𝙑𝙞𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙚.𝙁𝙈

You sip your drink and glance toward the docks, bored. Then your eyes freeze... No way.

You squint.

Tall man, black hat with white spots, fluffy. That long coat, that walk... You drop the cup. It hits the ground with a soft clink.

“Law??” you call out, loud and without thinking.

The man stops. The whole crew turns around.

Your heart skips.

It is him.

He turns, slowly, eyes locking with yours.

“Y/N…” he says. Low. Surprised.

You can’t help but grin.

You step closer “Oh my god... how are you?? I’ve seen you on the news so many times. You’re a warlord now?! I never thought I’d see you again.”

He doesn’t smile, but his eyes soften. You recognize that look. He remembers.

His crew is staring now.

One with goggles leans over to the bear in a hoodie.

“Who’s that?” he whispers.

The polar bear shrugs “Dunno. But she knows the captain.”

You glance at them and chuckle.

Law still says nothing. He looks like he’s thinking too hard, jaw tight. Typical.

You roll your eyes “Right. You’re not gonna say it, huh?”

You take a step forward, hand on your hip.

“I’m Y/N,” you say, loud enough for the whole crew to hear “I used to be Law’s girlfriend. And I’m his first tattoo artist.”

Gasps. Real ones.

“WHAAAT??”

“EX-girlfriend?!”

“Tattoo artist?! So she did those?!”

“Wait, he has tattoos??”

“He let someone touch him?!”

Even the bear goes shocked.

Law sighs and rubs the back of his neck “You still talk too much, Y/N.”

You laugh “And you still say nothing at all.”

You grin “You’re really here, huh? After all these years.”

You walk with the crew through the market near the docks. Law’s beside you quiet, as always, but his steps match yours. The others keep throwing you glances like you’re some kind of rare animal.

The tall one with goggles Shachi, you think his name is, can’t hold it in anymore.

“So, wait. You’re the one who did the tattoos on the Captain?”

“Yup” you nod.

“ALL of them?”

“I guess. I don't know if he had another tattoo artist later.”

"I didn't." he says and only you seems to hear it.

“Even the ones on his fingers? And the arms??”

You smirk “I’ve touched more of your captain than all of you combined.”

“WHA—” They all choke.

Law sighs again, rubbing his temples “Y/N…”

“I’m just saying facts, Law.”

You keep walking, passing a fruit stand. Penguin, the one with the hat, nudges you “So… you really dated him?”

You shrug “Yeah. For a while. Before he was famous. Before the crew.”

Bepo tilts his head “Why’d you break up?”

You pause “Life stuff. Timing. Goals. Pirates and tattoo shops don’t mix well.”

Shachi whistles “Man, that’s wild. I still can’t picture him dating someone.”

“I didn’t believe it either at first,” you say, smiling to yourself “He’s... complicated.”

Then Penguin says, “I bet the one on the chest hurt the most though, right Captain?”

Your body goes still.

Law stops walking too. You both freeze at the same time.

Your mind doesn’t ask permission... it just goes.

Flashback. Your tattoo studio, late at night. Warm orange light. Law’s shirt is off. He sits on the tattoo chair, toned chest exposed, calm as ever. “I want the next one here.” he says, touching the center of his chest. You arch a brow “You sure?” He nods once “Yeah.” You bite your lip. You two are already a thing now, nights together, kisses stolen in your shop, your toothbrush next to his blades. But this feels more...intimate. “Alright,” you whisper, clicking your tattoo pen on “Then let’s make it count.” You don’t sit on the stool. You don’t ask for permission. You straddle him. Right on his lap. His eyes widen, just slightly. His hands go to your waist, not pushing you away, just resting there, tight. “This okay?” you ask, fake-innocent. He grits his teeth “Tch. You know it is.” You smile and lower the needle to his chest. You work slowly, carefully, your hips close to his, your breath brushing his face. His jaw clenches. You can feel how tense he is... but he doesn’t flinch. Not from pain. No... It’s because of you. By the time the ink is done, you’ve forgotten what hurts more, his grip on your thighs or your own heartbeat. And after that... Well, let’s just say he didn’t get up from the chair right away.

Back to now.

You blink. Snap out of it.

Your face is hot. Lips tight. Brows furrowed.

You glance at Law. He’s not looking at you.

But his face?

Same.

Jaw clenched. Eyes distant. Tension written all over his shoulders.

You both remembered. You know it.

Shachi whistles “...Why do you both look like you smelled something cursed?”

Bepo tilts his head “Are you okay?”

You wave it off “Fine. Just, uh, a memory.”

Law doesn’t say a word. He just keeps walking, hands in pockets, eyes forward.

But you see the small twitch at the corner of his mouth.

And it’s driving you insane.

You’re still walking with the crew, but the energy is weird now. Like a storm’s rolling in, just under your skin.

The others keep chatting and asking questions, but your brain keeps stuttering... stuck between now and then.

“Captain doesn’t talk much about his past,” Penguin says, chewing on some weird fruit he picked up “It’s kinda cool hearing this stuff. Makes him seem more human.”

“He is human...” you say without thinking.

Shachi chuckles “You sure about that? I saw him take out ten guys with one swing of his sword.”

Bepo grins “By the way, did you start with the ones on his arms first?”

You hum “Arms first. Then the fingers. Then chest. Then—”

You stop. Too late.

“Then?” Shachi raises his brows.

You bite your lip “Forget it.”

“Nooo, don’t do that,” Penguin whines “We wanna hear!”

You sigh “Fine. The weirdest one was... the one on his back.”

That shuts them up.

“His back?!”

“Where on his back??”

“Wait, why "weirdest"??”

“Dude, that must’ve hurt so bad!”

You shrug “He didn’t complain.”

But your voice is quieter now.

Flashback. Another night. Another quiet request. “I want something here.” Law says, pulling off his shirt and turning away. His back is smooth, pale, all muscle and scars. But bare. “You want... a tattoo on your back?” He nods once “Yeah. I already have something in mind.” You stare at him for a moment “You sure?” He doesn’t answer. He just sits. Waiting. You prepare the tools. The ink. The stencil. But as you move behind him, he grabs your wrist. Pulls you around. Suddenly, you’re in his lap. Again. You blink at him “This how we’re doing tattoos now?” His lips twitch into a rare smile “Only when it’s you.” His voice is low. Dangerous. The kind of sound that always melts your brain. You start the needle, shaking a little “Well, too bad I can't tattoo your back from here.” “Try your best.” You laugh but then you stand and go to his back. The tattoo is slow. Intimate. You’re touching his back delicately even for a tattoo, and every move you make makes him breathe harder, even more when you randomly leave kisses on his bare skin where the ink hasn't reavhed yet. By the time the tattoo is halfway done, his hands are on your waist again, but this time... tighter. “You gonna finish it?” he asks, voice husky. You kiss him instead. You never finish the tattoo that night.

Back to now.

Your face is boiling. You know it. You can feel it. And when you dare to glance at Law, you regret everything.

He looks just like he did after the flashback from earlier.

Tense. Focused. Eyes darker than usual.

And you know he remembered that too.

You inhale sharply and shake it off “Well... sorry to cut this short, but I gotta head back. I have a client in fifteen minutes.”

“FIFTEEN??” Bepo looks horrified “That’s not enough time to say goodbye!”

“We just met! I want to talk more!!” Penguin adds, actually pouting.

“We should do dinner!” Shachi suggests “Or drinks! Or matching tattoos for my birthday...”

“I don’t even know your birthday,” you laugh, trying to hide the heaviness in your chest “You guys are too much. But I had a lot of fun. Thank you for taking care of Law.”

"He's the one who takes care of us."

"Yeah, I don't think so..."

You turn to Law, slower than you mean to.

He’s just standing there. Watching you. Hands in his pockets. Saying nothing.

So, of course, you have to fill the silence.

“Hey.” You meet his eyes.

“If you ever want a new tattoo... my shop’s always open for you.” You smile, but it’s faint “Even after closing time.”

Something flickers in his eyes. But still, he doesn’t say a word.

You wave at the crew, who’s already acting like they’ve known you for twenty years and are sending you off to war.

“Bye, guys. Keep taking care of him, alright?”

They all yell goodbyes and promises and dramatic sobs.

You walk away before your voice cracks.

Back in your shop, the silence is loud.

You lean against your work table, staring at your equipment. The ink. The gloves. The chair.

All the places he’s been.

You try to shake the feeling. But it’s hard. Because you didn’t stop loving him. You just... couldn’t keep up with his world.

Now he’s bigger than life. Famous. Feared. A pirate captain.

And you’re just a tattoo artist in a tiny port town.

So no... you don’t think he’ll come tonight.

He’s got his crew. His ship. His missions.

He probably doesn’t love you anymore.

You sit down and try not to cry.

Your client leaves right on time.

A small anchor tattoo. Nothing fancy. Nothing meaningful. But you smile and treat them with care, because that’s what you do.

Still, when they leave, the shop feels colder.

You sweep the floor. Clean your tools. Wipe the chair down like muscle memory. Then you sit behind the counter.

And wait.

It’s not like you said he had to come. You just offered.

“My shop’s always open for you. Even after closing time.”

You curse under your breath, hand to your face.

Why did you say it like that? Like you were waiting? Like you were... still his?

You glance at the clock.

One hour after closing.

Two.

Then three.

You haven’t moved.

The lights are still on. The “closed” sign hangs crooked on the door. You’ve been telling yourself it’s just so you can finish cleaning.

But everything is already clean.

The tea you made went cold. The silence is suffocating.

Your heart keeps lying to you, saying he might come, even when your brain knows better.

You sit on your stool behind the counter and bury your face in your hands.

You shouldn’t have said anything.

Of course he doesn’t love you anymore. You’re just someone from his past. A memory with a needle. He’s a warlord now. A captain. A living legend.

And you?

You’re no one special. You gave him your love, your ink, your body... But that was years ago.

You sniff, blinking back tears.

“I’m so stupid.” you whisper.

Finally, with a broken breath, you stand.

You walk toward the light switch, hand reaching up, about to turn it off—

Knock. Knock.

You freeze.

Two slow knocks.

You turn, heart racing, and rush to the door.

Your hand trembles as you grab the handle, barely able to breathe.

You open it... Law.

He’s standing there. Alone.

Hat in place, coat unbuttoned just slightly. His eyes are shadowed, unreadable, but he’s here.

He looks at you and you stare back, lips parted, words stuck in your throat.

Neither of you says anything for a second.

Then you whisper, almost scared to believe it “You came.”

He nods once “...Yeah.”

You step aside and let him in. The door swings shut behind him, the click of the lock echoing in the quiet shop.

He stands there, looking around like it hasn’t changed at all. Like it’s frozen in time.

Maybe it is.

You tuck your hair behind your ear, trying to calm your racing heart “So… what brings you here? Need something fixed?”

He shakes his head once “I want a new one.”

You blink “A new tattoo?”

“Yeah.”

You tilt your head, cautious “Where?”

He undoes the top few buttons of his shirt and pulls the fabric aside. Just a little.

There’s a small space on the upper right of his chest. A rare untouched spot surrounded by old ink.

He taps it once “Here.”

Your stomach flips. That chest. You remember how you inked the one beside it. How that ended.

Your cheeks warm, but you clear your throat and nod “Okay. Small tattoo. Got it.”

You turn away to gather your tools, gloves, ink, paper towels, anything to keep your hands from shaking.

It’s stupid, how nervous you are. You’ve tattooed him dozens of times before.

But it wasn’t like this. Not after years apart. Not after you thought you’d never see him again.

Not when your heart feels this fragile.

You pause mid-step and glance at him “Where’s your crew, by the way?”

He raises an eyebrow “You really asking that?”

You blink. Then scoff softly, rolling your eyes “Right. Dumb question.”

You gesture to the chair “You can sit.”

He does.

You sit across from him on your work stool, setting the needle up with focus, breathing slow.

It’s fine. You can do this. No reason to be—

“Room.”

Your body jolts at the word. You barely have time to process it before your whole world shifts, literally.

Suddenly, you’re on his lap. Sitting. Facing him. Just like before.

Your breath catches “Law!”

He doesn’t say anything. His arms are relaxed around your waist. Like this is normal.

But what’s not normal is the firm pressure you feel beneath you. Hard. Hot.

Pressed right against the center of your lower body.

Your breath hitches.

You shift instinctively, but that only makes it worse.

You feel him now. All of him.

...And he’s definitely not unaffected.

He looks up at you, still unreadable. But his eyes… they burn.

You’re quiet for a beat. Your heart pounding so hard it hurts.

You whisper, “...You planned this, didn’t you?”

His voice is low. Calm. Dangerous.

“Maybe.”

Your breath trembles as you sit frozen on his lap, the familiar weight of him under you making it harder to think. To breathe.

Your hands are still gloved. The needle sits ready on the tray.

But the moment is not about the tattoo anymore.

It’s the way he’s looking at you.

Like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. Like he never stopped seeing you.

You can feel his heart beating through his chest, right beneath yours. Steady. But faster than usual.

"...You’re hard..." you whisper, like it’s a secret.

His gaze doesn’t waver “You’re sitting on me.”

Your face heats instantly “You put me here!”

“You didn’t get off.”

You open your mouth to snap back, but nothing comes out, because he’s right. You haven’t moved.

Your thighs tighten slightly, and he notices.

His hands slide up your hips, slow and patient, like he’s remembering every curve from memory. Like no time has passed.

But it has... So much time.

And still, here you are.

You try to hold onto your pride “This is just for the tattoo, right?”

His voice is quieter now “You really asking that?”

You breathe in sharply.

Your eyes drop to his chest, to the small space he said he wanted inked. Your fingers hover near it.

And just like that...

Flashback. Another time. Another tattoo. You straddled his lap, shirt slightly unbuttoned, hands shaking as you prepped the needle. “I shouldn’t do this, it's not professional.” you said then, voice soft, unsure “We’ll mess everything up.” He looked up at you, calm as ever “We’re already messed up.” You remember how his hands gripped your thighs, how you pressed the needle to his chest anyway. You never finished the tattoo. You didn’t even get halfway before he pulled you down, kissing you like it was the last time. And then...

Back to now.

You blink hard, ripping yourself away from the memory.

Your hand clenches the tattoo machine, but you can’t lift it. Not like this.

“Law…”

Your voice is smaller now. Scared, almost.

He tilts his head slightly, watching you “You think I forgot?”

Your chest tightens “...I hoped you didn’t.”

He exhales slowly “I didn’t come here for a tattoo, Y/N.”

Your heart jumps in your throat “Then why?”

He doesn’t say anything at first. His fingers ghost over your back “What do you think? Because you said the shop was open. Even after closing.”

You’re quiet. Shaking. Overwhelmed.

You look at him, searching for anything in his face that’ll tell you this is real.

“You still love me?” you ask, barely a whisper.

He answers without hesitation “Yes.”

And then, like gravity finally wins, you lean in. Your lips meet his in a slow, aching kiss.

Soft at first. Scared. But it deepens fast.

His hands tighten around you, pulling you closer. You shift again on his lap, and he groans against your mouth.

Everything is heat now. Want. Memory. Regret. And something new, something breaking free after years of silence.

You break the kiss just to breathe, lips brushing his as you whisper “Forget the tattoo.”

His voice is rough “Already did.”

You don’t know who kisses harder first.

You or him.

But once your mouths meet again, there’s no stopping it.

Years of silence, of pretending to forget, all burn away in the space between your lips. Your hands are in his hair before you even realize it, his hat falling to the floor like nothing else matters.

Law’s hands are steady, skilled, familiar while they slide down your back and grip your thighs, pulling you tighter against him. His lips are rough, needy. He kisses like he’s punishing you for the time lost, or maybe for letting him go.

You grind down instinctively, and he groans into your mouth deep, guttural, raw.

“Fuck...” he mutters against your lips, his voice wrecked.

“You remember everything, don’t you?” you whisper, breathless, tugging at his shirt “All of it.”

He nods once “Every goddamn second.”

You roll your hips again and feel it even better now, how hard he is. Pressed exactly where you need him, only the thin barrier of your clothes separating you.

“You didn’t even come for the tattoo, did you?” you tease, lips brushing his jaw now.

“No,” he breathes, tilting his head to give you his neck “I came for you.”

Your fingers fumble with his buttons, heart racing, hands shaking.

He notices. He always does.

“You sure?” he asks lowly, grabbing your wrists and holding them still.

You nod “Yes.”

But he doesn’t move yet, he just looks at you “Say it.”

You meet his gaze “I want you.”

That’s all he needs.

In one swift move, he lifts you up and lays you back on the padded tattoo chair like you weigh nothing. He climbs over you, hands everywhere now... pulling, unzipping, stripping.

Your shirt goes first. Then your bra. Then his coat and shirt.

Skin to skin.

It’s overwhelming how good he looks. Tattoos, scars, the memory of every moment you ever loved him mapped across his chest.

You run your hands over his chest, over the ink you gave him “Still mine...” you whisper.

His eyes darken “Always.”

He pulls your pants down, slow at first, until your soaked panties are the only thing left. He groans when he sees the wet patch. His thumb brushes it, just barely.

“You’re already this wet?” he murmurs, kissing your stomach “From just sitting on my lap?”

“From you,” you breathe, squirming under him "And you got hard as soon as you set on the chair."

He hooks his fingers into your panties, dragging them down agonizingly slow.

And then his mouth replaces his hands.

He kisses between your thighs like he’s missed every part of you. His tongue strokes through your folds, hot and slow, making your back arch and your fingers clutch the chair.

“Fuck, Law!”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t speak. Just moans into you, like the taste of you is better than revenge, better than glory, better than everything.

When you finally come, it’s with your hand tangled in his hair and his name gasped like a prayer.

And even then, he doesn’t stop.

He only pulls back once he’s sure your legs are shaking.

You’re breathless, eyes hazy “You always did that too well.”

He smirks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand “You always tast the same.”

He undoes his belt, his pants, and pulls himself out, hard, thick, aching. You swallow hard just looking at him.

“Still want me?” he asks, eyes locked on yours.

“More than anything.”

He doesn’t give you time to second-guess.

He lines himself up, grabs your waist, and slides inside slowly but fully. Stretching you. Filling you.

You gasp. Your nails dig into his back.

“Fuck, you feel the same,” he breathes, forehead resting against yours “Perfect.”

You moan, wrapping your legs around him, rolling your hips “Move, Law. Please.”

And when he does... it’s everything.

He moves deep, slow, like he’s savoring it. His pace is controlled, his breathing heavy, his grip tight. He fucks you like he’s reclaiming something lost. Like you’re not just a body. Like you’re home.

Your moans echo through the shop. The chair creaks beneath you. His mouth finds your neck, your chest, your lips again, every part of you worshiped, touched like it’s sacred.

And then you both fall apart again, louder, harder, more desperate, but in each other’s arms, skin to skin, hearts racing.

You stay wrapped around him, chests heaving, breath tangled.

Neither of you speaks for a long time.

Still inside you, forehead resting against yours, he murmurs “Didn’t think I’d actually come after closing time, did you?”

You lie there on the tattoo chair, skin still hot, your breath finally starting to slow. His chest rises and falls against yours, calm, steady, like the chaos just passed through and left everything too quiet in its wake.

Neither of you moves yet.

"I was actually about to turn off the lights when you knocked at the door..."

His hand rests gently on your hip, thumb brushing lazy circles into your skin. Your cheek presses against his shoulder, and for a moment… it feels like nothing’s changed. Like you’re back in that messy little house, tangled in each other’s limbs, whispering about a future you thought you’d have.

And then he says it, low and smooth, voice still wrecked from everything you just did “You really never finished any of my tattoos in one setting...”

You laugh, soft and breathless “As if it's not always your fault.”

He doesn’t reply. But the smirk you feel against your skin is answer enough.

You close your eyes, letting yourself feel it for just a second longer, the warmth, the weight of him, the comfort that never really left.

But then…

Reality creeps back in.

And with it, the ache in your chest you were trying to ignore.

Your voice is smaller when you speak again. Barely more than a whisper.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have done it.”

You feel him tense slightly. Not pull away, but freeze.

“…Why?”

You swallow hard, suddenly hating the silence in the shop “Because you're gonna leave again. Probably tomorrow. Or tonight. And I’ll be here. Just like last time.”

He lifts his head, looking down at you now. You don’t meet his eyes.

“I told myself I moved on,” you continue, voice shaking “That it didn’t hurt anymore. But seeing you again... being with you like this…”

You pause, forcing down the tears that want to surface.

“It hurts worse now.”

Law says nothing for a moment. But you feel his hand slide up to your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your eye.

Then his voice comes, quieter than you’ve ever heard it “It wasn’t just sex for me.”

Your heart twists.

“You think I don’t feel the same?” he continues “You think this didn’t wreck me too?”

You finally look at him. And his eyes… They’re full of that same pain you’ve been carrying. That same longing. The same love.

But his voice still carries that signature Law calm, controlled, composed, even as something inside him breaks.

“I’m a pirate, Y/N.” He swallows “I don’t get to stay anywhere.”

You nod slowly, even though it hurts “I know.”

He presses his forehead to yours.

“And still...” he whispers “Here I am.”

You don’t say anything as he starts getting dressed. You just… watch.

You sit silently on the edge of the tattoo chair, still naked, still warm from his touch, but already feeling the cold creeping in. His back is to you as he buttons his shirt, and you drink in every detail. The way his shoulders move. The curve of his spine. The black of his tattoos against skin you once knew like a map.

You try to memorize him.

Every second.

Every inch.

Because in your heart, something whispers: This might be the last time.

And that’s when it hits you.

How foolish you’ve been. How stupidly hopeful. How desperate you are just to keep a piece of him.

Your eyes sting.

No. Not now. Not in front of him.

You stand abruptly, grabbing your robe, and mumble something you don’t even hear yourself. Before he can turn, before he can ask, you rush past him and slam the bathroom door shut behind you.

You lock it.

Your hands are trembling.

And outside... silence.

He doesn’t knock.

He doesn’t follow.

He doesn’t stop you.

Then you hear the sound of the front door. Open... and close.

He’s gone.

And you break.

You slide down the wall, burying your face in your arms as the sobs finally come out, sharp and raw. It’s not just pain, it’s years of missing him, of pretending you moved on, of wishing things could be different.

And now… it’s too late.

Minutes pass. Or maybe more. Time blurs.

Eventually, when your breathing steadies and your heart stops clawing out of your chest, you pull yourself up. Wipe your face. You don’t look in the mirror, you can’t.

You exit the bathroom slowly.

The shop is too quiet. The lights still hum overhead. The tattoo machine sits untouched, ready for a session that never happened.

You walk over to turn the CLOSED sign on the door. There’s no point pretending today’s a workday. Not like you had any clients booked anyway.

Your eyes flick to the chair.

The same one where hours ago, he made you feel like everything again.

There’s something sitting on it.

You freeze.

It’s a folded piece of paper. Your name written across the front in that neat, sharp handwriting you’d recognize anywhere.

Your fingers shake as you open it.

You read:

"Y/N,

You never talked about being a pirate. Never thought about leaving. I get it. You’re not like me. But then, I heard you telling the crew that you had no clients. No fun. That this place bored you. Then you said you didn’t want me to go.

And I don’t want to leave you behind… again.

So what if I make room for you on my ship?

Will you come?

Will you choose to be a pirate now?

My ship’s always open for you. Even after closing time.

But if this is a goodbye, then let me tell you that I love you and than I'll cheer on you even from the other side of the world.

I just want you to be happy, forever.

—Law"

Your breath catches.

The paper trembles in your hands.

You don’t know if you want to cry again or scream or run out the door barefoot. But one thing is clear, your heart is racing with something new.

Hope.

You don’t hesitate. Grabbing your coat and a small bag, you race out the door, the note still folded in your hand. The night air is cool, but your heart is burning. You know exactly where to go... the docks, where Law’s ship is waiting, dark and quiet under the moonlight.

The night air is crisp as you hurry toward the docks, the note from Law folded tightly in your hand. Your heart pounds, not just from the run, but from the rush of hope and fear tangled in your chest.

The ship sits dark and quiet under the stars, its silhouette a familiar yet strange reminder of a life you never thought you’d be part of.

A single figure leans against the railing, head tilted slightly as if listening to the sea’s whispered secrets.

“Law...” you call softly.

He turns, eyes sharp and unreadable for a split second before softening.

“You came.”

You nod, voice catching on the breeze “You asked if I’d come. So... here I am.”

The distance between you closes, and for a long moment, it’s just you two, breathing the salty air, wrapped in something fragile and strong all at once.

His hand finds yours, fingers curling gently. The electricity between you hums quietly, charged but patient.

He leans in, voice low and teasing, “Still keeping me after closing time, huh?”

You smirk, heart fluttering “Seems like it's your turn now.”

No rush for anything more. No need. This moment is a promise whispered in the dark, full of all the things you left unsaid.

Morning breaks with the chaotic roar of the crew... shouts, laughter, boots pounding on deck, and the unmistakable scent of cooking fires.

You stand just inside the galley doorway, nerves fluttering like a storm in your stomach. The crew buzzes around, eyes flicking toward you, then back at Law, then doing double-takes.

“Wait, is that—?” one mutters.

“No way...” another says, rubbing his eyes.

The captain clears his throat, voice sharp “Well?”

You swallow and step forward, heart pounding.

“I’m with the crew now.” you say quietly, glancing at Law. He gives you a small nod.

Silence.

Then the flood.

“You’re part of the crew?!”

“You didn’t tell us!”

“When did this happen?”

You grin nervouslyand then, half-jokingly “Wait… I don’t have to wear the uniform, right?”

The entire crew bursts out laughing but before anyone can answer, Law’s voice cuts through “No.”

The room freezes.

“What?!”

“That’s not fair!”

“Everyone but Captain has to wear it!”

Everyone glares playfully at Law, who crosses his arms with that signature smirk.

“Rules apply to everyone,” he says smoothly “... everyone but her.”

You chuckle, watching the crew bicker back and forth while Law’s eyes lock on yours with a mix of amusement and something softer, deeper.

Despite the noise, the laughter, and the mess of new beginnings, you feel it clearly...

This chaotic, wild crew, this life, this man...

you hold arlecchino's warm hand in your own clammy one, trailing along behind her as she guides you up and down the aisle, only half listening to the worker explaining things to you.

she's obviously taking this very seriously, looking at every product the worker is so diligently advertising, nodding sparsely or shaking her head when she wasn't impressed.

you awkwardly look around, not used to a place like this. well, not that you thought she would be either. it's almost embarrassing how thorough your wife is.

"perrie-" you softly speak up, letting her hand fall from yours as she adjusts her glasses, setting the box down. "did you... find what you're looking for yet?"

"not quite." she shrugs, glancing at the worker who quietly excused themself back to the registers. "perhaps it would be best to have something custom made. though i expected more from an exclusive store." she mumbled to herself.

"is it really that specific?" you asked, surprised as she nods.

"i want it to be as real as possible for both of us." at her words, you can feel your skin heat up, shifting back to fan your face.

"you are absolutely shameless!" you gasp, lightly batting her shoulder. "i guess i didn't realize you- well- that it meant so much to you."

her face softens as she gently cups your jaw, tilting your chin up to meet her gaze. "i know i've dragged you out of your element here, and for that, i apologize. but-" she presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment before leaning down to ghost her lips across your ear.

"i want it to feel and look as real as possible when i finally get to fill you up." her hands lightly squish your cheeks before she suddenly straightens up, ignoring the flustered mess you've become in front of her.

she gestures for you to follow her, holding her arm out for you to hold. "i suppose i've teased you enough for one day, yes?"

Treasures Street lived up to its name. White stone paths lined with stalls and shops that presented only the finest array of food, spices, ceramics, jewelry, and hand-sewn clothing—a dream for anyone looking to empty their coin purses on regional delicacies. But amidst all the precious gemstones and golden silk threads on display for you to marvel at, your attention was focused solely on Dehya.

Her eyes were full of wonder, gleaming like crystals in the fading sunlight as she chatted with a cosmetics merchant about the vast collection of makeup spread out before you. Her toned arms had countless shopping bags hanging off of them, but you’d think they were light as air with how effortlessly she carried them around, even after an entire day of perusing the market. You weren’t sure how many hours it had been since you’d first ventured out into the city together, but the setting sun and nagging ache in your legs told you that you were nearing your limit.

Still, it was easy to remain patient when Dehya’s enthusiasm was so infectious. You loved seeing her like this—akin to a kid in a candy store as she tugged you along from Puspa Cafe to the Grand Bazaar to Lambard’s Tavern, as if it was her first time ever exploring the streets of Sumeru City. It wasn’t very often that she had the chance to shop to her heart’s content, and the Blazing Beasts had just completed a particularly demanding job for a certain wealthy aristocrat the day prior; so it was no surprise to you that she would jump at the opportunity to spend a bit of the hefty sum she’d been paid.

“Oh, this one is really nice!” Dehya’s curious voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this shade before.”

The vendor—whom Dehya seemed to be a regular customer for, if the way they were chatting like old friends was any indication—chimed in at that. “Good eye, as always!” she commended. “That’s Desert Rose, the highlight of our coming Summer collection!”

Dehya exchanged a look with you, letting out an impressed whistle. You peered over at the display to see what it was that had captured her attention: a flashy-looking tube of lipstick, vibrant red with a glossy, pinkish tint to it. Depending on the angle you observed it from, the shade seemed to shift between fuchsia and crimson hues, like an optical illusion. When you looked closely enough, it almost reminded you of—

“Henna berries are the primary ingredient,” the vendor continued proudly, confirming your suspicions. “It took an exhausting amount of tests and trials, but I think you’ll be very pleased with the results.”

It was easy to see why the lipstick had Dehya so entranced, admittedly, your interest was piqued as well. Not necessarily because you wanted it for yourself, but because the thought of her in such a stunning shade was too tempting to pass up. Everything about the product, right down to its name, embodied her very essence. A desert rose; beautiful and tenacious, blooming in even the harshest of conditions.

“You should try it.” You gave her an encouraging nudge. “That color is perfect for you.”

She reached for the tube with care, her clawed armor clinking lightly against the golden casing as she took a closer look at it. “You think so?” She perked up at your suggestion, adorably earnest.

“You use henna berries to make dye for the Blazing Beasts’ banners, right? It’s practically made for you.”

“Precisely what I was thinking!” The merchant nodded, clearly delighted by your aid in making her sale a reality. “What better lipstick for the Flame Mane herself? It’s certain to make any potential suitor fall to their knees at the mere sight of you!”

Your lip twitched in amusement. “Oh? Now that, I’d like to see.”

“Alright, Sulafa, no need to overdo it.” Dehya coughed into her fist, suddenly not quite so sure of herself. “I’ll take it.”

You tilted your head. “Don’t you want to try it first?” 

She didn’t make eye contact with you, and when you caught her cheeks tinging the faintest hint of red, you knew that she was envisioning the exact same thing as you. “You said the color suits me, right?” she mumbled, handing the tube back to Sulafa for her to package. “I’ll take your word for it.”

The merchant seemed far too happy with her purchase to notice the change in atmosphere between you two. She wrapped up the lipstick cheerfully, placing it into a bag that emitted a fragrant, rosy scent. “Excellent! I’ll even add in a few face powder samples for such a loyal customer like you.”

Dehya brightened at that, unable to mask her giddiness. “Seriously? You’re the best, Sulafa, thanks…” she trailed off as she fished through her coin purse, lips dropping into a frown. “Ah…sorry. On second thought, this one might have to wait. Looks like I don’t have enough mora left from the batch I brought today.”

She gave a sheepish chuckle as Sulafa eyed the numerous bags adorning her arms, visibly deflating. You couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed, too—albeit, for entirely different reasons. Still, the merchant put on a smile and clapped her hands together. 

“A shame,” she said wistfully. “But I’ll keep this one wrapped up just for you, so don’t forget to come pick it up next time! I absolutely need to know what my biggest makeup connoisseur thinks of it, after all!”

Dehya nodded, looking apologetic and a tad embarrassed. Knowing her, it was probably more over the possibility of someone nearby catching on to her love of cosmetics than her running low on mora “It’s a promise! Thanks again, Sulafa.”

As the two of you said your goodbyes and headed over to the next stall, you noticed her casting one last, longing look over her shoulder, no doubt regretting how freely she’d spent her money earlier. You would’ve gladly offered to pay for the lipstick instead, but you knew she would never accept. Her shy refusal to let you spoil her may have made things difficult from time to time, but you found it too cute to consider a real problem. All it meant was that you simply had to find ways to work around it. 

Which was exactly what you planned to do. While Dehya was preoccupied with an intricately-designed butterfly hairpin, you leaned over and whispered to her that you’d forgotten your bag at the previous shop. She hummed in reply, seemingly absentminded, but you knew that you only had a minute or two before her protective instincts kicked in and she started searching the market to make sure you were okay.

Without a second to lose, you scurried back over to the cosmetics shop. You pressed a finger over your lips, signaling to the vendor to stay quiet before she could blow your cover, then swiftly purchased the lipstick with your own money. Just as you slipped the gift into your own shopping bag, Dehya lifted her head as if on cue, scanning the streets for you like a lost puppy.

She smiled when her sharp eyes locked with yours. In a wordless question, she raised a brow and gestured behind her in the direction of your house, trying to gauge if you were ready to hit the road. You gave her a quick nod and rushed back to her side, relieved that she seemed completely oblivious to what had just transpired. As you matched pace to begin the walk home, you felt breathless for more reasons than one.

“Man, I missed it here.” Dehya stretched luxuriously as she stepped into your house, taking in the familiar sights with a fond expression on her face. By the time you’d made it back, the sun had nearly set, its last rays filtering through your windows to cast a brilliant golden light on her tan skin.

“You wouldn’t have to miss it if you stayed in one place for more than a few days,” you teased, slipping off your shoes and flopping dramatically onto your couch. She looked like she wanted to protest at that, but before she could, you continued on, “I’m surprised you had so much energy today after how tough that last job was.”

“The heat did have me feeling a little tired near the end,” she admitted. As if to prove her point, her mouth fell open into a yawn, which she quickly made sure to cover with her hand. It was a tendency of hers you’d always found cute—the highly feared and revered warrior, unafraid to break a few bones, but still polite enough to remember her manners.

“C’mere, then. Let’s relax a bit,” you beckoned her over, patting the space next to you on the couch. “Oh, and could you grab my purse for me on your way? I think I left it in my shopping bag.”

Just as expected, Dehya obeyed without question, and you had to fight back a smile when you heard her rustling around between the bags, unaware of what awaited her. “By the way, what were you thinking for dinner? If you have lamb meat I could whip something up with the vegetables we—”

Her sentence came to a sudden halt. Even without peering over at her, you knew she’d found exactly what you’d intended.

“What’s this?”

“Hm?” you replied innocently.

The hurried clacking of her heels on the floor made you sit up in anticipation, just in time to meet her shocked expression with a triumphant grin.

“When did you…?” It was hard not to giggle as Dehya’s eyes darted between you and the lipstick in her hand, realization dawning  on her face all at once. “W-why did you…?”

“Oh, that? It’s just a little gift for you to celebrate a job well done.” 

As if she hadn’t already been flustered enough, the word “gift” seemed to send her into a frenzy of abashment. “I-I could’ve just gone back for it tomorrow! You really didn’t have to buy it for me, especially not with your own money!”

“I wanted to,” you said simply. 

“But it really isn’t cheap, this brand costs top mora! Let me pay you back—”

“Baby,” you interrupted, taking her hands in yours to silence her rambling. The petname did exactly what you’d hoped, as Dehya melted instantly, not even trying to resist as you tugged her down to sit next to you on the couch. Once you were at level with her, you rested your palm on her cheek with a reassuring smile. “How many times have you surprised me with presents like this from all over the world? You deserve something nice without having to get it yourself.”

Her skin felt wonderfully warm under your hand, and it only heated up more with what you said next. “Besides,” you began playfully, thumb dragging over her lips. “It’s just as much a gift for me as it is for you, right?”

“Y-you’re so…” Dehya clicked her tongue, but it lost its desired effect when she pressed her cheek harder against you, like a cat begrudgingly headbutting you for affection. “Thank you,” she sighed at last.

You snuck a quick kiss to the tip of her nose. “You’re welcome, pretty girl. Are you gonna try it on for me?” 

Regaining some of her composure, she flashed you a half-grin. “Starting to think you’re even more into this than I am.”

“I’m pursuing knowledge,” you proclaimed in mock offense. “I just wanna do some research to test if what that merchant said is true.”

“A scholar, huh?” she mused, unwrapping the lipstick at last and popping off its decorative cap. The glossy sheen coating the product immediately sparkled in the light, so pristine and perfect that you almost didn’t want her to ruin it. “Might just be the first one I’ve liked.”

You let go of Dehya’s face to slide your hand down to her thigh. She nearly squeaked, jumping a bit in place before she realized that you were only dipping your fingers into the pocket of her shorts to pull out her makeup mirror. She huffed as you handed it to her with a cheeky glint in your eyes, but flipped open the mirror without any complaints.

Her lips parted to allow herself to dab the product tentatively against them, trying to get a feel for its texture. Then, eyeing herself in the mirror, she applied the lipstick with a practiced ease, not missing a single corner or crevice until every inch was painted that vibrant red. She puckered her lips at her reflection once she was fully satisfied, letting out a tiny, pleased hum at the result.

“It’s great quality! Definitely worth the price,” she beamed.

Your heart jumped in your chest as she turned to look at you, her expression toeing the line of eager and nervous as she awaited your approval. The shade adorning her lips was almost identical to the fierce red of her clothing and painted nails, creating a gorgeous contrast to her icy blue eyes. If that weren’t enough to have you hooked, the glossy tint made them gleam in a way that was positively mesmerizing to watch. It took all your self-control not to lunge forward right there and sink your teeth into her like one of the sweet henna berries her lips were coated with.

“You’re staring a lot,” she tried to chuckle, but her gaze betrayed her, flickering shyly away from yours as a flush crept up her neck. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Something like that,” you said at last. “Think she’ll give it back to me?”

Dehya’s breath caught in her throat as you leaned in closer. You hovered mere centimeters away from her face, close enough to catch the gentle, flowery fragrance emanating from the lipstick. Her catlike pupils dilated as they searched yours for what felt like an eternity, waiting for you to make a move with bated breath. Then, her eyes fluttered shut, a silent invitation for you to get a taste of the lipstick yourself.

That was all it took for you to close the space between you, a warm, silky sensation enveloping your lips as soon as they pressed into hers. They were already so full and plush on their own, but the added texture of the makeup made them unbelievably soft on your senses. It was a feeling you instantly decided you could get addicted to.

She let out a content sigh into your mouth as you parted it wider, hungry for a better taste of her. You ran your tongue along her bottom lip, relishing in the sweet flavors that flooded your tastebuds. The fruity blend of the lipstick mixed with traces of the candied ajilenakh nuts you’d eaten together on the walk home—her favorite. But their sweetness paled in comparison to the moan that met your ears when your tongue slipped into her mouth, gliding against hers and sending a jolt of electricity through both of your bodies. Dehya’s hands flew up to your hips, nails digging softly into your clothes in an attempt to pull you closer, and to keep herself grounded.

You took things a step further, inching forward as you deepened the kiss until your movements guided her to fall back against the sofa cushions. She followed your lead without hesitation, not breaking the kiss or her grip on your waist for even a second. Wet smacking sounds began to fill the room as you devoured each other with more and more vigor. Coupled with the rising heat rolling off of your bodies, every kiss started to feel intoxicating, a pleasant haze nipping at the edges of your brain.

Now that you were fully on top of Dehya, you took the opportunity to slide your leg in between her thighs, spreading them to add the slightest bit of pressure to her core with your knee. She gasped softly, squeezing around you like a reflex and setting your skin ablaze at every point of contact with her flesh. 

Even as your lungs began to ache for air, it was difficult to find enough willpower to stop when her velvety lips lulled you deeper and deeper into a dream that you never wanted to wake from. But you could tell that she was quickly reaching her limit, too, from the way her whimpers grew breathless and her hands stopped roaming your body, instead clinging to you like she’d forgotten how to do anything else. 

Reluctantly, you broke free at last, dragging your teeth along her lower lip as you pulled away to draw out one more needy whine from her throat. The kiss left you both panting heavily, breaths fanning out over each other’s skin in a warm, ticklish dance. It took Dehya a moment to recover, but when she did, she blinked her eyes open slowly, dizzy and lovestruck as she gazed up at you. 

She giggled softly once her vision focused enough to get a look at you, no doubt because most, if not all, of her lipstick had been transferred to your mouth in messy, red splotches.

“Guess…hah…it’s safe to say you like it?”

“It was made for you,” you murmured. You reached down to trace the shape of her mouth, marveling at the fact that it’d been melded seamlessly with yours just moments ago. Her eyes went half-lidded again, cheeks darkening in shade as she flicked her tongue out to give the pad of your finger a kittenish lick. It was subtle, but you picked up on what she wanted in an instant.

“And you were made for me,” you purred, prodding at her eager lips. As if to prove your words true, she opened her mouth obediently, allowing you to slip your middle and index fingers inside. You savored the sight of her as she gazed up at you, her already stunning eye shape accentuated by the black powder meticulously applied around them. Sultry and sweet, all at once. Her dark hair splayed out on the cushions around her, silky streaks of brown and gold draping over the fabric and framing her striking face. 

“Good girl,” you cooed, pressing your fingers down against her tongue. “My pretty baby. I love seeing you like this.”

A low noise rose in Dehya’s throat, something between a moan and a mewl of protest. 

“What? Don’t believe me?” you faked a pout, leaning in closer until you brushed playfully against her jaw. “Guess I’d better show you how much I mean it.”

She sucked harder as you licked a stripe down her neck, wrapping your fingers with a warm slickness that made you shudder. You peppered open-mouthed kisses along her skin, leaving a trail of bright lipstick marks wherever you roamed. She tilted her head back with a blissful sigh, baring her throat to you in a plea for more. You gladly indulged her by biting down on her flesh, rolling it between your teeth and making her mouth fall open with pleasure.

“A—ah, s’good,” she choked out, nearly incoherent between your fingers and the drool gradually pooling on her tongue.

You could feel her pulse racing under your mouth as you sucked a deep mark into her skin. “Yeah?” you mumbled, giving the sensitive spot a few languid licks before pulling away. “Gonna make you feel even better. Gonna make the prettiest mess out of you.”

Dehya whimpered over the sudden loss of your body heat, cool air taking its place and chilling every spot where your hot mouth had devoured her. You took a moment to admire your work, gaze roaming from her cheeks—now nearly the same shade of red as her puffy, gleaming lips—to her marked up neck. Along with your blooming love bites, the residual lipstick on your lips had left countless stains on her throat. They stood out so beautifully on her tan skin that it gave you an idea.

With some resistance from her, you wiggled your fingers out from her mouth, spine tingling over the smudged, glossy rings her lipstick had left around them and the crystalline threads of saliva connecting you to her lips. She blinked up at you, looking half-disappointed until she saw you reaching for the forgotten tube of lipstick.

“Well, it definitely made me fall to my knees.” You popped off the cap with a thoughtful hum. “If you’re good for me, we can test how much lower it can make me go.”

Her eyes were wide as moons, so entranced by the view of you coating your lips crimson that she nearly forgot to reply.  Swallowing hard, all she could muster up a nod.

“That’s my girl,” you crooned, rubbing your lips together one last time before closing the cap again. Dehya lifted her hips to meet your touch as you slid your hands up her body, appreciating every curve and muscle. The softness of her hips, the perfect dip in her waist, the taut strength of her abdomen. It rose and fell with each breath of anticipation, expanding and flexing under your palms in a way that betrayed her nervousness. More like a cute prey animal than a lioness.

Unable to wait any longer, you hooked your fingers under the seams of her top and pulled it down to reveal her breasts. They spilled out of the fabric, full and smooth and irresistible; you wasted no time before attaching your mouth to them. Dehya sucked in a sharp breath as you pressed feverish kisses all over her chest, overwhelming her with the wet heat of your mouth and the stickiness of the gloss. Your hands pawed gently at her breasts as you worked your mouth, so ample that some of the soft flesh spilled out from between your fingers.

Without warning, you paused your kisses to wrap your lips around her nipple, earning a cute squeak of your name and desperate arch of her back. As you swirled your tongue around the bud, Dehya slowly but surely began to rock her hips upwards, grinding against your knee for some friction without even realizing it. The needy mewls building in her throat combined with the unbearable warmth you felt every time she bucked up into you made it difficult for you to remain focused. Still, you continued sucking on her nipple until it was puffy and swollen, leaving a bright red ring when you pulled away that marked where your lips had been. 

A shaky, grateful moan filled the room as you wandered over to her other breast to give it the same treatment. “P-please.” She reached down aimlessly until she managed to find one of your hands, tugging it away from her chest to trail down her stomach instead. “Please, baby. Can’t—mmph—take it anymore.”

She jolted as you hummed around her nipple in response. Dehya had many virtues, but patience had never exactly been one of them. You knew the only thing stopping her from pulling her shorts down herself and begging for you to just take her already was the desire to be good for you. Well, that, and, the remaining bits of her pride that hadn’t yet been drowned out by lust.

You took your sweet time before unlatching yourself from her swollen nipple, teasing the other between your fingers and drawing out a low, impatient whine from her. “What’s wrong? Big strong merc like you can’t handle a few kisses?”

Dehya pouted down at you, utterly harmless. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not,” you insisted. “Just wanna appreciate every bit of my baby’s perfect body.”

Even under normal circumstances, she had trouble dealing with your praises. Now, the honeyed words reduced her to a puddle, unable to string a proper response together. Instead, she took a different approach, fingers trembling as she guided your hand to rest over her clothed pussy. “Please,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Please, ‘m so wet.”

Heat pooled in your stomach, putting a crack in your resolve laughably fast. She wasn’t lying—the fabric of her shorts was damp against your palm, and when she pushed her hips up to grind into your touch, you could feel her muscles twitching wildly for some kind of relief.

“So needy,” you murmured. “Alright, angel. A pretty girl like you gets whatever she wants.”

Dehya melted into the cushions as you finally brought both hands down to her heavy belt, undoing it as quickly as possible before moving on to the button of her shorts. With how worked up she was, the air hitting her exposed heat as you tugged the garment down was enough to make a raspy groan rise in her throat. You felt a pang of sympathy for toying with her for so long, but in your defense, it was far too easy to get lost in her body. 

“Shh, don’t worry. I’m gonna make you feel so good,” you promised, gently kneading at the flesh of her thick thighs. Without you having to order her, she spread them as wide as she could for you, eyes squeezing shut in embarrassment over her own desperation. Her breath hitched as you traced a finger delicately around her mound, admiring the gleam of her dripping wet folds before moving down to her slit to scoop up some of the juices that had leaked out of her. Using the added slickness, you circled over her clit, spreading her essence over the sensitive bud and taking pride in the visible shudder that ran through her body.

You leaned down to press a kiss to her pelvic bone, leaving a near perfect lipstick mark right above her pussy, as if to claim it as yours. Her clit throbbed under the pad of your finger, and you gave the aching bud one last teasing flick before dipping your index into her entrance at last. She tightened around you instantly with a moan of pure relief, warm, velvety walls wrapping around you so perfectly that you couldn’t help but let out a hum yourself. Little by little, you eased out of her, pressing kisses to her lower stomach and admiring the way it contracted receptively under your lips. As sensitive as the tummy of a true cat.

Soft squelching noises began to form as you pumped your index finger in and out of her at a slow but steady pace. A fresh surge of wetness coated your skin each time she squeezed around you, making the push and pull of your movements almost effortless. 

“You really are soaked,” you teased between kisses. “Is it that good, baby?”

“Mmm, mhm,” she mewled. On top of you finally filling her up, the sensation of your lips suckling and nibbling all over her tummy made it difficult for her to string a sentence together. “M-more…more, please. Want another—ngh.”

The rest of her words fizzled out before she could beg you for it properly. All she could do was squirm helplessly under your mouth, hips rocking and stomach muscles clenching in hopes you would get the message.

“Not enough? I’ve got you, baby.”

You pressed your free hand against her abdomen to hold her still, just long enough for you to slip your middle finger into the pocket of wet heat awaiting you. Dehya’s hands flew to your head with a gasp of your name, tangling her fingers in your hair. The claws of her armor added a faint sting to her grip, but that only spurred you on. Her insides were like silken pillows around your fingers, enveloping you with their warmth so tightly as if she were afraid to let you go for even a second.

It didn’t take her long to adjust to your second finger, walls sucking you greedily back in each time you dragged them out. Her juices were dripping down into your palm at this point, creating sounds so filthy that you felt your own underwear beginning to soak with arousal.

“That’s it, good girl,” you praised her, taking on a faster pace. “You sound so pretty for me.”

She practically keened in response, arching her back off the cushions to take as much of you inside of her as she could. The pads of your fingers rubbed against her sweet spot as she did, spongy and slick. It caused a burst of pleasure so intense that her thighs jolted, a breathless plea for you to repeat the action falling from her lips. You obliged instantly, sinking your teeth into her stomach at the very same moment your fingers plunged knuckles-deep into her drenched heat.

With a near-sob, she dug her nails into your scalp, far fiercer than she’d ever let herself when she was in her right mind. But now, it was clouded with bliss, unable to process anything outside of your fingers and mouth mercilessly working her to her climax. You curled your fingers against the gummy roof of her walls, matching her rhythm as she rolled her hips in sync with every thrust of your fingers. She was fully panting now, stomach rising and falling frantically under your lips as you continued peppering it with fiery hot kisses.

“C-close,” she whined, a pitiful sound that she’d surely blush over later. “F-fuck, baby, ‘m so close.”

You cooed in acknowledgement, reangling your hand so that your palm was flattened against her pussy, pounding against her clit each time you sank your fingers into her. It added electrifying sparks of stimulation that sent her over the edge in mere moments. Just a few more expert pumps of your fingers, and suddenly Dehya’s moans went quiet as she sucked in a sharp breath, jaw falling open in a silent cry before her orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave.

Her walls fluttered wildly around your fingers, thighs trembling around your waist as ripple after ripple of pleasure wracked her body. You guided her gently through her climax, whispering encouragement into her skin and slowing your fingers to a slow rock inside of her. The juices that spilled out of her were thick, almost creamy, drenching your palm and dripping down your arm. 

Dehya collapsed back against the cushions, heavy breaths gradually fading into sweet, content sighs. You took the time to admire her wrecked form as she came down from her high, skin flushed and glistening with sweat, carefully styled hair now hair adorably tousled, and her entire body decorated with smudged lipstick stains. Your own personal work of art. 

Her eyes blinked open slowly as she recovered from her climax, giving you a dazed, blissed out look. Though you tried to be mindful as you pulled your fingers out of her pulsing heat, she still whined softly, both from overstimulation, and the sudden emptiness. You parted your fingers in a scissor-like motion, watching in fascination as the gossamer strings of her release spread out like silk. Then, without warning, you stuck them in your mouth.

Dehya squeaked in surprise, her entire face going red all over again as she clumsily tried to sit up on her elbows. “H-hey!”

You simply hummed around your fingers, savoring in every drop of her essence on your tongue until it was licked completely clean. She sputtered something incoherent as you made a show of pulling the digits out of your mouth with a dramatic pop and swiping your tongue over your lips.

“Henna berries are nice,” you sang. “But I like the taste of you a lot more.”

Too spent to give you a piece of her mind, Dehya did the only thing she could think of in that moment, grabbing the nearest pillow and flinging it at you in a desperate attempt to ease the burn of embarrassment gripping her body. She gave an exasperated huff when you only giggled as it hit you square in the face, but you didn’t miss the way her features softened.