Kit_kat0037

[kit-kat0037]

Unbreakable Ch. 31

Masterlist

WOW, this one was a biatch to finish. I decided last minute to add a Killer POV but could NOT for the life of me figure out placement. So much so that I MAY have gotten a little hyper-focused in Minecraft building my very own Victoria Punk 😶😅 When it is fully finished I will post some screenshots because I am VERY impressed with myself and need other people to see the immense horn I have tooted 😂😂

ANYWAYS! fair warning I'm about to go on a month long vacation but will try to update a few more chapters. I am in awe at how much love and support this fic is getting, I posted this just to prove to myself that I could. I NEVER would have imagined the amount of interest and traction this has gained. Thank you to ALL who read and interact with the posts. More to come, Promise!!

Reminder: MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI

Summary: You thought you had control. You thought he would stop you. You almost broke him anyway. Something snapped into place inside you. Ugly and monstrous. Kidd may not have flinched but you did. You're spiraling- believing pain itself is something you can beat back into obedience. But punishing yourself in the middle of the night won't fix what you did- what you almost did.

Reader POV

The cabin feels too small, too hot, heavy with the ghosts of what just happened. 

Your chest rises and falls, but the rhythm is wrong. Uneven. Your hands tremble at the memory of Kidd—gray, faltering, almost gone. The guilt gnaws at you, relentless. You can’t sleep.

You thought you had control. You thought he would stop you. You almost broke him anyway. 

Quietly, you slip out of the bed, bare foot padding against the wooden floor. The ship creaks softly, a low groan like it knows your unrest. 

You glance at Kidd. Once Killer got him to bed, his body gave out. Sunk into that deep, overwhelming exhaustion that leaves him unaware of the world.

He almost looks small in the bed. Ashen-faced, his blood still hadn’t replenished. Too still, stripped of his usual starfish sprawl. He barely snores. 

You force yourself to move.

The deck is cold, the night air sharp against your skin, carrying the faint taste of brine and iron. You wrap your arms tighter, circling the rails, muscles tensing as you try to find the rhythm of control again. The hunger, once hot and electric, has dulled—but not gone. It simmers beneath your skin, a phantom pulse that makes your fingers tingle.

You drop to your knees, fists pressed against the deck, practicing focus. You can almost feel Kidd’s pulse—steady but dulled—and it twists your stomach. 

Every movement, every inhale, every stretch of your body is measured, deliberate. You’re trying to hold on—trying not to lose yourself again.

Then—a pressure. A brush along your shoulder, light but insistent. You whip around, heart hammering, but the upper deck is empty. Just you and the dark, only the large skull staring back at you. And yet… the sensation lingers.

No warmth. Not fear. Not thought.

Shifting space.

Like something around you answered wrong. Not sound. Not sight. Just space briefly folding back on itself like it expected you to exist differently. 

Your chest rises, trembling. Guilt and relief twist in equal measure. You clamp your hands over your face, forcing the tension down. You are still alive. Still breathing. Still learning.

And then, faintly—something deeper. Not hunger. A tremor. A direction.

Not forward or back, but awareness trying to spread outward, like something inside you is attempting to map what’s around you before you can name it. It slips in and out too fast to hold.

Your control isn’t just back; it’s shifting. Reaching for something you don’t yet understand.

The night presses in, cold and unyielding, but you stay there anyway—pushing, trembling, punishing.

Your hands ache, knuckles splitting against rough wood and metal, muscles burning from repeated strikes, but you don’t slow down. Every jab, every pivot, every swing lands harder than the last. Sharper. Meaner.

It stopped being training a while ago.

Now it feels like penance.

The guilt claws at you with every breath—Kidd, Killer, the hunger, the blood. The sound of Kidd’s breathing when Killer pulled you away. The gray in his skin. The way he still tried to protect you after you nearly drained him dry.

You need to make it right. You have to.

A phantom tug hits first—a whisper of Kidd’s pulse, a memory of his weakness—and your stomach twists violently. Your footing slips for half a second, balance staggering as panic surges hot beneath your ribs.

You hit harder. Faster.

Turning too sharply. Driving through the warning tremors in your limbs like pain itself is something you can beat back into obedience.

A firm hand presses against your shoulder.

“Y/N.” Wire’s voice is low—flat, steady—but it cuts through the air. You freeze mid-motion, heart hammering. 

“You keep swinging like pain’s gonna fix it.”  A pause. His grip squeezing tighter. Breaking through your spiral.

“You don’t have to break yourself to prove you’re sorry.” 

Your chest heaves. The phantom pull surges again, thrumming under your skin. Your hands twitch, your fists clenching, but Wire’s grip holds steady. He doesn’t let go.

“You survived. That’s enough for tonight.”

The words anchor you. The wild, reactive fire in your chest flickers and dims. You sink to your knees, finally allowing your limbs to relax, trembling as exhaustion crashes over you. Wire leaves without another glance– having said all he needed to.

Silent tears slip down your cheek. The guilt is still there, raw and heavy—but you don’t have to bear it by yourself.

And for the first time, you really start to believe it. Finally letting yourself breathe. 

Killer’s POV

Killer stands at the base of the mast, shadows swallowing him whole. He watches you the same way he’s always watched Kidd—quietly, constantly, always aware.

He sees the frustration bleeding off you. Movements too sharp, breaths too ragged. Every strike landing harder than it should. A cyclone of torment, and you at its center.

He knows you never meant to hurt Kidd. Knows you’re still learning. Still healing. Still trying to understand what’s happening to you.

Doesn’t stop him from being furious.

The memory still burns behind his eyes—Kidd gray-faced and barely standing, your hands gripping him in a predator’s hold while he gave and gave and gave. Killer had trusted you two not to let it get that far. A misjudgment. 

Part of him is angry at you. Part of him is angry at Kidd for letting it happen at all. But most of it strikes inward.

He should never have allowed the plan to go through. Should have stepped in sooner. Nothing about this is right. You shouldn’t have been taken. Not forced into something you didn’t understand. 

And now you’re out here tearing yourself apart for it.

He can see it in the way you move—the recklessness, the refusal to slow even as your body nears its limit.

Before he can step forward, Wire reaches you first.

So Killer stays where he is, half-swallowed by shadow, watching tension slowly drain from your shoulders as Wire pulls you back into yourself. He can’t hear the words, but he sees the effect of them.

The weight you’ve carried since Sabaody finally starts to crack as you sink to your knees.

Wire leaves with only a brief glance toward him as he passes. No words needed.

The deck creaks softly under his boots as silence settles back in.

Killer’s gaze doesn’t move. 

Something uneasy twists in his chest then—warm, restless. Recognition.

His muscles tighten with the instinct to go to you. To pull you off the deck before exhaustion finishes what guilt started.

But Killer understands solitude better than most.

He understands what it means to need darkness. Silence. Space to fall apart where no one is watching.

So he stays back. Lets you have it. Your sentry in the dark.

He watches the tremors finally catch up once the adrenaline fades. Watches you sit at the rail, motionless, moonlight catching the tear tracks you didn’t bother to wipe away.

Only when your body finally gives in—shoulders slumping under exhaustion—does he move.

The stairs barely creak beneath his boots. Familiar. Countless nights carrying Kidd back after injuries, fights, exhaustion.

Carefully, he scoops you into his arms.

You don’t wake.

By the time he lays you beside Kidd, the captain’s breathing has deepened—steadier now, color slowly returning where that deathly gray had lingered hours earlier.

He doesn’t move right away. Looks at the two of you instead. 

A quiet sigh slips out of him, something like a smile tugging at his mouth. Both just as reckless as the other.

Killer rests a hand on Kidd’s chest. The beat is there—steady. Real.

Relief settles in slowly, easing the tension in his shoulders and dulling the last edges of his anger.

His fingers linger longer than they should, as if letting go might change something.

Eventually, he pulls the blanket higher over both of you.

Kidd was yours just as much as you were Kidd’s. In a way, that made you his as well.

By morning, the ship feels different. Less like something stranded in still water. More like a storm waiting for the right moment to break.

[kit-kat0037]

Unbreakable Ch. 30

Masterlist

CW: MDNI loss of control/ injury & blood panic / dissociation body horror themes/ guilt & trauma responses/ intense emotional tension/ possessive/protective dynamics/ near-collapse / exhaustion

Summary: A supply run goes wrong. A wound unnoticed. And by the time you make it back to the Victoria Punk, the pull inside you is already becoming something dangerous.

Kidd lets you feed. You don’t stop- don’t want to. And you can’t tell the difference anymore. 

While killer is forced to step between captain and crew for the first time, you realize the truth about your new body: healing has a cost. And if you lose control again, the one who helps will be the one to pay the price.

Control is no longer just a word. It is a vow.

Reader POV

You feel it before you understand it. By the time the ship comes into view, something is wrong. A slow, heavy pull low in your chest. A heat that doesn’t belong to exertion. 

Each step up the dock feels heavier than the last, your balance just slightly off, breath a little too shallow. You keep your shoulders straight, your pace steady, refusing to give Bubblegum any reason to worry. 

The fight hadn’t been big. Just three men. Just one mistake. You had survived worse. You remember the flash of a blade. A sting. Then the adrenaline swallowed it whole.

You hadn’t checked. It was just a scratch… right? Now you can feel a pool of warmth and damp clinging to your side beneath your clothes.

Shit. 

Your stomach drops. You clamp down hard as your stomach rolls, forcing your wings to stay still beneath your coat. The mask feels tighter than usual, breath fogging faintly against the inside. You keep walking. Just get back on the ship. 

Just get inside. Fix it before anyone sees. 

The closer you get, the louder the pull becomes. It isn’t hunger the way you’re used to. It’s sharper. More focused. Like a hook buried deep in your ribs, tugging in one specific direction.

You step onto the deck, nearly stumbling. A hand catches your arm before you can fully lose your balance. Kidd.

You hadn’t even seen him approach. His grip tightens instantly, eyes dropping to your face, then lower, scanning. He doesn’t ask how the supply run went. He doesn’t ask if anything happened. He just knows.

“The hell happened?” His voice is low, rough, already edged with heat.

“Nothing,” you answer too fast.

You try to pull your arm free. His hand doesn’t budge.

Your vision flickers for half a second. The scent of your own blood is thick now, metallic and warm beneath the fabric. The pull in your chest spikes, sharp enough to make your breath hitch. Kidd’s gaze snaps to your side pushing your cloak open.

You see the exact moment he notices the stain. His grip tightens. 

The blood is dark. Blooming slowly through your shirt where the fabric clings to your ribs. His jaw tightens.

“Move,” he mutters sharply. Not waiting for an agreement. 

His hand shifts from your arm to your wrist, firm and unyielding, and he pulls you across the deck. The crew parts without a word. 

Your feet follow automatically, the pull inside you growing stronger with every step closer to his quarters.

You feel lightheaded now. Too aware of the sound of his heartbeat. The warmth coming off him. The rush of blood beneath his skin. The door shuts behind you with a heavy thud.

“Sit,” Kidd orders, already moving.

You barely take two steps before your knees give out. He’s in front of you in seconds. Setting you on a table against the wall, taking space between your legs. 

His hands are rough but careful as he grabs the hem of your shirt and lifts. The fabric sticks slightly. You suck in a breath as it pulls free, exposing the wound. Blood has soaked through the shirt, flowing down to the band of your belt and smeared along your skin.

A long gash along your side, just beneath your ribs. Not deep enough to mean death.  Deep enough that it never should’ve gone ignored this long. 

Kidd goes very still.

“Why the hell didn’t you say anything?” he growls.

“I didn’t feel it,” you admit, voice thin. “I thought it was a scratch. I didn’t realize until we were almost back.”

The room tilts. The pull in your chest twists, sharp and desperate now. Your hands curl onto the wood beneath you. You try to breathe through it, to force it down like you’ve practiced. It doesn’t listen. 

It wants. 

Your head drops forward before you can stop it, forehead pressing against his shoulder as you fight for control. His hand comes up automatically, bracing at your back to steady you.

That’s when it hits full force. The scent. The warmth. The steady rush of blood under skin. Your teeth ache.

“Kidd,” you manage, barely a whisper.

He stills. Your fingers clutch into his coat. “I— I can’t—”

You don’t finish the sentence. You don’t need to. He exhales slowly, tension coiling through him. For a second you think he might push you away. Might call for someone. Might tell you to hold it together.

Instead, his hand comes up, gripping the back of your head as he unclasps your mask.

“Do it,” he says, voice rough. “Before you pass out.”

You hesitate. But instinct wins. You press in, fangs breaking skin at the side of his neck. Heat floods your mouth instantly, thick and metallic and alive. The effect is immediate. The ache in your side, dulling almost instantly. 

That pull eases–  then shifts.

Power surges through you, sharp and electric. It rushes through your veins, down your spine, into your limbs. 

The dizziness fades. Your breath steadies. His blood flows through you, filling your senses in more ways than one. You need to pull away. You know you do. But hunger is so heavy. 

You clutch Kidd tighter, strength returning as you drink deeper. Your body hums, stronger than it has felt in months.

There’s only heat. Pressure. His pulse under your tongue, under your skin—too loud to think through. 

You don’t stop. You don’t want to. And you can’t tell the difference anymore. 

Kidd POV

It hits him all at once. Heat. Teeth. Blood flowing– No. Pulling. His breath catches. Too fast. Too slow. Not right.

Your weight shifts against him. Then more. You’re closer. Closer than a second ago. The table gone under your legs. 

No—still there. He thinks it is. He can’t feel where anymore. The room around him fading– dull. He can’t tell if he’s gripping you or just remembering that he is. You’re still here. That’s enough. 

His grip tightens on instinct. He’s moving. Too late.

His shoulder hits the wall. Or the wall hits him. He’s not sure.  Sound drops out for a heartbeat. Then comes back wrong—underwater, stretched thin.

He blinks. Your scent is everywhere now. In his throat. Everywhere and nowhere.  Not just blood—something threaded through it, pulling. His knees try to tell him something. He ignores it. 

Don’t let go.

A small shift—his weight sits wrong. Balance spinning.

“Tch…” the sound barely feels like it belongs to him.

Tries moving– too slow. Not enough. His hand is still there—at your waist, your back, somewhere holding you in place. The shape of you is all he knows.

The wall tilts—he follows. His lungs drag. One breath. He can barely finish the next.

“Huh…” He tries for you name. Maybe he already did. 

“Y/N… stop.” Wrong—he doesn’t sound like that.  

His head dips forward slightly before he realizes it’s happening.

And then the only thought— wrong, clear:

Don’t let her go. Not now. Not–

The thought breaks before it finishes. 

Killer POV

Killer knew something was wrong before he even reached the door. Silence. Absolute, suffocating silence.

The Victoria Punk was never truly quiet—not with a crew like theirs—but this was different. Heavy. Pressed in. Every instinct in his body screamed. He pushed the door open without knocking. 

He froze.

Kidd was half-pinned against the wall, one arm wrapped around you, the other braced hard against the wall to keep himself upright. Your body was pressed tight to his, face buried at his neck. 

The scent hit Killer first—iron, sharp, thick in the air. Blood. 

Kidd’s head tipped back slightly, eyes half-lidded, breath dragging slower than it should. His grip on you was still there, still strong, but tremors ran beneath it, betraying his fading strength. And you—

You weren’t stopping.

Killer crossed the room in two long strides. His eyes lock on the wound at Kidd’s neck, then to the way your shoulders moved with each pull. 

“Kidd.” 

Killer stepped in close, one hand planting hard against Kidd’s shoulder to steady him before he went down. Even now, he could feel the pull of your hunger. It shouldn’t be affecting him. The air feels alive– suffocating his lungs. The air sat sticky in his lungs where breathing should’ve been clean. Wrong in a way he can’t name. 

Up close, he saw the gray under Kidd’s skin flicker faintly. The tension in his jaw threatening to crack as he tried to push you back—and failed. 

“Y/N,” Killer said, voice low but firm, cutting clean through the room. “Enough.”

Kidd’s hand at the back of your head faltered. 

Broken bones. Blood loss. Kidd doesn’t go down like this. He was already running on empty. Too much had already been given. 

Killer’s grip tightened on his captain just a fraction, anchoring him upright. “Y/N.” A command as strong as his punishers.

For a second, nothing changed. Then he saw it. Your jaw went tight. Your body stilled. 

Kidd sagged as the pull broke. Killer crossed without hesitation, catching him under the shoulder as his knees gave out—the wall only just keeping him upright.  

He kept his other hand firm against your shoulder—not rough, but unyielding.

“Pull back,” he said, quieter now, but no less certain. “He’s done.”

A beat. Then you finally tore yourself away. Kidd’s head lolled forward, breath dragging harshly through his chest. Killer steadied him, adjusting his stance so Kidd could lean against him instead of the wall.

“She’s fine,” he snapped, panic threading his tone. “She needed it.”

“Bullshit.” Killer clipped. But he didn’t argue—no words could capture how close this had been.

Killer’s eyes flicked back to you. Your face was pale, chest heaving. Alive. In control. Relief settled in his chest, sharp and complicated.

But Kidd—

Killer tightened his hold on his captain just a fraction more, protective instinct locking in hard and fast. 

That was the line. Not again.

Reader POV

You jerk back. Your hands drop from Kidd. The hunger recoils as your foot hits the floor. The room spins. You feel it now—the difference. His pulse, once strong and pounding under your senses, has dulled. Slower. Thinner.

You hadn’t felt it happening. That was the worst part. 

Kidd’s hands don’t leave your waist. He stiffens, jaw clenched, but he doesn’t argue. His fingers tighten on your hips. 

Killer was right. You had gone too far.

You shake your head, guilt pricking at your skin. “Kidd, I—”

The air crackles. Coiled tension silences you. Killer’s intervention leaves no room for impulse.

You glance up at him, heart hammering—not from fear this time, but from the look in his eyes. Even now, exhausted and shaking, he’s bracing like he means to put himself between you and the world. His labored breathing drowns out your own. 

He exhales sharply, eyes flicking between you and Killer, muscles still taut. 

“You promised.” Your voice is a whisper as reality hits. 

You press your fingers into his chest instinctively, grounding yourself as guilt washes over you. “You swore you would stop me. Wouldn’t let the monster hurt you.”

Killer steps closer, assessing, scanning for any lingering danger. “We agreed, Kidd. Control, not indulgence.”

The words sting. 

You didn’t mean to.

But you hadn’t meant to shatter glass either. Or almost drown. Or fall off the ship.

You never meant to endanger the crew. Never meant to get kidnapped.

Never meant to come between Kidd and Killer. 

Kidd’s gaze softens just enough to glance down at you. His hands remain steady against your sides. “Control,” he mutters, almost to himself. Then he turns to Killer. “She’s learning. And I’ve got her.”

Your chest rises and falls, tremors fading slowly as the tension between the three of you hangs in the room. You realize, even in the lingering adrenaline and the raw closeness of Kidd, that you are not alone—not now, not ever.

And yet the pull of the hunger, the power, the connection, still hums faintly beneath your skin. You know it won’t be long before this lesson repeats.

But for this moment, Killer’s presence and Kidd’s grip anchor you in the quiet aftermath—a dangerous, beautiful equilibrium you are only just beginning to understand.

A string of curses fades behind you as Killer tends to Kidd—much to the begrudging resentment of your captain. You slip into the adjoining bathroom to wash the blood from your face. That feeling. That pull. Haunting you.

You had lost control. And the worst part? You never felt like you had.

You lift your shirt to clean the gash. Your stomach drops at the sight. Where a gash of flesh should have been, now only a fresh pink line—healed far too fast.

You replay feeding off Kidd. The pull. The rush. The surge of strength. You didn’t just stop the hunger. You healed.

You think back to Kidd’s state when Killer finally pulled you off. Grey. Shaking. Weak. Your hands curl at your sides, trembling. Relief and guilt claw together in your chest.

The wound is gone. Not because it healed itself. Because you took what you needed. From him.

Nausea twists in your stomach. You grip the counter, knuckles white. It came from him. You can heal—but only if someone else pays the price. And Kidd nearly did.

He promised. He promised to stop you. To protect you from yourself.

You stare at your reflection. Blood still stains your chin. Your eyes burn. If this power demands a life as its cost—one even Kidd can’t stop—then no one will ever pay it again.

Steel settles in your chest. Control is no longer just a word. It is a vow. And you will keep it.

[kunascuti]

ꪆ꣒ fuck like bunnies ۪ ݁ ⟡ 𓈒 ౿ simon riley x bunny¡reader

𑣲 ⋆ minors 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 interact , 𝟭𝟴+ content.

when Simon started dating you it took a while before either of you trusted each other and were comfortable. He knew you were shy and unsure at times, He understood since he had his own issues from his past in the military that he couldn't yet let go.

but when you both were able to finally be comfortable and happy together, being able to feel safe and calm doing nothing. He wanted to move forward, not pushing but maybe a small nudge.

and that might've been his biggest mistake, Simon didn't like hookups so he just did years without sex, you were surprisingly quit the horny thing despite being a virgin. The first time was sweet and gentle, after that it was almost as if you couldn't find a way to stop.

everyday when he got home, you sat there in some small skirt and a cute top. Just waiting for him, running to him to kiss all over his face which turned into you practically humping his leg. This was his everyday. All the damn time. You were so needy and couldn't even help it. He could tell you got shy about it, embarrassed even. But it was in your roots.

bunnies were notorious for constant breeding and being so lustful. There was no surprise you and your hundreds of siblings came out to the world and did exactly that. Simon sometimes couldn't even keep up with you, round after round after another round. For hours on end and sometimes even that didn't satisfy you. He couldn't really get why until he accidentally pressed his hand on your neck while you were in the middle of sex, he could feel how wet you got, slick oozing all around his cock.

you didn't need some soft sex that'd last an hour or two and leave you still hungry for more. You needed something rough that would ware you out. So when you got all needy and came into the living room in just his t shirt and lacy pink panties. He was ready.

"Simon?" You whined, peeking over at him before you sat right down on his lap. Simon groaned and pulled you closer, his face finding the crook of your neck. His finger moved towards your cunt, teasing your folds.

you whimpered quietly and squirmed before he pulled off your panties, tossing them somewhere. He slowly pressed in one finger and then another. Usually he was slower at this part but this time he slammed both fingers into you, groaning at the sounds of his hand hitting your ass with each pump. “Mmm-ahh!” You moaned against Simon.

He didn’t stop until after 2 orgasms. Finally giving you a small break so he could take off his pants, revealing his hard aching cock. You panted as he manhandled you, shoving you into various positions before settling you on his lap, hands behind your back with one of his hands gripping your wrist and his other one your waist guiding you onto his oozing dick.

you gasped as you sunk down slowly before he began pounding into you. “s-sii— nghhh” You groaned, whinny breaths coming out one after the other. “F-fuck. Yeah? That’s feel good, huh?” Simon whispered in your ear. You nodded quickly which he slapped your ass harshly for. “Words.” He grunted. “Yes!yes!yes!!” You repeated. “Ohh—f-fu-gonna cum!” You cried out to which he slammed harder into you, not stopping. As your orgasm washed over you felt limp in his arms but Simon didn’t stop. He kept going until you were fully drained.

eventually he brought you to the bedroom, you assumed he was done but oh you were so wrong, he kept going. He pushed you onto your hands and knees, slamming into you, his balls hitting your clit. You couldn’t do much more besides cry and moan, words unable to form. He just chuckled and slapped your ass before moving to run your clit with his pointer finger, he moved his other hand and wrapped it around your neck, putting enough pressure to get you wet all over his cock. Quiet huffs and grunts leaving his mouth every once in a while.

it didn’t take long before you lost track of how many orgasms you were at, completely dumbified, sore, and exhausted. Simon was proud of himself, he has brought you to exhaustion. He slowly pulled out, his cum leaking from your hole. He smiled softly and kissed your cheek before leaving to grab a warm rag, cleaning you as you slept, loud snores leaving you.

© 𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋 ✶ do not copy, feed to ai, or plagiarize any of my work! If you do take inspiration please tag me <3

a/n : this is probably really bad since it’s been sitting in my drafts for months now but that’s okay, just don’t say it to my face or I’ll cry… anyways I have a new theme! Might be basic but I love it!

[kit-kat0037]

Unbreakable Ch. 29

Masterlist

cw/tw: blood, injury, trauma spirals, reader refusing medical attention like a dumbass, restraints/muzzle mention, lingering sabaody trauma, body horror themes

Summary: Training scars into instinct should’ve been the hardest part. turns out freedom is harder.

Your first chance to stretch your legs without Kidd watching your every move. one wrong alley, one bad cut. one scream that still doesn’t sound human. You push too far and are quickly reminded power doesn’t make you invincible. 

Reader POV

The first time you leave the ship without a commander, it doesn’t feel real.

You keep expecting Kidd’s voice to cut across the deck, calling you back. Or Killer to fall into step beside you at the last second, silent and watchful. Or Heat, or Wire, hovering just within reach like they have been for months. But none of them move.

It’s just you and two regular crew members, sent to pick up supplies from a small port town tucked into the curve of a quiet island. Nothing dangerous. Nothing strategic. Just food, rope, and whatever else the ship needed.

You have your mask. You have your scythes. And for the first time since Sabaody… you have space. 

The town is small. Wooden docks. Crooked streets. Fishermen hauling nets in slow, practiced motions. No Marines in sight. No tension in the air. Still, the crew gives you distance. Not because they don’t trust you. But because they do. 

It’s a strange kind of freedom.

You walk ahead of them, hood up, mask in place, the leather straps familiar against your skin now. Your wings shift faintly beneath your coat as you move, brushing against the fabric. You liked having them ready. Your powers live beside you– with you, like breathing. Something else you were getting used to.

The street splits ahead—one path wider, crowded with vendors and noise. The other narrower, quieter. Faster. You glance toward it instinctually.

Bubblegum notices.

“Stick close,” he mutters, shifting the bags in his arms. “Captain’s already on edge about you being out without one of the big boys.”

You huff lightly. “It’s a supply run. Not a war zone.”

“That’s not the point,” he says, quieter now. “He said—”

“I know what he said.” Not sharp. Not defensive. Just… certain.

Your gaze drifts back to the narrower street. Less crowded. Fewer variables. Easier to move through.

“I’ll cut through,” you add. “Meet you on the other side.”

Bubblegum hesitates.

“…Y/N—”

“I’ve got it.”

And you mean it. There’s no doubt in your chest. No hesitation in your step. Just confidence. Control.

You turn before he can argue. Disappearing into shadows that now welcome you with open arms. You stroll down the quiet alley, hands trailing the stone walls.  A flicker of motion pulls your attention further down. 

Three figures. Crates being unloaded too quickly. Too carefully. One of them glancing up and down the street. An all too familiar position– a lookout. 

You eye the crates. Not normal for food or provisions. Maybe weapons. High-end supplies. A Devil Fruit, even. Whatever it was, Kidd would probably want it. Something worth bringing back to the Victoria Punk at least. 

You scan the men again, taking in more detail this time. Not pirates. Not Marines. Not worth calling Bubblegum. But enough to handle. Enough to test yourself against. 

You shift your weight, letting the scythes at your belt settle into place. The chains are a comforting pull at your hips. Familiar. Itching for blood.

You slink down the alley now using its shadows as cover. You reach the large building it connects to and climb. Your boots find old grooves in the warehouse siding, fingers catching on warped wood. The roof greets you in a crouch, shingles warm from the late sun. From here, you can see straight down into the tucked-away lane.

A breath in. And you move. Your pulse quickens as you leap. Wings spread just enough to catch the air, gliding you down behind a stack of crates. Silent. Controlled.

One of the men turns. Too slow. 

Your hand snaps to your belt. The scythe releases with a sharp, metallic rattle, chain uncoiling as you swing. The curved blade catches his shoulder and sends him stumbling back with a shout. The other two reach for you. One lunges.

You pivot, prosthetic twisting cleanly, but the second man comes in from the side. Steel flashes. A blade slices along your ribs. A sharp reminder power doesn’t make you invincible. 

Your breath catches hard, body jerking on instinct. You slam your elbow back, wings flaring wide as the chain whips around again. The second scythe snaps free, metal singing through the air. You don’t think, you move. 

Spin. Pull. Slash. 

Just like Killer taught you. The scythes are extensions of you. Of your violence. Chains allowing you reach. Control. 

One man trips, another scrambles back, and when the first one tries to rush you again, something inside your chest tightens. A bubble of pressure builds. 

The scream tears out of you. Sound slams through the alley like a physical force. Crates rattle. Glass shivers. The three men stagger back, hands flying to their ears, faces twisted in pain as they stumble away from you, retreating down the alley and vanishing around the corner.

Silence rushes in behind them. Your wings tremble as they slowly fold back in.

The crate cracks open under your grip. Dim light spills out—glass vials stacked tight, something inside them pulsing faintly. Soft, blue-green. Algae, maybe. Cultivated. Valuable– just not to you.

The next crate is heavier. Metal clinks as you pry it open. Polished weapons stare back at you, all shine and false weight. Decorative. Cheap beneath the surface. Meant to fool an untrained eye. Not worth it.

The last one— You already know before it’s fully open. The scent of leather and metal assaulting you. 

Muzzles. Restraints stacked beneath it, sized, sorted. Your grip tightens for half a second. A sharp breath through the mask. Pain and memories tap harshly in the recesses of your mind. A deep breath, your jaw clenching. Then loosens.

Not your problem. The lid slams down, closed.

Only then does the pain settle—a hot, wet sting across your side. Your shirt hides it, but you can feel the blood sticking to the fabric beneath the coat. Not a pour. Just… steady.

You press your arm against your ribs to try and stop the bleeding as quickly as possible. 

It’s just a scratch. You grit your teeth trying to breathe normally. Don’t draw attention.

This is nothing. You’re fine. You have to be fine. You will not be the helpless little mouse again who can’t even take care of a few low grade scum. 

“Y/N?”

Hip’s voice echoes from the street, closer now. Climbing. You straighten, forcing your posture steady. Your scythes retract with a practiced flick, chains sliding back into place at your belt. By the time Hop’s in view, you’re already standing.

“Holy—” they rush the rest of the way, eyes wide at the broken crates. “What was that? We heard the—are you okay?”

You nod too quickly. “Fine.”

Your arm stays tight against your side. Casual. Controlled. It will stop soon. Everything is fine. 

Their gaze scans you anyway, sharp and searching. They step closer, but your coat hangs just right, your shirt pulled down enough to hide the darkening patch beneath.

“I scared them off,” you add, voice steady behind the mask. “They ran.”

Hip exhales, a shaky laugh breaking through. “You’re insane, you know that? First time out without a commander and you’re already picking fights.”

You huff softly. “Wasn’t a fight.”

But the effort of talking pulls at your ribs. A sharp throb answers, and for a split second, your vision swims.

You swallow it down. It’s just nerves from your first real fight. Getting back in the groove, that’s all. You weren’t weak enough to break over a scratch. 

Not helpless. Not that little mouse anymore. 

You can feel the warmth of the blood against your skin. Feel it sticking to the fabric. Smell it faintly beneath the salt and tar and ocean air.

Your blood sense flickers. Hungry. A pull.

Not now. 

You force it down, pressing harder against your side as you turn toward the alley’s end.

“I’m good,” you say, quieter this time. “Let’s just finish the supply run.”

Hip and Hop watch you a second longer, uncertain, then nod.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

As you climb down, every movement tugs at the hidden scratch beneath your shirt. Not enough to slow you. Not enough to stop you. But enough to remind you it’s there, taking its sweet time healing. 

Enough that, by the time you head back toward the ship, your side feels hot and heavy and wrong — and the scent of your own blood is getting harder and harder to ignore.

I’m fine. I’m Fine. I’m FINE.

[kit-kat0037]

Unbreakable Ch. 28

Masterlist

CW: Mild Violence (training/combat practice); Mild body horror (adjustment to prosthetic and new powers); hurt/comfort; Mild NSFW implication.... ya know- the usual! Happy reading :)

Summary: Morning training becomes something else entirely—control, trust, and the slow reshaping of a body that refuses to stay weak.

Between Killer’s steady hands and Kidd’s unrelenting pressure, you learn how to move with power you still don’t fully trust.

And for the first time, you don’t survive the lesson. You claim your place. Now you learn how to burn in it.

Reader POV

The morning sun burns gold across the deck, but you hardly notice. Killer stands a few feet away, arms folded, watching with that same unreadable calm he always wears beneath his mask. He doesn’t say much, like always. That’s fine. You need his presence without it smothering you. Need this quiet.

Metal shifts somewhere behind you. Heavy. Familiar. You don’t need to see Kidd to know he’s there. The weight of his gaze. The heat of last night still lingering under your skin. You adjust your collar without thinking. It doesn’t quite hide everything.

Red marks pepper your throat, scattered across your skin. Heated memories follow—hands, mouths, his teeth sinking into your flesh…Kidd doesn’t say anything. Of course he doesn’t. He simply lets your red and bruised skin speak for itself.

Killer's eyes flick once—brief, assessing—then away again. It’s not like anyone– especially Killer– was unaware of yours and Kidd’s nights together. Hell, you were pretty sure the whole damn ship heard you screaming last night. The thought of Kidd enjoying that fact had crossed your mind more than once.

The ship creaks softly beneath you. You try to focus on anything other than Kidd's hands on your body last night.  You exhale slowly.  The scythes feel strange in your hands. Thrumming, almost alive after using them in a real battle. Like they demand more violence after having a taste.

Killer leans close, showing you how to grip the handle properly, how the pivot point works to channel momentum. His hands are firm, correcting yours where you overcompensate.

“Relax,” Killer murmurs. “Flow with it. Don’t fight the movement. Let it flow, Y/N.”

“You hesitate, you’re dead,” Kidd cuts in, voice rough behind you. “Weapons like that don’t wait for you to think.”

You roll your eyes as you concentrate.  Flow. Like the wings tucked against your back. You hesitate, feeling the familiar tension of your new overwhelming power prickling. The memory of battle rises like a tide—dust churning, air shattering. 

“I—I don’t want to…” your voice trails, tense as that power pricks along your spine.

“You can,” Killer interrupts softly. “But you don’t have to face it alone. Not yet. Not until you’re ready. Start small.” His voice is low as the words whisper across the nape of your neck. 

“You won’t be ready if you keep pulling back,” Kidd mutters. Not sharp this time. Something quieter. More personal.

You take a deep breath, letting that echo of power settle. The scythe whistles through the air in a practiced arc. You pivot, and your new leg holds steady. Good. Wings twitch in response, testing balance. You leap, catching air, feeling it support your weight.

“Again,” Killer says, calm but firm. “And higher this time.”

“Commit to it,” Kidd adds. “Tch… half-measures will get you killed.”

You comply. The scythe moves with your body, wings folding and unfolding instinctively as if they’ve been trained alongside you all along. Sweat beads on your forehead, heart hammering at the discipline.

And then… instinct, the faint whisper of that torrential air again. You freeze, momentarily caught in its pull. The urge to react, to lash out, to scream—

Metal clangs sharply beside you— Kidd. Mid-stride. Done hovering. 

Killer tilts his head—just slightly. Kidd's step falters.

"You step in now," he says evenly, not looking at him, "and she learns nothing."

Kidd's jaw tightens. Wood groans faintly behind you.

"She hesitated," Kidd snarls, taking another step despite himself. "Out there, that's the kind of shit that gets her killed."

“So does panic,” Killer replies. He places a calm hand on Kidd’s shoulder. 

"Trust her," he says, quieter. 

The tension hangs—sharp, coiled—before Kidd exhales through his teeth. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t interfere. He listens to Killer. The only one who could ever truly stop him.

You swallow hard. Focus. Feet on deck, scythe ready. Wings flex. And the tide inside you settles, just enough.

The hours blur. Swings, leaps, spins. Each iteration builds more and more of your confidence. You test combinations—low strikes, aerial sweeps, rapid pivots— your body meeting each challenge. Accepting. Conquering. You spin on the deck with wings, blades—a deadly dance. You push harder. Faster.

Finally, you falter— Kidd’s hand catches your wrist before you fall flat on your face. Like he knew exactly where you’d break.

“Balance,” he says low, eyes locked on yours. “You lose that, you lose everything.” His grip lingers a second too long— then he lets go.

The sun beats down on the deck, the scent of salt clinging to your body. Slowly, painfully, you feel the daggers of the past replaced by these scythes.

By sunset, your arms ache, legs burn, and your wings sag. Killer stands back, watching. “Better,” he says quietly, voice almost proud. “You’re learning, Y/N.”

You breathe hard, chest heaving, but a small smile tugs at your lips. “I’m… not scared,” you whisper.

And this time— when that chaos inside you swells, it bends instead of breaks. For a moment, you wonder what this would feel like off the ship.  Without anyone watching.

Kidd huffs somewhere behind you. “Tch. Took you long enough.”

Your eyes roll again and you wonder how they have yet to roll out of your head. 

"Good." Killer ignores him, voice just above a murmur. "Fear doesn't leave. It never will. But that doesn't mean you can't control it." 

"Still sloppy," Kidd snides—but he still doesn't leave. 

For the first time, you realize: you're not just surviving. You're becoming dangerous.

And for once, you're not fighting to earn your place beside them anymore. You've already claimed it.

[kit-kat0037]

Unbreakable Ch. 27

Masterlist

A/N- Not gonna lie, summaries are like my LEAST favorite thing so hopefully they haven't been to terrible to read lol I had fun twisting the knife on this one. Enjoy!

Summary: Training is supposed to teach control. It doesn’t prepare you for the moment Kidd is in danger—and your scream tears across the battlefield hard enough to shatter the world around you. But power has a way of dragging old wounds into the light.

Reader POV

Training settles into routine. Mornings belong to Killer—footwork, balance, the controlled violence of twin scythes cutting clean arcs through the air. Afternoons are for scouting runs, for relearning rooftops and shadows, trusting your body to carry you where it once went without thought.  And at night, when most of the ship has gone quiet, you return to the one thing that still feels equal parts miracle and threat.

The mask. The pull of blood and violence. It’s not as foreign anymore. 

It used to sit heavy on your face—too tight, too present. Every breath through it felt mechanical, forced, like you were constantly aware of the thing keeping you alive.

Now, it’s just another part of you.

Kidd never says much when he finds you on the deck, wings half-spread beneath the moonlight, the respirator secured over your face. Sometimes he leans against the railing and watches. Sometimes he pretends he's there for the view. Neither of you bothers calling him out on it.

At first, it was just endurance—calling your powers forward, letting your lungs adjust, learning where the edges of your limits sat. Then control. Pushing it away before it consumed you. 

You’d play with your wings. Calling them faster, folding them away until the transition was smooth- second nature. Trusting that they would answer when you needed them.

Now the mask settles into place like part of the routine. Strap. Check the seal. Adjust the vents. Breathe in. Steady. Breathe out.

Below you- scrawny marines in the wrong place at the wrong time. You breathe in the fight.  Steel on steel. Shouting. Gunfire cracking. Bodies hitting the ground with dull thuds. You’re perched high on a rocky outcropping overlooking the shoreline, rifle braced to your shoulder, barrel angled toward the chaos.

You’re not alone– not really. Someone’s still there. A presence at the edge of your awareness, far enough that you can’t hear their breathing, far enough that an errant drop of blood won’t screw them if things go wrong. Allowing you a longer leash of control. It’s not Kidd. It isn’t Killer. Just one of the crew, stationed back as a precaution. Not hovering. Not watching every move. Just… there. A quiet safety net in case something shifts.

There’s less pressure now, more space. Other times fights like this broke out, someone was always close enough to contain you. Now the crew just fights. Like they know you’ll cover them. Like they trust you again.

A gust of wind carries the faint metallic scent of blood up the cliffside. Your chest tightens on instinct. For a second, you wait for it—that pull, that horrible clawing sensation at the back of your mind that makes your hands shake and your thoughts blur. It doesn’t come. The mask hums softly with each breath, filtering, dulling, protecting. You inhale. Exhale. Still steady.

You line up your next shot. Through the scope, the world narrows into clarity.

One of the enemy pirates charges straight for Heat, blade raised. You press your mechanical leg further into the ground. Adjust for wind, for movement, for timing— Fire.

Recoil kicks into your shoulder, familiar and grounding. Damn you’ve missed it.

The man drops. You cycle the bolt smoothly. No tremor. No rush of heat in your veins. Focus. Another target. A second shot. A third. Clean. Routine dulls the rest. 

A shiver runs down your spine. Something’s wrong. Below, the tide of the fight shifts. 

Kidd.

Pinned against a barrel by two recruits, one aiming a blade at his side.  Your heart thunders. The others are too far to intervene quickly. Without thinking, without hesitation, something primal rips from your chest.

It tears through you, shredding your throat—a scream. It doesn’t even sound human. It shatters the air like glass cracking. They stagger back, off balance. A shockwave snaps the barrels around Kidd into splinters. The sound echoes across the dock. The silence is louder than any battle.

Not paused—frozen. Enemy eyes dart frantically. Your crew looks up. They know. Killer remembers. 

You race down the hill, sand giving way beneath you as the fighting resumes, but the marines reel from your show of power. You reach Kidd, slicing through the last of the bastards. The Kidd Pirates seize the opening, pouncing on the last stragglers. The noise of battle bleeds back—the crew shouting, steel clashing, the enemy being driven back—but in this pocket of space, the fight had already ended. 

Your chest heaves. Heart pounding in your ears. You stare at your hands as if they belong to someone else. That scream—it’s always been yours.

Kidd stumbles upright, chest heaving, hair limp over his goggles, eyes wide. He grins, crooked, shaking his head. “Heh… that power,” he mutters, voice rough. “Same kind of damage I saw back at Sabaody. Whole place looked like it got hit by a cannon.”

You go still. 

He saw. He saw me.

Your stomach drops so fast it almost hurts. The world narrows, sound peeling away until all that's left is the thunder of blood in your ears. Your fingers tighten around the scythes until your knuckles ache white. 

Memories and nightmares alike slam into you—chains biting into your wrists, the crowd roaring, hands grabbing, voices bidding. Terror so complete it had hollowed you out from the inside.

And him. Watching. Seeing exactly what you were in that moment: collared, cornered, displayed. 

Shame and horror twist together beneath your ribs, hot enough to burn. Your knees threaten to buckle. The scythes suddenly feel less like weapons and more like anchors, the only things keeping you upright. 

He saw me like that.  Not bloodied after a fight. Not battle-worn. Broken. Stripped of everything, made to feel like nothing at all. Worthless. 

And somehow, that hurts even worse.

“No,” you whisper, voice thin as ice and just as tight. 

Kidd’s grin vanishes. His scowl back in place. “Huh?”

Your head snaps up, fury clawing its way through the shock.

“You—when I was…” Your voice catches, splintering and tears free anyway.  “When they sold me. You saw it. You saw what those bastards did to ME.” Your throat burns. “You were there and did nothing!?” 

Kidd’s head snaps as if you just hit him, hackles rising. “The hell are you talking about!?” His own temper flares, matching yours blow for blow. His chest rising hard, muscles taut, every line of him suddenly dangerous. 

And you don’t care. All you saw was red. Anger stoked by the burn of shame. 

“I wasn’t there when it happened,” he snaps. “I only saw what was left. The glass. The wreckage. I didn’t see the bastards touch you.” His jaw damn near cracking.

But you barely hear him. Your lungs won't fill. Your vision tunnels. Every nerve feels stripped raw, the terror flooding back- fresh as the day they branded you, until anger is the only thing keeping you from drowning in it.

“You expect me to believe that?” you choke. “You were right there! Strong enough to tear the whole place apart. But you wouldn't—”

“Don't.” The word cracks like a whip.

Kidd steps forward hard enough to make the ground groan beneath his boots. Fury blazes in his eyes, but beneath it is something even sharper. 

“Don’t you put that on me,” he growls, jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle jump. “I would've ripped that whole DAMN island apart with my bare hands if I'd been there.” 

The force of it steals your breath.Cutting through your anger.  

Because he means it. Every word.

He drags a hand through his hair, breathing hard, trying—and failing—to leash his temper.

“That scream,” he says, voice still rough, still burning around the edges. “That was you.”  

“All you.” His gaze locks onto yours.“You gave ‘em hell.”

Something in his expression shifts—anger giving way to something older. Darker. Helpless in a way Kidd hates more than anything.

Even he seems startled by the rawness in his own voice. Your anger falters, cracking at the edges.

“I… I didn’t mean…” Words come out small now, guilt twisting your stomach. “I didn’t even know I could do that.”

“You don’t have to mean it,” Kidd cuts in, still intense, but the edge shifts—less defensive, more desperate. "You're not broken, and you're not some out-of-control monster unless you decide to be." 

He’s breathing hard, shoulders tight, like he’s still halfway in the fight. 

“And even then,” he adds, voice dropping, rough and fierce, “if you chose to be a monster, I would still be here. But you’re not dealing with it alone. Not while I’m breathing.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, trembling. The realization hits like a punch to the chest. Your scream. Your power. Yours alone.

Not something done to you. Something that came from you. Something you survived. Something that saved him.

And Killer, off to the side, lets out the slightest nod—an almost imperceptible acknowledgment of what you just accomplished, a quiet respect earned.

But in this moment, it’s just the two of you. Breathing hard. Raw and angry. Hurt. Finally— standing on the same side of it.

The noise of the crew fades further into the background, distant now—like it belongs to another world entirely. Your chest is still heaving. So is his. Too close.

You don’t remember stepping in. Or maybe he did. It doesn’t matter. The space between you is gone, burned away in adrenaline and anger- and maybe something sharper. Kidd doesn’t move back. Neither do you.

Heat still burns in his eyes—only now it’s not on the fight. Your pulse stutters.

The mask is still on. You can hear your own breathing through it, steady but loud in your ears. Feel it bounce back against your skin. Trapped between you and him.

His gaze flicks to it. Lingers.

“You gonna keep that on,” he mutters, voice low, rougher now, “or are you finally gonna breathe?”

His words shouldn’t affect you the way they do. They shouldn’t hit that wall you’ve built so hard. Shouldn’t send a wave of heat through you, shouldn’t have your thighs pressing tight together. Because this isn’t about the mask. Not really.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, still curled from gripping your scythes—still buzzing from the echo of that scream. From him. From everything.

Kidd catches the movement—jaw tightening. For a second, you don’t move. Neither of you were ever talented at backing down. 

Then—slowly—your hand lifts. Not breaking eye contact. Not stepping back. Choosing him, you let the mask fall between you. Neither of you looks away. You take what you both already knew was yours. 

[kit-kat0037]

Unbreakable Ch. 26

Masterlist

CW: None- some language

Summary: Sometimes love sounds like reassurance. Sometimes it sounds like metal scraping across a workbench. He didn’t tell you to adapt. He built you something new.

But weapons don’t fix everything. They just demand you grow fast enough to survive them.

And Kidd? He’s not going to let you fall behind.

Reader POV

The sting of failure hadn’t left your chest, even days after the fight. The daggers. The missteps. The limits your body still held. And somewhere in the quiet, you knew Kidd had been listening.

He had disappeared to his workshop. When an idea gripped his mind, there was no stopping him. You only knew he was alive from the lingering signs—an unmade bed, the faint smell of molten metal and oil. 

The workshop smelled of familiar worked metal. Sparks had been flying for days. The bench held two gleaming weapons. Even before you touched them, your chest tightened. These weren’t just tools. They were yours.  

Kidd stands nearby, chest rising with an unusual mix of pride and anticipation. Killer stood just behind him, arms crossed, expression unreadable behind his mask, but every inch of him radiated approval.

You lifted the twin scythes, testing their balance. Elegant curves, precise weight, perfect leverage. Kidd had forged the bodies, Killer had fine-tuned the mechanics, and every detail felt made for you.

“They’re light,” you breathed. The weight surprised you—it felt right, almost like they’d been waiting for your hands. “They’re… mine?”

Kidd’s lips twitched. “They’re yours,” he says. “But don’t get it twisted, Mouse- They’re dangerous. They’ll test you, push you. Hurt you if you don’t respect them.”

You stare at the gleaming metal in awe. For a second, it felt perfect.

Then weight shifted, throwing off your center. The chain slipped. A sharp metallic hiss as it fell to the floor. Kidd’s hand twitched toward you, Killer’s step forward instinctive—but both froze mid-motion, seeing you react instantly. 

Foot bracing, shoulders correcting, hand tightening—you caught the momentum before it could pull you off balance. The chain stilled with a soft rattle. Silence.

Kidd’s jaw tightened, a flicker of approval passing over his features before his hand drops. Killer exhales softly, arms crossing again. Both relaxing a fraction—you had it.

You exhaled slowly, pulse quick but steady. Not effortless. Not yet. But at least they were still in your hands. 

Killer stepped closer, continuing as if nothing had happened.  “We built them with your body in mind. Chains make them retractable. They’re extensions—not crutches. Learn them. Trust them.” He was calm, precise. 

Your leg shifts instinctively, pressing into the floor. The scythe’s weight finally feels like it belongs—not to you alone, but to you and the body that wields it. The steel hums under your fingers—like a heartbeat. Ready to prove its violence.

Kidd leaned closer, voice dropping, low and close. “We’ll train you. Step by step. I won’t coddle you, Y/N. You’ve earned the right to fight. But I won’t let you get killed either.”

You lifted both scythes now, the weight balanced perfectly in your hands. There was awe in your chest, fear, and… something else. Determination. You could feel the line between control and chaos, between your old helplessness and the edge of power these weapons gave you.

Killer gave a small nod. “First lesson tomorrow. Footwork, grip, swing, pivot. Then we’ll move into mobility drills. You’ll be fast enough to move, even with the leg.”

“And when you’re ready,” Kidd said quietly, almost too quietly, “We’ll show them why you don’t fuck with Punks.”

You looked up at him, at Killer, then back at the blades in your hands. For the first time in a long time, the weight of everything didn’t scare you.

It excited you.

Kidd’s eyes lingered on you, dark and unreadable, but something in them softened just a fraction. “Use them. Respect them. And remember, Mouse… I didn’t make them for anyone else. Only yours.”

Your chest tightened. You understood. These weren’t just weapons—they were yours. Yours, and yours alone—a promise.

------------------------------------------------------

The sun hung low over the island, painting the dock in golds and reds as the Kidd Pirates’ ship swayed gently at anchor. You stood in the open courtyard of the abandoned settlement, scythes in hand, their weight unfamiliar and stubborn against your arms. Killer’s eyes didn’t leave you—sharp and assessing, his stance casual but alert, like a predator teaching its cub.

“Again,” he said, voice clipped, calm, heavy with expectation. “This time, smoother—take it slow if you have to. Your balance, your footing—everything counts.”

You adjusted the prosthetic leg under your thigh, flexing it experimentally. It had come a long way since Sabaody, reliable enough for daily movement and even running short distances, but combat still demanded finesse. 

“I know,” you muttered, gripping the twin scythes tighter. Your heart hammered—not just from exertion, but from the memory of what you’d lost, the helplessness that never truly left.

Killer didn’t flinch at the bitterness in your voice. He simply circled, watching every pivot, every swing. “You still overcompensate with the right,” he noted. “You want to protect it, but it’s slowing you down. Flow with it, don’t fight the weight. Use it.”

You took a deep breath and tried again, spinning the scythe, the other following, rhythmically. The prosthetic shifted beneath you, clicking softly, but holding. Your strike sliced through the air cleanly this time, and you felt it—a small pulse of satisfaction.

From the edge of the deck, Kidd’s shadow loomed. He leaned against a wooden post, arms crossed, eyes dark and unreadable. He didn’t intervene, didn’t comment. But you felt him, an invisible tether, grounding you in a way that made your chest tighten. You hated it and loved it all at once.

“Not bad,” Killer said finally, stepping back. “You’re learning to fight with the prosthetic, not against it. That’s the hard part.” He let the words hang. You could feel the weight of them.

“Next,” he continued. “We start mobility drills. I’m not asking you to sprint—yet. I’m asking you to move without thinking about the leg, to trust it.”

You groaned, adjusting your grip. Killer smirked faintly, the same as Kidd—like he knew exactly how much you hated slow drills. But there was method in it—precision before chaos, control before instinct.

Hours passed in a blur of practice: footwork, swings, pivots, carefully measured lunges. Sweat dripped down your face, your muscles ached, but with each repetition, the scythes became extensions of your body. You began to anticipate the scythes’ momentum, the prosthetic moving seamlessly beneath you.

A chain rattled briefly on the left scythe—you flinched slightly, and Killer’s eyes snapped to you, hand halfway to intervene, before freezing when he saw your stance steady, your balance perfect. A flicker of respect passed between him and Kidd, who had leaned forward from the post, eyebrow raised. You exhaled, pulse quick but steady. Not effortless. Not yet. But at least they were still in your hands.

Killer stepped closer, silent and deliberate. “Hold still,” he murmured, hands adjusting the scythe’s strap and the prosthetic alignment under your thigh. The sudden closeness made your chest tighten, but every touch was precise, corrective, guiding the scythe as if it were already part of you.

‘‘Hands-on, huh?’’ Kidd rumbled, stepping down from the post. His gaze cut through the courtyard, sharp, assessing— focused, like a predator deciding when to intervene.

You stiffened slightly under Killer’s adjustments, but the weight shifted perfectly, the scythe finally feeling like an extension of your body, not a foreign object.

Killer stepped back, nodding. “Better. You’ll feel the difference in your strikes.”

Kidd’s eyes lingered on you, dark and unreadable. “You’ve improved,” he said, voice low, calm, almost teasing. “But don’t get cocky. I saw the hesitation when the last strike landed—you second-guessed yourself. That hesitation? Could get you killed.”

You bristled. “I’m aware,” you muttered, but a flicker of pride warmed your chest.

Kidd’s lips quirked slightly, and he turned his attention back to the sea, eyes sweeping the horizon. You knew the warning wasn’t just about fighting—it was about everything out there, everything the Grand Line could throw at you. Everything the New World will. And for the first time since Sabaody, you felt ready—not fearless, but capable.

Killer’s quiet, steady gaze followed you as he adjusted the scythes, preparing them for the next drill. “Tomorrow,” he said simply, “we add a second target. And then we’ll add motion.”

Your stomach tightened at the thought, but you nodded. For the first time in months, you weren’t just surviving. You were moving, trusting. Just enough to feel alive again… and just dangerous enough to remember the kind of pirate you could be.

[kit-kat0037]

Unbreakable Ch. 25

Masterlist

Summary: Kidd immediately knows something is wrong. And Kidd, being Kidd, has exactly one response to that problem: He'll build something better.

Kidd POV

You’re late. 

Not enough to worry— but enough to notice. Killer noticed too—quieter these last ten minutes, attention angled toward the dock without turning his head. Kidd looks up from where he’s leaning over a spread of scrap metal, one hand braced against the table, the other absently shaping a bolt between his fingers.

Then he sees them. Bubblegum first — walking steady, a little scuffed, carrying a half-torn bag of supplies slung over his shoulder. 

You’re upright. You’re walking under your own power. You’re not bleeding. All the immediate alarms in his chest ease at once. But the atmosphere shifts. A subtle change in the crew’s posture. Conversations dipping. Heads turning. A tension in the air that wasn’t there a second ago.

And he sees your face. Your mouth is set tight. Eyes distant. Shoulders locked in a way that has nothing to do with pain and everything to do with something simmering underneath the surface. Frustration.

Kidd straightens slowly. His gaze drops, sharp and instinctive– scanning for damage. Your coat is dusty. One sleeve slightly torn. No visible blood. No limp worse than usual. Still.

“Supply run,” he calls out, voice flat but carrying. “Or did you pick a fight on the way back?”

Bubblegum snorts, dropping the bag near the table with a thud. “Wasn’t us.”

Kidd’s eyes flick to him, then back to you. You don’t answer. That alone puts a bad taste in his mouth. 

“Trouble?” Killer steps forward first, quiet as always. 

“Couple idiots in town,” Bubblegum says. “Thought we were easy targets.”

That’s when Kidd notices your hands. They’re empty- but your fingers keep flexing like they’re remembering the feel of something that isn’t there. His jaw tightens.

“Did they touch you?” he asks, voice dropping lower, sharper.

Your head snaps up immediately. “No.”

Too fast. Too defensive. 

Bubblegum glances between the two of you, then shrugs. “We handled it.”

Kidd’s gaze drags over you again. Looking for what’s not being said—frustration simmering under the skin, stiffness in your shoulders, the tightness in your jaw. You’re not hurt. But you’re not fine. And that bothers him more.

You step past him without waiting for permission, moving toward the railing like you need air. Like the ship suddenly feels too small. Kidd watches you go.  

“What happened Bubblegum?” 

“Captain,” he hesitates. “She’s okay.” Kidd relaxes a fraction but doesn’t let up his scowling stare. Bubblegum flinches.  “You should talk to her. Some things just can’t go back to what they were before.”  

Kidd's eyes narrow before he turns sharply toward the railing.  A silent dismissal to his crew.

He follows you to the edge of the deck. You’re staring out over the water, arms folded, jaw set hard enough he can see the tension from a few feet away. For a moment, he just stands there. Watching. Waiting. 

You were fine this morning. Steady. Calm. Confident enough to leave without him hovering over your shoulder. Now you look like something’s been taken from you.

“What happened?” he asks finally.

You don’t look at him. “Nothing.”

Kidd huffs once. Not amused.

“Bullshit.”

Silence. The wind pushes your hair back from your face. Your hand twitches again, fingers curling inward like they’re reaching for a handle that isn’t there. And then you say it, quiet. Frustrated. A quiet anger.

“…I couldn’t keep up.”

His brow pulls tight.

“With who?”

“Anyone,” you snap, finally turning to face him. “Not them. Not the ground. Not even myself.”

The words come out sharper than you mean them to, and you exhale hard, dragging a hand down your face.

“I had the daggers. I knew what to do. I just—” Your voice catches for half a second, “—wasn’t fast enough.” 

Kidd doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t try to fix it. He just listens.

“I used to be able to get in close and end it,” you continue, quieter now. “Before they could even react. Today I couldn’t land a clean hit. My footing kept slipping. My turns were off. I got grabbed. Twice.”

 Kidd’s knuckles turn white- his nails digging into his palm trying to let you finish. His jaw locking hard enough to ache.

“I kept thinking if I just pushed harder I’d adjust, but it didn’t matter. Every move felt… heavy.” You swallow. “Like I was fighting my own body more than them.”

Your hand drifts unconsciously to your leg. And Kidd finally understands. His hands relax, barely. It’s not just frustration. It’s grief. The kind that hits when you realize something you used to rely on isn’t coming back the way it was.

“They figured it out,” you add quietly. “That I wasn’t fast enough. That I couldn’t move the same as them.”

“But you made it back.” Kidd leans back on the railing next to you.

“Because Bubblegum stepped in.” There’s no shame in your tone. But there is anger. At yourself.

You turn back toward the water, shoulders tight. “If I’d had my rifle, it wouldn’t have mattered. If I’d had distance, it would’ve been over in seconds. But up close…” Your fingers curl into fists now. “They’re not enough anymore.”

Kidd’s eyes drop to your hands, like he can still see the phantom shape of the daggers there. He goes still for a long moment. Then he pushes off the railing.

“Good,” he says.

You blink, turning back sharply. “Good?”

“Then we make something that is.”

It’s said like it’s obvious. Like there was never another option. You stare at him. He can see your frustration melting into confusion. He scoffs. 

“You’re not fighting like that anymore,” he continues, voice steady. “So stop trying to.”

That stings. But it’s not cruel. It’s honest. His gaze is sharp watching you- running through all the memories of you training, moving, surviving. His eyes narrow as an idea forms.

“You need reach. Control. Something that lets you keep space without losing control.”

His fingers shift slightly at his side, like he’s already building it in his head.

“We’ll figure it out.”

Not you. We. Kidd was done with you thinking you had to do everything by yourself. You were his, just as he was yours. No more of this alone bullshit. 

And for the first time since stepping back on the ship, Kidd sees the tightness finally relax- just a little.

[kit-kat0037]

Unbreakable Ch. 24

Masterlist

CW: Long form story MDNI overall slight dead dove. Seriously. Minors DO NOT interact.

Summary: Months after Sabaody, you've fought your way back piece by piece.- reclaiming your place among the Kidd Pirates. But recovery comes with its own risks. A simple supply run should have been easy. Until it isn't.

When a group of thugs corners you in town, you're forced to face a truth you've been avoiding: the weapons that were apart of you no longer fit the fighter you have to become.

One step forward. One hard lesson. And maybe the beginning of something new.

Reader POV

The months after Sabaody passed in fragments. Some days blurred; others dragged, stitched together and torn again in jagged breaths and harsh truths. You relearned the ship before the world, and Kidd finally started letting you off it.

 At first, though, you don’t go anywhere alone.

Kidd is always there — looming, watching, hovering in that way he pretends isn’t hovering. If not him, then Killer. If not Killer, then Heat. Sometimes Wire. Always someone strong. Always someone who could level a battlefield if something went wrong.

At the beginning, it felt suffocating– like you were still stuck in a bubble. But soon, it felt like safety– mainly because there was no arguing about it with Kidd. You were just happy enough being allowed anywhere other than the damn ship.

You start small. Walking the length of the deck. Then down the gangplank. Then onto solid ground. Your new leg aches constantly, a dull burn that never quite fades. But it holds. It bends. It carries you. Kidd pretends not to watch every step. He fails.

The first time you leave the ship for supplies, Killer walks beside you without saying a word. Not leading. Not crowding. Just… there. The second time, it’s Heat, loud and overprotective, scaring off anyone who looks at you too long. The third, Wire. Silent. Sharp-eyed. You realize halfway through the trip he’s subtly adjusting his pace to match yours.

You don’t mention it. The need to prove yourself having long since eased. Now you simply wanted to be a Kidd Pirate– fierce, loyal, and a little insane.  And as your strength returned, Kidd’s instincts to guard you softened, letting you step back into the life you’d fought so hard to reclaim.

You start taking short scouting routes again. From rooftops, and shadows, from high perches where balance matters more than speed, you find you can still fight. Still protect. Still belong.  Small islands. Short errands. Quick supply runs. You carry your rifle, daggers sheathed in your boot– and your mask, no longer a foreign feeling. Simply a tool, your lifeline. Your shots land clean. Your breath steadies. Your place starts to feel real again.

At night, you train your wings. Not flying. Not alone. Learned that lesson. Just calling them. Holding them. Learning how they move, how they feel, how they disappear back into your skin like they were never there.

Time passes. Weeks blur. You laugh again. You spar again. You start to feel like something other than broken. It’s supposed to be simple. A supply run. Food. Bandages. Thread. Nothing worth a fight.

Bubblegum walks beside you, arms full of small packages, talking about something you only half hear. The town is busy enough to feel safe — fishermen yelling at each other, carts rattling over stone, the smell of salt and frying oil thick in the air. You’re relaxed. For the first time in a long time, you’re just… walking. No rooftops. No sniper perch. No shadows. Just ground. Just a pirate. The new leg moves easily beneath you now. Not natural. Not like before. But reliable.

You don’t notice the men until they’re already too close. Three of them. Looming. Grinning. Blocking the narrow stretch of street ahead. Another shape shifts behind you — someone stepping into place at the alley mouth you just passed. 

Bubblegum stiffens beside you. You feel it too. That shift. That tightening. The air going wrong.

“Hey now,” one of them says, eyes dragging over you. “Didn’t think pirates wandered this far without a leash.”

You’re not afraid. But you are suddenly, sharply aware of something you didn’t prepare for. You don’t have your rifle.

The alley behind you is blocked. The street is too crowded to run cleanly. One of the men steps forward, gaze flicking down to the bags in Bubblegum’s arms.

“Hand those over,” he says lazily. “We’ll let you scurry away like the bottom feeding scum you are.”

Your hand is already moving. Muscle memory. Dagger drawn. Familiar. Comforting. You step forward. And the moment you lunge— Your balance falters.

The cobbled ground shifts under your footing, sand slick beneath your step. Your pivot comes slower than it should.

He dodges. Too easily.

A hand snaps out, catching your wrist. You twist to counter—but your leg doesn’t follow cleanly. Not like it should. How it did. Instead, the motion drags, leaving you open. Another man steps in. Too close.

Your dagger cuts through empty air. Before, you would’ve flowed around them. Fast. Unpredictable. Untouchable. Now— You’re grounded. Reachable.

Bubblegum shoves one of them back with a snarl, packages spilling across the street. You regain your footing, swing again—this time a clean arc— The blade bites. Just not deep enough to finish it. 

The man jerks back with a curse—and recovers fast, slamming into you shoulder-first. Your back hits the wall hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. The prosthetic holds. You don’t.

You catch yourself too late, chest heaving, balance off— And it hits you. Hard. This isn’t enough anymore. Not like this. Not up close. You can fight from a distance. You can still protect. But here? Face to face?

Your daggers aren’t enough anymore.

And the men in front of you are starting to realize it too. One of them grins, ugly and mean, stepping in closer now that he sees the hesitation.

“Thought so,” he mutters.

A hand reaches for you again—

“Hey.” Bubblegum’s voice cuts in, low and sharp. The man doesn’t even get the chance to turn.

His fist connects with the side of their head with a sickening crack. The thug drops instantly, folding to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. Everything moves fast after that.

Another thug lunges for him, and Bubblegum meets them head-on, slamming them back into the wall hard enough to rattle the boards. His knee driving into their stomach. Elbow to the jaw. They go down choking.

You suck in a breath, forcing your hands to steady, forcing your head to clear. The mask dulls the scent of blood. Focus.

No daggers. Too close. You step forward instead, wings shifting beneath your coat just enough to make you look bigger, taller, more dangerous than you feel. Your voice comes out low. Steady. Almost convincing enough to make yourself believe you weren’t scared.

“Back off!”

The last two men hesitate. Behind you, Bubblegum spits his gum onto the street and cracks his knuckles, planting himself at your side like a wall.

“We’re not in the mood,” he adds.

Silence stretches. One of the men glances at the others on the ground. At the blood. At the way neither of you backs down.

“…Not worth it,” he mutters.

They back off. Fast. Then they’re gone, disappearing into the noise of the town.  The street slowly exhales around you.

You don’t realize your hands are shaking until you look down. The daggers tremble in your grip. They feel wrong. Too small. Too slow.

Bubblegum nudges your shoulder lightly. “You good?”

You let out a slow breath, the edge of adrenaline still sharp in your chest.

“Yeah,” you say. Quiet and not entirely true. But you would be fine because you had to be.

You kneel to gather the scattered supplies, movements slower now. More deliberate. Your gaze lingers on the daggers. Already thinking- adjusting. Bubblegum follows your line of sight jerking his chin.

“Guess we found the next thing you need to train.”

You huff out something that might be a laugh.

“Yeah,” you admit. This time, it means something different.

When you stand, you stay just a little closer to him as you head back toward the ship. Not out of fear. But an understanding that just because you’ve decided to reclaim who you are, doesn’t mean everything else is ready to just play along, falling into place.

[kit-kat0037]

Unbreakable Ch. 23

Masterlist

A/N- Hahahaha!! I think this might be my best one yet!!! Warning, there was no real way to split the NSFW from the main story in this one, I think you can still skip over it but this one went hand in hand with plot.

CW: MDNI, 18+; Oral (f-receiving); P/V, praise kink, trauma/recovery, EXPLICIT NSFW, mild dominance, mirror sex, possessive, Consensual marking, Explicit language

Summary : Kidd wasn't sure what to expect. Definitely not this. That damn mark, The one that taunted him. Reminding him how much he failed you, it’s still there. But it wasn’t what froze him in place. It was the ink. Bold. Black. His Jolly Roger.

Reader POV

The ship is unusually quiet, the ocean humming softly against the hull. The past week has been nothing but testing your limits—wings, prosthetic, control. But tonight isn’t about training.

It’s about answering the question that’s been sitting between you and Kidd—unspoken, but heavy. You hesitate at the edge of his quarters, hands brushing over your back, like your skin might betray you. The ink is still fresh, a faint sheen over the memory beneath it—painful, but yours. Your fingers trace the curve of the Jolly Roger. Something only Killer was trusted to do.

“Kidd,” you call, voice low.

He looks up from the messy sketches and drafts scattered on his desk, eyes narrowing slightly. “Mouse?”

You step inside, stopping just short of him—just enough that the mirror across the room catches both of you.

“I want you to see something.”

He doesn’t move. Just watches. Slowly, deliberately, you turn your back to him—lifting the hem of your shirt, exposing the fresh ink.

You don’t look over your shoulder. You look forward, watching him through the mirror. He stills. The scowl—the one that usually promises destruction—falters. Not gone. Just quieter. His jaw tightens, eyes locked on the mark.

The tattoo catches the lamplight. Bold black ink over the scar. Not hiding it. Claiming it.

“You did this?” His voice is lower now. Rougher. His face unreadable.

You nod, eyes flicking to his reflection. Shoulders tight, chin lifting just slightly. “I chose it.” A breath. “For me… and for you.” Your fingers tighten in the fabric of your shirt. 

“So when you see it…” Your voice wavers—but you hold his gaze in the mirror. “It’s mine to give.”

Kidd’s hands flex at his sides—you catch it, even if he thinks you don’t. Like he wants to reach for you. Like he’s holding himself back.

“Tch…” he exhales. “You shouldn’t—” He cuts himself off.

Your chest tightens—but you don’t turn around. You wait. He steps closer. Slow. Careful. In the mirror, he’s right behind you now. Close enough that you feel the heat of him—

Then his hands settle on your shoulders. Heavy. Grounding. A shiver slips down your spine. His fingers trace the ink.

“Tch… you’re serious,” he mutters.

You swallow. “You didn’t flinch.”

His eyes snap to yours in the reflection.

“Not once,” you continue, softer now. “You saw everything. And you stayed.”

His face shifts—sharp, unguarded. Gone almost as quickly as it came.

“Yeah,” he mutters, gruff exterior returning. “’Cause it’s you.” His grip tightens slightly. “Mine,” he says, low. Not forceful. Certain. “All of it. The wings. The scars. That ink…”

His gaze flicks once more over the tattoo—then back to your eyes.

“You.”

Logically, you knew Kidd had chosen you over and over but your breath still catches in your throat at his declaration. You lean back into him, just slightly—still watching him in the mirror as the tension finally leaves your body. No chaos. No fear. Just quiet.

For the first time since everything changed—since the wings, the pain, the deal—you feel it settle into place. Not broken. Not lost. Yours.

Kidd POV

That damn mark, The one that taunted him. Reminding him how much he failed you, it’s still there. But it wasn’t what froze him in place. It was the ink. Bold. Black. Spanning shoulder to shoulder. Kidd forgot how to breathe. His Jolly Roger carved over it—not hiding it. Reclaiming.

“Tch…You—” His voice caught, rough. “You did this.”

“Yes,” you said quietly.

Something in his chest twisted sharp. Every instinct screamed to touch you— to drag his hand over it, to feel it, to make sure it was real. But he held himself still.

Slowly, he lifted his hand. Hovered. Then set it on your shoulder. Warm. Solid. Real. His thumb brushed once over the ink.

“Mine,” he breathed, low. Not possession. Recognition.

Pride.

His forehead dipped between your shoulder blades, pressing a kiss into the center of the mark. Gentle. Reverent. Dangerous.

A quiet exhale left him, rough against your skin. “Tch. I can’t—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening. Didn’t finish it. Couldn’t. This was something beyond Kidd’s controlled depths. Your hand found his wrist behind you. Steady. Warm. Holding him there. Grounding him, like he had with you so many times. 

“Then don’t,” you whispered. “Just stay. Be.”

Kidd exhaled slowly, letting himself lean into you. Letting the weight of it settle— the trust. The choice. You.

His grip shifted, firmer now, thumb pressing into your shoulder. Something deeper stirred under his ribs, sharp and restless. Not just reverence. 

“All of it,” he muttered, low. Certain. “Scars. Ink… you.” His fingers flexed slightly against you.

“Mine.” 

Not a demand. A promise. The tension in his chest didn’t break. Not with you like this—warm and real under his hands.

The coals in him stoked hotter. Slow. Heavy.

Hungry.

***Kidd traces kisses down your neck, teeth catching just enough leaving heat trailing through your nerves. Controlled. Deliberate.

His hands slide over your curves, settling at your chest, thumbs brushing slow, claiming circles as he kneads. You let out a low moan, leaning into him.

“Kidd…”

You try to turn— His hands move instantly.

One anchors at your hip. The other curls at the base of your neck. Firm. Not forceful—just enough. Guiding you back. Facing the mirror.

You feel it then—the tension in him. Muscles tight beneath his skin, restraint stretched thin. His hands drag down to your hips again, slower this time, like he's reminding himself to hold back. 

He steps in close, arms wrapping around your waist, chin settling against your shoulder. His eyes meet yours in the glass.

“Stay.”

The word comes low. Controlled. You don’t move. His fingers never leave you as they trace back down, pulling you closer. Your body follows instinct before thought, bending forward against the table. Eyes still on the mirror above you- still watching. 

His gaze drags down your spine, slow and hungry. Over your back. Over your mark. Over every inch of your skin.

His smirk returns, eyes meeting yours again. Then he drops. No warning. Kneeling behind you as he pulls your clothes down in one smooth motion.

“Watch.” That’s all he gives you.

His hands spread you open— you jolt as his mouth finds you. Kidd exhales against you, low and rough, the sound slipping before he can stop it. His grip tightens—a fraction.

His tongue moves slowly along the seam of your heat, parting you deliberately- playing like a cat with a mouse. 

“Oh—fuck, Kidd—!”

Your fingers tighten around the edge of the table as he pushes his tongue in. This is nothing like his usual relentless pace. No rough urgency. No frantic hunger. Just slow, measured devotion that somehow leaves you even more undone.

He savors you.

Every stroke of his tongue curling deep before dragging back out. Wet, obscene sounds fill the cabin, each one pulling another helpless sound from your throat. Heat builds low and heavy, molten and relentless, coiling tighter with every pass.

“K-Kidd—!”

He hums against you, the vibration ripping a cry from your lips. His grip tightens on your thighs as he works you harder- controlled,restrained. All you can see in the mirror is the crown of his hair moving between your legs.

Thrust. Curl. Lick. Again. Again. Your knees tremble. The heat inside you spreads, slow and consuming, until you can barely breathe around it.

“Fuck—Kidd!”

He growls against you, and the sound nearly sends you over the edge.

Then he pulls away. The loss leaves you shaking, a needy whine catching in your throat.

Kidd lifts his head, eyes finding yours in the mirror. His mouth glistens, his smirk wicked, restraint hanging by a thread. One thick finger slides into you.

Your head falls back with a moan. His hand closes around your neck—not tight, guiding your gaze back to the glass.

“Didn’t say you could look away.”

A second finger follows, stretching you just enough to make your hips twitch. Not enough. You clench around him, desperate.

“Squeezin' my fingers so tight,” he murmurs, voice rough. “Can’t wait for my cock to fill this greedy little pussy.”

His pace quickens, fingers curling with practiced precision. Pressure builds instantly, sharp and hot again, quicker. 

“Ah—fuck, Kidd, please—”

He chuckles, dark and hungry.

“Love it when you beg.” His mouth brushes your shoulder. “But use your words, little mouse.”

Then he withdraws completely. You whine at the emptiness.

Kidd's hands settle on your hips, fingers digging in just enough to remind you exactly where you were. Your place.

“Tell me what this pretty cunt needs.”

He leans over you, hard length pressing insistently against your entrance. The heat of him makes your breath hitch.

“I’m yours tonight,” he murmurs against your tattoo, lips brushing the fresh ink. “Command me.”

Your mind goes blissfully blank for half a second.

“Kidd, please—I need—”

“That’s it.” His teeth graze your skin. “Tell me.”

“Fuck me, Kidd. Please.” You cry desperate for him.  “Fill me. I’m so empty without you. Please make me come—I need you.” 

A low, satisfied sound rumbles from his chest. 

“Good girl.” His eyes lock with yours in the mirror. “Eyes on me, Mouse.”

He presses into you slowly, inch by agonizing inch, forcing you to feel every stretch, every pulse, every shudder that runs through both of you. Your eyes never leave him. Heat floods you as he watches your reaction.

“Fuck... Y/N.”

Sweat beads along his brow. His jaw clenches. 

He stays buried deep, letting you adjust, letting you take him. Everything in him screaming to hold back.

All you can do is feel. The weight of him. The fullness. The way your body strains to accommodate every inch. Your walls flutter around him, and his restraint finally cracks.

“Mine.” His hips snap forward. Not wild. Not yet.

Just devastatingly slow.

He draws nearly all the way out before driving back in, each thrust just enough to leave you trembling. Cruel in the way only Kidd can manage.

Measured. Possessive. Unrelenting.

His hips stutter, driving into you faster as his control begins to slip. Your breaths come sharp and ragged, moans spilling freely as Kidd finally loses control.

His own breathing turns rough. His gaze drops, watching where you join, where he disappears inside you. Then his eyes catch on the tattoo.

"Wearin' me so damn well, Mouse. Looks right on you."

The words come out strained, almost reverent beneath the hunger.

You cry out as his pace quickens, muscles clamping down hard, the coil inside threatening to snap. Kidd's hand finds your back, palm spreading over the fresh ink. He presses down, holding you there. Claiming.

"That's it, Y/N," he hisses. "My jolly roger etched into you. Showin' everyone exactly who you belong to." His eyes lock onto yours in the mirror, impossible to look away from.

"Come for me. Let me watch you fall apart over my cock." His hips drive harder, faster- the tension inside you finally shatters.

"Kidd!" You force yourself to hold his gaze, even as release tears through you.

"Good girl," he growls. "Such a fuckin' good girl for me."

His fingers bruise your hips as he drags you back against him, chasing his own end. With a rough curse, his head falls back as pleasure finally overtakes him.

Kidd folds over you a moment later, hands curling at the base of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. His mouth brushes over the tattoo, lingering there as you tremble beneath him. A low, satisfied rumble leaves his chest.

"Mine."

[kit-kat0037]

Unbreakable Ch. 22

Masterlist

CW: blood, panic response, loss of control, emotional trauma, NSFW undertones

When blood and memory collide, control slips.

But Kidd doesn’t.

And for the first time, you don’t lose yourself to the storm—you let him hold the edge of it with you.

The mask is no longer just restraint. It’s trust. It’s survival. It’s him.

And when everything inside you surges, he doesn’t flinch.

He stays.

Reader POV

The mask hangs around your neck, heavy and strange, pressing against your collarbone. Even unfastened, it’s a reminder: control. Tethering. Anchor.

The Victoria Punk sails on, almost to the next island. The crew is restless; fights they shouldn’t take yet simmer in the air.

You step onto the deck, eyes down, fingers fidgeting with the leash. The crew watches the four commanders spar. Clang of metal on metal. Laughter, shouts, boots slapping wood. It all feels distant, as if you’re behind glass. You feel safer back in the crew, but a part of you still holds back.

Kidd stands apart, arms crossed, eyes sharp on you. No words. Just presence. You settle at the outskirts—close enough to see, far enough to protect yourself.

Then—a line of red blooms across Heat’s arm.

Your stomach twists. Panic claws at your chest. A familiar pressure in your mouth.Your lungs choke on the air. Shit.

He sees it instantly—the flicker in your posture, the hands trembling near your neck. The same look that haunted him the first time you lost control. His jaw tightens. He steps closer, gliding across the deck. Every heartbeat synced with yours, waiting.

Your fingers tighten on the straps. The mask. You pull it up, cold metal pressing against your face, anchoring you.

“Mouse,” Kidd hisses, low, urgent. “Strap it. Now.”

His hands guide yours. Panic gnaws, but his presence steadies you.

Then everything hits: red. Everywhere. Not just the cut—the smell, the fear, the memory of when your power first surged uncontrollably. You want to run. To disappear. You cling to him instead.

“Stay with me,” he murmurs, voice low, almost a growl. “You’re not alone.”

You try to focus on his words, his promise but the world still narrows. 

The crew stares. No one moves. Killer’s sharp voice cuts through the chaos: “Show’s over! Back to work!”

Kidd grabs your arm, guiding you away from the deck, the stares, the surge. Motion, not words. Anchor. Reality.

By the time you reach his quarters, you finally exhale, small and shaky. The door closes behind you. Boots hit the floor, muscles coiled. His hands remain on your shoulders, steadying, grounding.

The mask—fitted, real—reminds him of what he can’t fix with a punch or a yell. But it works. Keeps you tethered. Kidd exhales, letting a fraction of tension drop. There’s more to do. Limits to define. But for now? You’re safe.

“You’re here. Not there. Not lost. Not alone.”

You lean against him, trembling. Vulnerable, alive. Kidd knows: you won’t break. Not completely. Not with him watching.

The mask comes off as you collapse into Kidd’s arms. Cold metal, heavy with meaning. Every nerve fires warning: danger. Loss. Hunger. Your control waning.

Kidd’s eyes hold yours. Dark. Patient. Waiting. Not judging. Not flinching. Just here. His presence presses into you like iron, a tether against the storm inside.

Your body trembles—not from fear, exactly—but from the pull, the raw need clawing at your chest. Every instinct screams: control. Survival. Hunger.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to. His hands find your waist, firm and steady. Pulse beneath your fingers, alive and patient. Anchoring you.

“It’s yours, mouse—use me. Need me.” Kidd commands against your ear, daring you to trust him.

You inhale. Taste him in the air, feel the heat radiating through his skin. our lips brush his neck, and the surge inside you roars, raw and uncontainable, your body responding before your mind can protest.

It’s terrifying. And intoxicating.

You pull back, just a fraction, shaking. But he tilts his head, nudges you closer with the smallest pressure of his body. No force, just permission. Invitation. Safety.

The first sip is almost gentle—warm. The surge inside you flares, clawing, but he holds you. Doesn’t stiffen. Doesn’t flinch. Your power, your hunger, your fear—it all pours into him, and he carries it.

Your body responds before your mind can protest. The fire inside you roars, wanting release, wanting control, wanting to be contained and uncontainable at once. Kidd’s hands tighten slightly at your waist, steadying, protective—but never restraining. Every pulse, every heartbeat, a tether.

It’s messy, intimate, overwhelming. And yet, you don’t break. You flow, fully and utterly, into him as his own blood flows back to you.. The mask is gone, but the control is no longer a tool—it’s you, guided by trust, by instinct, by him.

When it ebbs, leaving your chest heaving, knees weak, your body trembling, Kidd doesn’t let go. Hands linger, firm, grounding. His pulse under your fingers, steady. Safe. Real.

Eyes wide, chest still trembling, you look at him—and see awe, danger, devotion, something raw and fierce. Something only he could hold.

“You’re mine,” he growls. “You’re not broken,” he murmurs, low, rough. “I’ve got you.”

And for the first time, you believe it. Not because the mask told you to. Not because the fear demanded it. Because he shows you. You let go. Fully.

[kit-kat0037]

Unbreakable Ch. 21

Masterlist

Dawn breaks over the ship—and for the first time, you don’t fall.

Kidd watches. Killer steadies. You try again anyway.

And when you finally lift off the deck, shaking but airborne, something in you clicks into place:

Nothing about you belongs to your past anymore.

Reader POV

Dawn cuts across the deck, fog clinging low to the waves, cold air curling around your bare arms. Your prosthetic leg flexes beneath you as you pace along the railing, muscles warmed from stretching, wings folded tight against your back. You barely noticed the chill until the first gust ruffled your hair.

Your days had begun to fill with something lighter—forward, instead of trapped in the past. Some nights, though, the memories still came. The pain flares hadn’t gone away– and you were pretty sure they wouldn’t. 

You winced as your toes curled, like they were caught in an invisible vice—phantom fire biting under your skin. A hand dropped lightly on your shoulder—steady, firm.

Tethering.

No words. Just presence. Killer.

You exhaled, shaking out the tremor, leaning into him, letting the weight anchor you. You weren’t alone. You never had been– but today, this was yours to face. Yours to take. 

Slowly, you straightened, muscles trembling but obeying, your prosthetic responding again with a quiet hum of control.

From behind, Kidd’s voice rumbled low, grounding you without startling. 

“Remember, Y/N, start slow. Don’t fight the air. Let it carry you, let it guide you.”

“He means don’t overcorrect,” Killer adds calmly. “You compensate too hard, you’ll lose center.”

You swallowed and nodded, not daring to look back. Killer stood just off to the side, arms crossed, the shadow always calm in the storm, eyes tracking every flutter of your wings, every careful step, every falter in your leg. Neither said more. Neither needed to.

Your toes gripped the deck. Wings ached to extend. The first flap was clumsy—a stutter against gravity that sent your balance tipping. Heart hammering. Your body screaming: Not safe. Stop.

And yet, you pushed. Wings flared. A short burst—unstable, stuttering—then lift. Just enough to clear the railing. Just enough for your stomach to drop as the deck falls away beneath you.

You lose your balance, one wing flapping stronger than the other. You drop hard back onto the deck

“Again,” Kidd snaps, already stepping forward.

“Not yet,” Killer cuts in, voice even. “Let her stabilize.” Killer turns back to you. “Small increments. Control, Y/N.”

You drew a ragged breath and tried again. Another flap. A foot higher. Two. Three. Each movement a negotiation—your body, the prosthetic, the wings, the phantom pain still whispering through your nerves.

Air roared in your ears—salt spray stinging your face. And freedom—sharp and sweet—bit deep. 

“Higher,” Kidd adds, low. “You’ve got it—don’t lose it now,” his voice sharpens.

The deck blurs beneath your feet—too far to trust, too close to catch you.”

“Don’t fall,” Kidd says. 

Not a warning. A promise

And for the first time in weeks, your body felt… whole. Your chest rose and fell with the rhythm of flight, the flare dulled to a whisper, manageable.

Kidd lingered behind you, silent but watchful. Close enough that if you dropped, he’d already be moving. You catch Kidd’s gaze flick once toward Killer.

Killer doesn’t look at him—but gives the slightest nod anyway.

He stays close enough to intervene—but only if you falter—letting you own each triumph..

You hovered above the deck, arms trembling, wings extended, chest heaving. The sun burned the fog into gold across the waves.

Your wings hold.

You had survived the flare.

You had flown.

And for the first time in weeks, your body felt entirely—irrevocably yours.

[kit-kat0037]

Unbreakable Ch. 20

Masterlist

Author Note: I realized I forgot to mention this before, as I have said this is my first fic that also means I am challenging myself to write the NSFW scenes. This is the 3rd one I've wwritten. I am still learning. If how i'm writing it doesn't work for you PLEASE keep reading, I am learning and they should get better each time. Again though, you don't HAVE to read the NSFW explicit stuff to enjoy this fic. Thank you for all the support and likes. I hope this was worth the wait!

Warnings: NSFW MDNI- Minors DO NOT interact.

CW: Panic response, PTSD trauma, trauma response. rough sex, degradation, impact play, punishment

A nightmare turns into a fall—and something new answers.

Wings. Violent. Uncontrolled. A power you can’t yet command… and one mistake away from killing you.

Kidd is furious. Not because you’re dangerous— but because you almost slipped through his hands again.

And when the adrenaline has nowhere left to go… he reminds you exactly who you belong to.

Reader POV

You bolt upright in the quiet darkness of your cabin, heart hammering, chest tight. The nightmare fades but not the adrenaline. Months have passed, but the memories still mangle your sleep.

Kidd sleeps like a log beside you, but you don’t wake him. Not when your mind still needs this—when your body still needs it.

You slip out onto the deck, careful to avoid creaking boards, and let the cool night air wash over you. Stars scatter across the sky, indifferent and unblinking. You exhale, trying to steady your racing thoughts. Your leg, your new leg, aches, and the pain on your back is fresh– but that’s good. The pain means control. And that means progress.

You train with the barrels lined along the deck’s edge, using them to test balance and coordination. Some wobble under your weight. Others threaten to give—but stability doesn’t matter when you’re fast enough. 

You step forward to the last barrel— it shifts.

“Shit—!”

The world drops out from under you. Your arms flail—heart lurching—as you go over the railing. Dark water surges up to meet you.

Your scream tears through the night.

“Kidd—!”

Something yanks you midair– hard.

Your body jerks– pain rips through your back with enough pressure to sink the ship.

Black wings snap open. Wide. Violent. Uncontrolled.

“Y/N!”

Boots thunder across the deck. Shouts cut through the dark. Kidd reaches you first—then stops.

“Fuck—...Mouse.” 

Not awe. Fury.

“What the hell are you—?!”

Wire catches you with him, steadying your fall as the crew gathers, forming a loose circle. Watching. You’re shaking.

“I… I don’t know how to make them go away.”

A voice somewhere behind them— “You… kinda look like a bat…”

Kidd whirls. “Shut the hell up!”

Silence drops instantly. Then he’s back on you—hands locking around your arms. Too tight, grounding, unrelenting.

“Training alone almost got you killed.”

“The water’s shallow—”

“Doesn’t matter!” he snaps. “You’re a Devil Fruit user.”

The words hit. Cold. Final. You swallow hard.

You almost died.

Not a close call.

Gone.

Minutes pass. Your breathing slows. The adrenaline fades. Your wings, once massive and terrifying, fold back into you– collapsing like they were never there. Gone. 

You flex your shoulders, feeling the residual hum of power beneath your skin. A thrill tangled with something sharper—fear you don’t quite have control yet. 

Your back burns—ink and skin both grounding you.

Kidd huffs, running a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “We are NOT doing that again,” he mutters, voice low but deadly serious. “Understood?”

“Yes,” you whisper, still trembling.

“You’re lucky I’ve got you,” he says low. Wire glances between you and Kidd, unspoken words passing silently. 

The wings are gone, the danger has passed—but the night leaves its mark. Not a cage. Not a leash.

Just a line drawn in steel– if you fall, he’s close enough to catch you. And part of you doesn’t argue.

For a moment, neither of you moves. The night watch long since scattered by Wire. 

Your breathing steadies. His grip doesn’t loosen.

The adrenaline lingers—sharp, electric—now with nowhere to go.

Kidd’s hand still rests on your arm, steadying you, but his gaze is sharp.

“...You’re hovering again.”

His eyes flick once to your back—where the wings had been—before settling on you again, darker now. Focused.

“And you’re insane,” he mutters, low.

“Maybe,” you reply, smirk curling your lips. “But don’t tell me you can’t keep up?”

His grip doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens—like he’s still holding onto the fact that you almost slipped through his fingers.

He narrows his eyes. “Try me,” he growls.

“Or what? You’ll swoop in and save me again? Don’t tell me you’re getting soft,” you pause, “Captain.”

His jaw tightens, a faint smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Soft?” he echoes, voice dark, teasing. “You’re lucky I have a taste for chaos.”

“Oh, I’m full of chaos,” you shoot back. “Maybe even too much for the infamous Eustass Kidd.”

Kidd doesn’t answer with words. His hand curls around your waist, firm. The next second, you’re hoisted over his shoulder, your arms flailing, a surprised laugh spilling from your mouth.

“Hey! Put me down!”

“Not a chance,” he says, boots thudding against the deck as he strides toward his quarters. “You pushed it, Mouse. Now you deal with the consequences.”

“Consequences? This is kidnapping!” 

A sharp smack cuts through your protest—your words die on your tongue as heat blooms across your skin.

“You’ll call it whatever you want once we’re inside.”

Your protests dissolve as quickly as your cheeks burn, the tension between you crackling like fire. And just like that, the playful battle—the teasing, the test of wills—becomes something heavier—something that doesn’t need words to promise what comes next.

*****************NSFW below- Read at your own risk!*******************

SMACK!

You gasp as Kidd’s hand cracks against your ass again. You squirm in his lap, straining against his hold.

“Nah, Mouse—” he scoffs. “You don’t get to play innocent now.”

Another sharp hit lands.

“This is exactly what you wanted.”

He leans in, breath rough against your ear.

“What you needed.”

A broken moan slips from your lips as your hands stay pinned in his iron grip, your body stretched helplessly over his lap. His palm comes down again—quick, stinging.

“Kidd…” you whine.

“Tch.” His hand drags down from your ass to your thighs. “Don’t think you’re supposed to be enjoying your punishment, little mouse.”

His fingers slip lower.

He smirks.

“Is this all for me, Y/N?”

Two fingers spread you open, slow and deliberate, the wet sound filling the space between your breaths.

“Kidd…” you moan again, softer this time.

He keeps the same steady pace, unmoved.

“Damn brat,” he mutters. “This isn’t for your enjoyment.”

Then he’s gone.

The loss barely registers before his hand comes down hard against the backs of your thighs—again, and again, sharp and unrelenting.

You cry out, tears pricking your eyes as slick gathers beneath you, soaking into his lap.

“Look at you—” Kidd clicks his tongue, hands smoothing over the heated skin he just struck. “Pathetic little mess.”

His grip tightens, possessive.

“Can’t even help yourself… gettin’ off on the pain.”

His hand comes down three more times—sharp, unrelenting.

Before you can catch your breath, he’s moving. Gathering you up, flipping you onto the bed in one rough motion.

You land on your knees.

Your slick drips down your thighs, exposed, helpless.

Presented.

“Fuck, Mouse—” You hear the shift of fabric, the drop of his clothes.

You turn your head, desperate—needing to see him.

Needing—

Kidd’s hand tangles in your hair and shoves your face into the sheets.

“Nuh-uh.” His voice drops, firm. “You don’t get to look.”

His weight settles behind you.

“This is for me. My enjoyment.”

His hands drag slowly up your spine, sending a shiver through your entire body.

“Your pussy’s gonna be a good little cocksleeve.”

Goosebumps flare in his wake.

“Don’t you dare move,” he warns, voice low and final. “You stay right there… and take it like my good little slut.”

A final crack lands against your ass—

And then he’s inside you.

All at once.

Hard. Deep.

You cry out, fingers twisting into the sheets as your body jolts forward. There’s no time to adjust—no easing in, no mercy. Just the overwhelming stretch, the force of him driving into you.

Your thighs tremble, but you hold the position. You stay.

Kidd’s hips snap forward again, setting a brutal pace from the start.

It almost too much—like he might split you open—

But gods—

It feels good.

“Fuck, Mouse—” his voice breaks, rougher now. “So tight—”

His grip tightens on your hips, forcing you back onto him as his pace builds—relentless.

“—squeezin’ me like that… fuck.”

The head of his cock drives deep, pressing hard as your muscles tighten around him. You feel him twitch inside you, his breath turning rough, uneven.

“Fuck…” he growls. “Your cunt was made for me.”

“No one else is gonna hit you like this—”

He breaks off with a sharp breath, hips snapping forward again.

“—mine.”

He leans down, breath hot against your ear, the word low and possessive.

Then— his pace slows.

Just enough to make you feel it.

Every inch.

A slow, deliberate drag out— and a hard push back in.

You choke on a moan.

“Look at you,” he mutters. “Greedy little pussy… eatin’ me up.”

His mouth finds your neck, biting, sucking, marking.

Your hips jerk despite yourself, your pussy stretching around him, pressure building fast—too fast—right at the edge.

His hand presses firm against your spine.

A warning.

Don’t move.

His thrusts stay slow. Controlled. Each one winding you tighter, tighter—until you’re trembling under him.

“Kidd… please—”

“Who owns this pussy?”

You gasp, words catching as your body tightens again.

His hips snap forward—

“Who.”

He pulls back—

“Does.”

Another thrust, deep—

“This.”

His breath stutters.

“Pussy—”

His hand slides to your throat, tightening just enough.

“—belong to?”

You break.

“YOU—!”

The word tears out of you as release hits hard, your core clenching around him as the tension finally snaps.

Kidd groans, pace turning rough, desperate as he chases his own high—

“Tch… who said—”

His hips stutter.

“—fuck—”

“Who said your little pussy was allowed to cum, Mouse?”

“Ngh—… ugh—… mm—” Your words won’t come—falling apart on your tongue.

“Fuck, Y/N…” Kidd hisses, voice rough, right against your ear. “Did I fuck that pretty little brain dumb?”

A broken sound is all you manage in response.

He groans low, grip tightening.

“Perfect…” he breathes. “My perfect little toy.”

His thrusts lose their rhythm—turning rough, uneven.

“Take me so fuckin’ well…”

Harder. Faster. Sloppier—control slipping as he drives into you, chasing it—

Until—

“FUCK!”

He buries himself deep, body locking as he spills everything he has with a final, brutal thrust.

Kidd stays there a moment—buried deep, breath shaking—like he’s making sure you didn’t slip through his fingers again.

[kit-kat0037]

Update!

Hey guys! I don't know how many actually read this or care but just wanted let y'all know I have not forgotten about the story! I had mentioned at the very beginning I have a fairly demanding day job and April-May are 2 of the CRAZIEST months. So I promise the next chapter is coming soon and I was even able to start on a few extra chapters.

Thank you for all of the support and interest, I honestly did not expect this to get as much attention or interest as it has. So please bare with me and I am doing my best for the next chapter to NOT disappoint.

Have an awesome weekend!!

[dawnsarchive]

Let Me Love You (Kid x Reader)

One Piece | Eustass Kid | 3.8k | Masterlist

Not much that Kid said offended you. How could it? He had a foul mouth at the best of times and didn’t think through much before he said it. You got used to it quickly.

But sometimes… Sometimes he really could get to you.

You leaned into his side, the night stretching long and quiet around you, your head dipping every few seconds as sleep pulled at you. The wind bit through your clothes, sharp and persistent, but it barely reached where you were tucked against him. His coat was heavy over your shoulders, feathers brushing your cheek whenever the ship shifted, trapping his warmth around you.

The hull creaked softly, the steady rhythm of waves slapping against the ship lulling you further under. It would have been easy to drift off completely like this, pressed into somebody solid and warm while the rest of the world rocked gently around you.

Kid nudged you. “Oi, you’re on watch. Don’t go falling asleep.”

Rich of him to say. He sounded half asleep himself.

“I can’t help it. You’re so warm.”

“Fall asleep and I’ll throw you overboard.”

“I’ll drag you with me,” you mumbled though there wasn’t a chance you could pull that off.

Still, you moved to sit up and his grip over your arm tightened, dragging you closer to his side before you could get too far. You snuggled closer.

If anybody approached the ship on any night when you were on watch, you feared they’d easily get past you. This was a near constant occurrence any time you weren’t asleep in his room. He claimed he just couldn’t sleep. Nobody believed him.

You had a bed in the women’s quarters. It was just you hadn’t used it in so long that everybody else used it as extra storage.

“What are you daydreaming about now?”

“You,” you hummed. “When we first met, I thought you were a rude bastard.”

Kid laughed, a sharp and barking sound. “I am.”

“True but for a rude bastard, you don’t let me get cold or lonely up here. I might have to start rethinking the title.”

“Only ‘cause you don’t stop whining when you’re cold.”

“If you were asleep in bed, you wouldn’t have to hear it.”

“Not true. You’re loud enough about it.”

You smiled to yourself, turning your head closer to him. “I really do lov – ”

“No.”

The sudden bite in his tone startled you enough to rouse you from your pleasant drifting. You sat up and he didn’t drag you back like usual. The cold air nipped at your shoulders and his gaze remained firmly fixed on the ocean beyond you.

“No?” you repeated.

He finally dragged his eyes to you, his expression far sterner than you’d ever seen aimed toward you before. “We don’t do that shit.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We fuck. That’s it.”

You frowned heavily. That was far from the only thing you did. Not even in the beginning…

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly. I don’t want to hear any of that crap from you again. Else we’re done. Stop getting distracted while you’re on watch.”

Hurt ached deep in your chest but he didn’t give you a second to respond. He stood and left you sitting on the deck alone. You watched him go, unsure if the agitation or the sadness were stronger. Both seemed pretty even.

Instead of dealing with that, you grabbed a coat from behind a few crates – shoved there before he arrived.

After your shift was relieved, you marched back to the women’s quarters with huff enough that Heat gave you a wide berth even half-asleep. You didn’t bother shoving stuff off your bunk and just pulled your pillow a little out, lying next to it.

What was wrong with Kid? You knew your relationship wasn’t just fucking. Everybody knew that. Was he actually losing it now?

Tears tried to force their way up but your agitation kept them at bay.

When the other women woke up in the morning, they offered apologies that you didn’t quite hear and quickly moved their things from your bed. You didn’t give any explanation to them and they didn’t ask.

Because you already knew who you were ranting to about this.

“Your best friend is a dick.”

Killer inclined his helmet toward you. “What did he do?”

“Did you know that we’re just fuck buddies? Because I didn’t!”

“I hear enough to believe it.”

“Fine, yes, we sleep together but there’s more to it too! Enough that when I say ‘I love you’ it shouldn’t be treated like ‘I fucked your sister’.”

“Ah.”

“He could have been nice about a rejection at least.”

“There was minimal yelling so that was as nice as you could have expected.”

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. You knew he’d take Kid’s side but come on, you would have appreciated a little sympathy from the man who had told you so long ago to just make a move. The actual reason you were in this situation in the first place, if you thought about it.

“What was so wrong about what I said?”

“Nothing. He just doesn’t like the word. Never has.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“You can keep trying if you want.”

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe I don’t love him anymore then. After what he did, I may as well just ignore whatever we had.”

“That would make things easier. He’s hasn’t left his workshop.”

“Don’t care.”

You stormed away, aware you were drawing attention but why should you care? Who didn’t like the word love? Who… No, you were being a bit too hurt about this. You forced yourself to take a few deep breaths.

It would be fine. You could just ignore him for a while and then it would all go back to normal.

Habit brought you to his workshop before you even noticed it. The door stood slightly ajar in a way it never had before you started your relationship with him. A silent welcome that everybody knew was for you alone.

You really should try and put it out of your mind and give him some space.

You stepped inside without waiting.

The air was thick with heat and the sharp scent of oil, metal scattered across every surface in half-finished pieces. The ship’s constant sway carried through the room, tools shifting faintly where they hadn’t been secured properly. Kid didn’t look like he had slept. There was a smear of grease along his jaw, his shoulders tight as he worked, like the act of focusing was the only thing keeping him from snapping.

You dropped into your usual seat across from him, the wood creaking under your weight, your foot brushing against his without asking permission.

“You’re a dick,” you told him.

He rolled his eyes. “Did you come looking for a fight or something?”

“No. Just needed to tell you that.”

“Fine.”

You turned your attention over your shoulder purposefully, staring through the window at the sea beyond. He continued working on whatever prototype he was playing with, drawing metal closer to his arm in varying shapes.

But try as you might, you kept looking back at him and whatever he was busy with.

“Need me to hold something?”

“If you’re not going to fucking stab me with it, hold this here.”

You glanced at him in annoyance but picked up the tool he gestured at, his attention clearly anywhere but on what he was doing. You’d seen him pretend to do this while distracted before. He couldn’t fool you. You could see he was getting annoyed with how he kept messing up. Waiting in obvious irritation.

Fine. If he wanted to talk about it but not bring it up.

“You hurt my feelings.”

“You’ll get over it,” he answered gruffly.

You looked at him unimpressed. “Do you know why it hurt as much as it did? It’s because I wasn’t lying to you when I said that I do l – ”

“Stop it.”

You gave him an exasperated look. “Kid.”

“If you’re going to bring sappy shit in here, you can get the fuck out.”

“We are not just fucking and you know that.” You leaned forward slightly without thinking, like getting closer might force him to actually hear you.

His attention snapped onto you. “Not now, we’re not. And not again if you don’t drop this.”

You didn’t back down. “That’s not a threat.”

“Wasn’t meant to be.”

“I don’t need to say it fully if you know what I meant.”

“Don’t even think about it. Hold this tighter.”

You pressed your weight against it, wondering why you still helped him even when he was trying to push you away. “Why are you like this?”

“If it bothers you so much, you can leave.”

You didn’t but neither did he. You took that as progress.

Two days passed and you kept your spot in the women’s quarters, artfully dodging questions from the rest of the crew about the change. An illness or something. You gave different reasons to everybody and eventually they stopped asking.

“You have like a half a relationship. You’re fighting but still together constantly,” Dive commented.

“We’re not fighting,” you corrected. “He’s just being hard-headed.”

Stubborn enough that the next time you ran into marines, you were both clearly in annoyed moods. Kid’s brutality was on the next level and you were distracted, watching him more than the enemies. For the most part, it was fine. The others more than made up for your distraction but as the fight began to look like an undeniable victory, you heard a soft click.

Sometimes you all underestimated the average marine grunt. A gun was still a gun. One a little too close for your obviously distracted captain.

The shot cracked through the air loudly and you moved without thought.

Your body jerked, breath catching hard in your throat like something had knocked the air clean out of you. Heat bloomed low in your stomach, sharp and wrong, and when you looked down your hands were already there, pressing instinctively against the spreading warmth.

Blood slipped between your fingers, thick and slick, soaking into your skin faster than you could process it.

Kid didn’t turn for the ringing of the shot. He only turned because of your sudden little gasp of air, drawn in tightly through your teeth.

The man who shot you was crushed beneath a metal hand before the pain even hit you.

“Idiot! What the fuck did you do that for?!’

You tried to stop yourself from stumbling but it didn’t quite work. Your back hit the railing and you slid down, gaze flicking to his for just a second before your head drooped forward.

Thank the sea you woke up, because if you hadn’t, Kid probably would have killed you himself.

You woke slowly, awareness coming in pieces. The pounding in your head hit first, then the weight of your body and its pain.

It settled low in your stomach, sharp and heavy, dragging a strained breath from you as everything clicked back into place. The bandages that wrapped around your torso were so thick that it hurt to move and you pressed your palms gently against them.

The door slammed open so hard it rattled against the frame, the sound echoing through the small space and making your head throb. You flinched despite yourself, vision still slightly unfocused, and managed a weak, crooked smile that did nothing to ease the tension already coiled in his shoulders.

“I just woke up,” you said, voice rough. “So save the shouting for later.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do!” he snapped, stepping fully into the room. “You’re lucky I didn’t let you bleed out for being so goddamn stupid!”

You winced slightly at the volume but held his gaze. “Did you get hurt?”

“Obviously not!”

“Then it worked.”

For a second, it looked like he might actually lose it. Every muscle in his body was pulled tight, jaw clenched hard enough to ache just looking at it. But instead of exploding, he threw his hand up sharply and turned away, storming back out of the room like he couldn’t stand being in it anymore.

The door slammed behind him, leaving the space ringing in his absence.

“He’s really pissed at me, isn’t he?” you asked Heat the same day you left the med bay, able to walk and eat by yourself.

“Yeah, he is. Think you gave him a real fright. You’re not as sturdy as most of us.”

“I don’t know about that. I can take Kid pretty well.”

He gave you a look and you laughed. It was getting easier to do that at least. Sneezing still remained your biggest foe but at least you could laugh.

You tried to talk to Kid for the rest of the day but he really was dedicated to ignoring you. He stormed away from you whenever he got the chance. You found his workshop door locked. That part stung. More than you liked to admit.

You’d been injured before but then he’d acted more like an annoyed guard dog than anything, refusing to let you even move.

Now for this, he left you be?

The next day, you had enough. You made your way to the workshop after dinner, slowly plopped yourself down and waited. Killer stepped over you twice, his helmet tilted down to you curiously.

“Do you want me to tell him that you’re here?”

“Please don’t. I want him to leave the room today.”

You shifted slightly where you sat outside, your back protesting, the dull burn in your stomach flaring every time you moved wrong. Your head dipped forward again, exhaustion dragging at you harder than you wanted to admit.

The door finally wrenched open.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

You blinked up at him, forcing your eyes to focus. “Waiting for you.”

“Move.”

“Can’t really,” you said, your voice slower now, weighed down by fatigue. “Been here too long. Turns out getting shot has consequences.”

He stared at you for a second longer than necessary, irritation flickering across his face before something else cut through it.

“Fine. Stay there.”

You watched him walk away, boots heavy against the floor, each step sharp with lingering frustration. Your eyes drifted closed again. Sleeping wouldn’t be so bad.  

Rough hands slid under you without warning, lifting you clean off the ground. The sudden movement pulled a quiet sound from you, pain flaring through your middle, but you didn’t fight it. You folded into him immediately, arms wrapping around his neck as you pressed close.

“Can we go to your room?” you murmured against him.

“You lost that chance when you started sleeping with the women.”

“Kid,” you complained softly, your grip tightening slightly. “I took a bullet for you. Most people would consider that a sign of loyalty.”

“A sign of stupidity,” he muttered, adjusting his hold on you as the ship rocked beneath his feet. “I didn’t ask for that.”

“You’re not meant to ask. That’s just what people do when they lo – ”

“Do you want me to drop you?”

You sighed under your breath, running one hand playing with the back of his hair. “No. I’m just saying what I feel.”

“Stop it then.”

“I can’t just stop. That’s not how feelings work.”

“I have my devil fruit. That fucking bullet wouldn’t have even touched me.”

You hummed. “You wouldn’t move fast enough. He was too close and you were already distracted.”

“You wanna fucking bet? Fine. Tomorrow, try and shoot me and we’ll see what happens.”

You blinked away the sleep from your eyes and lifted your head. What little lights there were in the halls of the Victoria cast deep shadows over his surly expression. He was purposefully not looking at you.

“You’ve gotten hurt for me before. It’s no different.”

“I have not.”

“Kid.”

“What do you fucking want from me?”

“Just talk to me.”

“We’re talking right now. It ain’t getting us nowhere.”

He shouldered open the door to his room. You breathed out a soft sigh of relief at the familiarity. Though you hadn’t been there in a few days, all of your stuff was still exactly where you had left it. Not even the soft blanket you’d found a few islands ago had been moved from the bed – shoved up against the side where he dropped you. Not gently but not with force enough to hurt.

“Go to bed,” he grumbled.

“Make up your mind.”

“The fuck do you mean?”

You tried to sit up but decided against it thanks to the pain in your stomach. “Either push me away or don’t. You can’t just change your mind on me constantly.”

“You’re the one making a problem out of it.”

“Then why bring me here not to my bed?”

His eye twitched, voice snapping louder. “I brought you here so your stupid fucking decisions don’t wake up every one else! Not because of whatever reason you’re making up in your head.”

Poor Killer was probably not getting any sleep next door. You sent him silent sympathies but you weren’t backing down.

“You’re so full of it.”

“Whatever.”

“Why won’t you just let me love you?”

He froze the moment you said the word, finally able to get it out. He stepped close to the bed, looming over you with a glare harsher than you’d seen before.

“Take it back.”

“What? No, I’m not going to – ”

“Can’t you see what all that crap causes?” he asked, interrupting you sharply. “The moment you start with all that love bullshit and you’re getting yourself shot! If you had just listened to me, you’d be fine.”

You paused, confused. “What?”

He leaned in to lightly poke at your bandaged middle. “Love gets you fucked up.”

“I’ve gotten hurt for the crew before,” you said. “So have you. So has everybody else. It has nothing to do with admitting I’m in love with you.”

“This is different.”

“How?”

“It just is!”

You caught his arm and pulled him. He let you drag him closer so that he was half on the bed, his glare still harsh. You ran your fingers lightly over his forearm, the gentle contact causing some of the agitation to leave his shoulders.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you said. “I’ve been in love with you for ages. I just chose to say it for once. If I had the choice, you know I would die for you regardless of whether or not you let me say the word.”

“I don’t need people to fucking die for me.”

“That’s not a choice you get to make. Love isn’t some kind of cursed word that if I say it, I’ll just disappear. It’s your fault anyway. You made me fall in love with you.”

“Don’t blame me for your stupid choices.”

“Do you love me too?”

He opened his mouth to bark a denial but then he paused. Pressed his lips closed and chose to glare at you instead. You waited for the answer that you were becoming surer of by the second. Because Kid never held back on telling you things.

Apparently except for this.

“It won’t kill you to have somebody in love with you.”

“I know I’ll be fine,” he snorted. “You’d need a lot more take me out.”

“Then trust that it would take more for me too.”

The bed creaked under his weight as he shifted forward, crowding into your space. His fingers closed tight around the side of your neck as he yanked you closer.

The kiss was rough from the start, bruising pressure and teeth. Not anger but something very close to it. Your nails bit into his arm and his side as you responded in kind. You pulled him down over you, refusing to give him any distance to retreat into.

If this was what he wanted then fine.

A low sound slipped out of you when he pushed your legs apart and pressed in between them, solid and unyielding. You arched up into him without thinking, the heat of it cutting straight through the irritation still buzzing under your skin. Pain flared through your middle at the movement, sharp enough to pull a breath from you, but you didn’t stop.

The bed slammed against the wall as he shifted his weight, his mouth breaking from yours just long enough to latch onto your neck. His teeth sunk in deep enough to make you moan.

Then three sharp knocks on the other side of the wall.

“She’s still injured,” Killer’s voice came through, flat and unimpressed.

Kid jerked back just enough to snarl, slamming his fist against the wall in response. “Didn’t ask!”

You stayed where you were for a second longer, like it might come back if neither of you moved.

Then he exhaled hard and dropped back onto the bed beside you, staring up at the ceiling like it had personally offended him. You turned onto your side and pressed into him, your head still a little light from everything that had just happened.

Killer might be right. You were still very annoyed at him.

The silence thrummed between you and you pressed a gentle hand against your stomach to sooth the ache. All the movement today had done nothing good for it.

“I don’t do that crap,” Kid muttered suddenly. “You’re obviously important to me. What more do you want?”

“Just let me love you,” you responded. “It’s not the strangest request you’ve heard of.”

He scoffed. “You’ve got to be joking. It’s definitely not a normal thing to be in love with somebody like me.”

“Don’t care what other people think is normal. I love you.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Say whatever you want.”

You ignored that, walking your fingers up his chest. “You’re allowed to say it back if you want to.”

“Not a chance.” His arm shifted around you either way and you lifted your head to rest against his bicep.

You shrugged, closing your eyes and drifting off. It was good to be back in your bed again. The ones downstairs were never this comfortable. Though maybe that had something to do with the company.

“If you had died,” he said and you lifted your head. “And I had said that to you…” He trailed off for far too long. “Whatever. Just don’t fucking do something that dumb again.”

“No promises.”

“I’ll lock you in this room and never let you leave.”

“I’ll find a way out. Don’t worry, I love you too.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“I know but I read through the lines.”

“Shut up.”

“No.”

He grumbled under his breath. “I’m sleeping now. You better do the same.”

You sighed dramatically. “Fine. Goodnight, Kid.”

“Night.” Then softer, quiet enough that you almost didn’t hear it. “Stop doing stupid shit.”

“I’ll try. Love you too.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

[dawnsarchive]

Let Me Love You (Kid x Reader)

One Piece | Eustass Kid | 3.8k | Masterlist

Not much that Kid said offended you. How could it? He had a foul mouth at the best of times and didn’t think through much before he said it. You got used to it quickly.

But sometimes… Sometimes he really could get to you.

You leaned into his side, the night stretching long and quiet around you, your head dipping every few seconds as sleep pulled at you. The wind bit through your clothes, sharp and persistent, but it barely reached where you were tucked against him. His coat was heavy over your shoulders, feathers brushing your cheek whenever the ship shifted, trapping his warmth around you.

The hull creaked softly, the steady rhythm of waves slapping against the ship lulling you further under. It would have been easy to drift off completely like this, pressed into somebody solid and warm while the rest of the world rocked gently around you.

Kid nudged you. “Oi, you’re on watch. Don’t go falling asleep.”

Rich of him to say. He sounded half asleep himself.

“I can’t help it. You’re so warm.”

“Fall asleep and I’ll throw you overboard.”

“I’ll drag you with me,” you mumbled though there wasn’t a chance you could pull that off.

Still, you moved to sit up and his grip over your arm tightened, dragging you closer to his side before you could get too far. You snuggled closer.

If anybody approached the ship on any night when you were on watch, you feared they’d easily get past you. This was a near constant occurrence any time you weren’t asleep in his room. He claimed he just couldn’t sleep. Nobody believed him.

You had a bed in the women’s quarters. It was just you hadn’t used it in so long that everybody else used it as extra storage.

“What are you daydreaming about now?”

“You,” you hummed. “When we first met, I thought you were a rude bastard.”

Kid laughed, a sharp and barking sound. “I am.”

“True but for a rude bastard, you don’t let me get cold or lonely up here. I might have to start rethinking the title.”

“Only ‘cause you don’t stop whining when you’re cold.”

“If you were asleep in bed, you wouldn’t have to hear it.”

“Not true. You’re loud enough about it.”

You smiled to yourself, turning your head closer to him. “I really do lov – ”

“No.”

The sudden bite in his tone startled you enough to rouse you from your pleasant drifting. You sat up and he didn’t drag you back like usual. The cold air nipped at your shoulders and his gaze remained firmly fixed on the ocean beyond you.

“No?” you repeated.

He finally dragged his eyes to you, his expression far sterner than you’d ever seen aimed toward you before. “We don’t do that shit.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We fuck. That’s it.”

You frowned heavily. That was far from the only thing you did. Not even in the beginning…

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly. I don’t want to hear any of that crap from you again. Else we’re done. Stop getting distracted while you’re on watch.”

Hurt ached deep in your chest but he didn’t give you a second to respond. He stood and left you sitting on the deck alone. You watched him go, unsure if the agitation or the sadness were stronger. Both seemed pretty even.

Instead of dealing with that, you grabbed a coat from behind a few crates – shoved there before he arrived.

After your shift was relieved, you marched back to the women’s quarters with huff enough that Heat gave you a wide berth even half-asleep. You didn’t bother shoving stuff off your bunk and just pulled your pillow a little out, lying next to it.

What was wrong with Kid? You knew your relationship wasn’t just fucking. Everybody knew that. Was he actually losing it now?

Tears tried to force their way up but your agitation kept them at bay.

When the other women woke up in the morning, they offered apologies that you didn’t quite hear and quickly moved their things from your bed. You didn’t give any explanation to them and they didn’t ask.

Because you already knew who you were ranting to about this.

“Your best friend is a dick.”

Killer inclined his helmet toward you. “What did he do?”

“Did you know that we’re just fuck buddies? Because I didn’t!”

“I hear enough to believe it.”

“Fine, yes, we sleep together but there’s more to it too! Enough that when I say ‘I love you’ it shouldn’t be treated like ‘I fucked your sister’.”

“Ah.”

“He could have been nice about a rejection at least.”

“There was minimal yelling so that was as nice as you could have expected.”

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. You knew he’d take Kid’s side but come on, you would have appreciated a little sympathy from the man who had told you so long ago to just make a move. The actual reason you were in this situation in the first place, if you thought about it.

“What was so wrong about what I said?”

“Nothing. He just doesn’t like the word. Never has.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“You can keep trying if you want.”

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe I don’t love him anymore then. After what he did, I may as well just ignore whatever we had.”

“That would make things easier. He’s hasn’t left his workshop.”

“Don’t care.”

You stormed away, aware you were drawing attention but why should you care? Who didn’t like the word love? Who… No, you were being a bit too hurt about this. You forced yourself to take a few deep breaths.

It would be fine. You could just ignore him for a while and then it would all go back to normal.

Habit brought you to his workshop before you even noticed it. The door stood slightly ajar in a way it never had before you started your relationship with him. A silent welcome that everybody knew was for you alone.

You really should try and put it out of your mind and give him some space.

You stepped inside without waiting.

The air was thick with heat and the sharp scent of oil, metal scattered across every surface in half-finished pieces. The ship’s constant sway carried through the room, tools shifting faintly where they hadn’t been secured properly. Kid didn’t look like he had slept. There was a smear of grease along his jaw, his shoulders tight as he worked, like the act of focusing was the only thing keeping him from snapping.

You dropped into your usual seat across from him, the wood creaking under your weight, your foot brushing against his without asking permission.

“You’re a dick,” you told him.

He rolled his eyes. “Did you come looking for a fight or something?”

“No. Just needed to tell you that.”

“Fine.”

You turned your attention over your shoulder purposefully, staring through the window at the sea beyond. He continued working on whatever prototype he was playing with, drawing metal closer to his arm in varying shapes.

But try as you might, you kept looking back at him and whatever he was busy with.

“Need me to hold something?”

“If you’re not going to fucking stab me with it, hold this here.”

You glanced at him in annoyance but picked up the tool he gestured at, his attention clearly anywhere but on what he was doing. You’d seen him pretend to do this while distracted before. He couldn’t fool you. You could see he was getting annoyed with how he kept messing up. Waiting in obvious irritation.

Fine. If he wanted to talk about it but not bring it up.

“You hurt my feelings.”

“You’ll get over it,” he answered gruffly.

You looked at him unimpressed. “Do you know why it hurt as much as it did? It’s because I wasn’t lying to you when I said that I do l – ”

“Stop it.”

You gave him an exasperated look. “Kid.”

“If you’re going to bring sappy shit in here, you can get the fuck out.”

“We are not just fucking and you know that.” You leaned forward slightly without thinking, like getting closer might force him to actually hear you.

His attention snapped onto you. “Not now, we’re not. And not again if you don’t drop this.”

You didn’t back down. “That’s not a threat.”

“Wasn’t meant to be.”

“I don’t need to say it fully if you know what I meant.”

“Don’t even think about it. Hold this tighter.”

You pressed your weight against it, wondering why you still helped him even when he was trying to push you away. “Why are you like this?”

“If it bothers you so much, you can leave.”

You didn’t but neither did he. You took that as progress.

Two days passed and you kept your spot in the women’s quarters, artfully dodging questions from the rest of the crew about the change. An illness or something. You gave different reasons to everybody and eventually they stopped asking.

“You have like a half a relationship. You’re fighting but still together constantly,” Dive commented.

“We’re not fighting,” you corrected. “He’s just being hard-headed.”

Stubborn enough that the next time you ran into marines, you were both clearly in annoyed moods. Kid’s brutality was on the next level and you were distracted, watching him more than the enemies. For the most part, it was fine. The others more than made up for your distraction but as the fight began to look like an undeniable victory, you heard a soft click.

Sometimes you all underestimated the average marine grunt. A gun was still a gun. One a little too close for your obviously distracted captain.

The shot cracked through the air loudly and you moved without thought.

Your body jerked, breath catching hard in your throat like something had knocked the air clean out of you. Heat bloomed low in your stomach, sharp and wrong, and when you looked down your hands were already there, pressing instinctively against the spreading warmth.

Blood slipped between your fingers, thick and slick, soaking into your skin faster than you could process it.

Kid didn’t turn for the ringing of the shot. He only turned because of your sudden little gasp of air, drawn in tightly through your teeth.

The man who shot you was crushed beneath a metal hand before the pain even hit you.

“Idiot! What the fuck did you do that for?!’

You tried to stop yourself from stumbling but it didn’t quite work. Your back hit the railing and you slid down, gaze flicking to his for just a second before your head drooped forward.

Thank the sea you woke up, because if you hadn’t, Kid probably would have killed you himself.

You woke slowly, awareness coming in pieces. The pounding in your head hit first, then the weight of your body and its pain.

It settled low in your stomach, sharp and heavy, dragging a strained breath from you as everything clicked back into place. The bandages that wrapped around your torso were so thick that it hurt to move and you pressed your palms gently against them.

The door slammed open so hard it rattled against the frame, the sound echoing through the small space and making your head throb. You flinched despite yourself, vision still slightly unfocused, and managed a weak, crooked smile that did nothing to ease the tension already coiled in his shoulders.

“I just woke up,” you said, voice rough. “So save the shouting for later.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do!” he snapped, stepping fully into the room. “You’re lucky I didn’t let you bleed out for being so goddamn stupid!”

You winced slightly at the volume but held his gaze. “Did you get hurt?”

“Obviously not!”

“Then it worked.”

For a second, it looked like he might actually lose it. Every muscle in his body was pulled tight, jaw clenched hard enough to ache just looking at it. But instead of exploding, he threw his hand up sharply and turned away, storming back out of the room like he couldn’t stand being in it anymore.

The door slammed behind him, leaving the space ringing in his absence.

“He’s really pissed at me, isn’t he?” you asked Heat the same day you left the med bay, able to walk and eat by yourself.

“Yeah, he is. Think you gave him a real fright. You’re not as sturdy as most of us.”

“I don’t know about that. I can take Kid pretty well.”

He gave you a look and you laughed. It was getting easier to do that at least. Sneezing still remained your biggest foe but at least you could laugh.

You tried to talk to Kid for the rest of the day but he really was dedicated to ignoring you. He stormed away from you whenever he got the chance. You found his workshop door locked. That part stung. More than you liked to admit.

You’d been injured before but then he’d acted more like an annoyed guard dog than anything, refusing to let you even move.

Now for this, he left you be?

The next day, you had enough. You made your way to the workshop after dinner, slowly plopped yourself down and waited. Killer stepped over you twice, his helmet tilted down to you curiously.

“Do you want me to tell him that you’re here?”

“Please don’t. I want him to leave the room today.”

You shifted slightly where you sat outside, your back protesting, the dull burn in your stomach flaring every time you moved wrong. Your head dipped forward again, exhaustion dragging at you harder than you wanted to admit.

The door finally wrenched open.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

You blinked up at him, forcing your eyes to focus. “Waiting for you.”

“Move.”

“Can’t really,” you said, your voice slower now, weighed down by fatigue. “Been here too long. Turns out getting shot has consequences.”

He stared at you for a second longer than necessary, irritation flickering across his face before something else cut through it.

“Fine. Stay there.”

You watched him walk away, boots heavy against the floor, each step sharp with lingering frustration. Your eyes drifted closed again. Sleeping wouldn’t be so bad.  

Rough hands slid under you without warning, lifting you clean off the ground. The sudden movement pulled a quiet sound from you, pain flaring through your middle, but you didn’t fight it. You folded into him immediately, arms wrapping around his neck as you pressed close.

“Can we go to your room?” you murmured against him.

“You lost that chance when you started sleeping with the women.”

“Kid,” you complained softly, your grip tightening slightly. “I took a bullet for you. Most people would consider that a sign of loyalty.”

“A sign of stupidity,” he muttered, adjusting his hold on you as the ship rocked beneath his feet. “I didn’t ask for that.”

“You’re not meant to ask. That’s just what people do when they lo – ”

“Do you want me to drop you?”

You sighed under your breath, running one hand playing with the back of his hair. “No. I’m just saying what I feel.”

“Stop it then.”

“I can’t just stop. That’s not how feelings work.”

“I have my devil fruit. That fucking bullet wouldn’t have even touched me.”

You hummed. “You wouldn’t move fast enough. He was too close and you were already distracted.”

“You wanna fucking bet? Fine. Tomorrow, try and shoot me and we’ll see what happens.”

You blinked away the sleep from your eyes and lifted your head. What little lights there were in the halls of the Victoria cast deep shadows over his surly expression. He was purposefully not looking at you.

“You’ve gotten hurt for me before. It’s no different.”

“I have not.”

“Kid.”

“What do you fucking want from me?”

“Just talk to me.”

“We’re talking right now. It ain’t getting us nowhere.”

He shouldered open the door to his room. You breathed out a soft sigh of relief at the familiarity. Though you hadn’t been there in a few days, all of your stuff was still exactly where you had left it. Not even the soft blanket you’d found a few islands ago had been moved from the bed – shoved up against the side where he dropped you. Not gently but not with force enough to hurt.

“Go to bed,” he grumbled.

“Make up your mind.”

“The fuck do you mean?”

You tried to sit up but decided against it thanks to the pain in your stomach. “Either push me away or don’t. You can’t just change your mind on me constantly.”

“You’re the one making a problem out of it.”

“Then why bring me here not to my bed?”

His eye twitched, voice snapping louder. “I brought you here so your stupid fucking decisions don’t wake up every one else! Not because of whatever reason you’re making up in your head.”

Poor Killer was probably not getting any sleep next door. You sent him silent sympathies but you weren’t backing down.

“You’re so full of it.”

“Whatever.”

“Why won’t you just let me love you?”

He froze the moment you said the word, finally able to get it out. He stepped close to the bed, looming over you with a glare harsher than you’d seen before.

“Take it back.”

“What? No, I’m not going to – ”

“Can’t you see what all that crap causes?” he asked, interrupting you sharply. “The moment you start with all that love bullshit and you’re getting yourself shot! If you had just listened to me, you’d be fine.”

You paused, confused. “What?”

He leaned in to lightly poke at your bandaged middle. “Love gets you fucked up.”

“I’ve gotten hurt for the crew before,” you said. “So have you. So has everybody else. It has nothing to do with admitting I’m in love with you.”

“This is different.”

“How?”

“It just is!”

You caught his arm and pulled him. He let you drag him closer so that he was half on the bed, his glare still harsh. You ran your fingers lightly over his forearm, the gentle contact causing some of the agitation to leave his shoulders.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you said. “I’ve been in love with you for ages. I just chose to say it for once. If I had the choice, you know I would die for you regardless of whether or not you let me say the word.”

“I don’t need people to fucking die for me.”

“That’s not a choice you get to make. Love isn’t some kind of cursed word that if I say it, I’ll just disappear. It’s your fault anyway. You made me fall in love with you.”

“Don’t blame me for your stupid choices.”

“Do you love me too?”

He opened his mouth to bark a denial but then he paused. Pressed his lips closed and chose to glare at you instead. You waited for the answer that you were becoming surer of by the second. Because Kid never held back on telling you things.

Apparently except for this.

“It won’t kill you to have somebody in love with you.”

“I know I’ll be fine,” he snorted. “You’d need a lot more take me out.”

“Then trust that it would take more for me too.”

The bed creaked under his weight as he shifted forward, crowding into your space. His fingers closed tight around the side of your neck as he yanked you closer.

The kiss was rough from the start, bruising pressure and teeth. Not anger but something very close to it. Your nails bit into his arm and his side as you responded in kind. You pulled him down over you, refusing to give him any distance to retreat into.

If this was what he wanted then fine.

A low sound slipped out of you when he pushed your legs apart and pressed in between them, solid and unyielding. You arched up into him without thinking, the heat of it cutting straight through the irritation still buzzing under your skin. Pain flared through your middle at the movement, sharp enough to pull a breath from you, but you didn’t stop.

The bed slammed against the wall as he shifted his weight, his mouth breaking from yours just long enough to latch onto your neck. His teeth sunk in deep enough to make you moan.

Then three sharp knocks on the other side of the wall.

“She’s still injured,” Killer’s voice came through, flat and unimpressed.

Kid jerked back just enough to snarl, slamming his fist against the wall in response. “Didn’t ask!”

You stayed where you were for a second longer, like it might come back if neither of you moved.

Then he exhaled hard and dropped back onto the bed beside you, staring up at the ceiling like it had personally offended him. You turned onto your side and pressed into him, your head still a little light from everything that had just happened.

Killer might be right. You were still very annoyed at him.

The silence thrummed between you and you pressed a gentle hand against your stomach to sooth the ache. All the movement today had done nothing good for it.

“I don’t do that crap,” Kid muttered suddenly. “You’re obviously important to me. What more do you want?”

“Just let me love you,” you responded. “It’s not the strangest request you’ve heard of.”

He scoffed. “You’ve got to be joking. It’s definitely not a normal thing to be in love with somebody like me.”

“Don’t care what other people think is normal. I love you.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Say whatever you want.”

You ignored that, walking your fingers up his chest. “You’re allowed to say it back if you want to.”

“Not a chance.” His arm shifted around you either way and you lifted your head to rest against his bicep.

You shrugged, closing your eyes and drifting off. It was good to be back in your bed again. The ones downstairs were never this comfortable. Though maybe that had something to do with the company.

“If you had died,” he said and you lifted your head. “And I had said that to you…” He trailed off for far too long. “Whatever. Just don’t fucking do something that dumb again.”

“No promises.”

“I’ll lock you in this room and never let you leave.”

“I’ll find a way out. Don’t worry, I love you too.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“I know but I read through the lines.”

“Shut up.”

“No.”

He grumbled under his breath. “I’m sleeping now. You better do the same.”

You sighed dramatically. “Fine. Goodnight, Kid.”

“Night.” Then softer, quiet enough that you almost didn’t hear it. “Stop doing stupid shit.”

“I’ll try. Love you too.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

[kit-kat0037]

Unbreakable Ch. 19

Masterlist

It's been a hot minute since we've heard from our beautiful spaghetti obsessed masked soldier!

**Again: Kidd and Killer are a package deal. I'm doing my best to leave this open ended so y'all can draw your own conclusion of the relationship but if reader is with Kidd then in some ways at the very least it will include Killer. **

Y/N finally takes control of her story—choosing her scars, choosing how she wears them. It had to be his hands. No one else should touch this. Tonight, pain becomes pride—Killer’s steady hand guiding every line. The captain won’t know what hit him. But you're about to show him what it really means to be his.

Killer POV

Killer notices the ship before he notices you.

The way it settles. The way the engines drop into that low, steady rhythm that feels almost like breathing. Kidd’s boots have stopped pacing overhead. The crew noise has thinned to something distant and unimportant.

Trust weighs more than steel. The last few months have proven that. 

So for once, this silence- it’s chosen.

He’s in his quarters. Mask off. It rests on the worktable beside his blades — metal catching low lantern light. No one comes in here uninvited. No one sees this version of him unless he allows it.

“Killer.” One word. Even. Measured.

He looks up immediately. You aren’t facing him.

He doesn’t reach for the mask. Doesn’t even glance at it.

If there is any flicker of hesitation in him, it dies quickly. You’ve seen his face before. Not often. Not casually. But enough. Enough that it mattered.

If there had ever been doubt after that day — after you woke screaming and looked at him like a stranger — he refuses to let it rule this room.

“I need something done,” you say, turning around. “And I need you to be the one to do it. You’re the only one who won’t make me explain it.”

Killer sets the cloth down slowly. Steel already clean. 

He studies you. Watching. Gauging.

“Go on.”

You turn just enough that he can see the hand already at the hem of your shirt. No hesitation. No second-guessing. Just resolve that’s already made the decision — ready to live with it.

“I want it covered,” you say, voice steady. “Not hidden. Rewritten.”

Something in his chest stills.

Killer is not a man of many words. He prefers to observe. Assess. Be the calm that holds when everything else fractures.

Losing you had placed a weight in his lungs he hadn’t known how to exhale.

Seeing what they had done cracked something open inside him.

Watching Kidd unravel in ways he couldn’t fix had done worse.

He doesn’t know what you’re about to ask. It doesn’t matter. His answer was yes.

The shirt lifts.

Killer inhales slowly through his nose — not in shock, not in pity. 

Recognition.

He’s seen marks like this before. Knows what they mean. Knows what they take long after the skin closes.

His jaw tightens — just slightly.

“What design?” he asks, voice level.

Your answer is immediate.

“The captain’s.” There’s a smirk. Sharp, familiar.

He stills. Not because he doesn’t understand. Because he understands exactly.

“You haven’t told him,” Killer says.

“No.”

“Why?”

You turn your head, meeting his eyes. And you don’t flinch. Not like before.

Not at his face. Not at the scars. Not at the sharp lines of him without armor.

Just steady. Unmovable.

Whatever doubt had lingered after that day— it washes away.

“Because this isn’t about asking permission,” you say. “And it’s not about fixing something. I can’t stand… I don’t want the bastards to have any control over my past. Bad shit happened. But I’m the one in control now. I get to choose what marks me. And I want him to see it when it’s mine.”

Killer studies you for a long moment. Your grit. Your spine. Killer had always accepted you as crew. As family. As Kidd’s.

Tonight, Killer sees something else.

Choice.

On this crew of violent idiots and brilliant monsters, only a handful stand behind the captain without question. And two of them are in this room.

“I’ll do it,” he says. “But once it’s inked, it’s permanent.”

A faint curve touches your mouth.

“So is loyalty.”

—

He prepares the space the same way he prepares his blades. Methodical. Careful. Reverent.

The mask stays on the table. He doesn’t hide from you. He doesn’t need to.

He lets the silence exist — exactly the way you asked. No questions. No excavation of wounds you didn’t offer.

You kneel forward on the bench he rigged. Arms braced. Hair tied up. Your back bare.

Offered, not exposed.

He feels the weight of it settle into his hands. The captain’s jolly roger sits faintly transferred across your shoulders, ghosted in pale lines.

Killer smirks- it suits you.

The needle hums to life. Low. Steady. He matches his breathing to it. Slow. Controlled.

He starts with the upper curve. The needle bites clean, sharp against scar tissue—turning scarred flesh into something chosen. The old mark resists. 

You don’t. 

You exhale instead, grounding yourself, steady as the engine beneath you.

Killer notices everything.

The tension. The release. The way you adjust when he shifts pressure. The way you never check if he’s still there. You never flinch. He can’t help the small, steady pride that settles in his chest.

At one point, your breathing changes. He pauses instantly.

“You good?” he asks, quiet.

“Yes,” you answer. Immediate. Certain. “Don’t stop.”

So he doesn’t. He keeps going — turning branded flesh into something chosen.

The lines take shape. Bold. Unmistakable. 

Kidd.

But it doesn’t swallow you. It doesn’t erase what was there. It stands over it.  With it. A scar forged in battle, claimed as your own.

“You love him,” Killer says. A fact. Like tide or gravity.

“I do.” No hesitation. “And you?” you ask after a moment.

Everyone knew Killer and Kidd were partners. Though few know the extent to which that means. 

Killer’s gaze stays steady on his work.

“Yes.” His jaw tightens slightly, but his hands stay steady.

No rivalry. No claim. Just shared orbit around the same blazing, catastrophic center.

The final line settles. And Killer studies the result. The jolly roger sits stark and permanent across your shoulders. The scar beneath it isn’t softened. Not erased– but claimed.

He cleans the skin carefully. Covers it. Hands steady in a way that feels almost ceremonial.

“You know this will go straight to his ego,” Killer says mildly.

You smile, a little crooked. “Let him have it– he’ll see it’s mine now.”

“Thank you.” you say.

Killer inclines his head.

When you leave, he remains seated longer than necessary. Mask still untouched on the table.

The needle silent.

He understands—it’s not secrecy, but a choice.

The Jolly Roger sits right on your skin.

Pride settles in his chest—quiet, steady. It had to be his hands. No one else should have touched this.

Kidd—loud, brutal, unyielding—has no idea what he’s about to be handed: a gift that will destroy him in the best possible way.