#whitebeard pirates

a/n: this is the full smut version so please MDNI. if u want to read this without the detailed smut, click here.

Zoro

The Sunny’s crow’s nest smells of steel and sweat, the late-night breeze slipping through the open hatch as you climb up to find Zoro mid-training, shirtless, katanas resting against the wall. His chest heaves, muscles glistening under the moonlight, and he glances over with a grunt.

“What’re you doin’ up here?” he asks, wiping his face with a towel, his tone gruff but not unwelcoming.

Below, you can hear Sanji’s flirtatious banter with Nami, the crew’s usual chaos a distant hum.

You shrug, leaning against the doorway.

“Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d bug you instead of sittin’ on some boring deck chair,” you say, a smirk playing on your lips.

Zoro snorts, sitting on a bench, spreading his legs slightly as he gestures to his lap with a nod.

“Fine. Park yourself here if you’re gonna waste my time.”

Your stomach flips, but you don’t back down, crossing the small space and settling onto his lap, the heat of his bare skin burning through your clothes. His hands hover awkwardly for a moment before resting on your hips, firm and unapologetic.

“Didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he mutters, voice rough, his good eye scanning you with a mix of suspicion and something hotter.

You grin, shifting to get comfortable, feeling the hard planes of his thighs beneath you.

“What, thought I’d be scared of the big bad swordsman?” you tease, poking at his chest.

His grip tightens, a low growl rumbling from him.

“Keep runnin’ your mouth, and you’ll see how bad I can be,” he shoots back, the edge in his tone sending a thrill through you.

“Oh, I’m shakin’,” you reply, sarcastic, leaning back against him, your head brushing his shoulder.

“You should be,” he grunts, one hand sliding up your side, calloused fingers rough against your skin. “Or you wanna find out how sharp my edge really is?”

The back-and-forth cuts deeper, tension coiling tight.

“All talk, Zoro. Where’s the action?” you challenge, turning to face him, your legs straddling his lap now, the position bold and intimate.

His jaw clenches, and his hands grip your waist hard, pulling you flush against him.

“Fuck, you’re askin’ for it,” he growls, his breath hot against your neck as he leans in, teeth grazing your skin.

“Then give it to me, tough guy,” you murmur, fingers tangling in his green hair, tugging just enough to make him hiss.

His control slips, and he shifts beneath you, the hard bulge in his pants pressing insistently against your core, sparking heat that pools low in your belly.

“Damn it, you’re gonna regret this,” he warns, voice thick with need, his hand slipping under your shirt to grip bare skin, rough and demanding.

“Make me,” you dare, rolling your hips against him, earning a guttural groan as his fingers dig into your flesh, the promise of raw, unrestrained heat hanging in the air.

The crow’s nest creaks under the weight of your shared tension, the night swallowing every sound except the harsh rasp of his breath against your ear.

His teeth scrape against your collarbone, breath ragged. The sharp scent of steel and sweat fades under the thick, pulsing tension between your bodies. Your hips grind into his lap again, and you feel the twitch in his cock through his pants. He’s so hard it hurts to ignore.

Zoro curses under his breath, the sound low and guttural.

"You feel that?" he growls, hand gripping your ass as he bucks up into you just enough to make your breath catch. "That’s what you do to me. Teasing like a little brat."

You bite your lip, one hand pressing against the wall behind him for balance as you keep rolling your hips with purpose. He’s so hot beneath you, his bare skin damp, his body like a damn furnace.

"You gonna keep talking," you pant, your voice shaky, "or are you gonna put your cock to work?"

That’s all it takes.

Zoro grabs you by the hips, strong arms locking you down tight. He stands in one smooth motion, carrying you easily and shoving you back against the wall. Your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, and he hisses as your clothed pussy presses flush against the bulge in his pants.

"You really don’t know when to shut that pretty mouth, do you?" he mutters, face close, his lips brushing your cheek as he grinds against you. "Keep runnin’ it and I’ll fuck the words out."

"Good," you breathe. "Shut me up."

His hand slips under your shorts, past your soaked underwear, and two fingers slide through your slick folds with a growl.

"Shit. You’re soaked already. Filthy girl. You been thinkin’ about this while I trained, huh? Watching me? Imagining my cock filling you up?"

You whimper, rutting your hips forward into his touch, shameless now.

"Yeah? Thought so."

He slides his fingers through you once more, then pulls them away. With one hand, he yanks his pants down just enough to free his cock. You don’t look away. Thick. Hard. Veins lining the shaft. The tip flushed and leaking already.

"You want it? Say it."

You clench around nothing, dizzy with need.

"Zoro, please," you breathe. "Need you. Wanna feel you stretch me out."

His lips curl into a smirk. "Keep beggin’."

"Please. I want your cock. Deep. Hard. Right now."

He grunts, satisfied.

"You’re fuckin’ asking for it," he mutters, lining himself up and dragging the tip through your slick folds before pushing in with one hard thrust.

Your moan echoes through the crow’s nest as he fills you. The stretch is intense, the pressure perfect. You tighten around him instantly, and he presses his forehead to yours with a groan.

"Shit," he growls. "Tight as fuck. You were made for this."

He doesn’t wait long. Zoro starts to move, driving into you with hard, steady thrusts that shake your whole body with each one.

You cry out, arms around his shoulders, nails digging into muscle as he pounds into you.

"Feel that?" he pants. "That’s what happens when you run your mouth."

"Zoro—fuck—feels so good—"

"Yeah?" His voice drops lower, cock slamming into your sweet spot over and over. "Bet you like being stuffed full like this. Bet you love how deep I go."

You nod, moaning, completely overwhelmed.

"Your pussy’s choking me. Fuckin' perfect," he mutters against your throat.

He slams harder. Deeper. The bench creaks behind him, the crow’s nest swaying slightly under the force. The Sunny is still, but your world isn’t.

"You gonna cum on my cock like a good girl?" he grits out. "Cream all over me while I fill you up?"

"Yes—yes—Zoro, please—I’m gonna—"

Your orgasm hits hard, making your whole body clench around him. You cry out, biting into his shoulder as the pleasure rips through you, shaking.

"Fuck," Zoro groans, losing rhythm as he thrusts once, twice more, then buries himself deep and spills inside you. Hot. Full. His breath stutters against your neck as he holds you there, hips twitching with aftershocks.

Neither of you speak for a few moments. Only the sound of heavy breathing and the far-off sea fills the air.

Eventually, he lets out a ragged breath and leans back, looking at you through half-lidded eyes.

"Tch. Next time you come up here, maybe start with that instead of mouthing off."

You smirk, still breathless. "Where’s the fun in that?"

He pulls out slow, and you feel a warm trickle escape. He catches it with two fingers, wipes it up, then smirks.

"Still leakin’. You better clean that up, or I’ll fuck it back in."

You glare weakly, then steal the towel nearby and toss it at his face.

He catches it one-handed.

And laughs.

Sabo

Smoke curls from a nearby campfire as the Revolutionary Army’s temporary base hums with quiet tension. You’re hunched over a map with Sabo in a dimly lit tent, the flickering lantern casting shadows across his scarred face. His gloved hand brushes yours as he points to a supply route, and the contact—brief, accidental—sends a jolt through you.

“You’re distracted,” he says, voice calm but edged with amusement, his sharp eyes flicking up to meet yours.

Koala’s voice cuts in from outside the tent, teasing, “Don’t let Sabo bore you to death with strategy, y’know!”

You smirk, shaking your head.

“Nah, I’m just tired of sittin’ on this hard-ass crate,” you grumble, stretching with a dramatic sigh.

Sabo leans back in his chair, a rare playful glint in his gaze.

“Well, I’ve got a better spot if you’re game,” he offers, patting his lap with a subtle, challenging tilt of his head.

Your heart skips, but you play it cool, raising a brow.

“Oh? Think I won’t take you up on that, Chief of Staff?” you quip, standing and stepping closer.

His smirk widens as you lower yourself onto his lap, the fabric of his coat rough against your thighs, his body solid and warm beneath you.

“Didn’t peg you for shy,” he murmurs, his tone dipping low, one hand resting lightly on your back to steady you.

You scoff, shifting to get comfortable, acutely aware of every point of contact.

“Shy? Nah, I just don’t wanna break your fancy noble legs,” you tease, and his quiet laugh sends a thrill through you.

“Trust me, I can handle a lot more than you think,” he replies, his voice smooth, suggestive, his fingers pressing just a bit firmer against your spine.

“Oh, really? Care to test that theory?” you challenge, turning slightly to face him, your knee brushing his side.

His eyes darken, and the air between you crackles.

“Keep talkin’ like that, and I might just show you,” he says, his free hand hovering near your thigh, teasing but not quite crossing the line—yet.

The banter flows, each jab and retort building a slow, simmering heat.

“You’re all talk, Sabo. Where’s that revolutionary spirit now?” you taunt, leaning closer, your breath mingling with his.

His grip tightens, pulling you flush against him, and his lips curve into a dangerous smile.

“Careful what you wish for. I don’t play fair when I’m provoked,” he warns, his thumb tracing a slow circle on your lower back.

Your pulse races as you tilt your head, lips inches from his.

“Good. I don’t want fair. I want trouble,” you whisper, and his restraint snaps for a fleeting moment—his hand slides to your hip, firm and possessive.

“Fuck, you’re pushin’ it,” he growls, shifting beneath you, the tension of his body evident, the hard press of him against you igniting a fire in your core.

“Then do somethin’ about it,” you dare, your fingers threading through his blond hair, tugging lightly.

His breath hitches, and he leans in, lips brushing your neck as he murmurs, “Keep this up, and I’ll have you pinned against this map in two seconds flat.”

The promise hangs heavy, your skin tingling where his mouth grazes, the tent suddenly far too small for the heat exploding between you.

You barely have time to smirk before Sabo’s hand grabs your ass, yanking you tight against him.

"You’re real mouthy for someone about to get split open in a war tent," he growls, lips dragging along your throat.

You grind your hips into his lap, unbothered by the threat. If anything, it makes you wetter.

"Aww, poor little revolutionary," you coo. "Can’t take a little teasing without getting hard?"

He laughs, low and sharp, his breath hot against your neck.

"You want me to stuff that bratty mouth, or fuck you dumb first?"

"You talk too much," you snap.

"And you’re already soaked," he replies smugly, fingers slipping past your waistband, dragging through your slick folds like he owns them. "So shut up."

Then his hand leaves you.

You hear the sound of his zipper. Feel the thick heat of him slap against your inner thigh.

"Get on," he orders, cock in hand, tip already wet. "Since you're so desperate to get split open."

You straddle him, sinking down on his cock inch by inch, moaning through gritted teeth as the stretch nearly breaks you in half.

"Fuck—"

"Yeah," he groans. "Say it louder."

You don’t have a choice.

When you bottom out, you gasp like you’ve been punched, eyes rolling back. He’s thick and deep and perfect, your pussy clenching greedily around him.

Sabo leans back, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

"Ride it. Show me what that mouth can’t."

You start to move, hips snapping forward in short, needy grinds. Each time you slide up and down his cock, it hits you just right, sending shocks through your spine.

The slick, wet slap of your bodies fills the tent, fast and obscene. It echoes louder than the crackle of fire outside, louder than the crickets, louder than your shame.

"Listen to that," he pants, watching your tits bounce beneath your shirt. "That’s the sound of a filthy little bitch getting used."

You whine, nails digging into his shoulders.

"God, you’re such a fuckin’ mess," he grits out. "Drippin’ down my cock like you’ve never been touched before."

"Shut up," you snap, but your voice breaks halfway through.

Sabo smirks.

"What’s wrong? Too full? You wanted this, didn’t you? Wanted me to fuck the brat outta you?"

He thrusts up hard and you scream.

"Keep goin'," he growls. "I wanna hear you. I want them all to hear how good I ruin you."

You bounce faster, chasing your high, your thighs soaked, the sloppy noise of your cunt wrapping around his cock getting louder with every thrust. Each time he fucks up into you, it punches a moan out of your throat.

"That’s it," he hisses, sweat dripping down his neck. "Louder. Let Koala hear you gettin’ stuffed like a goddamn toy."

"Sabo—shit—'m gonna—"

"You gonna cum already?" he laughs breathlessly. "Fuckin’ useless slut. Can’t even take it for five minutes."

Your orgasm crashes over you hard and fast, pussy clenching down so tight it rips a groan from deep in his chest. You scream his name, head thrown back, thighs shaking violently as you come all over his cock, soaking him.

"Fucking hell," he growls. "Look at you. Wrecked. Pathetic."

He flips you fast, laying you flat against the map on the crate like he promised. His cock’s still inside you as he pounds into you from above, chasing his own high now, using your trembling body.

"Take it," he pants. "You asked for this. You begged for this."

You moan weakly, eyes unfocused.

"Shit—gonna fill this pretty pussy up. Gonna make you leak while you pretend you weren’t screaming for it."

One more thrust.

Another.

He slams in deep and groans as he cums inside you, heat flooding your cunt. His hips twitch, still grinding through it, fucking his cum deeper.

You both freeze, catching your breath, tangled in sweat and slick and sin.

Then, outside the tent:

"Sabo," Koala calls, voice lilting, teasing, way too knowing. "That wasn't part of the strategy map, right?"

Your eyes snap open in panic.

Sabo groans, face pressed into your neck.

"She knows."

"No shit," you whisper.

He laughs softly, still buried inside you.

"At least we were loud enough to get our point across."

Law

The Polar Tang’s engine hums deep below deck, the dim light of the control room casting Law’s sharp features in stark relief. You’re perched on a crate, watching him scribble notes in his medical journal, his coat slung over a chair, leaving his inked arms bare.

“You’ve been starin’ for five minutes straight,” he says without looking up, his voice dry, cutting through the quiet.

Bepo’s muffled snoring echoes from the next room, a reminder of the crew’s rare downtime.

You shrug, swinging your legs.

“Just wonderin’ how you don’t get tired sittin’ in that stiff chair all day,” you reply, a teasing lilt in your tone.

Law’s golden eyes flick up, piercing, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“If you’re so concerned, I’ve got a better seat right here,” he says, leaning back and gesturing to his lap with a casual, almost clinical precision that somehow feels loaded.

Your breath catches, but you mask it with a grin, hopping off the crate.

“Don’t mind if I do, Captain,” you say, sauntering over and settling onto his lap, the hard lines of his frame unyielding beneath you.

His smirk doesn’t waver, but his hand rests on your thigh, light yet deliberate, sending a spark through you.

“Comfortable?” he asks, voice low, almost a purr, as he tilts his head to study you.

“Could be worse,” you shoot back, shifting slightly, feeling the subtle tension in his grip.

“Didn’t think you’d actually take me up on it,” he admits, his tone dipping into something warmer, less guarded.

You lean in a fraction, testing the waters.

“What, thought I’d chicken out? You don’t scare me, Law.”

His eyes narrow, a dangerous glint flashing through them.

“Careful. I’m not as predictable as you think,” he warns, his fingers tightening just enough to make your pulse jump.

“Oh? Gonna show me somethin’ new, then?” you challenge, your hand brushing his collar, lingering near the ink of his tattoos.

The exchange sharpens, words slicing through the charged air.

“You’re playin’ a risky game,” he murmurs, his free hand sliding up to your waist, slow and calculated, like he’s dissecting every reaction.

“And if I am? You gonna cut me open, doc?” you tease, your voice breathy, daring him to push further.

His smirk turns predatory, and he pulls you closer, the heat of him searing through your clothes.

“Might just dissect every damn inch of you if you keep talkin’ like that,” he growls, his thumb brushing the edge of your hip, teasing the skin beneath.

Your breath hitches as you grind down subtly, earning a low, rough sound from his throat.

“Fuck, don’t start what you can’t finish,” he warns, his grip turning possessive, guiding your movements with surgical precision.

“Who says I can’t finish?” you whisper, lips hovering near his, feeling the hard length of him press against you through the fabric.

His eyes darken to molten gold, and his hand slips under your shirt, fingers splaying across your bare skin as he mutters,

“Then let’s see how much you can take before you’re beggin’.”

The promise sends a shiver down your spine, his touch igniting every nerve as the room’s hum fades into the pounding of your own heartbeat.

You grind down again, slower this time, teasing the hard line of him through his slacks. His breath stutters against your cheek.

“Fuck,” Law mutters, voice rough now, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “You’re so fuckin’ eager, aren’t you?”

You hum in agreement, rolling your hips just enough to draw a low sound from his chest.

“You’re the one who offered,” you breathe, fingers trailing down his chest, over warm skin and inked muscle. “You didn’t expect me to behave, did you, Captain?”

He growls, quiet and low.

“I was hopin’ you wouldn’t.”

His hands slip under your thighs, gripping tightly before he shifts, sliding his chair back and dragging you with him. His movements are smooth, deliberate, clinical — but his eyes burn. He sets you on your feet only long enough to yank your shorts and underwear down, quick and impatient, before tugging his cock out — flushed, thick, leaking and heavy between his inked fingers.

“Come here,” he mutters, pulling you back into his lap.

You straddle him again, but this time he doesn’t slide in. Instead, he grips your thighs, pressing them together around his length. His cock nestles between the slick heat of your skin, not inside you, but grinding slow and deep between your legs.

“Hold still,” he murmurs, voice tight.

He starts to thrust, dragging his cock through the mess you’re already dripping, the head nudging your clit again and again. The sound is obscene — wet, thick, rhythmic. The room fills with it, echoing alongside his low groans and your soft moans.

“Look at you,” he breathes. “Already so fuckin’ wet for me. So soft. So warm.”

You shudder, thighs squeezing around him as you whimper into his shoulder.

“Could probably make you cum just like this,” he mutters, voice ragged. “Let you fuckin’ shake on my lap without even puttin’ it in.”

“Law, please—” you gasp. “I want more.”

He stops, just long enough to glance at you. Hair falling in his face. Golden eyes dark, unreadable.

“Medbay. Now.”

He lifts you again, this time with purpose, cock still hard, dripping, straining against his open slacks as he guides you down the corridor. You cling to him, pulse racing, thighs still wet and trembling from the friction.

The medbay door clicks shut behind you.

Law sets you on the padded exam table, lips brushing your throat as he drags your shirt up, baring your chest to the cool air and his hungry gaze. He kisses you once — deep, slow — and then pulls back just enough to press your knees apart with his hands.

“No distractions this time,” he mutters. “I’m gonna give you what you’ve been beggin’ for.”

He strokes his cock once, then guides the head to your entrance. No teasing now. He pushes in slowly, letting every inch stretch you wide. You arch, gasping as he fills you, bottoming out in one slow, deliberate thrust.

“Fuck—” you moan, head tipping back.

His jaw clenches, hands tight on your waist.

“You’re takin’ me so good,” he groans. “Just like that. My pretty little thing, made to fit around me.”

You shiver, gripping his shoulders as he starts to move.

Each thrust is precise, deep, hitting just right — but his control is fraying. You can see it in the way his brows knit, the way his breath stutters when your walls tighten around him.

“You feel that?” he grits. “That stretch? That’s me filling every inch of you.”

You nod, too far gone for words. Your moans are loud, unrestrained, echoing off the sterile white walls.

“That’s it,” he says, voice dipping into a growl. “Let me hear it. You sound so fuckin’ good like this.”

He fucks you harder now, hips slapping into yours, the sound lewd and wet. His thumb presses to your clit, circling fast, and your body jolts.

“Law—Law—”

“You gonna cum for me?” he asks, panting. “Gonna soak my cock like a good fuckin’ girl?”

“Yes—yes—please—”

Your orgasm crashes over you without warning, blinding and electric. Your thighs shake, cunt squeezing around him so tight it knocks a curse from his throat.

“Fuck—there it is,” he groans. “Goddamn. That’s my girl.”

He doesn't stop.

Keeps fucking into your overstimulated body, chasing his own high now. You’re trembling, gasping, but you take it, just like he said you would.

“Gonna cum inside you,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “Gonna fill you up and watch it drip out while you lie here lookin’ fucked out and perfect.”

You whimper something that might be his name, and that’s it.

Law thrusts once, twice, then sinks in deep with a broken sound, spilling hot inside you, hips twitching as he empties every drop.

He stays there, buried to the hilt, breathing hard against your shoulder.

Then — quiet.

Your skin is slick with sweat. Your thighs ache. But you feel full, warm, wrecked in the best way.

Law slowly pulls back, watching the mix of cum and slick trail down your thigh with fascination. His fingers brush it, smearing it lazily, almost admiring.

“Still so fuckin’ tight,” he mutters. “Even after all that.”

You manage a breathless smile.

He leans down and kisses you again — slower this time. Then he pulls back and grabs a towel, gently cleaning you up without a word.

You don’t expect the next thing he says.

“You were perfect.”

You blink at him, dazed.

He looks at you like he just finished surgery. Focused. Careful. But proud.

“You listened,” he says softly. “You gave me everything. And you took everything.”

You exhale a shaky laugh.

“Well, Captain... you're kinda addictive.”

He smirks, tucks himself back into his pants, and hands you your shirt.

“We’re not done. But you need a break.”

You pull your clothes on, still trembling, and hop down from the table.

“Break in your room, or mine?”

His eyes flash.

“Mine. Eventually.”

Ace

The deck of the Moby Dick sways under a crimson sunset, the air thick with salt and the distant roar of waves. You’re leaning against the railing, watching Ace toss a playful fireball into the sky, the flames licking the dusk before fizzling out. His grin, wide and reckless, pulls at something deep in your chest.

“Oi, you gonna stand there gawkin’ all day, or come closer?” he calls out, wiping sweat off his brow, his tattooed arm flexing with casual strength. Marco, perched nearby on a barrel, chuckles low.

“Careful, Ace, don’t burn her with that hothead charm of yours.”

You roll your eyes but step forward, the wooden planks creaking underfoot. Ace’s dark eyes lock on yours, daring, teasing, as he pats his thigh with a smirk.

“Got a seat right here if you’re tired of standin’.”

You hesitate, pulse quickening, but his playful taunt—“What, scared of a little heat?”—pushes you over the edge.

“Fine, hotshot, don’t cry if I steal your spot,” you shoot back, striding over and sliding onto his lap with a boldness you don’t fully feel. His thighs are firm beneath you, warm even through the fabric, and his breath hitches for half a second before that cocky grin returns.

“Damn, didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he murmurs, voice low, his hand hovering near your waist like he’s testing the waters.

You shift slightly, feeling the heat of his skin, the faint scent of ash and sea clinging to him.

“Thought you liked surprises, Ace. Or am I too much for you?”

Your words drip with challenge, and his laugh rumbles through his chest, vibrating against you.

“Oh, darlin’, you’re playin’ with fire now. I don’t back down easy.” His fingers graze your hip, light but deliberate, sending a shiver up your spine.

Around you, the crew’s noise fades—Thatch whistling somewhere, Vista barking orders—but all you hear is Ace’s teasing drawl.

“So, you gonna stay here all night, or you got other plans to mess with my head?”

The conversation stretches, each word a spark fanning the tension.

“Mess with your head? Please, I’m just keepin’ you grounded,” you retort, leaning back against his chest, feeling his heartbeat pick up. His arm finally loops around your waist, pulling you tighter, and his lips brush near your ear.

“Grounded, huh? Feels more like you’re settin’ me ablaze.”

His voice is husky now, suggestive, and you turn your head just enough to catch his gaze—dark, hungry, but still laced with that boyish mischief.

“Careful, Ace, I might just fan those flames,” you whisper, your hand resting on his chest, fingers tracing the edge of his open shirt.

He groans softly, a sound that shoots heat straight through you.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, his grip tightening as he shifts you on his lap, the friction deliberate and maddening.

The world narrows to the heat between you, the slow grind of your hips against him, and his low growl of “Keep that up, and I’m draggin’ you below deck right now.”

Your breath catches as his hand slides lower, thumb brushing the edge of your thigh, daring you to push further into this dangerous game.

You shift again on his lap, pressing just right, and the way he sucks in a sharp breath against your neck nearly makes you smirk.

“Shit,” he growls under his breath. “You keep grindin’ like that, sweetheart, and I’m not gonna be responsible for what happens next.”

You lean back against his chest, letting your lips hover by his ear.

“Then don’t be. I won’t complain.”

That earns you a groan — low, needy — and then it’s like something snaps.

Ace moves.

In one quick, wild blur, he grabs you and flips you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing.

“Ace—what the hell—!” you yelp, half-laughing, your hands gripping his back as your world tilts upside down.

“Problem needs fixin’,” he grins, giving your ass a sharp, loud slap that echoes across the deck.

The crew reacts immediately.

A few wolf whistles. A cackle from Thatch. Marco just sighs without looking up.

“Use protection, dumbass,” someone calls from behind.

“Shut up!” you bark over your shoulder, your face burning hotter than the flames Ace plays with.

But he’s already striding toward the lower deck, completely unbothered, hand still resting smug on your ass.

“You start squirming on my lap like that,” he says, glancing down at your backside, “you don’t get to act surprised when I haul you off for some attitude correction.”

“Asshole,” you mutter, but it’s weak—your voice breathless with anticipation.

“I like it when you call me that,” he chuckles, pushing into a small, private bathroom and kicking the door shut behind him. “Now,” he mutters, setting you on the counter, “let’s cool you off.”

You snort, breath still uneven. “With what? That smart mouth of yours?”

He just grins and leans in, tongue dragging up your neck, tasting the sweat already collecting at your collarbone.

“No,” he breathes. “With this.”

He twists the faucet on, cold water rushing into the sink, steam curling in the air. Then he flips the shower handle too, and cool spray mists the glass as he backs you toward it, hand on your hip, eyes locked on yours.

“Get in.”

You step into the stall, feet slick on the tile, water hitting your shoulders. The second you turn around to face him, he’s crowding you from behind—then drops to his knees with zero hesitation.

“What’re you—”

“Stay still,” he growls, hands gripping your thighs. “You’re gettin’ my mouth first.”

You brace against the wall, breath catching as he spreads your legs and drags his tongue right through your folds, slow and deliberate. A moan escapes your lips, echoing against the tile.

“Oh my god—Ace—”

“Mmm,” he hums, burying his face deeper, nose nudging your clit before his mouth closes around it, sucking hard enough to make your knees buckle.

One hand flies to the glass wall for balance, leaving a streak through the fog.

He groans as he tastes you, licking into you like he can’t get enough, wet noises mixing with the running water and your gasps.

“Fuck—you taste even sweeter under the water,” he murmurs between licks. “You’re already drippin’ down my chin, baby.”

You whimper, thighs twitching, hand sliding along the glass until it leaves a full palm print above your head.

“Ace, I—” you gasp, hips rocking into his face.

He moans louder, tongue fucking into you, then sliding back up to suck your clit in rhythm. The tension coils fast and tight, your legs trembling, his grip bruising.

“That’s it,” he pants, mouth still working you open. “Cum on my fuckin’ tongue.”

You fall apart against the glass, cry muffled by your own arm as your orgasm crashes down—white-hot, overwhelming.

Ace doesn’t stop until you’re twitching, spent, and trying to squirm away.

He stands slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and smirks down at you like he’s proud of the mess he’s made.

“Now,” he says, dragging the head of his cock along your folds, “I’m gonna fuck you proper.”

You don’t even get a word out before he grabs your hips and thrusts in deep, slamming you against the glass with a broken cry.

Your breath catches hard, one hand braced against the fogged wall, the other clawing at the tile. Water pours over both of you, but it does nothing to cool the fire ripping through your veins.

He moves fast and rough, skin slapping skin, the sound echoing around the steamy space. His grip on your hips is bruising, holding you in place as he thrusts harder.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, voice shaking. “You feel that? How deep I am?”

You nod helplessly, back arching, whimpering his name as he hits just right.

“You’re squeezin’ me so tight,” he pants, nipping your shoulder. “Like this fuckin’ pussy was made for me.”

Your fingers leave streaks down the fogged glass, wet handprints smearing with every jolt of your body. You can barely breathe, but you never want him to stop.

He presses his chest to your back, lips at your ear.

“You love this, don’t you?” he growls. “Gettin’ fucked stupid in the damn shower. Drippin’ all over me.”

You try to snap back, but all that comes out is a broken moan.

“That’s right,” he huffs, fucking into you even harder. “I’ll keep goin’ till your legs give out.”

His fingers sneak between your thighs again, rubbing rough, fast circles on your clit, dragging another cry from you.

“You gonna cum again?” he breathes. “Wanna feel you fall apart on my cock.”

“Y-yeah—Ace—fuck—”

“Do it. Let go.”

You unravel all over again, body locking up around him as your second orgasm crashes through you. He groans deep in your ear, thrusts turning sloppy as he follows, grinding deep inside you with a long, wrecked moan.

The water keeps falling. Your bodies stay tangled together.

The only sound left is your ragged breathing, the slow drip of water, and the quiet laughter that bubbles from your throat when he kisses your neck.

“Well?” he murmurs. “Feelin’ cooler now?”

You shove his hip, weakly.

“Still feel like I’m burnin’, idiot.”

He chuckles, voice still rough.