floor again. "...What will you do with this one, if you don't mind me asking?"

“Oh! I was just going to call the police,” you said. Then hesitated. “That wouldn’t trouble you, right..? You did kinda—” you grimaced slightly, “—but you were helping, so you shouldn’t get in trouble, right?”

The man hummed again, then pulled out his phone. You watched as he called someone, "Daz? Yes, I got my smoke. Come inside for a moment, though. There's some trash I need you to get rid of."

That made me look up.

Trash?

Damn...

Wait, what the hell did he even mean by that?

A few minutes later, a car pulled up right outside the store. It hadn't been there before, had it? It must’ve been parked across the road where you couldn’t see it properly from the counter. The engine was quiet, and the vehicle itself looked very old, but classic. It was quite polished, too. Like something that came out of an old spy movie.

A man with a short buzzcut came out from it, then.

Was this the Daz guy?

He nodded once toward you, then looked at the suited man. “Boss?”

He nudged the drunkard with his shoe. "This one."

"Got it."

Daz grabbed the drunk man by the collar like it weighed nothing and dragged him toward the door.

You stood still behind the counter for a moment and watched.

Then he opened the trunk.

Why the hell did he open the trunk?

Before you could see anything else, however, the handsome man stepped right into your line of sight and obscured your view.

“Again,” he said. “I apologize for this little mess I caused.” Then he pulled out a 10,000-berry bill and held it out. You almost felt your eyes pop out of their sockets.  “Please accept this. I assume you’re working the night shift? It would be wiser to take a taxi home… in case that fool returns.”

I don't think I'll see him ever again, you thought, in fact, I don't think that poor guy will go on to see another day after this, either.

Was this man from a gang, or something? You didn't know, but the one thing you were sure of was that he was dangerous.

“No, no, thank you, but I can’t accept this,” you said, and pushed the bill back slightly. “This is too much, sir. Stuff like this happens all the time anyway!”

“Then throw it away,” he said, then, as if it was as simple as that.

While you were internally debating what the hell to do, he was already turning his attention away from the counter to light a cigarette from the new pack. "Have a good night, Miss."

God damn it. You took the money and put it away. You would rather take it yourself than let your boss pocket it, even if it made you kinda feel like...

Whatever.

“…S-see you later, Mister!” you called after him, almost against your better judgment.

He paused at the door and chuckled.

“For your own good,” he said, exhaling smoke lightly, “I hope not.”

“Had fun back there?” Sabo asks. You’re back in the hotel room, about to get ready for bed. The mission was successful, and you’ll be heading back to the Revolutionary Army base first thing in the morning.

This is usually your favourite part. The hard stuff is over, and the sleep you get after a job well done is always the most refreshing. Plus, it means one night alone with your boyfriend, with no one around to disturb your rare moment of privacy.

So, you should feel completely at ease. But you don’t. Because despite his casual voice, Sabo seems tense.

You’re no idiot. He’s obviously bothered by the way you’d flirted with that one guard earlier. But it is a little hurtful how he sometimes gets so hung up on it. Like he doesn’t trust you, when he should instead be making sure you’re ok. After all, it was only a distraction so that Sabo could sneak past him. Not doing it could have cost you the mission.

So, you don’t give in that quickly. If he has something to say, he should say it. You won’t make it easy for him just because he refuses to be upfront about it.

“Hm? You mean when we broke in to that office? I love picking locks, it’s so satisfying when they-”

“You know I wasn’t talking about the fucking lock.” Sabo’s voice is more serious this time. He’s quite hard to read when he’s like this. But you get the gist of it.

“Well, what do you mean, then?” you tease in an attempt to lighten the mood, taking a step closer.

But you shriek when his hand flies to the back of your neck. You instinctively try to pull away, even though his grip is much too tight for that. It doesn’t usually bother you that Sabo is stronger, but it does sometimes make you feel a bit useless. Especially now that he’s using it against you.

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” he mutters, not taking his eyes away from yours. It’s weirdly affectionate considering the situation.

At a loss for words, you simply stare at him, confused and intimidated, but also vaguely aroused. You know this look. Sabo is your boyfriend after all, and the many missions you’ve gone on together have only brought you closer. But there’s more than just lust in his eyes. Something you can’t quite place, an uncomfortable shiver running up your spine.

Sabo’s brows furrow slightly when you don’t answer, but he seems to brush it off. He leans in, your noses lightly bumping against each other, lips almost touching.

“And you know I love you, right?” He says the words quietly, only for you, before closing the distance.

“Yes,” you reply through the kiss, still a little uneasy, “Of course.”

You’re still taken aback by the boldness of it all. Sabo is never this brazen with his advances, but you seem to have triggered his sadistic side. The one he pretends he doesn’t have.

“Good. Remember that.” He doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t need to.

A moment later, he’s guiding you into the bathroom, though not breaking the kiss. You barely manage to flick on the light switch before your ass meets the edge of the counter.

“Sabo, what-”  

“If you want to stop, tell me. Alright?” But he doesn’t wait for your answer. His voice is heavy with lust, and dark with anger. It’s somewhat aggressive, the way he nips at your bottom lip every now and then.

“Jump,” he says, and you instinctively reach back to lift yourself onto the counter. His hands are on your waist to help. Always the gentleman, of course.

Sabo kisses you like he needs it to let out his frustration, hands roaming over your body. It’s when he suddenly digs his fingers into your sides that you twitch.

“Mh! Sabo…” it’s difficult to speak through the kiss, “You’re hurting me.”

“Oh,” he mutters out curtly, “Hadn’t noticed.” It’s not very convincing, and his mouth doesn’t leave yours longer than necessary.

To his credit, his touches do soften a bit, but they get bolder instead. Before you know it, his fingers rub up and down over the fabric of your panties, making you jump every time they brush against your clit.

“You know I fucking hate seeing you like that, right? When you’re flirting with whoever you need to. I know it’s the only way sometimes, but I hate it.”

“I-” but his lips cut your response short again – a clear sign that he doesn’t care to hear it – and he suddenly presses down on your clit. You yelp in surprise, but he just grins and slides off your underwear, completely unbothered by your expression.

“But it’s ok,” he continues as if nothing happened, voice slightly muffled from the kiss, “I know how you’ll make it up to me.”

Before you know it, his fingers are back on your core, gliding over your entrance. The lack of friction is proof of how wet you are.

Sabo feels it too, because he pulls away from your mouth for the first time, raising his eyebrows in mock astonishment. It’s evil to tease you about it like this. He knows you get insecure about it.

The gesture makes you frown, protectively crossing your arms over your chest. But he ignores that, too, and promptly sinks two fingers into your core.

It feels amazing, your mouth parting from the stretch. Your moan bounces off the tile walls, which Sabo seems to like, judging by the way he bites his lip. It doesn’t take him long to build a consistent rhythm, and he knows he’s found your g-spot when you grip his shoulders.

He keeps working you like that for a while. The only sounds reverberating through the room are that of your voice paired with the somewhat more obscene smacking of Sabo’s fingers in your wetness.

You’re still trying to get over the embarrassment, not helped in the slightest by the fact that he’s still fully clothed. Searching for something to focus your attention on, your eyes fall on his arms, and your stomach flips. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbow, the muscles in his forearm tightening with every movement. You can’t look away from his sleeve garters, how they’re pulled taut over his biceps.

Heat licks up your body at the sight. You lose yourself to the feeling, letting it slowly mount in your abdomen. So distracted with how Sabo’s fingers make you squirm in pleasure that you don’t notice the way he’s looking at you.

If you had, it might have been less of a surprise.

You shriek.

Sabo’s hand closes around your throat. Your eyes immediately find his, and a shiver runs through you.

Saying that he looks livid would be an understatement. Your instinct takes over, tugging on his wrist to make him let go. He isn’t applying pressure, but the shock on its own is enough to make you dizzy.

All the while, he doesn’t stop his assault on your core, steadily working you to the edge. You might have otherwise had more success in pulling him off you.

“Sabo, what-”

“Shut the fuck up, y/n.” It’s only a whisper, but that’s all it needs to be. “Just take it. I know you’re close.”

You shake your head, but he’s right. Despite everything, the pleasure keeps intensifying. You feel yourself clenching on his fingers, and the way he keeps pushing thought the tightness only adds to the stimulation.

Sabo’s hand twitches around your neck, and you could swear his grip tightens. It’s intimidating. There’s a pressure rising in your head that has nothing to do with the sex, but you’ll think about that when your mind isn’t buzzing with desire.

Any second now. Your back arches despite his firm hold, fingers digging so tightly into his forearm that it’s sure to leave marks. Your walls are forced to accept him every time he kneads your g-spot. You’re so close, you can practically taste it.

But he stops.

Just when you were about to fall over the edge.

Your orgasm immediately dissipates. The heat raking through you reduced to feeble sparks, crackling off into nothingness.

When you look up at him, Sabo’s watching you, a strong element of mockery in his gaze.

“What the fuck? Why did-”

“Shut up.” The harshness in Sabo’s tone makes his desire more evident. More threatening. “Not another fucking word, alright?”

Before you can process the anger in his voice – how it feels too charged to ignore – his fingers move again. It sends a delicious prickle up your spine. When you moan, there’s another jolt around your throat.

It doesn’t take long this time. You’re still sensitive, more than ready for release. Every stroke of his fingers drives you maddeningly close, tugging at something in your abdomen. Like a thread being stretched tight, pleasure vibrating through you every time he plucks at it. It’s utterly intoxicating.

Maybe that’s why you don’t anticipate the obvious.

Again, Sabo stops right before you cum.

You whimper at the loss. The pleasure ebbs away, leaving you with a dull, unbearable ache. A need. Raw and desperate. Too deep for you to reach on your own. Frustration wells up in your eyes, the need for release too strong for you to remain composed.

But you don’t get the chance to complain this time, because Sabo abruptly lets go of your throat. You suck in a heaving breath. Deep and dizzying. Making you realize for the first time how much pressure he must have been applying.

He doesn’t speak. There’s something mechanical about the way he pulls his fingers out of you to yank you off the counter and turn you around.

It’s clear from your reflection how utterly wrecked you are already. There’s a distinct soreness on your lip from biting it too hard, matching your flushed cheeks, and your chest swells with every agitated breath. The very image of arousal.

Although Sabo isn’t much more composed, he seems to be struggling with frustration more than lust. You sense it even through the thick haze of desire fogging his eyes. It’s overwhelming to be this needy in front of him.

You lock eyes through the mirror, your apprehension furthering.

He undoes his pants.

You don’t dare resist when he pushes between you shoulder blades. Letting him bend you over slightly, but keeping your hands planted on the bathroom counter for stability.

He doesn’t bother giving a warning, the tip of his cock pushing in without hesitation. The tense silence amplifies your squeal more than the tile walls every could on their own.

The stretch stings despite how wet you are. He’s thick and heavy inside you. Steadily pushing apart the tightness, ignoring the spasms of your hips trying to move away.

It’s not long before he bottoms out, and your head falls forward. The way he’s nestled inside you steals your breath, and you suddenly feel very aware of the position of your pelvis around your entrance.

When he starts moving, you’re convinced he must have become thicker since last time, even though you know it’s impossible. You feel a numbness tingle down to your legs whenever his tip nudges into that spot, muscles contracting around his cock from the intensity. He bottoms out a few more times, engrossed in the way you struggle to take him.

Sabo isn’t careful with his thrusts, snapping his hips into yours despite your discomfort. You don’t fully know how to deal with him being like this. He’s usually so playful in bed, much more loving. Gentle. So good at breaking the tension, at easing your awkwardness with a smile. Always knowing when and how to reassure you.

That version of your boyfriend feels lightyears away now. But you so desperately want to cum that you endure his treatment, so sensitive that it doesn’t take a lot.

As you near yet another orgasm, you hope Sabo will have some compassion this time. Grant you the relief he’s been dangling just out of your reach. After all, he’s so erratic that it must mean he’s close, too. You just need a few more…

But the moment you see his eyes, you know you’re wrong.

His movements grind to a complete stop.

The frustration is too much. A few sobs climb up your throat, your head falling forward despite Sabo’s grip.

He’s still buried deep inside you. His thick shaft pressing into all the right spots. Perfect, if not for the fact that he isn’t actually stimulating any of them. You would have preferred for him to pull out completely.

“Aww… are you overwhelmed? We can stop here if you don’t want more,” he coos, and it’s so condescending, so cruel, that you’re at a loss for words. He trails some light kisses down the back of your neck, all while you sob. Like he doesn’t have a single care in the world.

“Sabo… please,” you whimper between sniffles, watching the way your tears fall onto your shaking hands, “I need to cum. I can’t take it anymore.”

“You want me to keep going?” His voice is too gentle to mean anything good. Too sweet to be of any real comfort.

Still, you nod desperately. What are you supposed to do?

“I will. Just give me a sec, pretty.” He seems so utterly indifferent to your state, it’s unbearable.

Sabo’s other hand moves up to your breasts, absent-mindedly caressing your skin on the way as though taking his time. In no hurry whatsoever to continue. The touches are soft, reassuring, and you try to relax into the warmth despite your agitation.

He pinches your nipple. It’s harsh and unexpected. You jolt, shock wringing a few more tears from your eyes.

Sabo lets out a satisfied groan, “Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight. Let’s do that again, yeah?” He repeats the action, eliciting the same response from you.

After doing that a few more times, your reactions become less intense, but Sabo simply moves to other parts of your body. He presses into your sides in that specific way he knows you hate, digging his fingers into the inside of your hips, right where it makes you squirm.

It’s humiliating. The way he’s playing with your body like a toy, purely for his own enjoyment. Making you continually clench around him. Just enough to keep you sensitive while also denying you any real pleasure.

Your body feels like it’s on fire, every nerve completely overstimulated, unable to bear his assault any longer.

“Please…” not even sure what you’re begging for anymore.

“Hm? Too much?” But the look he gives you holds no pity. On the contrary, Sabo looks thrilled. “But you’re so cute like this. You don’t want to make me feel good?”

The malice makes you cry out again, letting your chest sink down flat against the counter. The cool surface does little to soothe your burning skin.

Sabo mercifully lets go of your throat this time but begins to slowly thrust inside you again. His tip reaches your cervix, rubbing up against it in a way that makes your breath catch. You’re too fucked out to do anything other than take his size. So denied that a weird part of you is even sort of grateful. At least he’s allowing you to feel good for the time being.

But Sabo must realize that you’re really struggling now. His hands brush over your back as if to soothe you. It sort of works, too. At least it doesn’t feel like he’s punishing you anymore, and the slower pace makes the stimulation more manageable for your overexerted body.

Over time, it starts to become more enjoyable. Comforting, even. Sabo seems to have let out his anger, fully focused on pleasuring you now. And even though you’re still sniffling, your wails have turned into small gasps of pleasure.

His cock strokes your walls, kneading your cervix with just the right amount of pressure. You feel feverish, knees trembling. But Sabo’s hands are steady on your heaving back, almost like a massage. Like an apology.

It takes longer than before due to your disorientated state, but eventually, you’re close again. It’s all so perfect, the heat in your body feels good now. The tension in your abdomen turning into something you can look forward to rather than dread. You’re sure you feel a trickle of sweat running down your leg, but you can’t tell from your burning skin. All that matters is the two of you in this bathroom, legs tangled, breathing heavy. The soft wrestle of your bodies against each other bringing the room to life with movement.

You look at your boyfriend through the reflection, his hips pushing into yours. “I love you.” it’s your way of extending an olive branch. Of asking him to stop being mad at you.

Sabo smiles at you, “I love you too, baby.” The pure affection in his eyes washes over you, your body gripping his as though trying to draw him in further.

You bite your lip, closing your eyes in anticipation. Feeling that tugging pleasure pulled tighter and tighter in your stomach, stretched so taut it’s about to snap.

He stops.

You don’t react this time.

You’re angry now. Hurt. Your trust betrayed.

“I’m not that close, though,” he says, talking carefully, like he’s trying to explain without upsetting you. But you know perfectly well that it’s meant to provoke, “Maybe you can help me out again?”

You refuse to give him the satisfaction of a response.

He wasn’t waiting for one, anyway.

Sabo already gets more than enough enjoyment from being able to affect you like this. To reduce you down to something so fragile, only to then keep denying you more. It’s exhilarating.

That’s why he starts giving you little squeezes at random. Just to see where he can make you squirm the most. How much he can make you squeak out in discomfort. Pretending to map out your most sensitive areas, as if he doesn’t know them by heart already.

But it’s the way he soothes you between the pain that really messes with your head. It keeps you so horribly on edge, never knowing what to prepare for. Tensing up at every touch, no matter how soft it is, only to be unpleasantly surprised by another pinch every time you somehow manage to ease your stiffness.

It’s so unfair. So mean. The way he torments you to get himself off. Using your body against you. Using your pain for his own pleasure. It’s too much.

“I can’t. No more.” Your voice is dry and sober despite your state, making you realize you’ve stopped crying.

“Too much?” He gives you a sympathetic smile when you nod and leans down flush against your back. The closeness feels nice after all the teasing. “I’ll be more careful from now on, ok?”

“I don’t…” but your words trail off, far too exhausted to bother explaining, and panting too much to manage, anyway. You might as well just take what he decides to give you.

“You know I love you, right? More than anyone.” It’s barely above a whisper, “Nothing can change that,” spoken into your ear. Like a promise. Like he hasn’t been pushing you far beyond your limits all evening, solely for the thrill of seeing you in distress.

So much for not crying anymore. The wail you let out is completely involuntary, so full of fear and hurt that it surprises even yourself. You faintly wonder what’s making him do this. What sort of craving Sabo has that can only be satiated by having you bawl your eyes out with his dick buried in your guts.

“Th- then, why?” you sniffle, your lower lip trembling too much to speak evenly.

“I don’t know. Because I want to, I guess,” spoken far too casually, absent-mindedly brushing a tear from your cheek, “Maybe because I know you’re not going to stop me.”

It’s not his words that scare you, but the alarming sincerity with which he says them. You wish he didn’t seem as grounded as he does, unwilling to accept the implication that this is a normal part of who he is. Something he’s capable of all the time.

“But hey, I’d never hurt you.” It’s so genuine, almost like he thinks your fear is overplayed, even though you know he doesn’t. “You’re safe with me. Yeah? I just really need this right now.”

You try not to think about how he always knows when you need reassurance. How he’s never pushed you this far before. To tears, sure. A few denied orgasms, yes. But never this many, never this unwilling to let you rest, never before overstimulating your body more and more every time with no trace of mercy in sight.

His other hand moves around your front to the space between your legs, to where you’re currently trembling and dripping around the base of his shaft. Ghosting over your clit.

You let out a pleased sigh when he starts rubbing it in little circles. You’re so neglected there, and it’s a welcome change for your otherwise overstimulated body.

You’re much too overwhelmed to control what your muscles are doing anymore. The friction seems to make you contract around Sabo’s cock again, which you can only tell by his pleased groan. His warm chest rumbles against your back, stirring up an insatiable arousal in the pit of your stomach.

You grip him more consciously this time, an unrestrained hope that he’ll repeat the sound. That he will reward you with his intimacy again, instead using it as a punishment. When he does, the excitement shoots straight to your clit.

“See, I’m making you feel good. You can keep going.”

You couldn’t respond even if you wanted to, so you just focus on breathing while he once again works you to your peak. You hate that it’s this easy for him. That he can coax an orgasm from you so effortlessly. And most of all, you hate that you’re getting worked up from it just how he wants.

But it feels good. Frighteningly so. And your body reacts to it whether you want it to or not.

“Keep gripping me like that. I’ll get there faster,” he moans, his free hand making you look in the mirror again. “And then, we can cum together, yeah?”

The rasp in his voice makes you shiver again, and the way his chest completely covers you is incredibly erotic. Despite how rough he’s been with you all evening, you simply can’t help but admire the sight of him. Sabo is damn pretty like this, eyes heavy with desire, messy strands of hair falling over his face.

It’s all so hot. You’d be able to appreciate it a lot better if he would just let you cum, instead of denying you every time. But the desperation overshadows everything, like a fog over your mind.

You start subconsciously grinding back into him, chasing the pleasure. The friction makes you moan out despite not even moving that much. A part of you has given up on the hope of cumming anytime soon, but you need it so bad that you can’t help yourself. It’s like your body is moving on its own.

But Sabo pulls out so abruptly that you would have collapsed onto the floor if he weren’t firmly holding you in place.

You think he’s going to tell you off, but his voice in your ear is much gentler than you had anticipated.

“I’ll let you cum soon, alright? I mean it, I’m almost there.” Despite the sincerity in his voice, you don’t buy it.

“When?”

Silence.

Sabo lines himself up with your entrance again, pushing in to the base in one go.

It feels incredible. Your mouth falls opens from his thick head brushing past your oversensitive walls. His lips are parted to mimic yours, clearly meant to mock your fucked-out expression.

Sabo only gives a handful of thrusts, always careful to not accidentally push you over the edge. But he soon starts to stimulate your clit again.

He’s even meaner about it the second time. Giving it a few light taps with his finger, making you grunt and wriggle in impatience, but afraid to move too much. You’ve stopped crying again, you think you might pass out, if you did. Instead, your gaze is locked with his through the reflection. You look pathetic, desperate. It makes your stomach tense in embarrassment.

“Can I cum this time? Please?” You already know the answer, but it’s worth a shot, at least.

“No,” he simply states, an almost apologetic look on his face. His finger becomes a little bolder, sharply curling into his palm so as to give your clit little flicks from below. It stings with something too invasive to call pleasure. You try to twist away from it but it’s no use.

Every flick sends a thrill of pain through you. Each one more torturous than the last. Sabo doesn’t acknowledge your frustrated whines, completely in his own world. Probably reeling from the way your pussy fails to properly contract around his shaft. But he reacts a moment later, when his teasing becomes so unbearable that you try to fight him off of you.

Sabo’s hand immediately locks around your throat again. You’re wrestled into an upright position, pressed flush against him so that your arms can no longer reach the counter, legs trembling from the strain. The angle has Sabo’s cock digging into your front wall, where you’re most sensitive. Your abdomen is both numb and buzzing with feeling. You give a choked moan, unable to stop your body from struggling against his grip.

Sabo keeps flicking your clit in that agonising way. As though making a point about the futility of resisting. His wrist pins your hips against his, pushing back into your mound so hard you squeak from the shock.

You’re again reminded of just how much force Sabo has. How the care with which he usually handles your body is – in the end – a choice. How he could easily choose differently if it weren’t for his morals being in the way.

You hope they still are.

There’s that pressure in your head again. Not painful, but strong enough to make you feel helpless. Your hands shoot up to his wrist, mostly out of fear, as you know you can’t to anything about it.

“Gotta choke you a little. Sorry, pretty, you’re just not keeping still,” he mutters, so close that you feel his breath ghost over your ear. A trace of sarcasm in his voice when he says, “You don’t mind, do you?”

Before you can respond, his finger stops over your clit and presses down hard.

You squeal, the pain only making you writhe more. But a moment later, he’s already rubbing soothing circles into it, pretending like nothing happened.

You try to answer again, but the hand around your throat tightens harder than ever before, strangling your words. It only lasts for about two seconds but makes you so genuinely afraid that you stiffen up completely.

He just keeps rubbing your clit. You don’t even know if it feels good anymore.

“Stop,” you whimper. It’s completely instinctual.

“Don’t worry, I will.” There’s nothing funny about the joke, but he seems to think so, judging by the grin he shoots you. “But unfortunately, you get tighter when you’re scared.”

You don’t resist more after that. Your mind so hazy from shock that you only vaguely notice your orgasm nearing again. It’s not like he’ll let you cum this time either.

Sabo works you so close to the peak that you almost – just for a second – let yourself believe that he’ll be nice this time around. But he stays true to his word.

The buildup stops again. You can feel the last tingles fizzling out around where his hand had been. But the ache to cum is so strong now that it’s becoming painful.

You’re delirious now. Broken. Numb from the onslaught of stimulation. Further beyond your limits than you ever thought possible, so overexerted that you’re on the verge of completely shutting down.

“Fuck, you get really tight when you’re desperate,” Sabo teases, biting his lower lip, giving a satisfied groan, “Kind of makes me not want to stop at all.”

That’s it. This has to end. One way or another.

“No! I don’t want you to do that again!” you wail, hoarse from crying and being choked.

“Don’t worry, pretty, I’m getting-”

“No, I really mean it! Sabo, please.”

“Yeah? Can’t take it for me like a big girl?” He gives your neck another short, but brutal squeeze.

You look disturbed. He must like it, because his grip twitches around your neck when he sees it. Or maybe it’s the blood pulsing through you, trying to reach your brain.

There’s a slight rasp to your voice, “It hurts. Stop edging me, Sabo.”

“Oh? And what if I don’t?”

“I’ll fucking use the safe word!” You throw it at him like a threat, hoping that you seem even remotely intimidating. You don’t, but he at least looks mildly taken aback by your outburst. “Then you’ll have to stop.”

“Will I?” he says it purely to rile you up further, but his smile vanishes when he sees your face. You look so sincerely frightened at his words, freezing up completely. He knows for sure that he went too far.

Sabo lets go of your neck. “Hey, y/n. Of course I’ll stop.” His voice is serious, sober, like he’s trying his best to make you believe him, “We can stop right now, if you want. Just say the word.”

His arms wrap around you protectively and he kisses your cheek. You don’t speak at first, trying to get your trembling body under control.

“Hey, you still with me?”

You give a small nod in response, trying to reassure yourself from his words.

“I was just teasing. I’m sorry.” At those words, Sabo starts thrusting inside you again. Slow and deep. The angle makes you feel even tighter, and it’s like his tip is pushing apart your hip joints from how far in he’s reaching. “You just look so fucking cute when you’re scared. And in pain. Fuck, I can’t help myself sometimes.”

“Sabo, I want to cum. Please.”

“Mhm. I know,” comes the brief response.

“I’ll use the safe word if you don’t do it,” you threaten a second time, barely even conscious of what you’re saying anymore.

“So, if I don’t make you cum, we stop completely… And then what?” he says. “How are you going to cum if we’re not having sex?”

You truly can’t comprehend why he’s being so mean, and it makes your vision blurry. “Sabo, please. I don’t- I need…” It’s hard to speak with how hard you’re sobbing. “Be nice to me.”

“I’m nice to you. You don’t think I’m nice?” He says it with the most mischievous little smirk. “Well maybe not. But, fuck, you wouldn’t be either,” he groans into your ear, clearly enjoying the friction just as much as you are.

His hand moves to your neck again. You flinch. The dark smile that appears on his face makes you gulp, but that doesn’t stop him from fitting his fingers to your throat once more.

“Cute,” is all he comments before giving another firm squeeze that has your head spinning.

The blood is rushing in your temples, the push of Sabo’s cock against your insides doing nothing to ground you. When he speaks, his voice seems far away and muffled, like your ears are plugged.

“Sometimes, I just want to fucking break you,” he mutters, seemingly more to himself than to you. “Just hold you down and fuck you ‘till you scream for me to stop.”

His words make your stomach twist, but you can’t tell if it’s from fear or arousal anymore. It’s all muddling together in your tired mind, so focused on chasing your high that you would let Sabo say and do just about anything to you as long as he’ll just keep fucking you.

He’s rocking into your guts hard enough to bruise, one hand on your throat, the other around your waist. You couldn’t escape even if you tried, but the idea of putting up a fight doesn’t even cross your mind.

“Sa- Sabo…” you’re gasping now, “I’m…”

“Gonna cum soon?” he asks, eyes half-lidded.

“Please,” is all you manage. You don’t remember a time when you were able to form complete sentences, “Need…” But he gets the idea.

“Yeah? And what if I stop again, huh?” his murmur catches you off guard, sending a distinct surge of fear tearing through you. Your eyes find his, and you jolt at the darkness in them.

“No, please!” You’re whining again, struggling against his grip is pure terror of being put through the ordeal of another denied orgasm. “Sabo, no…”

“Bet you’ll start crying again,” he mutters into your ear. His finger travels down to your clit, and he gives it some more harsh flicks.

“Please, please!” You’re wailing out, repeating the only word you can remember. Unable to escape the creeping beginnings of pleasure pooling low in your stomach, coiling around your hips, up your spine. Like a cluster of vines, slowly but surely snaking themselves around every nerve in your body. The occasional thrill of pain from Sabo’s abuse on your clit like thorns digging into your flesh, spurring on your desire.

Your legs are trembling, so are your torso and lower lip. Fresh tears drip down your chin, mixing with the droplets of sweat already running down between your breasts.

You can see the goosebumps on your skin even through the reflection. The way your nipples are pebbled. Your brain refuses to associate the sight with the unbearable heat flooding your body.

Sabo’s mouth is slightly parted, pretty lips curled into a satisfied smile. Like he’s finally letting himself get lost in the haze of pleasure. But the desire to tease you seems to be too enticing, even now.

“What if I cum first, huh?” he pants in your ear, “And you don’t get to finish at all. What then?”

You try to plead again. To tell him you’ll do anything. That you’re too close for him to stop now. But your words are cut off by another crushing squeeze. All you manage to do is splutter and gasp for air when he lets go a moment later.

Sabo gives a light chuckle at your reaction. The same innocent one he usually gives you when he thinks you’re being cute or funny. It feels utterly out of place, and you’re reminded of how he insisted on holding the door for you earlier. “Hey, I’m joking. Don’t worry your pretty head about it, ok?”

But you’re crying too much to fully listen to him, occasionally managing to hiccup out a desperate “Please!”

Sabo seems to decide you’ve had enough torture for the evening, because he now opts for rubbing two fingers over your clit in tight, quick circles. It makes you whine out a moan, your high approaching incredibly fast.

“Fuck, you’re close. Getting so tight,” and he actually grunts into your shoulder from the effort of pushing through your tensing muscles, his head falling forward from the strain.

He’s right. You’re seconds away. You can feel that familiar white-hot burn starting to form.

Your sobbing has turned into an incessant chant of, “Please! Please!” the fear of being denied again too strong to allow you to stay calm.

But despite your worries, the first familiar ripple of an orgasm swells in your lower belly. Right where his cock is pushing apart your walls. It takes your brain a second to catch up, completely convinced, despite his reassurance, that you wouldn’t get to cum this time either.

It’s so thrilling that you barely notice how Sabo clamps down on your neck again. Seeing the bulging veins in his forearm sends another jolt through you, and your orgasm intensifies.

You’re shaking, every new wave tearing through you with a flash. White-hot flames lick up your body, following the path mapped out by all the previous denials. Every muscle in your body contracts, doubling over from the force of it. You faintly wonder how Sabo is still able to reach so deep, when you know for a fact even our own fingers couldn’t fight the tightness in your pussy.

Sabo’s pace has slowed down a little, working you through it with care and precision instead of speed and force. You’re grateful for it, your high would have otherwise been nothing more than a painful flash. His cock keeps rubbing against that exact spot that makes it climb higher each time, his fingers on your clit keeping the underlying tingling sensation constant. The one that carries your orgasm, fills it with more than just release, but ecstasy.

You don’t know how long it lasts for, but eventually the sensitivity becomes too much. Your hearing slowly comes back to you, making you notice Sabo’s continued moans, the way he keeps rutting inside you, bent over as well.

“Ok,” you manage, “Sabo…”

No response. You can feel his cum seeping out of you, so you know he’s finished.

“Sabo, I can’t!” You’re too sensitive.

He barely seems to notice, seemingly too intent on the way you can’t stop spasming around him for his body to still.

“Ok! Stop!” You finally manage to wrench his hand from your clit, and that gets his attention. His thrusts grind to a halt, and he slowly straightens up.

“Was that good?” He’s only half-joking, judging by the befuddled look on his face.

“Yeah. Fuck, that was good.”

There’s a moment of silence while you’re both panting, trying to catch your breaths. Sabo smiles at you through the mirror. It’s the usual, wholesome expression he always reserves just for you. You’re unsure how to feel about it now.

“You alright?” How does he always read you so well?

“Uh, yeah, I think so.”

Sabo doesn’t look convinced, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Liar,” he teases. Then, “You were actually scared of me back there, huh?” You can’t tell whether it’s a twinge of pride that you hear, even through the worry is his voice.

“Well, wasn’t that the point?” you pout a little, “You acted like you were trying to eat me.”

“Next time,” he jokes, carefully pulling out of you. An obscene splotch of cum oozes from your pussy and onto the floor at his action. “Uhh, maybe get in the shower. I’ll take care of this.”

You do as you’re told, standing in the cabin on shaky legs, watching Sabo clean up the mess with some toilet paper.

“Y/n. You know I was playing it up, right? I’ll always stop if you tell me to.” He flushes down the toilet paper and takes off his remaining clothes to join you. The look he gives you is incredibly sweet.

“Yeah, I know.” It’s hard not to smile back at him. You lean into his touch when he strokes your cheek.

“But I gotta say, it was crazy hot to see you crying like that.” Sabo laughs when you slap his arm but turns more serious a moment later. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were actually scared.”

You ponder his words. “It’s ok. I think I mostly didn’t know you could even be that scary. At least not towards me.” You meet his eyes.

Sabo smirks a little at your last words, “As long as you’re not hurt. Here, move a bit, I’m gonna turn on the water.”

You keep thinking about the events of the evening during your shower. There’s not much else to do. Sabo always insists on helping you get cleaned up, meaning you aren’t lifting a finger.

“It was weirdly hot,” you ponder. “The whole fear-thing, I mean.”

“Yeah, well. I’ll still go easier on you next time. Shouldn’t’ve scared you like that,” Sabo argues, trying to show how he doesn’t expect you to do anything you don’t want.

“Nah, it’s alright. I kinda liked it, actually,” you giggle at his expression.

Sabo looks a little starstruck, like he just fell in love with you all over again. The sight sends something warm through your chest.

“How are you so fucking perfect?” He seems a little breathless, still looking at you in awe. As though seeing you properly for the first time.

“’Cause I’m just as much of a pervert as you are.” That makes him laugh again. It’s sweet and radiant, impossible to look away from.

You were right. The evenings after missions are always the best.

Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it, this was my first time writing for Sabo :D (also i got lazy and reused ace's divider lol so i'm sorry for the spoilers lol)

Dividers made by me

you’ve been tailing him for weeks.

not sloppily—not like a rookie. every turn measured, every rooftop taken just wide enough to avoid notice. shadows used with intent. patience sharpened into habit.

sabo notices, of course.

he always does.

he doesn’t call you out. doesn’t change his pace. doesn’t give you the satisfaction of knowing he’s aware.

he lets you follow.

it’s always been like this.

every clash ends the same—bruised knuckles, shallow cuts, breath stolen from your lungs and his alike. no clear winner. reports written with clenched jaws. orders barked and ignored. then it starts again.

but this time, the alley is narrow.

stone walls on both sides. damp. close. the city loud just beyond, but in here—quiet. sealed.

he stops walking.

you step out from the shadows without ceremony, boots scraping stone. your weapon is already in your hand, devil fruit power humming just beneath your skin, familiar and lethal.

his back is still to you.

“you’re getting predictable,” he says calmly.

“you say that every time.”

“because it keeps being true.”

you strike first.

your power surges forward, sharp and precise—exactly enough force to force him to move. sabo pivots at the last second, pipe coming up to meet your attack. sparks bite the air. stone cracks beneath your feet as you push harder, faster, refusing to give him space.

he blocks. counters. steps inside your reach.

too close.

you twist away and strike again, power flaring brighter this time. he dodges, coat brushing your arm, and for half a second you’re chest-to-chest—breath hot, tension snapping tight—before you shove him back.

again. and again.

your power presses him. drives him toward the wall. his guard shifts. and there it is, an opening.

clear. clean.

you could end it, but you don’t.

it’s barely a pause. less than a heartbeat. but it’s there. and sabo feels it immediately.

his counter is brutal—he moves in close, faster than your power can answer, arm snapping around yours as something cold bites into your wrist.

click.

stone prism.

your strength drains instantly—like the ground dropping out from under you. your power gutters and dies in your chest. before you can react, the second cuff locks into place. your knees almost buckle as he slams you back against the wall, stone rattling beneath the impact.

your weapon clatters to the ground.

he steps back just enough to look at you properly.

you grit your teeth, breath steady despite the weakness flooding your limbs.

“cheap,” you say coolly.

he steps closer, voice low, unimpressed.

“no,” sabo says. “cheap would’ve been letting you keep pretending.”

his gaze sharpens—not angry. not smug. focused.

“you hesitated.”

you scoff. “wishful thinking.”

“don’t insult me,” he says quietly. “not when you’ve had better chances than that.”

his eyes flick to the cuffs once—confirmation—then drag back up to your face.

“you’ve landed hits that would’ve ended this,” he continues. “so don’t lie to yourself now.”

you tug against the cuffs. they don’t give.

“maybe i like the chase.”

his mouth curves—not a smile.

“no,” he says. “you like knowing i’m within your reach.”

his eyes lift back to yours.

“and you like when i don’t stop you.”

you slide down the wall despite yourself, cuffs biting cold into your wrists. your breath stays even. your glare doesn’t soften.

sabo watches it happen without moving to help.

he clicks his tongue once. quiet. disapproving.

“look at that,” he says. not loud. not mocking. worse—flat. “a marine on her knees because she can’t stand without her powers.”

you bare your teeth. “say that again.”

he steps closer instead.

crouches.

levels his gaze with yours.

“weeks,” he continues calmly. “you keep finding me. keep pushing just far enough. not to win.” his eyes flick over you once—slow, deliberate. “to end up right here.”

you pull at the cuffs again. your shoulders shake with the effort.

“pathetic,” he murmurs. “all that discipline. all that training. and this is what you do with it.”

you spit back, “go to hell.”

his mouth twitches—not a smile. “you already came,” he says quietly, your breath stutters despite yourself.

he notices. of course he does.

“don’t like hearing it?” he asks, tone cool. “marine ideals don’t hold up so well when you’re alone in an alley with the wrong man.”

the city noise swells behind the walls. distant. irrelevant.

he steps closer. his eyes flick to you—not curious, not amused, just calculating.

“a marine wanting this,” sabo murmurs, voice low, unamused. “pressed down like this…”

his hand lands against your inner thigh, measured, deliberate. you yelp, hips jerking.

he doesn’t smile. doesn’t soften. just watches. cold.

“and now,” he says, voice sharper now, clipped, mean, “you’re here. on your knees.”

your face flushes, fury burning hotter than anything else. your chest rises, falls. your hands clench, but you don’t move away.

his eyes flick up, cold as steel. “the crime,” he continues, almost bored, “is that you want it. and you know i know.”

he doesn’t wait for a response. his hands move down to your pants, unbuttoning you—not careful. hungry. impatient. like he needs this, like he’s been holding back far too long.

“what the hell—” you start, but he shoves two fingers into your mouth before you can finish.

you gasp, but you don’t pull back. not like you could, not like it matters.

once he finally strips you of your pants and underwear, he sees it. the wetness of your pussy glistens, even prettier than he imagined.

“see?” he scoffs, voice sharp. “barely did anything, and you’re dripping.”

you can’t reply. embarrassing. humiliating. a high-tier marine, reduced like this.

but your body betrays you. he notices. all of it.

he slides his gloved fingers out of your mouth, slick with saliva. he inspects them, tilting his head slightly.

“disgusting,” he spat, low and controlled. “and now my gloves are ruined.”

one glove comes off, revealing long, practiced fingers, still damp from where they’d been in your mouth.

then, deliberately, he holds two fingers in front of your face, eyes sharp, unyielding.

“suck properly this time.”

and you do. you know you want it. there’s no point in letting this go to waste anymore.

he hums when you take his fingers into your mouth, warm and slick, imagining how it would feel when it’s his cock wrapped around your lips instead.

after a few minutes, he pulls them out. doesn’t say a word.

then, without warning, he slides two fingers inside your pussy.

you yelp, hips jerking, but he doesn’t care about giving you a second to adjust—the pace is fast, punishing, relentless.

“s—slow down! fuck!” you cry, hips jerking, voice raw and loud, echoing off the stone walls. every sound is almost begging to be heard by someone passing by.

“why would i? this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he growls, voice low, calm, but every word hungry.

you slam your legs together, desperate to trap him, to make him stop—but he rips them apart in one motion. one hand presses against your inner thigh, holding you open, while the other finger stays buried deep inside you, sliding relentlessly.

“fucking—at least be a good slut and stay still!” he mutters, tone sharp. 

your moans tear out of you, filthy, loud, ragged… echoing against the alley walls, dangerously close to being heard. he notices instantly.

he leans down, shoving his mouth against yours, biting roughly at your lips, tongue pushing inside, swallowing every sound you make. the kiss isn’t sweet—it’s forceful, punishing, meant to drown out your filthy cries, while his fingers inside you don’t slow, thrusting fast. 

he pulled away—but stayed close, lips brushing yours, teeth grazing, breath hot. your mouth gasped, trying to take in air while his fingers kept thrusting deep inside you, relentless.

then he spits into your mouth, a rough, possessive press, forcing your lips back against his, tongue clashing, swallowing every whine and moan that escaped you.

you can feel it—pressure building, hips trembling, walls clenching around him. he notices. the way your body tightened, quivering, giving everything away without words.

you try to protest through the kiss, words breaking into moans. “i’m… gonna—!”

but before you finish, his fingers pull out abruptly.

“w—wha—” you stammer, voice broken, heat radiating off you. “what the fuck? i was about to—”

he cuts you off with a sharp slap across your cheek. not enough to bruise, but enough to leave your lips stinging, wide-eyed and gasping.

his hands grip your jaw, keeping your face level with his as he crouches over you, voice low and commanding:

“i decide when you cum.”

he presses closer, thumb brushing your jaw. “and it won’t be on my fingers.”

you wanted to protest, anything. this was humiliating. but your body couldn’t lie—it wanted this. it wanted sabo.

sabo grabbed you as he stood you up, pressing your back against the cold wall.

he started unbuckling his belt, the clear hardness of his cock outlined in his pants, straining to be freed.

finally, his cock was exposed, standing tall and proud. he wasn’t gritty, but he was long, just like you expected.

he let his hand make its way to your mouth.

“spit.”

you obeyed, spitting as if this were against you.

his hand was covered with your spit as he dragged it back to his cock, jerking it and letting the wetness cover his entire length.

he moans into his own touch as he looks at you with those eyes.

he stops playing with himself as he lifts one of your legs up, placing it on one of his shoulders.

“you’ll take me.”

“all of me. no complaining.”

“make sure to at least fuck me properly,” you spat.

this angered sabo, making him finally insert his cock inside you. no teasing. straight up making you take it.

you gasp, biting your lips to prevent your moans from escaping.

he thrusts deep inside you, his one hand gripping your face to stop you from moving, while his other hand stays on your leg, holding it up, pressing you perfectly against him.

“you—wanted me—to fuck—you properly—right?” he says between thrusts.

“is this all you got?—thought the chief of staff of the revolutionary could do fuckin’ better than this…!” you moaned, voice higher-pitched now.

“can’t even put that mouth of yours to good use. clearly you’re struggling to take me,” he says, lifting your shirt up. now, his hand that was on your leg shifts slightly to keep it resting on his shoulder, while his other hand grabs your tits, fondling and pressing you harder.

the cold wind brushes against your tits, making this more overstimulating than it already was. clearly, sabo doesn’t plan on stopping or slowing down.

“always trying to seduce me with your outfit choices,” he says, grinding his hips.

“like hell i’d ever do—that. fuckin’ pervert,” you spat back, making sabo’s grip even tighter as he plays with you.

his thrusts are brutal now, not an ounce of gentleness in his movements.

“gonna—make you—so full of me.”

“pervert? i don’t care. you want it. fuckin’ slut.”

it was too much. the rejected orgasm from earlier was still making you sensitive, and sabo was brutally thrusting into you as he played with your tits. not to mention, the stone prism cuffs were sapping your strength.

you clenched around him. sabo let out a groan, losing control for just a moment. he let you take him deeper, faster.

he could feel himself close. so, so close.

“god—gonna cum inside you—fuck..”

“f—fuck… no! you’re disgusting!” a lie. you wanted it. sabo knew this. you wanted to be filled by him. you’d been thinking about it ever since you started chasing him.

he kept going, ignoring your protest.

“…gonna cum.. so much.. gonna fill you..!”

and you felt it—he spills into you, warm and filling.

“oh—oh my god! sabo—! feel so good..! ♡”

you were both panting now. sabo still deep inside you, every thrust deliberate, wasting not a single drop.

“finally.” he murmured.

“…i hate you.” you gasped, trying to catch your breath.

you both get dressed, bodies slick, breaths ragged. sabo adjusts his coat, every movement precise, his eyes on you with that sharp, predatory focus that makes your chest twist. you’re trembling still, weak from the cuffs, overstimulated, and painfully aware of every inch he filled.

he steps back, just far enough to leave space, but not enough to let the tension go. his gaze lingers on you like he’s marking every reaction, every curve, every flinch. your hands shake slightly as you smooth your clothes, but he doesn’t care—he notices anyway.

“don’t get too comfortable,” he murmurs, voice low, a razor cutting across your nerves. a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, teasing, dangerous. there’s no warmth in it, only the promise that you’re far from done being his.

he begins to move, shadows swallowing him, but then he pauses, shoulders squared, head tilted, eyes glinting like he’s measuring you. “remember this feeling,” he says softly, almost casual—but the weight in his tone presses against your chest, heavy, undeniable. “it won’t be the last time.”

and with that, he slips away completely, leaving you pressed against the cold wall, shivering, flushed, weak, and certain—he’s far from finished. your body still aches for him, your mind spins, and the alley feels impossibly empty without the threat of him crouched over you… but you know he’ll be back.

A silent dinner is followed by an executive meeting between factions, which ends shortly after you agree to assimilate your corps into the army. You wonder how Sabo manages to do it at the young age of 22, but you find yourself suppressing the thought of him inside your head—there's no time to think of that now. No time to think of him.

By midnight, you're led to a private bunker in the lower deck where a single bed awaits you, and just like that, the night passes by. You don't wake until the following afternoon, having welcomed it unpleasantly as a ruckus erupts outside your door.

"Are you a damn child, Sabo? Didn't you see the puddle of spillage on the floor?!"

"I know, I know, I saw it—"

"No, you didn't! That's why you slipped!"

You peek past your door to find a pitiful Sabo on the ground. As he stands, he's completely soaked.

Then two pairs of eyes land on you. Koala, a ginger in her 20s, offers a brief wave before bending down to pick up Sabo's hat. She's gone shortly afterward, deciding to leave the man in the mess he started. But he doesn't care, because his eyes are now on you like some starstruck man.

He clears his throat. "Hey—"

You shut the door.

And Sabo just stands there, confused, drenched, and alone, wondering what to do.

By the time your empty stomach forces you to leave your bunker, the sun has set below the horizon and torches have been lit around the ship. You find a quiet place somewhere after peak hours and you're left alone with your thoughts.

There isn't much explanation for your withdrawn attitude except for the fact that you're recovering from trauma. You infiltrated enemy territory. You got caught sneaking around. You made out with the Revs' Chief-of-Staff, and you kicked enemy asses but it was too dangerous to stay in your kingdom. So now you're sailing with the Revolutionary Army, whom you'll be spending the rest of your life with.

Everything happened so fast that you're simply dazed. Even more so because Sabo seems to eye you with want in the past 24 hours you've been on the ship. You're not a fool; you know you left a good impression during your first encounter. And in all honesty, you're guilty for not knowing how to respond.

It's not like you don't want him just the same. It's just that, for someone who will never return home, you have more concerns to think about.

But maybe it's time to find a distraction, something to clear your head.

"Your soup is getting cold."

Speak of the devil.

"You don't say."

"The chef always knows best." Sabo leans on the taffrail, his back facing away from the sea. The cool breeze makes a mess of his blond hair as it travels southwest, and that's when you notice the extent of his scar. "I doubt you'd know more than the guy who made it."

"You made this?"

"Yeah." He looks down at your half-eaten bowl. "Is it bad?"

You shrug. His jaw drops open.

"No, you must be joking. I poured my heart and soul into that soup."

You smile. "That would explain the taste. Nobody wants to eat human heart."

He scoffs. "Dark."

You look into the sea, then up toward the sky. The moon is gone. Nothing but the warm fire of the torches light up the night. It's just you, Sabo, and the rest of the Army in the cold, dark sea, and suddenly, your world is hauntingly small, like it's slipping away from your hands as you sail far, far away from home.

You need a distraction. You really do.

"I'm grateful," you croak. "Thank you."

Sabo cocks his head to the side as he watches you eat, finding entertainment in the way you pucker your lips before blowing on a spoonful of his signature soup. He bites the inside of his cheek, thinking to himself.

It's a shame you met like this. You're the perfect woman in his eyes. Beyond your trained kisses and experienced hands, you lead your army with confidence and wisdom, quirks he admire as a young leader himself. But your first encounter wasn't ideal, and it's a huge let down because you're both grieving the aftermath of it.

Sabo lost some of his comrades. You lost your home. Lustful thoughts should be the last thing he's thinking of, but sadness awakens his desire to be held and touched with the same hurried hands that aroused him when he was at death's door.

It's a very vulnerable time, yet he's in the mood to let his feelings out.

"So," he starts. He shifts in his laid-back position, arms now crossed over his chest.

You remain quiet. His hands fidget beside him, and he can't stay still. What Sabo wants is overwhelmingly obvious, but you wait for his invitation.

Then he asks, "You in the mood?"

You drink the last of your soup and down a cup of water.

"Depends."

He nods. "On what?"

"If you're willing to kiss my savory corn breath."

"Like I haven't tasted my own cooking before."

You stow away the bowl by the foot of the rail and look at him encouragingly. Sabo stares back with the same desire, like he's thinking of how to kiss you and how to boldly take you to his room.

Warmth pools at the pit of your stomach, and suddenly, you remember how badly he wanted you when you first kissed.

You started it, but you charmed him. Then he fell for you and decided he wanted more. He had placed his hands on your waist and traced your figure up to your corset, but he stopped himself from straying further, knowing it could cost you your lives had he lost focus.

It's all coming back to you.

Sabo stands tall in an attempt to gather his courage. The opportunity is on the table—he just needs to grab it.

"The more I look at you, the more I want to fuck you."

There it goes.

Your eyes flicker to his lips.

"Then what's the hold up?"

Without warning, Sabo catches your lip in between his and sighs at the memory of them. There's no need to rush now, no ticking time bomb telling him that you're a few seconds away from getting caught by your enemies. But he's starved of your touch and he simply can't handle himself, so he's erratic as your lips brush clumsily, his actions fueled by lust and an unfulfilled hunger.

The wind blows your top and exposes some skin. He satisfies himself by touching you all over the place, dragging his fingers across your back. Then he holds your blown top up with his hands and fondles with the underwire of your bra, lifting it eventually to feel your breasts. You gasp.

"Too fast?" he asks.

"Yeah, but . . . " You look down at his pants, then up again at his chest. You haven't touched him one bit, but your legs squeeze themselves close at your vivid imagination, the rush of dirty thoughts turning you on. There's no reason to slow down now. Sabo's cheeks are hot, his breathing irregular. You're as needy as he is.

He probes your chest again and kneads your breast slowly. You sighed.

"You're into that?" he repeats, this time glossing over your nipple.

"Yeah," you moan, "fuck, Sabo. Just kiss me."

Sabo does as told and initiates another kiss, smiling through it as your hands claw at his vest. He hikes up your bra and plays with your erect nipples, rubbing against them in between his fingers. Then his other hand slips into your pants, finds the hem of your underwear, and tugs lightly.

His lips travel to your neck. Your hands, frail as ever, unbutton his vest and pop open the top buttons of his dress shirt. They move down his body until you're pulling down his pants and feeling him through the material, touching him to arousal.

Your hand traces his dick, and you feel his hardness rub onto you as he thrusts his hips gently. Groaning lowly, he flushes his body against yours to feel you even closer. Should he think too hard, he'll come without fucking you, and that's the last thing he wants to happen.

"I'll end up fucking you here if you keep doing that," he whispers breathily.

"I kinda need it . . . as a distraction," you mumble.

"Yeah?" He nibbles at your neck. "To clear your pretty head?'

With both hands on his shoulders, you steady yourself. "I need to get over stuff."

"Good thing I'm here." He kisses the small bruise on your collarbone. "I'll make you forget."

He pushes you against the rail and forces a leg in between you. He looks down at your tits and swoops down to suck on them, then lets his hands play with your panties again.

"Spread your legs just a bit."

Weakly, your legs give way for his knee to slip in between them and for his thigh to press against your cunt. A sigh escapes your lips as you grind down on his leg. Embracing you tightly, Sabo matches your rhythm by rocking his thigh forward until you're squirming mindlessly in front of him.

Then the kitchen doors fly open, and Koala sticks her head past them. She spots Sabo's silhouette as far as her vision allows. "Are you going to keep the kitchen waiting for your dishes, or will you clean everything?" she yells across the ship. "Just so you know, the dishes don't wash themselves!"

Sabo cusses, then quickly spins on his heel to hide you behind him. You fix your bra and bring your top back down.

He clears his throat. "In a minute!"

"Okay, but you better be here in five because it's getting late!" Koala yells back before retreating into the kitchen.

As soon as she's gone, your hands cross over your chest.

"Your girlfriend?"

Sabo rolls his eyes. "Don't have one."

"Kind of felt like I was interrupting something when you made noise the other day." Still suspicious, you narrow your eyes at him. Sabo shakes his head. "You know, when she yelled at you outside my door?"

The man scoffs. The other day, when he slipped on Koala's warm bath water, he did make a scene. But that was just another one of his dumb antics as a clumsy nut, and Koala happened to be his victim. He didn't mean for it to happen outside your room.

"How do I prove to you that we're not together?" asks Sabo.

You shrug.

"I don't know. Maybe start taking me to bed?"

Nodding, he bites down on his lip.

"That should be easy."

Sabo has a private room somewhere on the Wind Granma, a quaint but lived space that feels just like him. He takes you there in a hurry, making sure to avoid your people on the way, and right as you enter the room, he slides your top down to your waist and attacks your chest.

"Fuck," you moan.

"Take your pants off," he orders. He cages you in between his arms with your back to the door. You unbutton your pants before his hands take authority again to force your clothes off you. Left in just your underwear, you shiver upon contact with his bare hands.

"Not fair," you complain as he stops you from touching his dick, now forming a bigger bulge in his pants. Sabo chuckles to himself and kisses you deeply, his hand caressing your cheek.

"On the bed. I'll eat you out."

With eyes glossed over, you hastily walk over to the bed and lie down on your back. Sabo situates himself in between your legs again, this time with your pussy spread open for him. He laces his fingers with your underwear, pulls it to the side, and rubs your folds delicately.

Sucking on his two fingers, he coats them quickly with spit and brings them to your pussy. He smears your wetness all over the place, rubbing your clit in the process. He wishes it were his dick, but Sabo holds himself back until he's tasted you, making sure that you're ready to take him before then.

He slides two wet fingers inside you, and you tense. "Ugh." A groan sounds from the back of your throat, and you can't finish your words. "Sabo, that's so . . . "

"What?" he asks, concerned. "First time?"

"No"—you shake your head—"it's just . . . it's been a while."

"I'll make it good for you," he says. "I'll take it easy."

You nod. "Please do."

It's considerate of him. Sabo has been dominant until this point, so you didn't expect him to be so compliant. He sticks to his word by being gentle with his fingers until he sees that you're comfortable enough to take more. Eventually, he fucks them into your pussy even harder at a faster pace, only stopping every so often to push you further to the edge.

He adds a third finger when you're close, watching your face contort into pleasure, and even more when you come undone in his hand. Sabo spreads your wetness again, then presses his tongue to your cunt when you least expect it.

"Fuuuck," you cry out. He laps the cum off your pussy until you're tugging at his hair. It's too much, you think, but it feels so good since you haven't felt this euphoria in a long time, and Sabo makes it even better by being so skilled. He has an irresistible appeal to him, too. "Are you— ugh, are you experienced?"

He looks up from your cunt, your release dripping excessively from his chin. "Why? You think I am?"

"How many women?" you ask without really thinking. You're not here to pry, but you do want to know. Under that charming smile and handsome face is a freak who knows how to finger pussy. And by the way he slides his tongue past your folds, he must be experienced.

"What's it to you?" he asks back, kissing your inner thighs with wet lips.

"You fuck well," you say truthfully.

"You have yet to experience the full ride," he teases. He brings himself to his knees and guides you up. "You ready to take me?"

Your pussy stirs with want. You miss his lips, his tongue. But you glance down at his pants and, god, you'd rather have him inside you than anything else right now. "Fuck yes."

Sabo falls to the space next to you and removes his clothes, leaving his pants last so you can help tug them down. You crawl toward him and straddle his waist, then let his cock spring free as you strip him down. As expected, he's above average with a decent girth. His head is flushed, his shaft firm. He's perfect for you, just the right size that you can take. Delicious.

He grips your hips and steers you forward so you're lying on top of him. With one hand, he guides himself to your pussy and slides in slowly. He allows you to get accustomed before moving on his own accord and thrusting himself upward.

You let Sabo take control while you relax into him, making sounds in his ear that seem to turn him on. The more he thrusts, the louder you get. He doesn't stop even when you feel the first wave of pleasure spreading under your skin, which you try your hardest to contain as he drives himself into you. But your orgasm drips down his cock in a messy cascade, and you realize how silly it is to think that you could keep yourself from releasing so easily.

Sabo doesn't mind it though. He maintains his pace even when you're creaming on his cock, the sound of smacking flesh a cadenced noise that fills the room. His moans blend into the mix as you bite down on the skin by his throat. He's hypnotized and sensitive, and it gets too much for him that his thrusts slow down, his hands coming to rest on your waist.

At that moment, you swipe the chance to move your hips to the rhythm, and when he stops fully, you're in control. You roll your hips and grind against him repeatedly until you're snapping yourself back down on his cock. Then you balance yourself on two feet and set a maintainable pace. Sabo lets you do what you want; he doesn't really mind you bobbing up and down on him as long as you allow his hands to feel your ass, and when he sees you enjoying yourself too much, he decides to tease you with his fingers again. His hand flies to your clit as you briefly pause to circle your hips.

"Oh," you gasp. "Ohhh, shit, Sabo . . . no . . . "

He smiles in satisfaction. He relishes your reaction too much to stop. "Yeah? Feels good?"

You're panting in shock, aroused, as he continues to pleasure you. You're barely verbal at this point. The desire to finish is close. You're afraid to do anything else in fear of breaking the tension. Sabo notices immediately and flicks his fingers with haste, locking eyes with your glazed ones before they look down again to watch your pussy unfold. Then he decides, fuck it, and pushes himself into you again, this time controlling the pace that you thought you owned.

You let Sabo pound you from underneath as you lay on his chest in defeat. You take every inch of him, submitting to his power while you hold back the pleasure. When he trembles, he holds your ass so firmly he could burst. "Shit, shit," he pants. "Shit, baby. You're insane. Driving me so crazy."

"Uh-huh," you whine. "Give it to me . . . please. Please."

Sabo stays on beat while you concentrate, building up pressure until your body gives out. When you let go, your legs quiver before falling limp on either side of him. He groans and strokes your side in support, but he doesn't stop the movement of his hips. He brings himself closer to the edge, closer and even closer, until it's too dangerous to keep going.

At that instant, he orders, "Get on your stomach, baby. Get on it." In shock, you follow, then lay your stomach on his pillow while he takes charge from behind.

Sabo slips himself right back inside your pussy and fucks you to his heart's content. He starts decently slow before quickening later on, with every buck of his hips exciting delight. Your hands fist the pillow the longer he lasts, and the blanket under you saturates with sweat. He's less collected now, his head hanging close to your cheek. His breathing is heavier than before, and his moans are spilling all over the place. His arms, looped around yours for stability, tense with every jolt. He's refusing to cum so early when it's his first chance to prove to you what he's got, so until he shows you that this is worth it—staying with the army and being with him—he's not going to stop.

Sabo is pressed against your back by the time he's growling in your ear. He's hungry for release, so much so that he pulls your panties vigorously that you're sure it'll break. Some strokes later, he slides out of you before spilling on your back.

He pumps his cock in desperation, milking every last drop of seed with his jaw slacked open. Drained, sweaty, and flushed red, he's very much beat. But he leans forward to catch your lips, breathing sharply through his nostrils.

You tilt your head backward as he comes close. It's a deep, sweet kiss, something borderline comforting and lustrous. Then you feel his cock resting behind you, and your tongue itches for more.

Leaning back a few centimeters, you whisper, "Let me suck you off. Please."

Sabo looks down at you, bangs obstructing his vision, but you sound so needy that he doesn't even have to see you to know that you're begging sincerely. "You want it?" A desperate nod. "Alright. Kneel."

You rush down the bed while Sabo repositions himself at the edge of it, legs spreading lazily. You kiss around his shaft a few times before taking him in your mouth. He's still hard, and his tip is red. The only difference now is that he's wet with your essence and drool. A messy situation, it's intense and vulgar—even more than your past encounters, which aren't many—but Sabo makes it enjoyable. He knows what he likes, and he listens to what you want. He gives, and you take. And when he likes it a certain way, you give it to him that way. It's a constant give-and-take between you in equal measure, and right now, he's giving himself raw for you to devour, to enjoy, much to your excitement.

His back hits the bed the first time you take all of him, and his arms splay out and graze the sheets. He's too tired for anything, his mind a blank space. The only thing he's perceptive of is the way you blow him clean, and from that alone, he's certain that you've done this before. Your lips part around his cock when you tease his tip, almost puckering them to create some suction. It's only when you've run your tongue up and down his shaft a couple times do you use your hands and lips together to build tension. Sabo would've lost it if he hadn't stopped you, but your snarky little smile tells him that it won't be the last time you'll pull it off.

So he watches, now on his elbows, as you let your tongue run wild, hands-free. But you're back to kissing his shaft when he notices your way of doing things. From hollowing your cheeks to swallowing him whole, you're deliberate with every gesture. You're bold, confident, and purposeful. It's no question that you led a rebel faction before meeting him. With the curse of leadership, Sabo understands having to call instant decisions that can make or break long-term plans, from which one learns to be decisive. And you, the army's newest recruit, are one decisive woman.

He can't forget your display of bravery back then. A bold, lustful move in front of your enemies, something Sabo had only read in fiction. You were direct and intentional, and it was exactly to his liking. For all the time he has spent ordering people, it felt good to be at the receiving end for once. And your deliberateness thrilled him.

So he loosens up for you while you suck him dry. He trusts your decision to control, even when you're using your hands again, even when you're sucking him off messily. Your head bobs up and down as spilled pre-cum runs down his cock. You clean it with a swipe of your tongue, only to make a mess again as you reach his tip, spewing cum and drool from your lips. Sabo is breathless as you repeat it over and over again, each time making an even bigger mess, and it's so sloppy that he has to keep himself from finishing too fast again.

"Baby, baby— you're so good at that." You look up at him. His chest is flushed; his cheeks are hot. He's out of breath. "You suck me off so good, baby. You learned that from somewhere?"

"I racked up experience," you answer, stroking him up and down slower. His eyes squeeze shut. "Just like you."

"You do it better."

"Mmmh, I'd argue the opposite." You remember how he ate you out just a while ago. That was the work of a skilled man, something that nobody could simply replicate. It excites you just thinking about it. "But if you insist . . . "

Your lips find him again, and Sabo's eyes shoot open. You maintain eye contact as your head bounces up and down, throating him deeper and deeper as you moan eagerly. Sabo stills you as he hits the back of your throat, then gently rolls his hips to fuck himself to release. But when he feels it coming, he slides out of your mouth quickly and pulls you back to the bed.

"Get up," he commands, "I'm going to fuck you."

You giggle, following his orders. "You don't want to cum just yet?"

"Not until I have this pussy again." He puts you on your back and spreads your legs himself. You're still wet, your own orgasm glistening on your inner thighs. He plays with your folds and groans at the way you open just for him, then teases you with a finger.

"Ugh, Sabo," you whine, "again?"

"I'm thinking about it." He slides his finger deeper, creating a pace you seem to like. But he imagines you taking cock again, his cock, so he pumps himself impatiently until he can't keep up with his wild thoughts.

Sabo guides himself toward you and sinks in without problem. Leaning forward, he places both arms on either side of you and rocks his dick into your pussy, so wet and so good for him, with familiarity. You moan to his rhythm, your hands roaming through his body and not knowing where to place them. Soon you tug at his hair, swiping his bangs away to see his drunken eyes, and you swear they're almost carnal with the way he holds such a lewd stare, like he wants to gobble you up alive.

Your hands glide down his face, ignoring the dripping sweat on his hot cheeks, before you brush your fingers across his parted lips. Then you wrap your hands around his neck and bring his head down for a kiss. You start rutting your hips back and forth in a desire for more until it's impossible to breathe.

As you break the kiss, Sabo pins your hands down on the mattress and quickens his pace. Your name escapes his lips as he fucks you, groaning every time he accidentally slips out. But he keeps going, possessed in a trance that he can't seem to snap out of.

You look down at your legs to watch where you and him connect. Your panties are in total ruin, but it's such a hot sight that you feel yourself aiming to finish yet again.

"Fuck, Sabo . . . " you beg. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes—"

"You hear that, baby?" Sabo pipes down as the sound of your wet pussy echoes in the room. "I know you love it; I know you love this cock—"

"You're so good."

"Show me how good I am by cumming on me," he instructs. His hand flies down to your tits, holding onto them tightly. "Show me how you—"

Someone knocks on the door.

"Shit."

Your head snaps to the other side of the room.

"W-who's outside?" you ask.

Sabo grunts. He's worried, but his thrusts don't stop. "Don't know, but keep it down."

"I-I can't—"

"Kiss me if you can't," he orders, eyes going dark. With a hand on your cheek, he guides your face to look back at him. "Kiss."

You bring your face closer to his, and Sabo mutes your sounds by kissing you. He leaves you with no room to breathe as he focuses on fucking you simultaneously. The knocking dies down before starting again, this time more hesitant for reasons unknown. But it only brings you and him closer in an attempt to quiet down without stopping.

It's annoying at first with your moans withheld, but Sabo kisses you with such intensity that you relax back into the bed and forget the interruption. Soon enough, his hips begin to stutter while your legs writhe under him. You're reaching your climax when he can't hold it any longer, and he whispers hurriedly, "Where do you want me?"

"On my tongue, please, on my tongue," you beg. Sabo scurries off the bed while you follow him to the edge. Pumping himself, he brings his tip to your mouth and releases. He shoots his cum on your tongue, then down your throat as you take him in. As he does, his mouth falls open in a silent scream, gripping your shoulder in a struggle to keep quiet.

You swallow all of him, and you suck him softly as his breathing slows down. The interruption at his door is gone. At last, you're alone together again.

Sabo steps away from you. He runs his hands through his hair as he collects himself. Your legs twitch and your arms begin to ache, but you welcome the exhaustion regardless.

"Almost thought we were going to get caught," says Sabo. He glances at the door.

"Do you think they heard us?" comes your question. It's laced with worry, Sabo notices, but he dispels it quickly.

"I'd say you did a good job at keeping quiet." He sits beside you and pats his leg invitingly. You rest your head on his limb. "You're off the radar since it's my room. They'd be more suspicious of me."

You hum. Tapping your fingers on his leg, you chuckle. "I think it's quite the story."

"Sorry?"

"Considering that we met because those bastards cornered us in the first place . . . it's silly, somewhat, that we didn't want to get caught this time around."

"I prefer that my colleagues not see me butt-naked in bed," he jokes.

"And your enemies?"

"I'll burn the image of my ass in their heads. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

You roll your eyes. "That's one way to go about it. I'm sure they'll like what they see."

"Oh yeah?" Sabo sweeps back your hair. A smile forms on your lips. "You should clean up. The baths are to the left of your room, but I can show you the way."

"I do know the way," you tell him. You had gone there yesterday for a quick bath. "Unless . . . unless you would like to join?"

Sabo chuckles. "You're okay with that?"

"I would be lonely all alone," you say, "and it's my second day on the ship. Don't I deserve a better tour?"

He shakes his head. "That 'tour' you speak of can go so many different ways."

"Like what?"

"Well"—he breathes in—"it could go smoothly with no hiccups. Then it could also not, depending on the turn of events at the showers."

You smirk. "That sounds . . . "

"Exciting?"

"Mysterious."

"Then you'll have to figure it out yourself. Come with me?"

Sabo offers his hand, and you take it. A few minutes later, you're dressing yourselves before sneaking past the doors and inside the communal showers, only to undress yourselves all over again under the spray of the water.

-

this series was originally planned as a three-parter with plot, but my dumbass didn't write down the prompt 10 months ago... so here we are. part 3 was supposed to be set after sabo became a df user in dressrosa, but it won't come unless i remember the og plan (i most likely won't). if you have any ideas (requests for what you'd like to read plot-wise and in smut), my comments are open to suggestions