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You exhaled a long, measured breath, centering yourself. Your fingers traced through your sleep-mussed hair, navigating carefully around the sensitive base of your ears. They flicked under your touch—vibrant and alert—and you smoothed them down with a practiced hand. It was a habit of modesty, even if it was futile; the moment you stepped into the sun, they’d perk right back up, broadcasting every emotion you tried to hide. Behind you, your tail gave an impatient thump against the mattress.

There was no sense in trying to find sleep again.

When you stood to stretch, your muscles coiled like overwound springs. There was a deceptive power in your frame; even a simple reach toward the ceiling felt like you might accidentally launch yourself through the deck boards. You had learned to move with a calculated softness, a grace that masked the tension of a predator waiting to snap.

The mirror across the cabin caught your reflection. You didn't linger—you never did—but you took a quick inventory. The ears, the tail, the way you seemed to hover just a fraction lighter on your feet than the rest of the heavy-booted crew. Then, your focus shifted to the costume.

Kneeling by your chest, you flipped the latch with a dull clack. Inside was a curated chaos of silks, leathers, and sashes—treasures scavenged from ports that had already forgotten your face. You selected something sharp for the day. You pulled on a fitted shirt, layering it with structured pieces that were intentional and clean. It was a look designed to make people look twice, yet leave them unable to explain why they felt uneasy. You bound what needed binding and loosened the rest, sculpting yourself into a shape that felt like you, rather than the "rabbit" the world expected to see.

By the time you were finished, the person in the mirror looked back like a dare. Your ears tilted forward, sharp and defiant.

A heavy thud echoed from the deck above, followed by a raucous shout. The crew. They were loud, reckless, and perpetually on the verge of a brawl or a celebration. Your tail flicked, faster now. You grabbed your coat, slinging it over your shoulders, and headed for the door. The wood was already warm beneath your palm, radiating the heat of a sun that promised a day full of trouble.

You didn't take the stairs.

As you stepped into the light, your legs compressed for a heartbeat—then released. The world dropped away as you launched upward. The wind whipped past your face, your coat snapping like a flag, and you cleared the ladder in a single, silent arc. You landed on the upper deck with a faint thud that shouldn't have been heard, yet a few heads turned anyway.

"Show-off," someone grumbled, though there was no real bite in it.

You ignored them, moving through the organized chaos of the deck like a ghost that hadn't quite learned how to haunt. You passed the gamblers at the mast and the sailors hauling rope, a shadow among the living. You weren't here for the camaraderie. You were a temporary passenger on a fast ship, tied to them only by a heading and a common goal.

Resting your arms on the railing, you stared at the endless blue. Behind you, the crew’s whispers drifted on the wind. They talked of buried gold, of islands that swallowed men whole, and of riches that could buy a kingdom. Your tail gave a solitary flick. Treasure. That was the only word that mattered.

"Oi."

The footsteps that approached were heavy. You didn't turn, not even when the person leaned against the railing beside you, trying to catch a glimpse of your eyes.

"You're quiet," the voice noted. "Been here what—three weeks?"

"Four," you thought, but you only shrugged.

"You even got a name? Or do we just keep calling you 'rabbit'?"

Your ears twitched at the word. Slowly, you turned your head. Your expression was a mask of unreadable calm, a distance that acted as a wall. "You can call me whatever you want," you said, your voice flat and even.

The sailor snorted. "Careful. That’s how nicknames stick. You don't talk much about yourself, do you?"

You looked back at the horizon, where the sea met the sky in a line of perfect indifference. "There's not much to say."

It was a lie, of course. But it was a lie that kept you safe.

As the day progressed, the air began to change. You felt it in your bones before the island even broke the horizon. Your ears went unnaturally still as the wind shifted, bringing the scent of damp earth and ancient rot. When the land finally appeared—a jagged, dark tooth rising from the mist—the crew fell silent. The island looked like it was watching them back.

You slipped away to your cabin one last time. The chest opened again, and your hands went deep, past the fabrics, to the very bottom. You pulled out a mask. It was a pale kitsune face, elegant and cold, with markings that suggested a wisdom far older than your years.

You remembered the day you joined this crew. You had made yourself look small. You had lowered your ears and let your voice shake, playing the part of the "bunny" who needed a ride and a protector. They had laughed at you, called you weak, and let you on board out of a mix of pity and amusement.

It was the perfect disguise.

You slid the mask over your face. The transformation was instantaneous. You no longer looked like prey. You looked like a predator that had finally stopped pretending.

When you stepped back onto the deck, the atmosphere shifted. The sailor who had called you "rabbit" caught your eye and froze, his brow furrowing as he looked at the masked figure standing where the quiet girl had been.

"Didn't know you had teeth," he muttered, his voice dropping an octave.

Beneath the mask, your head tilted just a fraction. "You didn't look hard enough."

The ship slowed as the island's shadow fell over the deck. The crew was checking their blades, their faces tight with fear and greed. They thought you were one of them—a tag-along, a piece of the team. But as your fingers brushed the edge of your mask, you knew the truth. When the treasure was finally within reach, you wouldn't be the soft thing they thought they had rescued.

You would be the one who vanished with everything they desired.

The anchor never hit the silt.

The captain didn’t trust the shifting currents this close to the jagged shoreline, and truth be told, neither did anyone else. Instead, the heavy wooden longboats were lowered into the surf with a rhythmic, protesting groan. You stepped into the first one before an order could even be barked, landing with a feather-light grace that barely caused the boat to rock. The rest of the crew piled in behind you—clumsy, loud, and smelling of cheap grog and overconfidence. They slung their rusted cutlasses and flintlocks over their shoulders like they were heading into a seaside tavern rather than the mouth of an ancient, breathing mystery.

As the oars bit into the dark water, the island surged forward to meet you. Up close, the beauty of the horizon curdled into something suffocating. A bruised mist clung to the shoreline, coiling around the hull of the boat like ghostly fingers trying to drag the wood down into the depths. Overhead, the canopy was a strangled knot of black branches that bled the light from the sky.

Your ears pricked beneath the heavy fabric of your hood. It was too quiet. The sea usually sang, but here, the waves seemed to muffle their own breaking.

"Don't wander off, little one," a voice drawled from the bench behind you, thick with a condescending smirk. "Wouldn't want you getting swallowed by the fog before we even find the gold."

A chorus of rough chuckles rippled through the boat. You didn't turn. You didn't even blink.

"Captain should've left the rabbit on the ship," another voice added, louder now, emboldened by the laughter. "No offense, sweetheart, but this isn't exactly... your kind of work."

You felt your grip tighten on the gunwale, your knuckles brushing the salt-worn wood. Beneath the cold, porcelain surface of your mask, your expression remained a frozen void, but a familiar sharpness settled in your chest. It was the weight of a thousand similar comments from a dozen different crews on a hundred different shores. The same assumptions. The same dismissive glances.

The boat’s prow hit the sand with a wet, heavy scrape.

"Alright, move it!" the captain barked, leaping into the shallows.

The crew spilled onto the beach, their heavy boots sinking into the sodden earth with slurping thuds. You followed last, your feet touching the island with the silence of falling snow. The moment you stepped onto the land, the air grew thick enough to taste—metallic and old. Your ears snapped upright, hidden but sensitive to the sudden, oppressive shift in the atmosphere.

The crew pushed inland, driven by a greed that was far louder than their survival instincts. You fell into the center of the pack—unnoticed, unregarded, a shadow among the shouting men. You watched as they hacked through prehistoric vines, swearing at the heat and the terrain.

"You holding up back there?" the sailor from the boat called over his shoulder, a mocking glint in his eye. "Need a hand to hold?"

"I'll manage," you replied. Your voice was a calm, flat line that gave them nothing to grab onto.

They rolled their eyes and turned away, dismissing you once more. You let them. Every step deeper into the emerald gloom only sharpened your senses. While they grumbled about their boots, you heard the sway of a branch where there was no wind. You felt the dip in the ground where the earth had been hollowed out by time. You saw the flicker of something moving just beyond the veil of mist—something fast, silent, and hungry.

"Bet she won’t even make it halfway," a whisper drifted back to you. "Stick close, rabbit. Wouldn't want you crying when things get ugly."

A strange clarity washed over you then. It wasn't anger—it was the cold, quiet peace of a hunter who knows exactly how the story ends. You hadn't come here for their respect. You had come for the prize. And every insult they hurled only made your task easier; the more they looked down on you, the less they saw you at all.

Your stance shifted. You lowered your center of gravity, your movements becoming fluid and predatory. Let them think you were weak. Let them believe you were a burden.

Up ahead, the path split. To the left, a wide, obvious trail, littered with broken ferns—a trap disguised as a shortcut. To the right, a narrow, suffocating squeeze through the undergrowth, nearly invisible to the untrained eye. Your ears tilted toward the narrow path. That was the way.

"I think..." you said, injecting a deliberate note of hesitation into your voice, "it might be safer to go left. It looks easier."

The captain paused, glancing at the two paths. He didn't trust you, but he trusted his own desire for comfort. "Fine. We go left."

You stepped back, letting the tide of men flow past you. Your gaze lingered on the real path for a heartbeat before you followed them into the trap. You would circle back once the chaos started.

And the chaos started sooner than you expected.

The air didn't just shift; it shattered.

"Oi! You guys look kinda lost."

The voice was bright, annoyingly cheerful, and entirely wrong for this godforsaken place. The crew halted, weapons drawn in a frantic scramble of steel. At the edge of a small clearing stood a group that shouldn't have been there.

A young man in a straw hat stood at the front, a wide, simple grin on his face that felt heavier than the mountain behind him. Behind him, the legends took shape: a swordsman with three blades, a navigator with eyes like flint, a cook exhaling a plume of blue smoke, a skeleton, a cyborg, a giant of a man made of the sea itself.

The Straw Hats.

The air in the clearing turned to lead. The Yonko’s presence was a physical weight, bending the very shadows toward him.

"What business do you have here?" your captain snarled, his voice trembling despite his bravado.

Luffy tilted his head, his grin widening into something terrifyingly honest. "Treasure."

The standoff lasted only as long as a heartbeat. Then, someone from your crew—driven by a lethal mix of fear and stupidity—lunged.

Zoro didn't even seem to move. There was a flash of steel, a clean clink and the attacker was redirected with effortless violence. "Don't be stupid," the swordsman muttered.

The clearing exploded. Shouts, clashing metal, and the roar of a crew fighting for their lives against a force of nature. In the turmoil, you did what you did best. You became nothing. You slipped backward, the mask hiding the predatory gleam in your eyes. A crewmate stumbled past you, glancing at your transformed posture, his eyes widening as he realized the "rabbit" was gone, replaced by something sharp and lethal.

"Wait—who are—?"

You didn't answer. You turned and vanished into the brush.

You ran with a silence that defied the forest, your legs pumping in powerful bursts as you navigated the narrow, hidden path. The sounds of the battle faded into a dull thrum behind you. The deeper you went, the clearer the pull became. The air turned sweet, smelling of ancient stone and forgotten gold.

The trees thinned, revealing a ruin of white stone swallowed by vines. At the center of the crumbling altar, something caught the dying light of the sun—a glow that promised a different life.

Your heart steadied as you stepped into the clearing. Behind you, two crews were tearing each other apart for a map they couldn't read and a prize they couldn't see.

But you? You were already home.

The clearing breathes around you, heavy with the scent of damp moss and the metallic tang of gold that has slept too long in the shade. You step forward, the soft padding of your boots barely registering on the ancient stone. Your gaze is locked on the ruin’s heart, where the treasure glints—fractured light dancing off coins and something deeper, something that feels like the very pulse of the island.

Your ears angle forward. No traps. No movement. Just the thrum of your own blood.

"WOOOOW—!"

The voice shatters the silence like a falling chandelier. It is loud, dramatic, and entirely too smooth for a graveyard of kings. You don't flinch, but your body goes stone-still.

"What a view! And what a mysterious figure standing right in front of it!"

Sanji saunters into the clearing as if he’s stepping onto a ballroom floor. He reaches for a cigarette, his movements practiced and fluid, but his eyes—sharp as a chef’s knife—narrow the moment they land on your silhouette. He notes the mask, the stillness, the strange, light-defying way you hold your weight.

"Hm..." He exhales a plume of smoke, watching you with a newfound intensity. "You’re not with the loud ones back there, are you?"

You offer nothing. The porcelain face of your mask stares back at him, blank and unreadable. Behind you, your tail stills completely, a silent barometer of your focus.

Sanji tilts his head, a sharper edge cutting through his casual tone. "Ignoring me, huh? Not very friendly."

When the silence persists, his gaze flickers past you to the shimmering hoard. Understanding dawns on him, cold and clear. "So that’s how it is," he mutters, rolling his shoulder. "Can’t let you just walk off with it, you know. My navigator would have my head."

You shift your weight—a micro-movement, but to a fighter like him, it’s a declaration of war.

"Right," he says, flicking ash to the side. "Guess we’re doing this."

He moves first. He is a blur, closing the distance in a heartbeat. His leg sweeps upward in a clean, practiced arc—aimed to disarm, to knock you off balance, but notably devoid of killing intent.

You aren't there when the kick arrives.

You drop low, your legs coiling like steel springs, and then you launch. The ground spider-webs beneath your feet as you vanish into the air, clearing his strike by a mile. Wind rushes past your ears, your coat snapping like a whip as you twist mid-air and bring your leg down with the force of a falling star.

Sanji’s eyes widen—then sharpen. He blocks.

Your kick slams into his guard with a crack that echoes through the ruins. The shockwave ripples through the stone beneath him, pushing him back half a step. It’s the first time anyone on this island has moved him.

"Oh?" he murmurs, a small, dangerous smile touching his lips.

You land lightly and pivot. No pause. No breath. You sweep low, your strike aimed to break bone. He jumps back, barely clearing the arc, and counters with a snap-kick toward your ribs. You twist, taking the blow on your arm to reset your stance.

The space between you opens again. For a heartbeat, the clearing is silent. Then Sanji straightens his tie, his laziness replaced by a terrifying, singular focus.

"You're strong," he admits. "Not bad at all."

Your ears twitch beneath your hood. You don't respond. You disappear again, closing the gap in a burst of speed. You feint high, drop low, and chain your movements into a relentless, unpredictable dance. You are a whirlwind of kicks—springing, striking, redirecting.

Sanji meets you blow for blow. The rhythm shifts; he isn't holding back anymore. He can't. You aren't something he needs to protect; you are a threat that demands his everything.

Your foot connects—just a graze against his side—but it's enough to unbalance him. You see the opening and take it. You launch high, twisting for a finishing strike. Sanji’s gaze snaps up, and for a fraction of a second, he looks delighted.

"Got it!"

His leg rises to meet yours, and the collision sends a physical shock through the air. You both skid back, landing in a crouch. The silence that follows is tighter, more focused. Sanji’s cigarette falls from his lips, forgotten.

"You're definitely not some random pirate," he says quietly.

Then, the fight escalates. It spills out of the ruins and back toward the forest's edge. Stone cracks, trees splinter, and the sheer pressure of your clashing kicks begins to draw the attention of the crews nearby. You burst back into the main clearing, and the battle between the Straw Hats and your crew falters.

Zoro’s hand stays on his sword, his eye tracking your movement with grim respect. Luffy’s grin fades into a look of genuine curiosity. They see it now: you are matching their cook, kick for kick.

Sanji resets his stance, breathing hard. "You're tough," he says.

You don't answer. You surge forward, a relentless chain of strikes forcing him back. He blocks, he pivots, he learns. He begins to narrow your angles, forcing you to commit. Your next strike comes high—and he doesn't block. He steps in.

Too late, you realize the trap. His leg snaps upward in a powerful arc.

CRACK.

The impact is square. Your head whips to the side, and the porcelain mask—the only shield you had left—shatters. It falls in slow motion, white shards catching the sunlight before hitting the dirt with a hollow tap.

Time stops.

Sanji freezes. His leg is still raised, but the momentum is gone. His eyes go wide, locked on your face, on your real, uncovered features.

"A—" The word dies. The cigarette he had just replaced slips from his lips. "I—didn't—"

His hands begin to shake. You see it clearly—the man who just traded blows that could level buildings is now trembling. He stumbles back, his posture crumbling.

"I hit..." His voice is a broken whisper. "A woman?"

He drags a hand through his hair, his voice rising in a frantic, desperate cadence. "No... no, no. I didn't know! I didn't see!"

He looks at you with a horror that is almost physical. "I would never! Never!"

Around you, the battle stalls completely. Your own crewmates, sensing a shift, start to jeer. "You've gotta be kidding me! He’s backing off because she’s a girl?"

Another laughs. "Guess that explains the jumping around. Just a lucky broad."

Something in your chest, cold and dormant, finally ignites. Your ears flatten. You turn your head toward your own crew—slowly.

"Say that again."

The voice is quiet, but it silences the clearing. You move so fast it looks like a glitch in reality. Before the man can blink, you have him by the collar, yanking him down until you are inches from his face. Your foot slams into the earth beside him, the ground fracturing under the force.

"Say it again," you repeat. "Not 'for a girl.' I am strong. Just am."

You release him, letting him scramble back in terror. You turn back to Sanji. He is still standing there, jaw tight, looking like he’s just committed a mortal sin.

"Fine," you say, your voice steady and sharp. "You don't fight women. I don't need you to."

You take a step back, centering yourself. You don't need his chivalry, and you certainly don't need your crew’s permission. You look at the Straw Hats, then at the pirates who called you 'rabbit' for four weeks.

"Anyone else?" you ask the clearing. "Or are you all done underestimating me?"

Your tail flicks once, sharp and predatory. The mask is gone, but the person underneath is far more dangerous.

The silence in the clearing was heavy, a suffocating veil that smelled of damp earth and the metallic tang of old gold. You didn't wait for a response; you didn't need one. With a sudden, violent crack of stone beneath your boots, you vanished.

You were a blur of fur and fabric, a streak of desperate intent cutting toward the ruins. The wind howled past your ears, flattening the fur against your skull. Your focus was a singular, burning point: the glint of the treasure. It was so close you could almost feel the cold bite of the gold against your palms.

"HEY—!"

The shout was distant, a fading echo of the world you were leaving behind. You were already gone. Branches whipped your face like lashes as you dove into the overgrown path, your feet barely kissing the ground between frantic leaps. Almost there. Almost—

The world suddenly lunged for you.

It wasn't a person, but an explosion of life. From the mossy bark of the trees, from the cracked flagstones, even from the very air itself, arms bloomed like pale, horrific flowers. Dozens of them. They didn't strike; they flowered around your limbs, locking onto your wrists, your waist, your ankles with the fluid precision of a closing trap.

You twisted, muscles coiling and snapping as you tried to tear through the silken restraint, but the grip was unyielding. You weren't crushed, but you were anchored—suspended mid-motion like an insect in amber.

"I was wondering when you’d make your move."

Nico Robin stepped from the shadows. She looked entirely too calm for a battlefield, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips. Your ears flattened against your head, a low, guttural growl vibrating in your throat.

"You’re fast," she continued, her head tilting with genuine curiosity. "And very clever. Leading your own crew to a dead end while keeping the true path for yourself? Impressive."

"Let go," you hissed. Your voice was a jagged edge, stripped of the soft facade you’d worn for weeks.

Robin’s smile shifted, becoming something more contemplative. "Tempting. But our navigator has a very particular nose for gold. I don't think she'd forgive me."

"ROBIN!"

Nami burst through the brush, her orange hair a flame against the emerald gloom. The moment her eyes hit the ruins, they ignited. "THAT’S IT! It’s ours!" She didn't even look at you; she saw only the glimmering hoard, the light of it reflecting in her eyes like stars.

Close behind her came the steady, rhythmic thud of sandals. Monkey D. Luffy skidded to a halt, his straw hat bobbing. He looked at the massive, crumbling structure and grinned with the pure, uncomplicated joy of a child at a festival. "Woahhh! It looks so cool!"

The rest of your crew began to stumble into the clearing behind them—bruised, panting, and looking utterly broken by the sheer presence of the Straw Hats. They were variables you didn't have time to solve.

With a roar of effort, you surged against the floral restraints. The sheer explosiveness of your strength caught Robin off guard for a fraction of a second. You ripped one arm free, the spectral limbs dissolving into petals that swirled in your wake. You launched forward, tearing through the remaining hands with raw, desperate force.

You didn't look back. You ran.

"HEY!" Nami shrieked, finally snapping her gaze to you. "She’s getting it! Luffy, stop her!"

Your fingers brushed the air inches from the gold. Then, the air itself seemed to stretch.

"Gomu Gomu no—!"

Your ears flicked. You somersaulted mid-air, a desperate, instinctual twist that saved you. A rubbery arm snapped past your head like a whip, slamming into the stone altar with enough force to crack the granite.

"Oops," Luffy laughed, pulling his arm back with a wet snap. He wasn't angry. He was having the time of his life. "Missed! Again!"

You landed in a crouch and launched yourself again, but the playground had changed. Luffy wasn't just throwing punches anymore; he was moving with the terrifying, casual grace of a predator. He intercepted your path, his arm curving mid-stretch to predict your dodge.

You were forced off course, hitting the ground hard. Before you could rebound, more arms sprouted. Robin didn't try to pin you this time; she simply acted as a wall, redirecting your momentum back toward the center of the clearing.

"Luffy," Robin said softly.

"Yeah!"

He was there before you could even rise. Your kick went up; he blocked it with a forearm that felt like solid iron, his grin never wavering. "Woah—you’re really strong!"

You snapped your other leg forward, a strike meant to shatter a rib, but he danced back with effortless fluidity. He was learning you. Every twitch of your ears, every shift of your tail—he was reading the rhythm of your soul.

"Luffy, this is not playtime!" Nami wailed from the sidelines.

"I’m not playing!" he laughed, though he absolutely was.

Your teeth ground together. The weight of the situation finally began to sink in. You were strong—fast, lethal, and cunning—but you were standing against a Yonko. You weren't just fighting a man; you were fighting a force of nature.

You lowered your center of gravity, your breath coming in hot, ragged bursts. You couldn't go around them. You couldn't outrun them. You had to go through them. You launched one final, all-or-nothing strike, a direct line of pure, unadulterated speed aimed at the heart of the ruins.

Luffy’s eyes sharpened. The playfulness didn't vanish, but it was suddenly backed by a mountain of resolve. "Okay!"

He met you in the air. His timing was perfect, his grip catching you with a strength that made your bones ache. You twisted, trying to lash out, but Robin’s arms bloomed again, wrapping around your torso and legs like a silken cocoon. They brought you down to the mossy earth—not with cruelty, but with an immovable finality.

The impact knocked the breath from your lungs. You lay there for a moment, chest heaving, your tail lashing the dirt in a frenzy of frustration.

Robin knelt beside you, her touch as light as a breeze. "You’re fast," she whispered, "but no one is faster than the both of us."

Luffy landed nearby, bouncing on his heels. He looked down at you, and for the first time, his gaze was tempered with a deep, quiet respect. "Not bad. You’re really, really strong. But..." He gestured to his crew, to the mountain of power they represented. "...you’re not stronger than us together."

You bit your lip, the taste of salt and copper on your tongue. Your crew was gone—scattered and cowed. Sanji stood a few paces away, his face pale, his hands trembling with a guilt he couldn't name, unable to even look at you.

You sat up slowly as Robin released her hold. You were defeated, outmatched by a power you hadn't truly believed in until it was around your throat. But as you looked at the treasure, and then back at the grinning boy in the straw hat, your ears flicked forward.

The death glare you leveled at them was enough to make a lesser man flinch. You weren't broken. Your mind was already whirring, discarding the failed plan and building something new from the wreckage. Speed hadn't worked. Strength hadn't worked.

But you still had your secrets. And as your tail gave one final, defiant twitch, you realized that the most dangerous thing about a rabbit wasn't how fast it ran—it was how deep it could dig.

The clearing had fallen into a heavy, lopsided silence. Your former crew lay scattered like discarded dolls, the fight knocked out of them—some unconscious, others simply too broken by the sheer scale of the Straw Hats' power to lift their heads from the dirt.

It was just you now. You, and the legends standing in a circle around the ruins.

You sat on the mossy ground, your chest heaving, the fur on your ears matted with dust and sweat. Your mask lay in two jagged pieces a few feet away, its porcelain smirk finally silenced. Without it, you felt raw, exposed to the midday sun that filtered through the canopy.

A shadow fell over you.

Sanji stood there, his silhouette blocking out the light. He wasn't in a fighting stance anymore. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders hunched in a way that spoke of a deep, internal ache. He looked at you, then quickly looked away, his gaze landing on the shattered mask.

"I..." he started, his voice uncharacteristically raspy. He reached into his coat, pulled out a fresh cigarette, and fumbled with his lighter. His fingers were still shaking. "I didn't mean to hit you. I would have... I should have seen."

You looked up at him, your gaze hard and uncompromising. "You shouldn't have held back," you said, your voice finally steady. "I was an enemy. I was holding the treasure. You're a pirate, aren't you?"

Sanji winced as if you’d kicked him again. He finally lit the cigarette, exhaling a cloud of blue smoke that drifted toward the trees. "It doesn't matter. There are lines I don't cross. Even for a pirate." He looked back at you, his blue eyes softening with a mix of guilt and something that looked like genuine wonder. "You're incredible, you know. I’ve never seen anyone move like that. You fought like a storm."

You didn't answer. You didn't want his praise; you wanted the gold that was currently being stuffed into a large sack by a very hummed-along Nami.

"HEY! SHISHISHI!"

Luffy’s laugh boomed, breaking the heavy tension between you and the cook. The Captain of the Straw Hats bounced over, landing in a squat right in front of you. He tilted his head, his wide, dark eyes scanning your face, your ears, and finally the defiant set of your jaw.

"You're fun!" Luffy declared, pointing a finger at your chest. "You're fast, you're strong, and you have funny ears! I like you!"

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in energy. "I don't care if you like me. Give me the treasure."

Luffy ignored the request entirely. He stood up, his grin stretching so wide it seemed to defy the laws of physics. "I decided! You’re coming with us!"

The clearing went dead silent again. Nami stopped mid-count of a gold stack; Zoro cracked an eye open from where he was leaning against a tree; Robin simply smiled, as if she had expected this all along.

"No," you said firmly.

Luffy’s grin didn't falter. "Why not? We’re going to the next island! It’s gonna be a huge adventure! And Sanji makes great food, right Sanji?"

"The best," Sanji muttered, though he was still staring at you with a look of dazed conflict.

"I said no," you repeated, pushing yourself up to stand. You glanced at your unconscious crew. "I have... I have a ship. I have a life."

"That ship is slow," Nami chimed in, finally looking up. "And those guys? They were ready to leave you behind the second things got 'ugly.' We saw how they talked to you."

"It doesn't matter," you snapped, your tail lashing behind you. "I'm not a Straw Hat. I’m a thief. I work alone."

Luffy put his hands on his hips, his expression shifting from playful to that unshakable, stubborn seriousness that had toppled kings. "I'm the Captain. And I say you're coming."

"I'm not one of your subordinates!" you yelled, your ears flattening. "You can't just—"

"Zoro! Sanji!" Luffy called out, throwing a thumb over his shoulder toward the shore. "Take her to the Sunny!"

"Wait, what?!" you gasped, coiling your legs to bolt.

But you weren't faster than the two men who closed the distance. Zoro was suddenly at your left, his massive hand catching your arm before you could launch, and Sanji was at your right.

"Sorry, mademoiselle," Sanji whispered, though he didn't look entirely sorry to see you staying. "Captain’s orders are absolute."

"Let me go! You can't just kidnap me!" You thrashed, kicking out with enough force to shatter wood, but Zoro simply shifted his weight, pinning your movement with the practiced ease of a man who dealt with monsters for breakfast.

"Quit squirming," Zoro grunted, though he wasn't being rough. "If Luffy says you're joining, you're joining. Save your energy for the sea."

You looked back at Luffy, who was already walking toward the beach, humming a tuneless song and swinging his arms. He didn't even look back to see if they were following. He knew they were.

As they carried you toward the shore, past the broken remains of your old life and the crew that had never truly seen you, you let out a frustrated growl that was half-sob and half-snarl.

The Straw Hats were loud, chaotic, and completely insane. They had taken your treasure, shattered your mask, and now they were taking you.

Your ears flicked toward the sound of the crashing surf ahead, where the Thousand Sunny waited. You were still furious, still defiant—but as the salt spray hit your face, a small, treacherous part of your heart wondered what kind of food the cook actually made.

The shore was a battleground of pride and stubbornness.

Zoro had a grip like a mountain, and Sanji was moving with a strange, hesitant grace, but they both underestimated exactly how much leverage a person with your anatomy could find. You weren't a heavy-hitter in a head-on collision, but you were a kinetic nightmare.

The first time happened halfway to the longboat.

You waited for the exact moment Zoro’s weight shifted over a piece of driftwood. You didn’t pull away; you leaned in, using his own momentum against him, and snapped your leg upward. It wasn't a kick meant to hurt, but a precision strike to the pressure point behind his knee. His leg buckled, his grip loosened for a split second, and you were gone.

You launched toward the treeline, a blur of fur and coat. You almost made it, too, until a pinkish blur of arms sprouted from a nearby trunk, snagging your ankles just long enough for Zoro to lung forward and snag you by the back of your collar like a disobedient kitten.

"Nice try," Zoro grunted, looking more annoyed at the sand on his pants than the escape attempt.

The second time was at the water’s edge.

Sanji was trying to help you into the boat, his expression a mix of "I'm so sorry" and "please don't kick me again." You played into it. You let your ears droop, making yourself look small and defeated. The moment his hands touched your waist to lift you, you exploded.

You drove your elbow into his ribs—hard enough to make him wheeze—and used his shoulders as a literal launching pad. You did a backflip over the boat, splashing into the surf and diving deep, swimming toward the jagged rocks where the Sunny couldn't follow. But then, the water around you began to churn. Jinbe hadn't even been part of the conversation, but suddenly a massive blue hand reached through the currents, hoisting you back into the air by your waist.

"The Captain's word is law, little one," the helmsman said calmly, plopping you back into the longboat.

The third time was pure desperation.

As the longboat drew alongside the towering, magnificent hull of the Thousand Sunny, you waited until they were hooking the ropes. You didn't run; you fought. You turned into a whirlwind of teeth and heels. You bit Zoro’s hand, kicked the side of the boat so hard it nearly tipped, and nearly took Sanji’s nose off with a spinning heel. You managed to scramble halfway up the side of the ship, claws digging into the wood, intent on jumping into the open ocean and taking your chances with the sea kings.

"Enough!" Nami’s voice cracked like a whip from the deck above.

Before you could reach the railing, a thick, soft rope looped around your torso, then your arms, then your legs. Luffy was looking down at you from the deck, the end of the rope in his hand, his grin as wide as ever.

"You're really bouncy!" he laughed, hauling you up like a prize fish.

Minutes later, you were sitting on the grassy deck of the Sunny, leaning against the mast. You were tied—not painfully, but securely—in a series of knots that even your flexible joints couldn't wiggle out of. Your hair was a mess, your ears were pinned back in a permanent scowl, and your tail was thumping the grass in a rhythmic, furious beat.

The Straw Hats stood around you, looking more amused than anything else.

"Three times," Franky noted, impressed. "That’s a super record for someone your size."

Sanji approached slowly, kneeling in front of you with a tray. The smell hit you instantly—something rich, savory, and warm. He set a bowl of stew and a plate of golden-brown bread within reach, though your hands were currently bound to your sides.

"I made this for you," he said softly, his voice still carrying that heavy weight of guilt. "It’s got plenty of herbs for the bruises."

You looked at the food, then at him, then at Luffy, who was sitting on the lion’s head at the front of the ship, looking out at the sea.

"I'm going to kill you all," you muttered, though your stomach betrayed you with a loud, traitorous growl.

"Shishishi! Eat first, kill us later!" Luffy shouted back without turning around. "We're heading for the next island!"

The anchor rose. The sails unfurled, catching a wind that felt far too free for someone currently tied to a mast. You were a prisoner of the most dangerous crew on the sea, and for the first time in your life, you didn't have a plan.

The Thousand Sunny cut through the waves with a buoyant, cheerful rhythm that felt like an insult to your current situation.

You were bound to the great mast, the rough texture of the wood pressing against your back. The ropes were looped expertly around your torso and arms—secure, but not so tight that they cut off circulation. They knew you were a flight risk. They knew you were a spring waiting to snap.

So, you did the only thing a cornered animal could do. You became a statue.

You didn't scream. You didn't beg. You simply watched. Your eyes, sharp and dark, tracked every movement on the deck with predatory stillness. Your ears were pulled back tight against your skull, a clear signal of your mood, but it was the only part of you that moved.

Until Nami walked by.

She was lugging a small, ornate chest—the very one you had bled and lied for. She was humming, a pencil tucked behind her ear, already calculating the berries. She set the chest down on a nearby table, the clink of gold echoing across the grassy deck.

The sound triggered something primal in your chest.

Thump.

It was a dull, heavy sound.

Thump. Thump.

Your right hind foot, even bound as it was, struck the deck with a sudden, rhythmic violence. It wasn't a struggle to get free; it was a drumbeat. A warning. In the wild, it was the sound of a hare signaling a predator’s presence, but here, in the heavy silence of the ship, it sounded like a heartbeat of pure malice.

Then came the second sound. A dry, grating noise that set everyone’s teeth on edge.

Grrrr-ck. Grrrr-ck.

You were grinding your teeth—not in pain, but in a rhythmic, vibrating chatter. It was a low-frequency threat, a sound that bypassed the ears and went straight to the nerves of everyone standing on the deck.

Nami stopped mid-calculation, her hand freezing over the gold. She looked over at you, blinking in confusion. "Is... is she okay? Is she having a seizure?"

"No," Zoro said, his voice low. He was sitting cross-legged on the grass, sharpening one of his katanas, but he had stopped his work to watch you. "Look at her eyes. That’s not a seizure. That’s a challenge."

Luffy, who had been hanging upside down from the railing, flipped himself onto the deck and walked over. He tilted his head, leaning in close—too close. Your teeth-grinding grew louder, the vibration visible in the set of your jaw.

"Hey, what’s that sound?" Luffy asked, reaching out to poke your shoulder.

THUMP.

Your foot struck the deck so hard the wood seemed to groan. Your ears flicked forward for a fraction of a second, sharp as blades, before pinning back again.

"She’s warning us," Robin said softly, stepping out from the library. She watched you with that same clinical, yet empathetic curiosity. "Hares and rabbits... they drum their feet to signal danger. To tell the predator they’ve been spotted. And the teeth grinding... that’s a high-stress threat."

"A threat?" Usopp squeaked, taking a strategic step behind Franky. "She’s tied to a mast! What’s she gonna do, vibrate us to death?"

"It’s a promise," Sanji murmured. He was leaning against the galley door, his cigarette unlit, his eyes fixed on your lashing tail. "She’s telling us that the second these ropes come off, someone’s losing a limb."

You didn't break eye contact with Luffy. You didn't stop the drumming. You wanted them to feel the vibration of your anger through the soles of their feet. You wanted them to know that you weren't a pet, and you weren't a guest.

You were the danger they had brought on board.

Luffy didn't pull back. Instead, he grinned—a wide, fearless expression that made your stomach flip. He reached out and adjusted your hood, which had fallen slightly askew during your struggle.

"You’re really loud for someone so quiet!" he laughed. He turned to the others, his voice booming. "I like her! She’s got a lot of spirit!"

He looked back at you, his dark eyes sparkling with a terrifying kind of joy. "Keep doing that! It sounds like music!"

Your teeth-grinding hitched for a second in pure, unadulterated disbelief. He wasn't scared. He wasn't even offended. He was encouraged.

As the sun began to set, casting long, bloody shadows across the Sunny, the crew went back to their chores, but they moved a little more carefully when they passed the mast. They could still hear it—the steady, rhythmic thump of your foot against the wood.

A countdown.

The moon hung high over the Thousand Sunny, casting a silver glow on the grassy deck. Most of the crew had turned in, but the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of your foot against the mast hadn't stopped. It had just gotten quieter, more personal.

A creak from the galley door broke the silence. Sanji stepped out, no longer in his formal jacket, his tie loosened. He carried a small wooden stool in one hand and a plate of steaming, honey-glazed tarts in the other. He approached tentatively, stopping just outside of kicking range.

He set the stool down and sat, sighing as he lit a cigarette. The smoke curled upward toward your twitching ears.

"You’re still at it, then," he said, his voice soft. "The drumming. You’re going to put a hole in the ship, and Franky’s going to cry. He’s a sensitive cyborg."

Grrrr-ck. Grrrr-ck. You ground your teeth at him, the sound vibrating through the wood of the mast. Your eyes remained fixed on the horizon, refusing to acknowledge him.

"Look," Sanji said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’m sorry. Truly. About the mask. About the kick. And... well, about the kidnapping. Our Captain has the impulse control of a golden retriever with a sugar rush. Once he decides someone is 'fun,' that’s pretty much the end of the debate."

You finally shifted your gaze to him, your nose wrinkling. "You're a cook," you rasped, your voice dry from hours of silence. "Why aren't you in the kitchen making sure the rubber man doesn't eat the pantry?"

Sanji chuckled, a genuine, tired sound. "Locked the fridge. Thrice. He’s currently trying to chew through the lock, but that’ll take him at least another hour." He held up a tart. "I made these. White peach and honey. No poison. I promise."

You stared at the tart. Your stomach, that traitorous organ, let out a sound like a dying sea beast.

"If I untie your hands," Sanji said, leaning forward, "will you promise not to shatter my jaw? I quite like my jaw. It’s essential for tasting sauces."

You narrowed your eyes. You didn't answer, but the drumming of your foot slowed.

He took that as a yes. With a few quick, deft movements, he loosened the upper ropes. Your arms fell to your sides, heavy and tingling. You immediately reached out, snatched a tart, and shoved the entire thing into your mouth.

Your eyes widened. The sweetness hit like a physical punch—floral, warm, and buttery. You reached for another before you’d even swallowed the first.

"Slow down, rabbit," Sanji joked, though his eyes were bright with relief. "I have a whole kitchen full of them."

"Don't call me that," you mumbled through a mouthful of pastry. "And I'm only eating these so I have the energy to strangle your Captain later."

"Fair enough," Sanji said, leaning back on his stool. "Though, if you're going to strangle him, wait until after breakfast. I’m making crepes."

You paused, a third tart halfway to your lips. "Crepes? With the little berries?"

"And whipped cream. Made from scratch."

You slumped back against the mast, a long, frustrated exhale escaping you. Your ears, which had been pinned back for ten hours, finally flopped forward in a moment of sheer culinary defeat. "You people are the worst. You can't just kidnap people and then feed them gourmet pastries. That's... that's psychological warfare."

"It’s worked on most of us," Sanji admitted, grinning. "Nami joined for the money, Zoro joined because he got lost, and I joined because Luffy told me to go find a magical sea. We’re all a little bit broken here. You’ll fit right in."

"I am not fitting in," you snapped, pointing a sticky finger at him. "I am a high-stakes thief. I have a reputation. I have a mask."

"You have crumbs on your chin," Sanji countered.

You hurriedly wiped your face, feeling a flush of heat in your cheeks that had nothing to do with anger. You looked at him—really looked at him—and saw the faint bruise on his shoulder where your kick had landed earlier.

"Does it hurt?" you asked, your voice dropping.

Sanji followed your gaze and shrugged. "A little. But honestly? It was a beautiful strike. Perfect weight distribution. If you hadn't been a girl, I would've been honored to have my ribs broken by it."

"You're an idiot," you sighed, but the corners of your mouth twitched. "A total, chivalrous, baking idiot."

"I've been called worse," he said, standing up and picking up the empty plate. "Get some sleep. I'll leave the hand-ropes loose. If you try to jump overboard, Jinbe will just fish you out again, and he’s much grumpier about late-night swims than I am."

He started to walk away, then stopped, looking back over his shoulder. "By the way... the ears. They’re cute when they flop like that."

Before you could throw the last tart at his head, he slipped back into the galley, whistling a jaunty tune.

You sat back against the mast, the taste of honey still on your tongue. The drumming of your foot had stopped completely. Instead, your tail gave a single, quiet thump against the deck.

Maybe you wouldn't kill them tonight. Maybe you'd wait for the crepes.

The ropes didn't stand a chance against your teeth.

Sanji had left the hand-bindings loose, but he hadn't accounted for the sheer, stubborn sharpness of a hare's incisors. You worked in the dark, the rhythmic scritch-scritch of your teeth muffled by the steady creak of the ship’s hull. Fiber by fiber, the hemp gave way until the final strand snapped. You rubbed your raw wrists, the circulation returning in a painful prickle, and looked toward the railing.

The ocean was a vast, obsidian void. The wind howling off the waves didn't smell like freedom; it smelled like ice. You crept to the edge, peering down at the churning white foam. Your ears, usually so alert, fell flat against your back. You could feel the phantom chill of that water in your marrow—a cold so deep it would stop your heart before you could even kick twice.

No. You weren't a fish, and you weren't a fool.

Instead of jumping, you turned back to the ship, your eyes adjusting to the moonlight. You moved like a ghost, your padded feet making no sound on the grass. You didn't head for the lifeboats or the galley. You looked for the shadows.

Near the back of the deck, partially hidden by a stack of crates, you found it—a heavy wooden grate leading down into the crawlspaces beneath the floorboards. It was cramped, dusty, and smelled of cedar and rope, but it was dry. You slipped inside, pulling the grate back into place with a faint thud.

You curled into a ball in the darkness, your tail tucked tight, listening to the muffled footsteps of the night watch above. You’d wait. You’d wait until the next island, until the ship docked, and then you’d vanish into a crowd.

Morning arrived with a frantic shout that vibrated through the floorboards right above your head.

"SHE'S GONE!"

That was Usopp. You heard the frantic scurry of feet—heavy boots, light sandals, and the steady thump of Luffy’s landing.

"The ropes are chewed through!" Nami’s voice was high with alarm. She sounded genuinely distressed, which surprised you. "Luffy, look at the railing. There are scuff marks. You don't think she..."

A heavy silence followed. You held your breath, pressing your back against the cool wood of the hull.

"The water is freezing this far north," Robin said, her voice uncharacteristically somber. "Even for someone as strong as her... she wouldn't last ten minutes in those currents."

"No way," Luffy said. There was no laughter in his voice now. "She wouldn't just jump. She was too angry to jump."

"I shouldn't have left the ropes loose," Sanji’s voice was a low growl of self-loathing. You heard the metallic clink of his lighter, then a long, shaky exhale. "I thought... I thought we were actually talking. I’m a moron. I let her walk right into a grave."

"Jinbe! Can you see anything?" Franky shouted toward the helm.

"Nothing but blue and foam, Franky," the helmsman called back, his deep voice heavy. "If she went in, the sea has her now."

The mood on the deck shifted instantly. The cheerful, chaotic energy of the Straw Hats vanished, replaced by a thick, mournful quiet. You heard Nami sniffle, and the sound of someone—probably Chopper—letting out a small, heartbroken wail.

"We shouldn't have tied her up," Luffy muttered. You could hear him sitting down right above your hiding spot, the wood creaking under his weight. "I just wanted her to have an adventure. I didn't want her to die."

You sat in the dark, your ears twitching. A strange, uncomfortable knot formed in your chest. They were... sad? They had kidnapped you, stolen your treasure, and tied you to a mast, and now they were mourning you like a lost friend.

It was ridiculous. It was illogical. It was the Straw Hats.

You stayed perfectly still, watching a spider weave a web in the corner of your hiding spot. You told yourself you were staying hidden because it was the smart thing to do. But as you heard Sanji mutter something about "making a memorial meal," your stomach gave a quiet, treacherous growl.

You weren't gone. You were just waiting. But hearing them talk about you in the past tense was starting to make your whiskers twitch with an urge you couldn't quite name.

The crawlspace was a labyrinth of cedar beams and iron bolts, dim and smelling of old sea salt. You pressed your back against a support strut, your ears twitching at every footfall above. The guilt in their voices had been... annoying. It felt like a weight you hadn't asked to carry.

Then, the smell hit.

It started as a faint, buttery whisper drifting through the floorboards. Then came the sweetness—warm berries, simmering sugar, and the unmistakable scent of fresh whipped cream. Your stomach didn't just growl; it staged a full-scale riot. Your mouth watered so instantly you had to swallow hard to keep from making a noise.

Crepes.

You remembered Sanji’s promise from the night before. He was making them. A "memorial breakfast." The irony wasn't lost on you, but neither was the hunger. You waited, your nose wiggling uncontrollably, until the heavy thud of the crew moving toward the dining table signaled the coast was clear.

You pushed the grate up an inch. Quiet.

You slid out like a shadow, belly low to the grass. The morning sun was blinding after the darkness of the hold, but you didn't hesitate. You darted behind a decorative bush, then used the shadows of the railing to reach the galley door.

Inside, the kitchen was a masterpiece of organized chaos. A stack of golden, lace-edged crepes sat on a warming plate near the window, dusted with powdered sugar and topped with a single, perfect blackberry.

You moved.

One moment the plate was full—the next, you were back in the shadows of the hallway, a warm, folded crepe clutched between your teeth. You didn't even chew until you were back in the safety of the dark crawlspace. The taste was a revelation: creamy, tart, and sweet enough to make your tail give a traitorous, happy wag.

Success.

Up on deck, however, the "mourning" was taking a technical turn.

Chopper was sitting near the mast, his small blue nose twitching rhythmically. He looked confused, his little hooves fidgeting with his hat. "Um, guys?"

"Not now, Chopper," Usopp sighed, picking at a piece of dry toast. "I’m too sad to eat. I keep thinking about her cold, soggy ears."

"No, but... I smell her," Chopper insisted, his voice rising. "The scent is fresh! It’s not like old 'she-was-here-yesterday' smell. It’s 'she-was-just-standing-next-to-the-fridge' smell!"

Sanji, who had been leaning gloomily against the counter, snapped his head up. His eyes narrowed, darting around the galley. He walked over to the warming plate and stared. "I made twelve crepes," he whispered, his voice trembling. "There are eleven."

Luffy’s head popped up from the table, a bit of syrup on his nose. "Maybe a ghost ate it?"

"Ghosts don't eat crepes, Luffy!" Nami snapped, but she looked hopeful. "Chopper, are you sure?"

"I’m sure! And look!" Chopper hopped down and pointed to the edge of a crate near the floorboards.

Caught on a splinter of wood was a single, long, silken strand of fur—unmistakably yours.

Robin knelt down, picking up the hair with a soft, knowing chuckle. "It seems our ghost has a very healthy appetite. And she’s much closer than the bottom of the ocean."

Luffy’s face split into a massive, delighted grin. He slammed his fists onto the table. "SHISHISHI! I KNEW IT! She’s playing hide-and-seek!"

"Hide-and-seek?" Zoro grunted, though the corner of his mouth tucked into a smirk. "More like she’s hunting us for snacks."

Sanji didn't look angry. He looked like he’d just won the lottery. He grabbed the plate of crepes and set it directly in the middle of the deck, right near the main grate.

"Oh, what a shame," Sanji said, his voice loud and performative, aimed directly at the floorboards. "I made all these extra crepes with extra whipped cream and triple berries. I suppose I’ll just leave them here since no one is around to eat them. It would be a tragedy if they just... sat here. All warm and delicious."

Under the floor, your ears flattened. You squeezed your eyes shut, your stomach betraying you with another loud, echoing groan.

They knew.

The standoff lasted three hours, and it was a battle of sheer, stubborn will.

Beneath the deck, the air was cooling, and the silence above was far too loud. You knew exactly what they were doing. They weren't pacing; they weren't shouting. They were waiting. You sat with your back against a cedar beam, your ears pulled back so tight they ached. Every few minutes, the scent of the crepes—now slightly cool but still heavy with the aroma of butter and macerated berries—wafted through the gaps in the floorboards.

It was a targeted assault on your senses.

Your stomach let out a sound like a grinding tectonic plate. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to visualize your old ship, your old life, your dignity—anything but the fluffy, golden-brown edges of those crepes. But then, the sound of a fork scraping against a plate drifted down.

"Man," Luffy’s voice boomed, sounding suspiciously like he was talking with his mouth full. "These are so good. It’s a shame. There’s only three left. I might eat them. I’m really hungry, Sanji."

"Don't you dare, Captain," Sanji’s voice was smooth, projected perfectly toward the deck. "Those are for our guest. Though, if she doesn't show up in, say, five minutes... they’ll probably get soggy. And nobody likes a soggy crepe."

Five minutes.

The ultimatum hung in the air. You felt the twitch in your nose, the restless thump of your tail against the hull. You weren't a pet. You weren't a member of this circus. You were a master thief who had survived on scraps and cunning for years.

But those weren't scraps. Those were triple-berry crepes.

With a silent, frustrated snarl, you placed your hands on the underside of the grate. You didn't burst out. You pushed it up just an inch, peering through the slit.

The crew was gathered in a loose semicircle, a respectable distance away, trying—and failing—to look busy. Zoro was "meditating" with one eye cracked open. Nami was "reading" a map upside down. Sanji was leaning against the railing, light catching the gold of his hair, a fresh plate held out like an offering.

You didn't give them the satisfaction of a slow reveal.

The grate flew upward, clattering against the grass, and you exploded from the dark like a jack-in-the-box. You landed in a low crouch, hair dusty, ears wild and flared out in a defensive fan. You looked like a cornered animal, your chest heaving, your gaze darting from one face to the next.

"I am NOT," you rasped, your voice cracking slightly from disuse, "joining your crew."

Luffy’s grin was so bright it practically radiated heat. "You're alive! Shishishi! I knew the water was too cold for you!"

You ignored him, your eyes locking onto the plate in Sanji's hand. You marched forward, each step deliberate, and snatched the plate with a predatory hiss. You didn't sit. You didn't say thank you. You stood right there in the center of the deck and began to tear into the crepes, the whipped cream smearing across your cheek.

Sanji let out a long, shaky breath of relief, a small, triumphant smile tugging at his lips. "Welcome back to the land of the living, rabbit."

You stopped chewing just long enough to point a fork at him. "This changes... nothing."

"Of course not," Robin said, her voice like velvet as she closed her book. "It simply means you’ve chosen a warm meal over a cold hiding spot. A very logical decision."

"She's so cool!" Chopper squealed, hiding behind Zoro’s leg but peeking out with sparkling eyes. "She survived the floorboards!"

You finished the last bite, licking a stray bit of berry juice from your thumb, and looked at Luffy. He was watching you with that terrifying, unshakable certainty. He didn't look like he’d won a fight; he looked like he’d found a missing piece of his ship.

"You're still tied up at night," Nami warned, though she was smiling. "We aren't falling for the 'chew through the ropes' trick again."

"Try and stop me," you challenged, though the fire in your voice was dampened by the sheer satisfaction of a full stomach.

Your tail gave a single, involuntary flick of contentment. You were trapped, kidnapped, and surrounded by lunatics—but as Sanji reached out to take the empty plate, his fingers brushing yours with a gentle, apologetic pressure, you realized the floorboards weren't going to be enough to keep you away from them for long.

The silence on the deck didn't feel like a standoff anymore; it felt like a soft surrender.

You sat on a small wooden crate, the empty plate balanced on your knees. You were still dusty from the floorboards, a stray cobweb clinging to one of your ears, but the cold, sharp edge of your defiance had been blunted by the warmth of the meal. You didn't look at them, but you could feel their eyes—no longer pitying, just curious.

Sanji didn't move to take the plate immediately. Instead, he leaned against the railing a few feet away, lighting a fresh cigarette. The smoke drifted away from you, a silent gesture of space.

"You missed the fruit parfaits," he said, his voice casual, as if you hadn't just spent twelve hours hiding under the ship's ribs. "I saved the best berries for the ones I put in the hold, but the cream is better when it's fresh."

"I don't care about parfaits," you muttered, though your ears gave a treacherous, rhythmic flick.

Luffy rolled over on the grass, propping his chin on his hands. "You eat like a squirrel! Or a hamster! Fast, fast, fast!" He imitated a chewing motion, his cheeks puffing out.

"I'm a hare," you corrected, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "And we eat fast so predators don't catch us off guard."

"No predators here," Zoro grunted, though he didn't look up from the whetstone. "Just a bunch of idiots and a cook who’s currently wondering if he should make you a snack for lunch."

You glanced at Sanji. He didn't deny it. In fact, he looked like he was already mentally inventorying the pantry. Since the moment your mask had hit the deck, he had transitioned from a formidable combatant into a man on a mission to overfeed you. It was a different kind of combat—one you didn't know how to parry.

The afternoon settled into a strange, domestic rhythm. You stayed on your crate, refusing to join them at the main table, but you stopped growling when they passed. Nami brought over a basin of warm water and a cloth, setting it down without a word. You waited until she walked away before washing the dust from your face and smoothing the fur on your ears.

By midday, the "spoiling" began in earnest.

Every time Sanji stepped out of the galley, he had something. A small bowl of chilled grapes. A slice of toasted brioche with homemade marmalade. A glass of sparkling juice with a sprig of mint. He didn't make a scene of it; he would simply walk by and set it on the crate beside you, sometimes pausing to offer a small, wink-like tilt of his head before retreating.

"He's never been this quiet about swooning over someone," Usopp whispered to Chopper, both of them watching from behind the mast. "Usually there's more spinning and hearts in his eyes."

"He feels bad!" Chopper whispered back, his little hooves over his mouth. "But look! Her tail isn't thumping anymore. It's just... wagging?"

It wasn't wagging. It was a slow, involuntary twitch of contentment that you were trying very hard to suppress.

As the sun began to dip, casting long, golden shadows across the deck, Sanji approached one last time. This time, he didn't have food. He held a small, beautifully carved wooden comb.

"Your hair is still a mess from the crawlspace," he said, stopping just a pace away. He held the comb out, handle-first. "I found this in the storage. It’s sandalwood. Good for... well, for someone with a lot of fur to manage."

You looked at the comb, then at his hands—the hands that had matched your strikes with such terrifying precision, now offering a gift with such careful gentleness.

You took the comb, your fingers brushing his for a second longer than necessary. You didn't say thank you. You couldn't bring yourself to go that far. But you didn't pull away when he sat on the deck near your crate, resting his back against the wood.

"The next island has a great market," Sanji said, looking out at the orange-tinted sea. "They have silks. And masks, if you really want a new one. But I think the crew prefers seeing your face."

You ran the comb through the fur of your ear, the scent of sandalwood filling the air. For the first time since you’d been taken, the ropes didn't feel like they were made of hemp. They felt like the smell of crepes, the sound of Luffy’s laugh, and the steady, quiet presence of the man sitting at your feet.

You weren't a Straw Hat. Not yet. But as you looked at the horizon, you realized you weren't a prisoner anymore, either.

The *Thousand Sunny* sailed through the starlit night, the only sound the gentle rhythmic splashing of the hull against the waves. You were no longer tied to the mast—Luffy had declared it "unfair" since you were now a "special guest"—but you still felt the invisible tether of the man who seemed to have made your comfort his new religion.

You sat on the deck's soft grass, leaning against the railing, the sandalwood comb Sanji had given you resting in your lap. The night air was crisp, making your ears twitch and press closer to your head for warmth.

A shadow lengthened beside you. You didn't need to look up to know the scent of expensive tobacco and clarified butter.

"The stars are different in this part of the Grand Line," Sanji said softly. He didn't sit right next to you, respecting the circle of space you still guarded like a fortress. Instead, he leaned on the railing, looking out at the shimmering water. "They’re sharper. Brighter."

You finally looked up, your nose giving a tiny, involuntary wiggle. "They look cold."

Sanji turned his head, his blue eyes catching the moonlight. He reached into his pocket, but instead of a cigarette, he pulled out a small, silk-wrapped parcel. He set it on the railing between you. "Then it’s a good thing I made this. It’s a hot chocolate tart with a hint of chili. For the circulation."

You reached out, your fingers grazing the silk. You unwrapped it slowly, finding a pastry so delicate it looked like art. You took a bite, and the heat of the chocolate bloomed across your tongue, followed by a tiny, playful spark of spice that warmed your chest.

"You're doing it again," you whispered, the tart halfway to your lips.

"Doing what?"

"Trying to feed the anger out of me."

Sanji let out a short, breathy laugh, his gaze dropping to your boots. "Is it working?"

"Maybe a little," you admitted, your tail giving a single, soft thump against the grass. You looked at him, the moonlight carving the sharp lines of his face. "Why? You almost broke my leg back on the island. You were ready to take me down."

"I was fighting a mask," he said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming serious in a way that made your ears perk up. He stepped a fraction closer, just enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. "But once that mask fell... I saw someone who wasn't just a thief. I saw someone who was lonely even in a crowd of her own crew. I saw you."

He reached out, his hand hesitating in the air between you. For a second, you thought about flinching, about snapping your teeth—but you stayed still. His fingers, calloused from the kitchen but incredibly gentle, brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch was electric, a stark contrast to the cool night air.

"I don't need a protector, Sanji," you said, though your voice lacked its usual bite.

"I know you don't," he murmured, his thumb grazing the soft fur at the base of your ear. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine that made your tail lash once, winding momentarily around his ankle before you caught yourself and pulled it back. "But everyone needs someone to cook for them. Someone to make sure the world doesn't feel quite so cold."

You looked away, your heart thudding a rhythm that had nothing to do with a hare's warning and everything to do with the man standing over you. "The crew thinks I'm going to run at the next port."

"Are you?"

You looked at the tart, then at the sandalwood comb, and finally back at his hopeful, guarded expression. You reached out, your hand hovering over his vest before you rested your palm against his chest. You could feel his heart—steady, fast, and completely honest.

"I might," you whispered, leaning in just enough that your forehead brushed his shoulder. "But I'd miss the crepes."

"Then I'll just have to make sure the breakfast menu is irresistible," Sanji replied. He didn't pull you into a hug, but he rested his hand over yours, his warmth seeping into your skin.

In that moment, the treasure you had hunted on the island felt like lead compared to the weight of his hand in yours. You were a hare in a lion's den, but for the first time in your life, you didn't feel like prey. You felt seen.

As the moon dipped lower, you stayed there together—the thief and the cook—waiting for a dawn that didn't feel like a threat anymore.

The morning sun finally broke through the horizon, painting the sky in soft shades of gold and lavender. The chill of the night began to lift, replaced by the familiar, lively sounds of the Thousand Sunny waking up. Above, the sails snapped gently in the morning breeze, steering the ship toward the silhouette of a new island rising from the mist.

Sanji stayed by your side until the first galley timer dinged, a quiet promise in his eyes before he disappeared to start breakfast. You remained by the railing, watching the distant docks draw closer. For a master thief, a crowded port was the ultimate playground—the perfect place to slip into the shadows, find a new crew, or disappear entirely. The path to your old life was right there, just a few miles away.

"Morning!"

Luffy’s voice boomed from high above as he dropped down from the crow's nest, landing lightly on the grass. He walked over to the railing, leaning over it with his usual boundless energy, before looking sideways at you. He didn't ask if you were going to run. He didn't threaten to tie you up again. He just grinned, trusting the sea and his own instincts.

"Big market on that island," Luffy said, pointing toward the docks. "Tons of food. Adventure too."

You looked at him, then back down at the sandalwood comb in your hands. Your ears tilted forward, catching the distant, rhythmic chopping from the galley and the rich, sweet scent of vanilla and warm dough starting to drift across the deck.

Nami walked past, carrying a fresh set of maps. She paused, offering you a small, knowing smile. "If you're looking to update your wardrobe at the port, the first round is on the ship's budget. Consider it an investment."

"And I'm making berry glazes!" Chopper shouted, running past with a basket of fresh mint, his face lit up with excitement.

You let out a soft, defeated laugh, the last bit of the defensive walls you had built over the years finally crumbling into the sea. These people were chaotic, demanding, and entirely unreasonable—but they were also the first crew that had ever looked at your face instead of your mask.

When the ship finally bumped against the wooden docks of the port, the anchor dropped with a heavy splash. The gangplank was lowered, and the crew began to pile off, laughing and arguing about who got to spend the allowance first.

Sanji emerged from the galley, wiping his hands on a clean towel. He walked over to you, stopping at the edge of the gangplank. He didn't push. He just held out an open hand, waiting.

"Coming?" he asked softly.

You looked at the bustling market ahead, then at his hand, and finally up into his warm blue eyes. Your tail gave a decisive, happy flick behind you. You didn't take the path into the crowd. Instead, you reached out and slid your hand into his, your fingers locking together.

"Only if there are crepes on the way back," you whispered.

Sanji’s smile brightened, a genuine, radiant expression that made the morning sun look dim. "As many as you want."

You and your brother Atreus wrapped yourselves in the furs, huddling close for any sort of warmth. Your chin rested on the top of his head as you held him close while he had his arms wrapped around your side, face almost nuzzling against your neck.

Usually the both of you aren't this…close. Not that you two disliked each other or anything, but physical touches or affection wasn't something you and him did. But during the later stage of this long storm, Atreus has been occasionally huddling close with you, "for warmth" he would claim. Though, there's always a part of you that suspected that there was more to it.

You settled it to Ragnarok getting closer, that Atreus simply was worried about what's to come, and that made you more open for his affection. You understood. This wasn't just some random storm, but a step closer to the end of the world, and consequently, possibly, the end of you and your family.

And if Atreus wants to spend his final days being close to his family? You won't rob him of that. You cannot rob him of that, it would be cruel to do so otherwise.

While you and Atreus are bundled in furs, shivering, Kratos sat on the other bed, somehow completely unaffected by the cold — he was even shirtless for crying out loud!

The both were wearing your winter gear, draped in furs, wearing two pair of pants — and hel, even two pairs of socks! And there's your guys' father, shirtless and completely fine. Not even a goosebump could be spotted on his ashen skin!

"H…" Your lips trembled as you speak. "How a-are you n…not f-f-freezing to death?"

He looks at you, his amber eyes making a part of you internally jolt before he responds. "Gods don't get cold."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes as you say. "Bullshit, so is Atreus and I. Y-Yet we're freezing."

He didn't comment or scold you on your use of language. "It's different for everyone." Is all he says.

That frustrated you. It wasn't fair, not to you, and especially not to Atreus. Why couldn't the both of you inherit his ability to not freeze? Surely it would make surviving Fimbulwinter a lot more easier.

Blast the godly genes for making abilities and powers an individual thing. You want to be warm!

Stubbornness got the better of you as you stood up and walk over to him. Before he could question what you were doing, you sat down next to him and rested your head against his shoulder.

Holy shit….His entire body was warm!

That revelation just made you lean to him more, letting out a relaxed sigh.

You felt your father tense up a bit, probably due to the unexpected touch.

You speak up before he could even say a syllable of your name. "You're very warm…to not share it with us is greedy…in my opinion, sir."

A moment passes and you gesture to Atreus for him to come over. After a bit of hesitation, he quickly walks over, rubbing his arms as he shivered.

The second his hand (hesitantly) touches Kratos' arm, he instantly sits on the other side, leaning to him as well. "Yeah, (Name) is right, you're being greedy."

"Atreus…" Kratos says in a warning tone.

"Please Father?" You bat your eyelashes, deciding to speak up in order to prevent things from souring up tonight between your brother and father —they have a tendency to bicker sometimes. "Just for one night?"

There was this look in his eyes, one he tends to show from time-to-time. Though, you never really figured out what that look is exactly. "…Fine." He finally spoke, placing his hand on your arm, near your shoulder.

The feeling of his warm callus hands touching your skin made your spine shiver in a way you don't dare to admit, not now, and frankly not ever.

He brings you closer, lightly rubbing your arm, assuming that you were shivering from the cold – when in reality it's not even close to the truth. You simply couldn't help but melt into it, his warmth….and his touch.

When you looked over at Atreus, you could see his eyebrows furrowed, his expression plastered with that clinginess you've grown familiar with throughout the duration is of this storm.

Feeling for him (and also because you didn't want his mood to spark another argument with father), you bring your hand to his arm, thumb circling in comfort. Only when you did that was when he started to relax a bit, even moving a bit closer.

Everything felt at peace with the three of you so close, so contempt in the warmth. It's a feeling you now want more than ever…but to vocalize it out loud…

"Come." Kratos slowly stands up, arms still wrapped around you and Atreus. "It is getting late."

You and your brother (almost reluctantly) stood up with him. Carefully, your father directs you two to his bed, letting you go first, then himself, and then Atreus — making sure that he's laying right in the middle, just so the both of you have access to him and his warmth.

When everyone lays down, you placed a hand on your father's stomach. You could feel him tense up for a mere moment before slowly relaxing under the touch. When you looked up at him, you can see his amber eyes staring at you, soft but with that look again.

Cheeks turning red, you looked back down. But you don't move away from him either, it's too cold to consider backing away from the only source of warmth right now — no matter how intense these feelings are being.

Thankfully, you found yourself at ease (somewhat) when Atreus brings his hand to yours…for a moment at least. But when you look at him — seeing the adoration in his eyes — it just made these feelings continue.

You shouldn't be feeling these things, that you know obviously. They're your family, a bloodline you're a part of. But since this storm, since the endless winter bringing the three of you together more than before, you just want to bask in their presence, their touch…and their love.

Though obviously your feelings for the both of them flourished at different times; it was not even 7 days within Fimbulwinter for Kratos —Though granted, when you're stuck with your beefy, hot and rugged father more than you normally had in the past… unquestionably it had lead you into developing feelings for him.

For Atreus, it was about a season ago — if your timeline was correct, hard to tell with it being winter all the damn time — the three of you were out hunting when a group of raiders popped up out of nowhere, guess you didn't watch your surroundings in the midst of fighting, because Atreus had to tackle you out of the way from a flaming projectile being thrown at you.

You remembered it clearly; the both of you falling on the ground, Atreus on top of you with his chest pressed against your breasts and his face close to your neck.

A hitched breath couldn't help but escape from your lips and a shiver ran down your spine from the feeling of his hot breath hitting at your neck while he pants heavily.

He got up a bit to look at you, his face read with concern. "Are you okay?"

You slowly nod. Holy shit he's so close, face merely a few inches away from yours. Everything felt so warm, your heart beating quick. You simply just wanted to bring your hand to the back of his head and—

The sound of your father's voice broke the (one-sided) tension, making the both of you stand up.

Kratos walked over as you dusted the snow off of your furs. "Watch your surroundings." he scolds firmly, close to you.

You nodded slowly, but your mind was focused on what just happened with Atreus, even as the three of you return home. The warmth of his breath, how close he was, he brought your mind elsewhere.

No one really noticed anything — or if they did, they didn't comment on it.

Ever since then, you struggled with great turmoil. Incestuous feelings was one thing, but feeling that way towards two of your family members? The thought of it made you want to shrivel into a ball and wither away into nothing. Why couldn't you just be normal?

Despite the cluster-fuck that is your mind, you interlock your fingers with Atreus. He squeezes them lightly, his expression soften a bit and forms a smile that warms you deeply.

You just basked in the warmth and presence of your family before sleep took its hold.

Guess hours had passed, because it seemed to be pitch black outside just from the cracks of the wooden door and window shutters.

You looked up at your father, he looked so peaceful when asleep, indeed a rare sight; the calm expression, the gentle breathing. Who knew that Kratos—The Ghost of Sparta—could look so beautiful when in peace?

And you would've admire his beauty longer if you didn't notice Atreus' absence on the other side of the bed.

Your eyes looked around, he wasn't in his bed, and from the fact that his bow is currently inside, leaning against the wall, he didn't sneak out either.

Where the hel did he go?

Before you even thought about getting up to go look for him, you became aware of something wrapped around your waist. When you peered over your shoulder, you saw Atreus with his arms around your waist, holding you close and face rested against where your shoulder blade is.

Either he wasn't asleep this whole time or was simply woken up around the time you look at him (you were betting on the first one), Atreus opens his eyes, his blue eyes making your heart jump – especially with how much you nearly got lost in them.

"Guess I moved too much in my sleep…" he mutters slowly, his cheeks slightly red.

But you knew it was bullshit; he was on the other side of the bed, if he were to move his way to getting behind you in his sleep he would have to move over father and you, one hundred percent waking the both of you up in the process.

A soft chuckle couldn't help but leave from your lips. "Liar." You whisper to him, bringing your hand to his. You saw his cheeks run redder, the sight of his flustered state made you caress his knuckles with your thumb.

The feeling of your thumb got Atreus to move his head up, looking at you fully. You opened your mouth to tease some more, but the sight of his face made the words remain stuck in your throat.

His cheeks were red, breathing heavily, and you can see the mist of his breath leaving his soft looking, trembling lips from the cold as he shivered slightly. And gods, his eyes. Instead of the soft look he usually gave you, it was half-lidded, full of emotions that you have never seen him capable of. The look of him just made you want to…

His lips tasted sweeter than you imagined, making you melt and ache for more. Atreus' moans vibrated in your mouth as he deepens the kiss, bringing his body closer somehow.

It wasn't long before he slide his tongue in your mouth, which started the both of you moving your tongues together. It wasn't a fight for dominance, more like it could be compared for a small tussle, play fighting in fact. Though once you gained the upper hand, you took no time bringing your lips around his tongue and sucking on it.

He moans muffled before he grinds himself against your ass, and despite the fact that the both of you are wearing two pairs of pants, you could feel his already hard erection rubbing against you.

You wanted more, you wanted to strip bare, wrap your arms around him and let him have you. But with the arm of a sleeping Kratos still wrapped around you, you have found yourself unable to turn yourself around without the risk of waking him— hel, you even found much difficulty keeping your head turned to Atreus' direction, your neck starting to get sore.

Atreus pulls away, seemingly sensing your discomfort. "Don't strain yourself." he whispers in your ear, gently directing your head to look forward, bringing your cheek back to father's chest. "I'll take care of it."

Before you could question what he means, Atreus begins sliding your pants down, taking them off slowly. Though there was great difficulty given the fact that you were wearing two pairs of pants, after some twisting and pulling (and also resisting the temptation every time your ass cheeks wiggled), he manages to get them off, bringing them to the side but not throwing it as he didn't want to risk causing noise.

Once your bottom half was free from the restraints that was your pants, Atreus begins removing his own pairs of pants. He grunts as he attempts to pull them off as quickly as possible, you could tell he was being impatient, needy. With the amount of noises he was making, you had to full-on stare at him to tell him he needed to be quiet.

Thankfully he understood and quiets himself as he resumes removing his pants and putting it on top of yours, creating a pile.

Your heart nearly leaped out when you felt his hard cock rubbing against your ass and then — as he lifted up your leg — starts moving in-between your thighs, right against your already wet pussy.

A moan nearly slips out, the sensation and wet sounds of his hard, slightly throbbing cock moving against your slits was driving you crazy. You really wanted to moan, finally speak his name the way you've been yearning to do so for a while. But you couldn't risk waking up your guys' father, he wouldn't understand, he couldn't.

So you did everything you could to quiet yourself as Atreus grinds against you like a domesticated wolf asserting dominance. Though you know this wasn't out of any need for dominance, but instead in need for friction, pleasure.

From the way he grinds and quietly grunts, you knew he was desperate, needy — somehow more than ever. Though, perhaps it just feels that way given the circumstances. That had to be the explanation, because you too have started feeling this neediness, this desperation.

You wanted more, you wanted him in every way possible.

Guess Atreus felt the same way, because he stops his grinding and gives you a look, asking permission to be inside you without uttering a single word.

And you nodded without hesitation.

There was struggle at first, with Atreus trying to find your entrance. You held back a chuckle at his clear lack of experience.

Obviously he would be inexperienced; he rarely leaves the stave and never had interacted with girls his age — much to your knowledge at least. Your father and Mimir can try as much as they can to teach him how to "woo" or whatever, but things like the female anatomy is something only a woman such as yourself could teach him.

So you helped him out by slinking your free hand down there and directed Atreus' cock to your soaking entrance. And when he slowly slides himself inside of you, you bit your lip so hard as an attempt to stop a gasp from coming out. You almost tasted blood.

He starts off slow, careful as he wasn't used to the warmth and tightness of a woman. He brings his mouth to your shoulder, biting softly to keep himself down. It quickly turns out that it was needed because he starts thrusting quicker, rougher the moment he gets the hang of your tight, slick walls.

Fuck, he was big. Bigger than you imagined he would be. Granted, it wasn't a unnatural size for on his age perhaps, but it was still surprising. The feeling of him fucking you with abandon, feeling his cock pushing and pulling in your pussy was driving you insane, but you kept yourself strong in not letting out noises that could wake up Kratos.

He bites harder, small breathless grunts leaving as he gives into the pleasure. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced, if this what it'll be like loving you, fucking you, then he'll gladly do this again. He'll fuck you like a rabbit if he needs to.

You know the bite will leave a mark, but you wanted it, almost as much as you wanted his cock, his hands, his lips, his touch, his love.

With one of his hands keeping your leg up, he moves his other hand underneath you, snaking under your clothes to one of your breasts and squeezed. A breathy gasp leaves you before you closed your eyes. You didn't moan, but you instead started to breathe heavily.

A part of you were nervous about father waking up from the feeling of your hot breath hitting his chest, but you mentally shook that concern off. His entire body was a living hearth, he's already hot, a little thing of breath isn't going to be noticeable.

You knew Atreus was getting close as his thrusts were getting desperate and his breathing were quickening, yet filled with such heaviness. It wasn't long before he slams into you, spilling himself inside your walls, walls that gladly took his warm, filling seed greedily.

Exhaling from your nose felt heavy, but given the noises that could've left your mouth when you felt your brother's hot cum? Breathing through your nose was the better option. You both laid there, bringing air to your tense lungs as you two regain strength from it all.

You haven't been creampied—or really had sex—in a long while, before you and your father came to these lands. You did try to make an effort, tried hooking up with some mortals in a Midgardian village, but as you tried flirting with them, Kratos stopped you and dragged your ass out of that place. Very embarrassing and unnecessary, especially as a grown woman. And one would think that once he settled in with Faye and all that, you would have some sort of freedom to go "explore".

But no. Of course not.

Atreus starts thrusting again, stopping your train of thought. It was a miracle you managed to stop yourself from letting out a moan — let alone a gasp.

He doesn't slow down, almost as if the first round didn't happen. With how much he was thrusting, you almost assumed that he was putting his focus more on his own pleasure rather than your own, but thankfully it didn't seem to be the case when you felt a hand reaching down your pussy.

You nearly went quite mad from the sensation of fingers rubbing against your clit, a whimper almost slipping out. How was Atreus able to find it that quickly? Did Father taught him that? He must have.

Small, breathless grunts leaves Atreus as he continues meeting his hips against your ass, his hot breath hitting the skin of your back making you shiver. And you arched your back as the feeling both those marvellous fingers and his cock sliding into your slick walls over and over almost made you cross-eyed.

Soft plaps started to emerge from skin hitting upon skin. You should tell him to slow down, that he's starting to make noise. But fuck, it was too good for you to stop it now, and much too good for common sense to be kicking in.

Though, common sense hasn't stepped close to the cabin in a very long time at this point.

Atreus began peppering small kisses on the back of your ever so softly, not a trace of lustful heat within them, but instead with soft tender love. "Gods, I love you." He hitches out softly, the kisses started to linger on; making not just your body, but also your heart warm up.

The feeling of his fucking was making you crazy, but it's the soft tenderness that what made you go insane — especially when he starts kissing the back of your ear. "I love you so much, (Name)…" He moans in a whisper, giving your breast a squeeze.

…wait….wait a minute…

You glanced at his hand keeping your leg up as he thrusts into you, then glanced to his other hand squeezing your boob.

If his right hand is holding your leg…and his left groping your breast….

…then who the hel is rubbing your clit?

You looked down and instantly felt your heart both stop and amplify in its beating when you see it.

The muscled massive arm of white ash — the same one that's wrapped around you, securing you and keeping you warm and protected — bringing its equally massive hand in between your legs, rough fingers rubbing your sensitive bud.

Everything in your body screams at you not to look up and confirm whether or not if it's real. But you do. And everything felt like it was on fire when you looked up and met the burning inferno of your father's eyes. A small gasp leaves you.

Fiery amber eyes stared down at you, those eyes….it's the same eyes and overall look he had been giving you from time to time.

The intensity of the sight made you look back down in an instant. But he very quickly uses his free hand to lift up your chin, making you look back at him, all while he quickens the movement of his other hand against your clit, rubbing in a circular motion.

Holy shit. Was this actually happening? Is he…are they really—

Atreus thrusting against that sensitive spot of yours interrupted any train of thought, a breathless groan coming out from your throat. Kratos brings his thumb against your lips, telling you without words to keep it quiet.

And you know it has nothing to do with you, but instead it was for Atreus' sake.

Because he's unaware that it's not just him making you feel good now.

A part of you should feel guilty for keeping him unaware in the moment. But fuck, the feeling of the both of them touching you, loving you like this…it was everything you ever wanted and more.

You tried to glance down at him, but your father's grip on your chin tightened a bit, making you look back at him and his intense eyes once more. He didn't need to say anything as the look in his eyes already gave her the message; "Don't look away, keep your eyes on me."

You didn't know why he was so adamant on your eyes staying on his until you began to feel it. The pleasure, the pressure, the heat — all of it was beginning to build up into something you haven't experienced in a long while.

An orgasm was building up — your orgasm to be precise. And when your already glossing-over eyes caught his own flaring up with emotion, it just further confirmed it for you.

He wanted you to look at him as you cum from both his hand and Atreus' cock.

The air in your lungs started getting heavier and heavier by each friction, each rising sensation. Everything was intense and overstimulating in every way possible — Tartarus and Elysium all at once.

His grip on your chin remained nice and firm as he went from a circular motion onto your clit to where he opens his hand and rubbed back and forth against your pussy rapidly.

You didn't last long after that. Everything within you from your senses to your soul — even the cells in your body exploded as the pressure finally collapsed with a realm-travelling orgasm.

Father and brother, driving you mad in a way you ached for throughout this whole storm.

A strangled cry almost leaves your lips when Kratos crashes his own lips against yours, silencing you with his hot mouth. He loosen his grip on your chin and moves to caress your cheek as he kisses you ever so tenderly.

Your pulsing and tightening walls seemed to make Atreus lose his mind as well. He slams his hips against your bottom and spills into you once again with a desperate whimper. The returning feeling of his hot seed made you gasp in your father's mouth, taking some of his air.

Thankfully Kratos had more to spare, even sliding his tongue inside your mouth with ease as he moves his other hand from your clit to the back of your head, pulling you closer to the kiss. His kiss was rough and clearly more experienced compared to Atreus', and you just wanted more — of his taste, his warmth, even the sounds vibrating from his throat.

Gods, you love those sounds — it instantly became one of your favorite sounds. Though, the sounds of your brother's whimper and desperate moans was your true favorite.

"Wh— hey!"

Speaking of. You pulled away from the kiss and looked down to see Atreus' blue eyes staring at you and Kratos with surprise.

Shit. You froze. He's clearly caught off guard by the sight of you and father making out, especially after just cumming inside of you for a second time. Worry starts to settle in. He's going to get mad, maybe lash out, which will make father tell him not to lash out at you and that will clearly start an argument.

Atreus and your father arguing was always bothersome, especially when it came to this damn storm. But the sheer idea of them arguing because of you? While being in such a vulnerable position? It's too much to bare, you love them too much — you being the cause of their fight would hurt more than anything.

It felt like forever before Atreus spoke, "You should've let me know you were awake, I wouldn't have tried so hard keeping quiet."

Oh. That's not what you expected him to say…but you'll gladly take that over an argument.

"You hardly were trying." Kratos grunted, disapproval in his tone. "You were grunting loud, too loud."

You needed to step in before your father becomes the cause of an actual argument. "Don't be hard on him, this is his first time." you spoke to him with a soft, tender voice. "And I'm more than sure you weren't quite the sex expert or the quietest for your first time."

He looks at you, then to Atreus, then back to you. "But he did not even—"

You interrupted your father, knowing what he was going to say. "He will eventually, you just need to let him learn." You raise your hand to caress his cheek, thumb lightly brushing his tattoo.

A sigh leaves those dusty pink lips of his —usually dry but now moisturized from your and his saliva— before his amber eyes soften at you. Only you. "I've taught him all I know."

"Verbally, yes." You nodded. "But for some people, teaching by explaining is not how they'll learn. Sometimes, going a little—" You grind against Atreus, making him moan while his cock's still buried inside you. "—hands-on is a much more successful way to teach."

The fire in your father's eyes reignited before he kisses you again, and you instantly returned it. Your hands touched his chest, thumb softly circling his nipple as you basically move and grind on Atreus' dick. Both of these actions brought out pleasurable noises from the two men, and that just motivated you more.

Slowly, you slink your hand down from your father's chest, to his abs, and then to the hard bulge in his pants. You gently grabbed it and gave it a squeeze, fuck, he feels big in your hand already— and you haven't even taken his pants off yet.

He growls in your mouth, hips moving against your hand, which prompts you to caress his bulge in a circular motion. The feeling of it twitching in your hand made your walls clench.

You assumed that Atreus would be thrusting, aching for more when he felt you clenching around his cock. But instead, he removed his cock from you.

You pulled yourself from your father's kiss to look over to your brother, to ask why he pulled out. But you were met with the taste and feeling of Atreus' soft lips. He caresses the side of your face, kissing you softly and deeply with much need.

With how needy the kiss was, and how clingy he was when he held you close, you instantly knew the reason of the unexpected kiss; you were unknowingly spending a tad too much attention to father that Atreus had felt a bit neglected.

Without a second thought, you corrected that mistake. You kissed back attentively, sliding your tongue in his mouth with a hint of dominance, assertion.

Atreus moans in your mouth before his hands starts exploring your half-naked body, he was a bit clumsy with it with his inexperience and all, but the feeling of his hands on your skin sent shivers up your spine.

Your left hand remained on your father's bulge, squeezing, caressing, even rubbing in circles with your thumb, all while making out with your brother.

Now that you discovered the risk of potentially neglecting one of the men for the other, you promised yourself to never make that mistake again. You loved both your father and your brother all the same, equally. And to make them believe you loved one more than the other —unknowingly or not? The thought alone was devastating.

Your father started to sit up a bit, moving your hand away, and your eyes glanced over to see what he's doing. He unbuckles his belt, dropping it away from the bed before he begins removing his pants.

The sight of his cock made you feel like you were sucker-punched in the throat. Sweet Bestla, you knew he would be bigger than Atreus— given their difference in both height and body mass—but you didn't know he would be that big.

If your mental measuring is accurate, he would be almost seven inches. Almost. And that mixed with the girth? The veins? The heat coming out of that thing? You were about to be a whole new woman by the end of this.

…Okay, maybe you're being a tad dramatic—Atreus seemed about 5.3 inches, so taking Kratos would be about an inch and a half more—but the sight of it was still a lot to take in.

He gets closer, his eyes sparked aflame that makes you feel a bit parched…and hungry.

"Atreus," His voice made everything stop, air filled with thick tension that nearly made your head dizzy. He waits for Atreus to pull away and be at full-attention before continuing. "…Help me with removing her top."

You felt your heart trying to break free from its ribcage prison when he said that, even more so when Atreus says "Yes sir." with a sultry tone that really makes you wet.

They start with your fur vest, Atreus began to unbutton it, his beautifully striking blue eyes never leaving you —neither did he distant himself, remaining close you can just feel his warm breath on your face, his lips inches away from your own. Kratos gracefully moved your arms, fingers lingering as he slowly slides the vest off. He sure wasn't keeping his distance as well, his hot breath hitting, and his lips hovering to the back of your ear.

How badly you wanted them to inch closer, to feel their lips on you. But they don't, not yet; they haven't fully undressed you.

When it came to your tunic, both your father and brother slide their hands underneath— Atreus hands sliding up your chest while Kratos' slides up your back—to take it off. Hands and fingers lingered and gently caress your skin as they peeled your top off. And they didn't have to give you any orders as you lift your arms up so they can remove the last of your winter-wear.

All that was left was your bra. For something so simple, so easy to remove, the sight of it sure made the tense air thicken. Though, the three of you know why; once the last piece of clothing of yours leaves your body, all gloves are off.

Cold air hits your nipples the second the bra was gone, but the two quickly warmed them up with their mouths. Kissing, sucking, tongue flickering and sliding across, they put their mouths to work on your breast and nipples, making soft mewl-like moans leave your lips as you lean into their touches.

It wasn't long before their mouths and hands began exploring the rest of your body. Kissing your neck and shoulders, hands caressing your hips and face.

It was hot, pushing away the harsh cold of Fimbulwinter for the night, but most of all it was very sensual, soft and loving. You feel yourself basking in not just the heat of their bodies, but also the warmth of their love for you, and the love you feel for them.

Wanting to show your love to them, your hands eventually find their cocks before you began to slowly stroke them, their groans only motivating you to keep going.

Your father's was difficult to fully wrap your hand around, but it was enough. You could feel it pulse in your palm, and you couldn't help but bite your lip as you moved your hand up and down his shaft, soft groans from the gruff man making you moist.

For Atreus, he immediately began thrusting, fucking your fist as whimpers escape him. Fuck, he was so cute when he's like this; a whimpering, desperate mess just from her and her alone. When he quivers out your name, your hand began to move faster for him.

The sounds of their pleasure, the feeling of them being at the mercy of your hands, it was everything for you.

The kisses and touches from them remained, but the sensation of your hands on their cocks made them a bit…distracted.

"(Name)." Atreus croaked out before resting his upper body against you, head laying against your shoulder, unable to support himself from the sheer pleasure coming from you. "F-Fuck…"

"Ooh, what's wrong?" You spoke in mock concern as you leaned close to his ear. "Is your sister's hand too good?"

A pathetic "Mhmm" comes out of him. "S….So good….mmmm…." he bucks his hips against your hand some more.

You glanced over to your father. He was a lot more put-together in compassion, watching the two of you with fire in his eyes. You moved your left hand up his shaft and began caressing the tip with your thumb, you squeezed your thighs together when you see a bit of precum peaking out.

"You enjoying this, father?" You whisper to him with half-lidded eyes.

A grunt leaves his lips. "F-…Fuhhh…." He struggles getting it out for a second. "….Faster….go faster…" he growls out.

"What's the magic word?" You said in a sing-song voice.

He looks straight at you, eyebrows furrowed. "(Name)." he speaks in warning.

"Father." You speak back in challenge. "You know the magic word, so say it."

His eyes darken, staring at you before he speaks. "….Please." He says it so slowly, with such thickness. With promise of punishment for your attitude.

And given the situation—and the continuous pulsing of his cock— you'll happily take it. You began jerking him off faster, earning a low moan from the ashen god.

After what felt like blissful eternity, it was starting to become clear that they were getting close. Kratos' breathing was hitching, becoming heavier yet weaker by the second while Atreus' noises and whimpers amplified, words starting to sound slurred and kinda gibberish as if he was getting drunk off the pleasure.

"You getting close? Hm?" You whispered in your brother's ear. "Gonna cum on your big sister's hand?"

"Yessss..." Atreus moaned, all meek and slurred. You feel his hot breath huffing against your shoulder and upper back. "A-Ah…(Name)—"

You moved your right hand upward, giving the tip of his cock more attention as you jerked him off merciless and fast, driving him wild. "Look at me, Atreus." You ordered with a hitch of breath. "Look at me while you cum on your sister's hand."

You thought he wouldn't have the strength to at least sit up, but he does. He sits up, clearly doing everything he can to keep himself from falling back to your shoulder.

With a bite of your lip, you then looked over to you father. Gods, he was getting close too, practically fucking your hand.

"Father." You spoke out. He moved his head to your direction almost instantly. It took a lot for you to hold back a chuckle. "Scoot closer, I want to see both of your faces."

You didn't need to explain why; from the look of father's face, it was clear he knew the reason for your request.

He moves closer to you and Atreus, your hand still wrapped around their shafts. But you don't resume the movements.

Only when he was close enough to have both him and Atreus in your line of sight do you continue with the rough and fast motion, bringing them back to the mercy of your hands.

And much to your satisfaction, they finally went over the edge — ropes of their hot, sticky cum released onto your hands.

Kratos gritted his teeth, gripping the furs of his bed as he lets out a loud groan, thrusting into your palm once last time when he became undone. Atreus however, was less calm about his release to say it lightly — he cries out loudly as he came, body twitching and shaking excessively that you let go out of concern and worry.

When you opened your mouth to ask if he was okay—bringing that hand to his face—the words were stopped by his mouth clashing onto yours. You immediately kissed back, your cum-covered hand caressing his cheek before your tongue slid into his mouth, one of your favorite mouths. And he moans while he explores your skins with his hands, one of your favorite pair of hands.

After a moment, you lift out your other hand to your father's face, bringing him close. So when you pulled away from your brother's lips, you were instantly met with your father's. He bites your bottom lip, lightly pulling it before crashing his lips back to yours with a slip of his hot slick tongue, earning a moan from you. Also your favorite mouth. He was relentless in the kiss as he grabbed and explored with his rough hands. Also your favorite pair of hands.

Everything was getting so much—from his mouth, to his hands, even to the prickly feeling of his beard—that you had to pull away for air. You managed to breathe in enough air before you were brought back to Atreus' soft lips.

Your brain felt like mush; the sensation of their lips, the feeling of them taking turns kissing you was making you close your eyes, feeling so weightless.

Rough, then soft. Demanding, then gentle. A perfect balance. And it kept going.

And you wanted—ached—for more. You could feel yourself grinding your hips at nothing.

And when an amused grunt escaped Kratos, you knew he noticed.

He caresses your cheek, causing you to slowly open your eyes. You swear you felt your heart leap when you saw your father smirk through his beard.

"She's needy." He says to Atreus, making the boy pull away from your slightly sore lips—yet despite the soreness, you wanted more.

Atreus looks down, eyes widening when he sees your needy movements, how much your body ached for pleasure. Their pleasure. You saw his cock twitch back to life.

Damn. Clearly this was a god thing. No man would get his dick re-erected so quickly after release multiple times—especially for someone who was a virgin before all of this.

"Fuck, (Name)…" He hitches, wrapping his hand around his cock, touching himself while his eyes remained on your body.

You chuckle as an idea crosses your mind. "No need for that." Before he could vocalize his confusion, you laid down on your stomach, then went on all fours right between both men with your face in-between your father's muscular thighs—his steaming cock right in front of you—and your ass lifted and pressed against Atreus' crotch to where his dick was resting on your ass, between both cheeks.

You could hear him swallow roughly, making you laugh. "Come on, don't tell me you're getting nervous." You turned your head a bit to look at your brother. "You fucked me twice without any issue."

His cheeks went red. "Well- this is different." he mutters, embarrassed.

"Mmm, not really." You held back a chuckle to not further embarrass the poor boy. "Other than the position, you just slide in and thrust. Simple."

While Atreus (probably) contemplates, you decided to bring your focus onto your father and his thick, tantalizing piece of man meat.

Bringing yourself a bit closer, you began sliding your tongue up his shaft, tasting his previous release, going slow with it inch by inch while keeping your eyes on his. And when you flick that pink—almost red—tip of his with that tongue, he releases a low groan from his throat, his cock slightly twitches from the friction.

It wasn't long before hunger took a hold of you and you began slowly putting him in his mouth, earning another pussy-soaking groan of his. He tasted like skin—salty, musky and mouthwatering hot skin, and that just make you take him deeper, closing your eyes and moaning from the taste.

He growls out an obscenity or two in Greek as you work on his cock, bobbling your head and sucking him off.

When you felt Atreus sliding himself in, a gasp escapes you, making more noises from your father. The sound of him and Atreus moaning at the same time was harmonious to your ears, knowing they're making those beautiful noises because of you.

After a moment, Atreus grabbed onto your hips and began thrusting, sliding in and out of your pussy—causing you to moan, sending vibrations on Kratos' dick.

Fuck, it was so damn hot; your father and your brother fucking you at the same time, stretching both your mouth and your cunt. You couldn't help but move from your sheer arousal, you sucked Kratos harder, deeper as you used both your hands to work on the rest of him while you moved your hips against Atreus, your ass meeting his groin, pushing his cock in deeper—and that just makes him thrust harder, his balls slapping against your clit, making you even more wet.

You thought this would be it, that no way this pleasure could get any more intense.

"Atreus," Kratos heaves out, catching the attention of both of his children. "I want you to do something."

It took Atreus a moment for him to respond, his mind clouded with the feeling of your cunt. "..N….Now?"

"Yes. Now." Your father brings his hand to the back of your head, fingers softly touching your hair. "I want you to find her clit."

You felt yourself tightening a bit, earning a surprised moan from your brother. "H…..Where?"

You could tell that your father was slightly annoyed by that question. But you made sure to shoot him a glance, telling him "Teach him, and he will learn".

"Above her hole—the one you're inside in—it'll feel like a small circular bean." With his hands, Kratos directs you to continue working on his cock, bobbling your head up and down.

Atreus moved one of his hands from your hip, slinking down to your stomach. Then he lowers his hand, and lowers, and lowers…

Your father kept his eye on you, but not because he wanted to look at you take his shaft—at least as of right now— no. He was observing your face, eyes scanning the details, taking note of any changes. "…No. That's not it."

You could feel Atreus searching, his fingers exploring the shapes and flaps of your pussy with the curiosity of a voyager.

"Not there." Kratos grunts. You thought that the second correction would loosen Atreus' confidence, cause him frustration. But it seemed his persistence and focus merely doubled.

His determination on finding that sensitive bud of yours was oddly cute, especially with the slight clumsiness of his fingers. You could imagine his auburn eyebrows knotting close, lips flat as he focuses on—

A gasp chokes out of you, earning a groan from your father.

"There it is…" he sighs with his eyes closed, rolling his hips slowly against your mouth. "Now rub it. Circular motion…slowly."

"Yes sir." Atreus then begins doing as Kratos says, a sharp inhale comes out of his lips. "O-Oh shit! She's—a-ah—pulsing around me!" He gets out, thrusting slow as he moves his fingers against your clit.

Kratos grunts in approval. "Good. Means she's enjoying it." He then looks down at you. "…right?"

Instead of nodding, you decided that letting out a muffled moan as your ass meets Atreus' hips was a better way to confirm it.

Another grunt of approval leaves the ashen god, fingers touching your hair tenderly before he moved a little bit faster against your mouth.

And after a moment, Atreus starts thrusting faster against you as well, his cock rapidly moving in and out of you while his hand plays with that sensitive bud of yours, driving you insane—eyes crossing and glazing over.

Thank fuck Fimbulwinter made most of Midgard a frozen barren wasteland, otherwise you'd be confident that the sounds of moans, bed creaking and skin slapping upon skin would be heard beyond the stave at this point.

Though, at this rate, with all of this heated and sloppy fucking and the feeling of their hot cocks and hands, it hardly feels like Fimbulwinter in the cabin.

It all felt….warm. Wonderfully warm.

You could get used to this.

Atreus' thrusting started to get sloppier and sloppier, his breathing getting heavier by the second as he almost leans against your back. "Holy sh-shiiit…so good…" He moans, fingers moving faster against your clit. "….t-told you we should've done this sooner…"

Kratos simply grunts in response, leaning back and closing his eyes as he gently fucks your mouth.

If your mind wasn't so cock-drunk and in such a libidinous state, you would've question what Atreus meant by that. But you were, everything within you was more focused on the sensation and taste of your favorite cocks than anything else in the nine realms and beyond could offer.

Everything was heightening, which meant that you were about to cum again. But despite your pleasure-filled mind, you really wanted your boys to cum first. Thankfully, you didn't have to wait long.

From the way your father's cock starts to pulse in your mouth, you knew he was getting close. And that just made you suck him off more, moving your head up and down, even caressing his balls with your hands. A groan escapes him, jerking his hips a bit rougher while he tightens his grip on the back of your head.

It wasn't long before the signs of Atreus getting close was very clear; his moans turning into desperate whimpers, speaking in a slurred, almost gibberish way. "Mmmmm….(N)….(Name)…" He breathes out. "I'm gonna cummm…."

And instead of words? You just got rougher with your movements, ass clashing against his pelvis in fat loud plaps over and over, driving him insane from the sound of his amplifying moans.

With one final slam, he spills his seed inside you for the third time. The feeling of his hot cum and his fingers still working on your clit sent you over the edge, vision turning white as you came on his cock and the bed.

And from the sight of your shaking orgasm, Kratos became undone. His hot seed shooting down your throat with a loud groan, and you gladly swallowed every ounce of his thick, salty, tantalizing white substance.

The three of you stayed like that for a while, almost perfectly still. Kratos was the first one to pull out, ever so slowly. His cock was wet and slick from your mouth, leaving a trail of saliva in their wake…well, until he rests his fat cock against your face with a soft plap.

You giggle before you placed your hand on his shaft and began nuzzling against it, basking in the warmth of his cock. "I could get used to this."

Your father grunt in agreement. "Yes…so could I."

A hitch-like gasp leaves your lips when Atreus pulls out of you, his cum dripping out from your well-spent cunt. "Holy shit," You breathed out. "I feel stuffed."

"Already?" Kratos cocked his brow, surprised.

"Granted this was his third time cumming in me, it's expected."

"He came three times?" He nearly got up, caught off guard. "I thought it was only two."

"You were probably asleep during the first one then." Atreus huffed out, catching his breath.

"You should be more careful, Atreus." Kratos gruffs out. "You need to start pulling out—"

"But it's very hard," Atreus argued. "You try it and see if it's easy!"

There was pure silence for a moment or two. You were starting to get worried about an argument emerging, but was pleasantly surprised when you hear your father say "(Name), turn yourself around."

Gladly, you did so without question, bringing yourself around where you're facing Atreus and your ass is facing Kratos. With half-lidded eyes, you looked up at your brother, then his cock, and then back at him. "You want me to help out with that, big boy?"

Atreus swallows roughly, biting his lip before shaking his head. "I'm good right now, I just need a moment to take some breaths first. You go have fun with father, I'll be fine."

The feeling of your father's hot wet tongue dragging up your pussy interrupted your thoughts, silencing you. He licks up the already dripping cum before plunging his tongue into your well-spent hole, lapping and collecting as much cum as possible for him with his tongue.

Despite the absurdity of his current action, it was actually kinda hot. You tried moving against his mouth, craving for more friction, but your father put his hands on your hips, keeping you in place. He pulls back for a moment to tell you to "Stay still"—his hot breath hitting against your folds making your legs slightly twitch—before continuing his attempts on cleaning Atreus' cum out of your pussy.

Oh fuck. The feeling of not just his tongue in you, but also his beard lightly scratching your clit and the bridge of his crooked nose rubbing against your ass-hole was making you lose your mind. You couldn't support keeping your head up anymore and just rested the side of your face onto the furs of the bed.

Whimpers escape your throat, closing your eyes as your father's tongue consumes you. He groans against your pussy, making you gasp from the vibrations as he laps up the remaining cum from you.

Once he ate all he could gather, he gives your glistening cunt one lingering kiss before pulling away, his grip on your hips loosening a bit.

"I'm going to put it in now." He exhales, lining his cock up to your entrance. You were thankful for his warning, he was thicker than most men you encountered so the stretch will be a lot, perhaps you'll feel like you're losing your virginity all over again. You didn't know whether that thought makes you nervous or turns you on.

He starts with the tip, but slowly pushes the rest inside of you with a strained groan. Holy shit. The stretch. Your hands clung to the furs beneath you as a sharp, hitch of breath leaves your lips. The feeling of your father's girth stretching you out hurts, yet feels so good at the same time.

Hands still in place, he caresses your lower back with his thumbs, giving you comfort while he waits for you to adjust. It only took a while before you started getting used to his size. "Y…You can move now." You breathed out.

He starts out slow, sighing in pleasurable content as he takes you gently. To him, you felt perfect, nice and tight, and he wanted more of it. But not yet, he needed to take his time with you, he cannot risk hurting—

The feeling of you pushing him deeper inside of you stopped his train of thought, bringing out a sharp inhale from the god. "More…" You moaned, opening your eyes slightly to looking at him (well, trying to at least). "Give it to me harder, please…" You bat your eyelashes at him, moving against him one more time to get the message across.

Fuck, it's hard for him to say no when you're looking at him like that; all needy and sexy. His grip on your hips tightened before he quickens his pace with you, thrusting in and out a bit rougher, both you and Kratos' skin contacting with each other beginning to make noise.

You couldn't help but move against him, your rear meeting his pelvis over and over, causing a moan to choke out of your old man.

Kratos growls, eyes flaring before giving you a quick, harsh slam with his shaft, choking a squeal out of you. "You really want to play this game?"

"Y-Yes!" You whimpered pathetically. But in a way you loved being pathetic; pathetic for him. "P-Please, fuck me…fuck me into nothing—"

A cry escapes your throat as your father begins slamming into you, fucking you with such purpose now. He moves one of his hands from your hip and immediately found your clit before rubbing it in tormenting circles, turning your moans into incoherent whimpers.

His hands, his heat, his brutalizing cock. Fuck, you were going absolutely insane by him—the only normal words you could say were either "fuck" or "father", usually struggling between the two—and you loved every minute of it.

With much strength, you looked over to Atreus. He had his hand wrapped around his shaft, fucking his fist as he watched you be absolutely ravaged by the man—and cock—who created the both of you.

You wanted to tell him to get closer, so you can work on that tip of his that you know will drive him nuts. But Kratos' fucking have brought you speechless, mouth agape and drooling on the fur blankets, only able to make incoherent, desperate noises. You swear you could feel yourself getting cross-eyed.

You couldn't even form a syllable to vocalize you were getting close to cumming. But thankfully—with the feeling of your walls pulsing rapidly around him—Kratos didn't need any words to know. He starts hitting deeper, and deeper, as deep as he possibly could while his fingers rubbed your sensitive faster and harder.

Everything collapsed onto you as you came violently. Your shaking and trembling body felt like it burst into flames, soaring like a Phoenix of blissful pleasure towards another plane of existence.

You didn't know how long this high lasted. All you knew is that you were once on your knees—face against the bed as you were being fucked by your father—the next, you were drenched in sweat, laying in bed with both Kratos and Atreus sandwiched between you, their equally hot, sweaty bodies holding you close.

Kratos brings his hand under your chin and makes you look up at him. "Are you alright?"

Despite the intensity you've just experienced, you nod.

He sighs in relief before caressing your face with his thumb. "I am sorry. I lost control."

"Father, it's fine." You assured him with a smile, your voice hoarse from presumably all the screaming and moaning you've let out. "More than fine, I loved it."

"…But—"

"You seemed pretty out of it for a while." Atreus interrupted, hands caressing you. Not out of lust or the need of friction, but instead out of pure affection and love. "Almost like father fucked you into another realm." he chuckled.

"Sure felt like it…" You breathed out, your lungs feeling like you just ran through the entirety of Midgard.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Atreus spoke up. "…Told you it's hard pulling out of her." he laughs.

"Atreus." Kratos speaks, warning in his tone.

"Well hey—I was proven right!" He says in defense. "Besides, this gives us a challenge."

"Challenge?" You raised your brow, intrigued.

"Yeah; try pulling out of you!" Atreus smiles. "It'll be quite a challenge for me and father."

Kratos simply grunts.

"Wow, viewing your own lovely sister as a challenge. Now nice of you." You spoke sarcastically, eyebrow risen up more.

Atreus' face fell flat, drained before he starts to sputter words out in a panic. "What—no! I—I don't! I meant that along with the sex—which is amazing sex! I—"

You couldn't help but laugh at his panicking. "Relax, I'm just fucking with you." You lightly hit his chest. "I knew what you meant."

It took so much willpower not to laugh at Atreus' reaction. He exhales slowly, like his soul was leaving his body. It was adorable.

With a sigh, he lays his head on your shoulder. "We should do this more often."

Kratos grunts in agreement.

As you look at your father, brother and their sweaty bodies, a part of you wanted this to keep going, to keep touching and being fucked by these men. But your body was too tired to do anything, not even to touch any of their cocks.

Though as the sound of their breathing becomes slower and gentle, sex completely evaporates in your mind, and you instead relax in their embrace.

And as you slowly close your eyes, you bask in the warmth of your family.

The sharp, bitter, morning cold woke you and Atreus up in an instant.

"S-Shit!" Atreus got up quickly and began putting his clothes back on. You would've laughed, but the breeze biting at you in the back put your focus back onto getting your own clothes on.

"Atreus…" Kratos grumbles, sitting up on the bed after just being woken up.

"Yes, I know; language." Atreus sighs as he puts on his pants—both pairs. "It's just— r-really cold this morning."

"…Is it?"

Clothes now put on, you wrapped yourself around your father. "Mhmm." You hummed in response, snuggling against him and his very warm body.

Atreus looked at the both of you as he puts on the rest of his winter wear. He lets out a sigh before getting back to bed and joining in.

There was no lustful touches or kissing, none of that, just the three of you guys holding onto each other, just like last night—before everything that happened.

Though—while neither of you all ever vocalize it—there was something about this that felt…different. The air, everything within the three of you, it just all felt…light, freeing, like a heavy weight has finally been lifted of your shoulders.

"Mornings are the worst." Atreus exhales softly. "But this definitely improves it."

You nodded. "Y-Yes—" you cleared your throat, it sounded so dry, felt so sore.

Your father noticed immediately. "Oh no…" he brings his hand to your neck, thumb gently brushing against your throat. "(Name), I'm so sorry." he whispers, voice laced with guilt.

Goodness, could your throat really be that soar from last night? You don't recall screaming that loudly—however, the orgasm he gave you did make you pretty out of it, so perhaps you did scream?

Instead of using words, you bring your lips to his softly to assure him that it's all right, he has nothing to apologize for. He kisses back, gentle this time, as if you were fragile. Though, you didn't mind it, not at all, especially when it seems that his gentle kisses has more of an affect on you than his lustful ones.

When he pulls away, he whispers "Don't use your voice too much. Not until your throat heals." and you couldn't help but nod.

"Atreus," He looks over to your brother. "There might be a jar of honey on the shelves, bring it over."

Right, mead; somehow being able to help with digestion, immune-system boosting, reducing bloating, and of course, helping with a sore throat. Who knew that an alcoholic drink of all things could have a lot of health benefits?

Atreus gets up from the bed and heads to where the shelves were—but not before leaning in and giving a soft, gentle kiss upon your throat. You didn't know if he did it in an attempt to "kiss-it-better" or because he genuinely wanted to kiss you there. None-the-less you sighed in content, already wanting more.

You loved them both so much, how will you be able to keep your hands to yourself for the remains of this blasted winter? How will they?

"Shit." Atreus cursed.

Kratos grunted disapprovingly, "Atreus, what did I just—" he stopped, froze as he looks at something. It only took you looking behind your shoulder to see what's gotten them looking so alarmed.

Oh shit.

Mimir. Mimir!

On the end table near the door, his head rested on top of a sack, golden bifrost eyes looking at you and your father—then darts to Atreus—then back to you two with his mouth agape. His face resembled the look of a thousand mortal men arriving back from the most brutalist of wars, as if he witnessed the most horrid of things.

As extremely embarrassing it was to admit; you completely forgot he was there…and he witnessed everything. Every. Thing.

The late afternoon sun filters through the blinds of your husband's corner office in Beaverton City Hall, casting long shadows across the polished oak desk. Mayor Jerry Generazzo leans back in his leather chair, his tie loosened and shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing the strong forearms that have signed off on countless development deals. He's been buried in paperwork all day.

Blueprints scattered for the new freeway expansion that will bulldoze those pesky animal habitats on the outskirts, paving the way for shiny residential lots that will secure his re-election. But now, with the door locked and the staff dismissed early, his focus shifts entirely to you.

You stand before him, your skirt hiked up just enough to tease, and Jerry's eyes darken with hunger. “God, I've missed this,” he growls, his voice low and rough as he reaches out, pulling you onto his lap. His hands grip your hips firmly, fingers digging into the soft fabric of your blouse before sliding under to cup your breasts. He squeezes them through your bra, thumbs circling your hardening nipples until you arch against him.

Your lips crash together in a heated kiss, tongues tangling as you grind down on the growing bulge in his pants. Jerry groans into your mouth, one hand slipping between your thighs to push your panties aside. His fingers find your wet folds, stroking your clit with deliberate pressure that makes your breath hitch. “You're soaked for me already,” he murmurs, nipping at your earlobe. “Always so ready when I need you.”

You fumble with his belt, the metal clinking as you free his thick cock from his trousers. It springs out, hard and veined, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. Wrapping your hand around the base, you stroke him slowly, feeling him throb in your grip. Jerry's hips buck up, urging you on, and he lifts you just enough to position himself at your entrance.

With a shared gasp, you sink down onto him, his cock stretching your pussy inch by inch until he's buried deep inside. The fullness makes you moan, your walls clenching around him as you start to ride. Jerry's hands guide your movements, one on your ass, the other tangled in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your neck. He latches on, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, his teeth grazing your skin while you bounce on his lap.

The desk chair creaks under your rhythm, papers scattering to the floor as you pick up speed. Jerry thrusts up to meet you, his cock slamming into your core with each drive, hitting that spot that sends sparks through your body. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he pants, his free hand moving to rub your clit in tight circles. Sweat beads on his forehead, his usual polished demeanor cracking under the raw need.

You're close, the pressure building as his cock pistons in and out, your juices coating him and dripping down your thighs. Jerry's breaths come in ragged bursts, his grip tightening as he chases his own release. “Come for me, baby,” he demands, voice strained. “Milk my cock with that tight pussy.”

Just as your orgasm crests, a sharp knock echoes through the office door, followed by the buzz of the intercom. “Mayor Generazzo? It's Councilman Hale. We need to discuss the freeway permits, it's urgent.”

You freeze, impaled on Jerry's cock, your body trembling on the edge. His eyes meet yours, wild and frustrated, but a wicked grin spreads across his face. “Ignore him,” he whispers fiercely to you, thrusting up hard to keep you moving. Then, without missing a beat, he leans toward the intercom, his voice steady but laced with that telltale huskiness as he drives into you again. “Hale, what seems to be the... holdup?”

The councilman responds promptly, oblivious. “Sir, the environmental review board is pushing back on the habitat clearance. They say it's a non-starter without revisions.”

Jerry's hips snap forward once more, burying himself to the hilt, making you bite your lip to stifle a whimper. He smirks against your shoulder, then hits the button. “Tell them we're... breaking new ground here. No revisions needed, push it through.” Another thrust, deeper, his cock dragging along your inner walls, and you clench around him, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Hale hesitates, then presses on. “But Mayor, the permits could be delayed if we don't address the wildlife concerns. It's a real bottleneck.”

Jerry chuckles lowly, the sound vibrating through his chest as he grabs your waist and lifts you slightly before slamming you back down, his length spearing up into your soaked heat. “Bottlenecks? We'll... expand the lane. Make it wide open for progress.” He punctuates the last word with a particularly forceful buck, spreading your legs as much as your body could, his balls slapping against your ass, and you feel him swell inside you, the interruption only fueling his fire.

The knocking resumes lightly at the door. “Mayor? Are you alright in there? Your voice sounds a bit...off.”

With a grunt, Jerry thrusts again, grinding his pubic bone against your clit as he responds, his free hand clamping over your mouth to muffle your rising moans. “Perfectly fine, Hale. Just... handling a pressing matter. Schedule that meeting for tomorrow, we'll iron out the details then.” One final, brutal drive upward, his cock throbbing as he spills inside you, hot ropes of cum flooding your pussy and triggering your own release. Your body shudders, walls pulsing around him to draw out every drop, pleasure ripping through you in silent waves.