Kit_kat0037

[kit-kat0037]

Unbreakable Ch. 36

Masterlist

CW: None. injury, references to past trauma, emotional intimacy, protective/possessive dynamics, kissing, mild suggestive themes, healing trauma, body image/scar mentions.

Summary: You win the fight. Kidd worries anyway.

Between bruised knuckles, quiet pride, and a captain who insists on patching you up himself, one unsettling truth begins to surface—

Some wounds are healing a little too well.

Reader POV

You walk back to the ship between Heat and Wire, Killer following just behind. You can’t stop smiling. The rush of winning still pumping through you. The walk back is loud, as Heat retells your fight to the straggling crew you picked up along the way– bigger with every step. You let him. Wire chiming in to correct him when it gets too crazy. The crew laughs along, some commenting on the progress of your abilities. The praise burning your cheeks. 

Kidd waits against the railing, scowl ever present. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Moonlight cuts across him in hard silver lines. Arms crossed. Jaw tight. Eyes focused only on you. The laughter dies as you near the ship. You slow without meaning to, letting the others pass you.

“Hey” You say softly. 

He looks you over catching on the red of your knuckles and the bruising along your neck. His jaw clenches. 

“Tch… You’re hurt.” He’s not asking. He’s checking– but there’s no bite in his words as he reaches out for you. 

“I’m fine, Kidd.” You place a hand on his chest but he instinctively grabs it. Examining the evidence. 

“Bullshit. Yer telling me ya got these from just watchin’?” His thumb brushes over your knuckles. 

“Like you really believed me when I said I wouldn’t?” You tease trying to pull your hand away. His grip just tighten as he pulls you close. 

“Tch. Not the point Mouse.” Even in the moonlight you can catch the faint shade of pink growing on his cheeks. Without another word he pulls you across the deck to your room. 

“C’mon.” He pulls without looking back, “Gonna get ya cleaned up.”

You let out a laugh, “Kidd, I’m fine. Promise.” You really were fine. Better than fine. You hadn’t lost control, you held your own in a fight. Killer was trusting you again. You felt like you were floating on a cloud. 

Kidd shoots you a look and you go quiet. There’s more in that one look than he could ever say. You see it. The nerves he’s fought probably since you left. A silent plea wrapped in a mask of annoyance, begging you to let him take care of you. With a soft smile you follow him into his quarters and sit on his desk folding your legs. 

“Strip.” His voice gruff as he goes to grab a small aid kit he keeps in the room now. 

You unclasp the mask, placing it beside you on the desk. You peel off your shirt, wincing as you reach above your head. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Kidd. His scowl sets deeper, eyes narrowing to the large black bruise blooming beneath your bandages. Neither of you talk as he treats your scattered wounds– knuckles wrapped, dirt cleaned up. 

You know the truth though. Can feel it in the way his fingers soften when they reach you; in the way his eyes– set in that deep frown that would scare anyone else away, flick to yours every so often looking for any pain. Kidd cares in his own ways. Usually loud and practical. If something was broken, he fixed it. You know he cares for you. So why does that not feel like enough right now? 

His voice pulls you out of your thoughts. 

“You stayed in control,” Kidd says finally.

Not a question. A confirmation.

You nod once. “I felt it. But I didn’t let it take over.”

His hand comes up catching a loose strand of hair. Pushing it back he slides it down your cheek to your jaw. Kidd holds your chin between his fingers, firm. Like he needs to feel that you’re actually here beneath his touch. You couldn’t look away even if you wanted to. You don’t.

Your breath catches, not in fear. Not from him. His eyes are locked onto yours. The intense gaze nearly melts you as your breathing quickens. 

 “…I know.” His eyes never leave yours as he speaks. 

Kidd POV

Kidd watches as your breath comes quicker now. A smirk fighting his scowl at just how responsive you are to him, even just something as simple as a look. You’re still hurt though. You did good. Proved to yourself you could still fight—not just survive. 

Bruises never used to bother him. Pirates got hurt. That's how this life worked. If a few scrapes kept you down, you had no business sailing with the Kidd Pirates. Kidd knew you could take a hit. You always got back up. 

So why the hell did seeing them on you make something in his chest tighten?

His eyes flick to your leg. Prosthetic folded with your other leg as if it were flesh. Kidd clenches his jaw tighter. 

“Tch.” His hand moves from your chin down to the bandages you’re still wearing. 

“Shouldn’t these have come off already?” He tugs lightly at a corner. 

Your hesitation doesn’t make it past Kidd. But he doesn’t push. Not yet. 

“Shirts still irritate it.” You shrug. 

“You ain’t got a shirt on now, and I need to check that bruise.” He ticks his chin towards that bloom of black and blue just beneath the edge of the bandages. 

You tense. His eyes flick to yours- searching. 

“It’s fine.” You won’t meet his eye. You’re a shit liar. 

“Don’t care,” his voice is rougher now as he tries to swallow his anger– not at you, the lie. “Yer hurt. I’m checking.” He waits. You don’t move. 

“Tch. Mouse,” he warns, “either you take it off and I make sure everything’s fine like you say it is. Or– I pin you down on this desk and rip it off anyway. So which is it gonna be ya brat?” He gives you a pointed look. Reasonable had never been his strong suit. He wasn't about to start now. 

You roll your eyes and he smirks as you gently pull away the bandage. 

“Aww c’mon Mouse, no need to pout. To be honest I was kinda looking forward to pinning you.” A smile tugs at his smirk. 

“Bite me.” 

He grins now, all teeth. “Only if ya say ‘please’.” 

You remove the bandage and Kidd’s focus is pulled back to assessing the damage. The bruise is big, but from his limited knowledge that’s all it seems to be– a bruise. His shoulders relax. 

His thumb ghosts over the bruise without pressing. 

“Big guy?” He asks, never looking away. 

“Yeah” you huff. 

“Ya kick his ass?” His eyes meet yours again. 

“Yeah.” A proud smile lights up your face as Kidd smirks. 

“Good. That means ya earned this.” Kidd’s hand finds your waist as his thumb gently trails along the bruise. 

No hesitation anymore. You were finally fighting what was in front of you. 

His eyes flick to that scar just beside the bruise. Red and irritated from the fight. Kidd’s eyes narrow. Something tugged at him. 

The scar looked…too healed. Just– wrong.

Your hand finds his and he tears his focus away. Back to you. Kidd closes the distance. He takes your lips in his own. The kiss searing. Pride surges in him as you push back. 

There it is. The stubborn little shit he'd fallen for.

[transisstor]

Reblog if you think fanfiction is a legitimate form of creative writing.

[kit-kat0037]

Unbreakable Ch. 35

Masterlist

CW: canon-typical violence, blood, injury, trauma recovery, blood-related intrusive thoughts/temptation

Summary: you finally get the chance to put months of training to the test. Determined to prove you're more than the broken girl everyone keeps trying to protect. Meanwhile Killer watches from the sidelines, forced to decide whether protecting someone means stepping in… or letting them stand on their own. This fight isn't about winning. It's about trust. Trust in training. Trust in restraint. Trust that the person everyone thought was lost might still be there after all.

Reader POV

You walk along the beach, almost to the other side of the island rises into cliffs. Torches mark the entrance to a cave in the cliff side. Dug out by years of harsh high tides. The walls rise towards and open maw of rock at the very top, allowing moonlight to shine down on the makeshift ring set in the center. Sweat dirt and cheap liquor fill the dank sea air, clinging all around you. The cavern is packed with people, mostly locals and the few seedier looking tradesmen from the docks. Every shout echoes. The smooth, carved walls create a loud dome for noise to bounce off of. Torch light throws long shadows across the course packed sand. Rope barriers have been tied to stakes in a shape meant to be the ring. 

Two fighters already throwing punches. It’s brutal. Every thud and crack of skin on skin bouncing off the walls. Blood spraying. You reach for your mask instinctively. Filters fresh– working, dulling the scents of the world. Your world. One you had desperately missed. 

You breathe in, steady as Killer walks beside you, Heat and Wire following closely behind. You catch glimpses of familiar hair cuts and flashes of faces– most of the crew went off on drinking benders or finding anything with a pulse willing to get them off but a few apparently wound up here too. 

With a sickening crunch, the fight’s over. The winner stands, panting over his unconscious opponent. He’s big. Muscles corded beneath his skin. A familiar look in his eye. He’s enjoying this. A tingle runs the length of your spine. The Pitmaster’s voice slices through the noise, sharp—calling for the next challenger. Shedding your coat, you step into the ring before anyone has a chance to move. Killer stands at the edge of the crowd, still as stone. Heat and Wire just behind them– alert but grinning, ready to enjoy the entertainment. 

The crowd turns on you instantly—taunts and jeers echoing through the cavern. A few catcalls cut through and you almost laugh, grateful Kidd stayed on the ship. Your ears catch Heat shifting, ready to break someone’s teeth before Wire reins him in. Killer doesn’t move. Just watches. 

With a deep breath you step into the ring in front of the winner. He cracks his knuckles like this is already decided. He’s at least 2 heads taller than you. He’s smirking, staring at you like a predator stalking a clueless prey waiting to rattle you right out of the ring. But he doesn’t. The shouting grows, trying to swallow you whole. But it doesn’t. Because you aren’t just a broken mouse anymore. 

The bell rings and you’re circling. Scythes shift in your hands—familiar now. Natural. Controlled. Months ago you would’ve been thinking about your footing. Your balance. Your leg. Now your body just… moves.

He charges you, already swinging. You duck. Barely dodging as the force of his fist grazes your hair. 

Oh shit. 

He swings again, punch after punch dominating your space. It takes everything in you to keep your feet beneath you.  He rushes you—low, fast, trying to take you down. The crowd surges, hungry now. Not for a winner—just for blood. He’s close. Too close. Your wings shudder open. With one flap you jump over him, snapping them shut mid air as you land crouched. You swing low trying to catch his ankle with the prosthetic. He dodges. 

Damn. Your jaw ticks.

You stand, scythes ready. Your stance holds through the pivot. You use the scythes to keep the distance between you two. And you watch. Waiting– reading. That low frequency starts in the back of your throat. The world collapses into black and white, the vibrations of everything around you coming into focus. You see his muscles tense before he moves. Echoes letting you anticipate directions before they even start. 

He lunges. You side step reaching out your scythes you catch his arm and twist– forcing him to a knee. Redirecting him into your space now. With a sharp jerk your scythes retract back in as you pivot on the prosthetic connecting your boot to his face. A satisfying CRACK rings out as his head is wrenched sideways. He spits blood into the packed sand and looks back with a murderous glare. You stop the low frequency, shutting off your echolocation, your chest tight from the vibrations. 

Patience. Redirect. 

You watch as he circles, a new determination in his eyes. He realizes you're not prey. He seems to favor his right side, going more for force behind a punch than anything else. You balance your stance, ready to dodge. He charges, arm cocked back. You grip your scythes watching his fist, waiting. 

You don’t see him plant his foot early, stepping in front of you. His whole body pivots. He drops his weight, shoulder barreling into your body. The impact blasts every bit of air from your lungs. It knocks you back. Your prosthetic catches on something landing you on your ass– hitting sand. 

The crowd around you explodes with blood-thirsty excitement. Expecting to collect their bets sooner rather than later. You barely drag in half a breath before his hand clamps around your arm. He rips you off the ground. You swing helplessly from his grip for a heart beat. Long enough for him to line up the next hit. Then he drives his fist beneath your ribs. Sending you back to the ground choking for air, your stomach rolls. Black spots swim in your vision as you taste the coppery tang of blood.

Killer POV

The crowd cheers as you double over. 

“Shit.” Heat swore behind him. Wire shifting, ready to move. It takes everything in Killer to stand still. He clenches his jaw. Waiting. Killer jerks his head to the side, eyes never leaving you in the ring– a silent command. No.

He has to let you stand on your own. Prove to yourself you don’t need them to protect you every step of the way anymore. Prove he will keep his promise to you. It still feels like someone just stabbed him to do nothing. 

Heat and Wire tense, ready to step in if needed– first mate’s orders or not. The bastard stands over you grinning as you roll to your side. The crowd jeers, praising their champion. He turns his back to you reveling in the praise of his crowd. Killer keeps watching you.  

Get up. Get. Up.

Your shoulders lock, wings shuddering as you take a breath. You stand on shaking legs. Killer sees that look in your eyes– one he knows all too well. You’re pissed. But that just sharpens your focus. 

Killer watches as you stalk quietly behind your opponent, still too wrapped up in his own ego to notice you. You hold your scythes loose, not with the death grip you had earlier. There’s more flow in you. Like the scythes are just an extension now. The crowd notices you up too, alerting their champion. But it’s too late. 

You’re moving. With your wings fully out now you use them to dance around the ring, kicking up dust allowing some coverage for yourself as the black leathery membranes weave in and out of view creating confusion.  You strike. A chain rattling as your scythe hooks his elbow you pull him close landing your own punch to his chest. 

He swings. You duck. Moving for another hit he dodges low aiming for your prosthetic. Heat takes a step only stopping when Killer grips his shoulder. He hits your leg. You stumble back but don’t hit the ground. Your balance is finally steady, no longer favoring your real leg anymore. 

You lift your prosthetic and slam it down on the ground but he rolls away just in time. Wire lets out a tense cough. They can all feel the force back on a hit like that through their own legs.  But you’re finally fighting as if your body belongs to you. The scythes– true extensions now instead of borrowed props. Anyone who knows your crew can see their influence on you now. Heat’s force. Wire’s precision. Kidd’s relentless pressure. And something else. Something yours.

Their champ is up again– face red, chest heaving. You’re giving him a run for his money. He charges again but you don’t give him the chance to. You vault yourself up in the air arcing straight over him. He spins– no time to recover, balance gone. Your scythe cuts down in a clean arc. A shallow cut across his forearm. Blood blooming. Red. Dangerous. 

Killer’s hand tightens on Heat’s shoulder. 

“Killer–” Wire warns. 

“Wait.” Killer spits out the word, trying to choke down his own nerves. 

Flashes of that night fight in his mind. Kidd pale and gray. Blood dripping down your chin. You feeding like a feral predator. 

“Give her a chance.” It’s low and the commanders aren’t quite sure if Killer is telling them or himself. 

Wait.

Wait. 

C’mon Y/N. Don’t.

Every second drags like wading through oil. Killer watches as your chest expands, a deep breath. Slow. Controlled. Your grip on the scythes tightening, wings relaxing. Killer lets out a breath as you walk not to the blood but back to the fight. His hand stays on Heat– just in case. 

Your opponent rushes with a scream– all instinct now, not precision. He leaves himself wide open. The chain snaps taut as your scythe hooks his ankle—hard. You drive your shoulder into his chest with everything you have. He hits the ground, air punching from his lungs.

Your blade stops at his throat. Pinned. 

The crowd erupts. Some cheering others shouting in rage– most just trying to collect their winnings. The three commanders rush the ring to you. Your breathing is ragged, chest heaving but you're still here. Still in control. 

Heat barrels into you, lifting you clean off the ground while Wire grins beside him. You laugh, but your eyes find Killer's immediately. Searching. Hoping. Waiting for the one verdict that matters.

He dips his chin once. The relief that washes over you nearly undoes him. 

And something cracks. For months he'd been watching. Quietly wondering whether the woman they'd pulled from that auction house had ever truly made it back. He never said it out loud. Never burdened you with his fears—hell, he'd never really admitted them to himself. Not until now. He'd been so afraid of what you'd become that he'd stopped looking for who you'd always been. 

Your smile breaks. For the first time in a long time, it reaches your eyes. Wide. Unrestrained. Achingly familiar. 

There you are. He smiles beneath the mask, knowing no one can see. 

Pride settles in his chest. Quiet. Unavoidable, as you go back to celebrating with Heat and Wire. Killer lets his attention drift back to the sea beyond the carved rock. For the first time, it settles into place. Soon, you won’t need someone at the edge of every fight. Soon— You’ll be standing beside them.

Tonight wasn’t about the win. It was about you. And the world won’t be ready for what that means.

Y/N: "I just want to watch the fights." Five minutes later: immediately volunteers to fight the reigning champion.

Kidd when he finds out:

[axei]

Who the fuck was going to tell me that one goddamned episode was going to change Kidd and Killer from two characters I barely think about to a ship that I care more about than fucking zosan?

Wano spoilers

These two make me sick.

I'M SICK.

After writing this I'm just gonna warn you that these are the rambilings of a mad man. Read at your own risk.

Also slight nsfw warning.

I'm not even done with wano yet and I'm already clinging to every scrap of them I get.

They're childhood best friends. Kidd refers to Killer exclusively as his "partner". Kidd was sent back to the prison he tried so hard to escape because he wouldn't quit begging Killer to talk to him long enough to get away from the men who came to reimprison him. Killer hates his laugh, he hates his smile so much he always wears a mask. Killer ate a devil fruit that gave him no power and made him laugh uncontrollably. Kidd couldn't stop begging Killer to stop laughing, not because he hates Killers laugh, but because he knows KILLER hates his laugh. BECAUSE HE CAN'T BARE TO SEE KILLER DO SOMETHING THAT HE'S GONE THROUGH SUCH LENGTHS TO AVOID.

They make me sick. THEY WEAR MATCHING LIPSTICK.

DO YOU THINK KILLER PAINTS KIDDS NAILS CUZ HE CAN'T WITH ONE HAND??

sorry. I'm normal.

Kidd knew Killer before he started wearing the mask. Do you think Killer lets Kidd see his face? Do you think Kidd is slowly forgetting Killers face? Do you think he has pictures of Killer as a kid, pictures that he hides from Killer because Killer burned all the pictures of his face??

I AM SICK.

Not to mention the dynamic of them. They're both disabled in some way now. Kidd who hates asking for help but has things he can't do with one arm. He HAS to be helped and Killer is the only one he would ever trust with that. And KILLER!! ugh. Killer who has been Kidds straight man, his voice of reason for so long. Kidds anger issues were always so perfectly contrasted with Killers strong, steady silence. And then that silence is taken away. He is forced to laugh, forced to do this thing he hates so much, and now their dynamic has changed. Now he's the loud one. The one with no self control. KIDD WOULD BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF ANY ONE WHO DARED TO SAY SHIT ABOUT KILLER LAUGHING. Killer would start bursting out in uncomfortable or innaproprate situations and if someone would ever say anything about it Kidd would be on their ass before Killer could ever hear it.

Do you think they're in love? Do you think it's something so much more than that? Do you think they're so devoted to each other that they don't need words for it? Because this is how it is. It's how it's always been. They're partners, they always have been. They don't need to speak their love, of course they love each other. Of course they're a pair. They almost died together, baptized in the water that now renowns them for their sin. The first sin. The sin of partacing in the devil's fruit.

I MEAN COME ON!! THEY BOTH ATE DEVIL FRUITS. THEY BOTH COMMITTED THE FIRST SIN. TOGETHER. THEY WERE ALMOST DROWN TOGETHER. THEY WERE BAPTIZED NEXT TO EACH OTHER. KIDD ALMOST DIED WITH THE LAST SOUND STILL RINGING IN HIS EARS BEING THE SOUND OF KILLER CHOKING ON THE WATER THAT HE CAN'T KEEP OUT OF HIS LUNGS BECAUSE HE CAN'T STOP LAUGHING.

Kidd had to beg Killer to pull himself together because Kidd couldn't get out of the chains alone. Kidd who gave up so much to protect Killer, failed, and then had to ask Killer for help. UGH.

Do you think they kiss? Do you think Killer turns off the lights before letting Kidd lift up his mask? Do you think Kidd lets himself have a small moment of rare softness when he gently runs his fingers over Killers lips, his nose, his eyebrows, trying desperately to combine that child he once new with the face he's feeling now. Trying to piece together what the man must look like. Kidds hands which have only ever been used to hurt, scarred and rough, gentle only under the cover of dark and only felt by a man who will never speak of this.

Do you think Killer makes Kidd close his eyes even in the dark?

Do you think they have sex? Hard and fast and never spoken in the light of day. Actions that speak louder than words ever could. Late nights and drunken need and a crushing desire to prove something. To express something that neither of them could ever articulate. Do you think in the dead of night with the curtain drawn against even moonlight, that Killer lets his mask fall, buries his face in the back of Kidd's neck. Do you think Killer now laughs durring? Because he can't help himself? Do you think he feels so much shame immediately that he has to stop and put the mask back on?

Do you think he laughs every time he feels a strong emotion? Every important conversation, every tense moment, every serious discussion? Do you think Kidd has to physically shove the rage down when he does? When Kidd, the man who would kill any other man for laughing at him under any circumstances, being vulnerable to his best friend, his partner, the only person he's been honest to in his entire life, and is then is laughed at. Do you think it kills him a little? Do you think he has to tamper down the anger? To have to emotionally regulate himself in the way that Killer used to?

GOD THEY MAKE ME FUCKING SICK.

Do you think that one day Killer takes off his mask to eat and it becomes just another thing that they dont talk about. That Kidd has to choke back a comment, has to force himself not to stare.

I JUST REMEBERED KILLER USING THE FUCKING BANDAGES TO COVER HIS FACE BECAUSE HE LOST THE MASK UGH.

Killers mask is metal... He's constantly trusting Kidd to not manipulate it with his devil fruit. HE KNOWS THAT AT ANY POINT HE COULD HUMILIATE KILLER. BUT HE TRUSTS THAT NO MATTER HOW MAD KIDD GETS HE WILL NEVER DO THAT TO HIM. KIDD. KIDD WHO WILL KILL A MAN FOR LOOKING AT HIM WRONG AND YET HE WOULD NEVER EVER DO THIS ONE SIMPILE THING BECAUSE IT WOULD HURT HIS PARTNER!!! FUCK ME.

Ive been watching op for so many years and in ONE FUCKING EPISODE these two BUMFUCKS are my favorite ship???? Over zosan. Over frobin. Over namivi. I'm so mad.

I'm not done with wano so dont mention anything I havent said in this post please. Ive slipped most spoilers for them because no one cares about them like I do, I wanna keep it that way. This is such a sleeper hit of a ship ughh these chicken shits.

I'm back to edit this after posting it because I remembered KIDD WAS CRYING. HE HAD FUCKING TEARS IN HIS EYES. HE KNEELED IN FRONT OF KILLER WITH TEARS IN HIS EYES. I'M SO FUCKING SICK. KIDD, THE PROUDEST MAN IN THE WORLD KNEELED AT KILLERS FEET AND CRIED, BEGGING HIM TO STOP LAUGHING. AND THE REASON HE IS BROUGHT TO THE POINT OF TEARS AT KILLERS LAUGH ISN'T BECAUSE HE DOESN'T LIKE HIS LAUGH BUT BECAUSE KILLER HATES HIS LAUGH. BECAUSE THE IDEA OF KILLER DOING THIS THING HE HATES CRUSHES HIM. TO THE POINT OF TEARS AND BEGGING. I NEED THESE TWO FAGS. I WANT TO CRUSH THEM IN MY HANDS LIKE BUGS

[srpayt0n]

Soft Killer x Kid i made on magma

[live-from-flaturn]

“But you already wrote that trope.”

[artemisthehuntress]

[kit-kat0037]

Unbreakable Ch. 34

Masterlist

Overall MDNI, Slight Dead Dove. I own nothing, it is simply my opus magnum "what if" ficlit..... that may or may not be kicking my ass 😅

A/N: Reader POV, Kidd POV, Killer POV; *****= time jump

Warnings: Mentions of violence; Unhealthy coping mechanisms; Wounds/mentions of blood

Summary : The storm has passed—but healing is quieter than either of you expected.

A peaceful morning turns into an unexpected invitation, where the smallest routines begin stitching old wounds back together. But trust is easier aboard the Victoria Punk than it is in the world beyond it. When an underground fighting pit catches your attention, Kidd is forced to answer a question neither of you is really ready for:

Can he finally let you go? Or is some damage harder to leave behind than others?

Reader POV

You wake to morning light filtering into the cabin. Kidd's still in bed with you for once, sprawled across the mattress—one hand draped over you, the other resting on his stomach, blanket hanging off one ankle, snoring like a boiler. The deep lines between his brows aren't quite as pronounced this morning. 

You can’t help but smile. You untangle yourself from your dead to the world captain and head to the bathroom. You make sure to lock the door before taking off your shirt exposing the bandages. You unwrap them. The near-perfectly healed scar turns your stomach. You look away. Swallowing the lump in your throat you make a show as if the bandages really did need changing. 

You're not sure when, but somewhere along the way, your teeth had sharpened too. Pricking your thumb, you smear some blood on the used, clean bandages- just in case. You smooth the bandages back into place. If you don't have to look at the scar, you don't have to think about it. 

You’re pulling your shirt down as you open the door to find Kidd staring at the bathroom. 

"Morning," you say. 

"Mornin'," he huffs. 

“You good?” 

“Woke up without ya.” he folds his arms. 

You bite back a smile. Warmth floods you despite the hypocrisy. It takes everything in you to not roll your eyes. You turn, settling back onto the bed. 

“Just needed the bathroom.” You shrug. 

“Tch.” Kidd wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer, his chin fitting on your head.

“Mine.” 

You can’t help but smile now.

“Shut up.” 

“I didn’t say anything.” You smile more

“I can feel it.” He squeezes. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Uh-huh. Sure Mouse.” 

You sit there in silence letting him hold you, letting him be near you. After so long apart, it’s nice. He doesn't ask about the bandages. Doesn’t mention the last two weeks. He just holds you. You let yourself lean into him. 

For a little while, you let yourself believe the scar doesn't matter. You'll never use it again. You've already decided that. There isn't any point worrying him over something that's under control. The bandages will come off when the scar looks normal. By then, there won't be anything left to explain. 

Kidd kisses the crown of your head and grumbles as he gets up, dressing for the day. 

“So,” you hold your knees, “New Island?” 

“Yup”

“How far?” 

“Dunno. Log Pose shows maybe a few days.” 

Kidd grunts leaning back. He pulls on his pants, adjusting his belts.  

"I'm headin' to the workshop.”

"Oh." Your smile slips. "I can see if Mosh needs a hand today." 

Kidd's already halfway across the cabin before he stops and looks back. 

"The hell're you talkin' about?"

You blink.

"You comin’?"

Another blink. "...With you?"

"Tch." Kidd’s in front of you in three strides. 

You squeal as Kidd hauls you over his shoulder. 

"Kidd!" You jolt as he swats your butt. 

"...Seriously?" Your only answer is his smug grunt. 

"Quit yer pouting."

Kidd walks through the ship with you slung over his shoulder. Heat snickers as you pass. You flip him off, which only earns another round of howling laughter. 

The crew isn’t fazed. Then again, by this point in your journey not only as a Kidd pirate but also as Kidd’s woman– not much does. 

Kidd pushes his way into his workshop. Further down in the belly of the ship your ears pick up so much more of the sounds of the Punk. Valves hissing, pipes ticking, pistons clanking. Alive. Most days, you've learned to block out the whispers of those sounds. Down here, closer to the source, they envelop you. 

The workshop is its usual chaos—except for the stretch of table where Kidd deposits you. 

"Here." He drags a stool over with one foot before dropping a handful of nuts, bolts, and a wrench into your lap. 

You look down confused. You couldn’t hammer a nail to save your life, much less actually build anything. 

“Kidd” You draw out his name in warning. 

“Tch. You really think I’d trust you with a wrench?” He points to the bits in your hand then to himself. 

“Just hand me the shit I need.” 

You sit there awkwardly with the tools, as if waiting for them to sprout limbs and run away,  flipping you off.  

"Socket." You hand it over.  

"Not that socket." He hands it back not looking away from his project.

"...You own forty of them." 

"Exactly."

"You're impossible." 

"Tch." He smirks. 

He finally looks over, pointing across you. “Long one.” His brow is furrowed, but not with anger this time—only concentration.  

"Bolt." 

"...Which one?" 

Kidd points with the wrench. "...That one." 

You watch as he works skillfully with the tools. 

"Need the curved pliers." Kidd frowns, never looking away, "The ugly one."

After another few exchanges… you start anticipating what he needs. 

"Socket."  

It's already in your hand. He takes it automatically. No thank you’s, no praise. Just cooperation.

"Little wrench."

You toss it to him before he finishes speaking. He catches it without looking. 

"...Took ya long enough."

Kidd reaches his hand out without saying anything. You already have the socket in it. He keeps working. Neither of you acknowledges it.  

His hands, usually rough and violent, handle the smaller pieces almost delicately. Kidd's mastery over metal never stopped amazing you. The workshop doesn't feel nearly as small as it did the last time you were here.

And that's your morning. Handing Kidd whatever he asks for, talking when the silence feels like it wants filling, and watching him lose himself in his work. Sometimes you’ll talk– fill each other in on what’s been happening. You could have sworn you saw the corner of his mouth twitch in a smile when you explained your new echolocation. Course he’d deny it. 

The workshop falls into its familiar rhythm, and for the first time in weeks, Kidd looks like himself. 

There is no talk. No heartfelt speech. The workshop door is left open now—a silent invitation for you and you alone. The days settle into something almost familiar. 

Wire never brings up the night he found you pushing yourself. Killer still trains you until every muscle aches, but Kidd joins in again. He's still insufferable—it still makes you smile despite yourself—but the sharp edge has dulled. These days he usually lets Killer correct you first. Usually. Screw up a second time and he's right back to barking at you himself.

You stop sparring with the rest of the crew, keeping it to the commanders and your captain—the only ones strong enough to shut you down if shit went sideways again.

Your wound has faded to a faint pink scar. You keep it wrapped anyway. Your mask no longer hangs around your neck. If you're awake, it's on. 

Kidd gives you a few odd looks, but "getting used to it" is reason enough for him. It isn't even a lie. You need to know how your body breathes behind it. How your hearing shifts. How hard you can push yourself before the filters become familiar instead of distracting. So it stays on. Even on quiet mornings. Even while eating with the crew. Even when there's nothing to fight. 

Your fingers drift over the engraved metal before you realize you're doing it. It feels strange without it now. 

The bandages stay beneath your shirt. The mask stays over your face. 

Both are easier than answering questions.

****************************************************************

The island you dock at isn’t a tourist haven or a Marine stronghold. It’s quiet in the way places get when they’re trying not to be noticed. Half-rotted piers, low buildings, people who mind their own business a little too deliberately. The kind of island where no one is asking questions or batting an eye at rough strangers. 

The coater lives near the edge of the mangroves, hands calloused, eyes sharp despite his age. He doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t look too closely at the ship. He just names a price that’s a little too high—despite Kidd’s death glare—and starts his work the next morning.

Which means waiting.

And Kidd hates waiting. But so does the crew- especially when the promise of the New World is on the horizon.

By the second night, the restlessness is already crawling under everyone’s skin. Too much energy, nowhere to put it. The kind of tension that turns into bar fights if it sits too long. Not that any of them had gotten into a back-alley brawl after a few too many rounds–Heat…Killer.

Kidd does his best to house arrest the crew to the ship and surrounding bay. No taverns. No brothels. No betting with the locals. That lasts about as long as anyone could expect. The crew may love their captain, but when the ship’s supply of booze runs low, his word becomes more a…polite suggestion.

Heat being the worst about sneaking out, a gaggle of crew hot on his heels. Wire eventually making his way off the ship as well. The crew does what marauding pirates do best- find some fun. Word spreads quickly about a place beneath the island — a fighting pit carved into the rock, hidden under an old warehouse near the docks. No Marines. No rules. Just fists, blood, and whoever’s strong enough to walk back out. 

Kidd is already in a mood. Half the crew had been disappearing for days. And not subtly. The coating takes time. With each passing day, the space left aboard the Punk shrinks a little more. Mosh was arguing with someone over supplies, and the town below is loud enough to carry up on the wind. 

Kidd was pacing the deck, metal shifting restlessly around his arm like it can feel his irritation.  

Perfect timing. 

“So…” you tried keeping your tone casual. Like it doesn’t matter. “Wire and Heat mentioned there’s a fight ring in town… open pit tonight,” Excitement betrays you as you tiptoe around your captain. “I want to go.”

Kidd stops pacing. Just stops. Slowly, he turns his head toward you.

“No.” Some habits are harder to break than others. 

You cross your arms. “You didn’t even think about it.”

“Don’t need to.” He starts pacing again, faster now. “You want to fight, we’ve got space on deck. You want to train, grab Killer. You don’t need some back-alley pit full of idiots trying to prove they’re tough.”

“Bullshit ‘we got space’. You barely have room to pace like a mother hen.”

That earns you a glare. Bubblegum snorts somewhere behind him. Killer doesn’t look up, but you can feel the attention shift.

“I’m not going to fight,” you chide. “...I just want to watch.”

“Bullshit.” 

"I've been training for months," you say, rolling your eyes. “You keep saying I’m stronger. You keep pushing me to be better. But every time I want to actually step outside the ship, you shut it down.”

Kidd’s jaw tightens.

“This ain’t the same as a supply run.”

“I know that.”

“Then why are we having this conversation?”

You hesitate — not because you don’t have an answer, but because the truth sounds childish when you say it out loud.

“Because I want to see what it feels like,” you admit. “To be somewhere dangerous—and not be the one everyone’s watching to snap.”

Silence drops heavier than before. Kidd looks at you like he’s measuring something. Weighing risk. Memory. Fear he’ll never say out loud.

“I’m going,” he says finally, already reaching for his coat.

You blink. “What?”

Kidd doesn’t look back at you when he answers. “You want to see it, fine.” His jaw tightens. “But I’m going with you.”

And there it is. Not permission, just more supervision. Your shoulders stiffen. “That defeats the point.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Kidd doesn’t even slow. “I’m not letting you go alone.”

“The ship can’t be left unattended,” Killer cuts in before you can argue. Leaning against the rail, arms folded—calm, even, impossible to ignore.

His mask flicks briefly toward Kidd. “Not with half the crew gone.”

Kidd scoffs. “Heat and Wire are here.”

“Heat’s heading into town,” Killer replies. “Wire’s already following.”

“Then you stay,” Kidd snaps.

Killer doesn’t move. “Or I go with her.”

Silence stretches the deck—tight, measured. Kidd’s muscles flex, metal twitching around his wrist. You feel it in your chest—the shift. Kidd doesn’t like that answer. Not because it’s wrong. Because he can see the logic in it. Something fragile flutters in your chest, like a caged bat. 

“She’s not ready to be out there alone,” he mutters.

“You don’t know that.” 

Killer’s voice stays level.  “She won’t be alone.”

Something in your chest loosens at that. Killer isn't saying you'll be fine. He isn't pretending the risk is gone. He's simply choosing to stand beside you anyway. After everything—after the blood, after pulling you off Kidd—you hadn't been sure whether he still trusted you. You hadn't realized how badly you needed that answer until now. 

Kidd looks at you then. Really looks—at the way you hold yourself. The prosthetic. The scythes resting at your hips. The mask fitted tightly against your face.  

“I’m not asking to be reckless,” you don’t look away. “I just want to try.”

The silence holds. Then Kidd exhales hard through his nose, frustration bleeding through in a way that isn’t quite anger.

“Fine.” The word grates out of him.

Kidd may be a brute to the rest of the world—loud, brash, unapologetic. A monster. But here—now—he sees you. Not broken. Not feral. Not something to contain. 

A pirate. 

He jerks his chin toward Killer.

“But you stay with him. You don’t wander. You don’t pick fights. You feel that blood crap acting up, you leave. Immediately.”

“I know.” Your voice is soft, steady. 

His eyes narrow. “Like ya mean it.”

You meet his stare, unflinching.

“I will.”   

You’re not humoring him either. You’d let yourself be beaten unconscious before tapping into that power again. As you move past him, his hand catches your arm—brief, firm. Not stopping you. Just… there. His grip tightens for half a heartbeat—instinct, over decision.

“Don’t hesitate,” he mutters. “That’s when you get hurt again.” His thumb brushes your arm once—quick. Like it shouldn’t have happened. Then he lets go.

“Don’t get yourselves killed,” he adds, already turning back toward the bow.

He doesn’t watch you leave. But he doesn’t pace again either. And as you and Killer head down the gangplank toward the noise and light of the town, you can feel it— the space he just gave you. Not comfortable. Not easy. But real.

[kit-kat0037]

Unbreakable Ch. 33

I- i don't wanna talk about it....

Masterlist

ESTABLISHED relationship

MDNI 18+ and this one REALLY can't be skipped. Not super smutty but definitely there.

CW: LONG; Consensual power exchange; Praise / Possessive Language; Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Summary: He promised he'd stop you if you ever lost control. Instead, he almost lost you. Two weeks of guilt, anger, and silence finally come to a head. A midnight spar aboard the Victoria Punk forces old fears into the open and a conversation neither of you knows how to have. Kidd discovers that some promises aren't spoken and actions have always spoken louder than words. Kidd can't fix what happened. He can't stop what you're becoming. But he can stop pretending he doesn't need you.

Reader POV 

Spin. Hook. Pull. Reset. Again. Again. Again.

The ship is steady. Most of the crew is asleep. The moon reflects off the water in a long silver line. You’re on the deck with your scythes, practicing the same motion over and over again.

“You’re getting sloppy.” Kidd’s voice cuts through the quiet.

You turn, already breathless, already keyed up from training. He’s leaning against the mast, arms crossed, watching you like that’s where he’s been the last two weeks instead of hiding. Like disappearing for days and pretending nothing happened is normal.

You straighten, lifting your chin. “I’m tired,” you shoot back. “Not sloppy.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. Smirks. “Keep telling yourself that.”

You roll your shoulders, shifting your grip on the scythes. “I’m keeping up.”

His eyebrow lifts, jaw set in that familiar stubbornness. 

“Yeah?” He’s baiting you. And it fucking works.

“I’ve been keeping up.” More than, actually. 

He snorts. “Keeping up isn’t the same as being ready.”

“I’m not made of glass.”

“Oh?” Kidd pushes off the mast—a shift, light glinting off his goggles. “You think you’re so bulletproof, Mouse?”

You don’t back down– squaring your shoulders.

“Try me.” Silence stretches. Then he steps forward.

“Alright,” he says, voice low. “Let’s go.”

You move first. Fast. Faster than you used to be. Wings half-lifted for balance, scythes snapping out clean and sharp. You angle low, aiming for his side — the way Killer taught you. Make him turn. Make him adjust.

Kidd barely moves.That stupid crooked smile—like he’s waiting for you to commit.  Your prosthetic shifts under his control—just enough to throw off your footing.

“Cheater.”

You recover fast, pivoting into a second strike, the other scythe snapping up toward his shoulder. He blocks it with his arm. The impact jolts through you. He steps in, closer somehow crowding what little space you had left. Smirking. Always fucking smirking.

“Pirate.”

Bastard.

Two weeks. Two whole damn weeks of silence. And now he wants to stand close enough acting like nothing changed. Like he didn’t disappear. Like you weren’t left there waiting for him to come back. Like you didn’t notice the space he left behind.

Your wings flare wider on instinct, trying to create space, and for half a second it works. You feel the air move. You feel the shape of him through the low hum still vibrating in your throat—every shift, every movement mapped before you can see it.

You push harder. Faster. Not to win. Not to keep up.  To shut him up. Make him react. Make him break. Like nearly dying doesn’t matter. Disappearing didn’t matter.

Your weight goes forward before you can pull it back. Too far.

Kidd POV

He sees it immediately. That tiny shift. Same fraction he’s memorized without meaning to. You’re favoring your left side again. Not fully trusting the right. He notices it every time. Your footing drags. Weight too far forward.

He moves. Metal snapping, breaking your momentum as your prosthetic jerks still. Not enough to hurt. He doesn’t think. And suddenly he’s there. One hand braced against the mast beside your head. The other hits wood on your far side. Not letting you fall. Not again.

Pinned between steel and timber. Distance reduced to nothing. Kidd’s breath falls sharp and rapid.  Your scythes freeze mid-motion.

Weeks without looking at you- without touching you. Now he’s here with you locked in place. The hum in your throat cuts off. And the spar isn’t what he’s seeing anymore.  It’s everything before. The disappearance, the drop. The silence after. Killer calling his name. Not fast enough.  His jaw tightens. 

“Confidence is good,” he says quietly, voice rough but steady. “Overconfidence gets you killed.” 

He doesn’t move. Not yet. If he does, it all follows. The metal at your ankle releases. But his hand stays.

“...You’re breaking yourself into something I can’t fix.” 

His gaze doesn’t leave you. It’s more honest than he meant it to be. Something in it shifts—recognition that he’s said too much. Then again, rougher:

"You're not dead weight anymore."

You shake your head. “Could've fooled me."

"Tch." 

He knows that look. The one that takes every victory and feeds it to the nearest failure. Months of progress reduced to a single mistake. As if that's all any of it amounted to. 

His jaw ticks. Weeks of shredded metal. Weeks of replaying that room. The moment he failed his promise. He doesn’t step back. Neither of you giving an inch. So close. 

Your grip shifts slightly on your scythes, but you don’t raise them again. And Kidd realizes that you’re waiting.  Not for the spar. Not for space. For him.

His hand shifts. Just slightly. Less force. Less control. Less certainty. He doesn’t have the words you’re searching for.

“Still think you’re not made of glass?” he mutters. No smirk. No challenge. Just Kidd. Your fingers tighten against his grip.

“No.” Then quieter— “But I’m not breaking either.”

Kidd stares at you, jaw clenched. For a second, he almost argues. Almost tells you every way you’re wrong, about how you’re pushing too hard. Every way you’ve scared the hell out of him.

But I’m not breaking either.

The words hang there—stubborn, certain, so damn sure of themselves—and all he can think about is the last time he’d heard you say that. You’d been bleeding. Dying. Still trying to stand. His gaze drops to the scar healing beneath your shirt. For two weeks he’d been trying not to think about what happened in his cabin. About your body knitting itself back together while his own strength drained out under your hands. About how useless he’d felt standing there, watching it happen and not knowing how to stop it. 

Tch. His teeth grind as the thought leaves something bitter in his mouth. Because the truth is, he’s not focused on your wound or almost killing him. He’s looking at you. Not weak. Not helpless. Not the half-dead girl he dragged out of Sabaody.  

His grip tightens before he can stop it. Your eyes flick up to his. Waiting. Always waiting for an answer he doesn’t know how to give. The Victoria Punk shifts beneath your feet. Rigging creaks overhead. Waves slap softly at the hull. Neither of you moves. The silence stretches tight between you, crowded with every conversation you’ve both been avoiding- he’s avoided. Every argument. Every apology. Every fear. Weeks of distance and tension  compressed into a handful of inches. Kidd exhales sharply through his nose and lets his gaze drop. To the scar. To the prosthetic he’d rebuilt more times than he could count. To your hands still wrapped tight around your scythes. Ready. Always looking for the next fight. His chest aches. Because for all the arguments, all the frustration, all the nights spent staring, worrying, pacing his workshop—

You’re still here.

There are things he should say. Warnings. Lectures. Maybe even an apology. Instead, he just looks at you.  Really looks. At the stubborn refusal to stay down. At the part of you that keeps clawing your way back up every time the world tries to break you. A punk. His punk. 

“You never know when to stop.” The words come out rough, clearing out the strange lump in his throat.

Your chin lifts immediately, defiant as ever. “Neither do you.”

For a second, Kidd just stares. Then a short laugh escapes him—tired, humorless.

“No,” he says quietly. “I don’t.”

That hangs between you. Your eyes never leave his. Still waiting. Still refusing to back down. Something in his chest finally caves. His hand finds your waist before he’s fully aware of moving, pulling you closer—firm, certain. Close enough that everything he’s spent a week avoiding comes rushing back at once. The fear. The anger. The relief. Close enough to feel your breath catch.

“Fuck,” he mutters, forehead bumping lightly against yours. “I missed you.” His voice jagged at the honesty, too exposed. He doesn’t care. Not right now. Your expression softens instantly, and it nearly does him in.

“I’m right here.” You breathe. Dropping your scythes. 

He lets out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. For the first time all week, you’re not looking through each other. His thumb brushes once against your side, like he’s proving to himself you’re actually here. Still breathing. Still stubborn. Still his favorite pain in the ass.

“Knew you would be.” The smirk he tries for doesn’t quite hide the relief in his voice. Then he kisses you. No hesitation. No room left for argument. His lips crash into yours, hot and hungry, and the weeks between you finally break. His hands wander without thought—over your waist, your sides, the familiar lines of your body—relearning, making sure you’re real.

You consume him. Your warmth, your breath, the little noises you make. His mouth trails along your neck, relief flooding him as your hands tangle in his hair. He doesn't stop. He trades between kissing, sucking, biting— greedy for every familiar reaction. Every one feels like another piece of the woman he knows. Every breath that catches. Every impatient tug at his hair. Every instinctive way your body finds his. Each one loosens another knot in his chest he hadn't realized he'd been carrying. 

“Kidd.” Your breath hitches already so affected by just a kiss. He smirks as your fingers catch against his chest—pulling him in just as much as he needs you. “We’re on deck.”

His gaze flicks over your face like he’s deciding whether that’s supposed to matter. The fact that anyone stupid enough could come topside and find the two of you tangled together in the middle of his damn ship. A slow, dangerous smirk tugs at his mouth.

“Yeah,” he says.

You blink at him. “That’s not— anyone could—”

His hand tightens at your waist before you can finish.

“No one’s coming up here.” Calm. Certain. His eyes drag over you again, slowly. The corner of his mouth ticks up seeing the heat crawling beneath your skin. 

“And if they do,” he says, voice dropping, “they’ll learn real quick not to interrupt me.” You open your mouth again, but he doesn’t give you room to argue. He leans in brushing his lips against yours- slow, deliberate. Proving a point. When he pulls back, his forehead nearly rests against yours.

"This is my ship," he murmurs. His thumb drags once over your side.

Then Kidd kisses you again. Not angry this time. Relief and frustration tangle together until he can't tell where one ends and the other begins.

"...Missed having you here."

The words settle between you, low and heavy. A week's worth of tension finally snapping all at once. His hand slides from your waist to your side, then higher, dragging over skin like he has to remind himself you're really here. Warm beneath his palm. Breathing against his mouth.

"Fuck," he mutters, voice rough.

His mouth trails to your jaw, then your throat, teeth grazing lightly before his lips follow after. He feels you shiver beneath him. Your breathing quickens, familiar now, and something in his chest eases.

"There you are."

His fingers catch at the hem of your shirt, dragging it up just enough to expose warm skin beneath. His mouth follows the line of your throat, then back up again, kissing you like he's making up for every second of the last week. His hands cup you, familiar and certain.

Your hand tightens in the front of his vest. Your other instinctively reaches for your side, catching the edge of the bandage before his roaming shifts it.

"Kidd—"

 He stills just long enough to notice. His gaze flicks down. The contrast of your flesh against the white bandage stark. He finds his way back to your face just as fast.

"...Still sore?"

You hesitate for half a heartbeat before giving the smallest nod. His thumb eases away from the bandage without another question, making sure he hadn't caused you any unnecessary pain.

Tender. Of course it was. A wound like that didn't stop hurting just because it had closed.

He should've been there when they stitched it. He'd spent two weeks trying to convince himself they were fine. Standing here now, he finally understood how little that word had meant.

"Easy," he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

A quiet huff escapes him. "Not my strong suit, Mouse." The taunt is there, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

He studies your face instead of assuming. Watches for the slightest hesitation. If you wanted him to stop, he would. No argument. No pride. Just stop.

He scowls. He'd always taken the opening when he saw it. Now he was standing here... waiting.

Tch. Since when did he start thinking this damn much?

He braces himself for you to pull away anyway. To tell him no. And that would be fine. He'd stop. He would.

Your fingers find his hair again tightening instead. 

“I told you- I’m not breaking Kidd. I’m right here.”

The last knot in his chest finally gives. Relief crashes into something achingly familiar. A growl rips through him as his thumb drags across your bare waist, careful to avoid the bandage. Then he kisses you again before you can change your mind, making it hard to think straight. His hand catching the hem of your shirt and yanking it off impatiently, like even the fabric is in his way.

Tch.

His mouth drags down your jaw, your throat, reacquainting himself with skin he’s spent too damn long avoiding. His hands follow without thought—over your waist, your sides, the familiar lines of your body—relearning, checking, proving to himself you’re here. Soft noises slip out of you as you sink into him. The worry of being caught—gone.

“You enjoying this, Mouse?” he mutters against your pulse, voice low, rough around the edges. He doesn't need the answer. Not when your breathing's already gone ragged under his hands.

A dark satisfaction settles low in his chest. The corner of his mouth ticks up into a crooked smirk.

He'd missed this too—the way you reacted to him, how even the simplest touch unraveled you. Weeks without touching you. Now he couldn't seem to make himself stop. Idiot.

Your fingers are already working at his vest, shoving it off his shoulders in jerky, impatient motions. Kidd lets you—right up until you reach lower. Then his hand closes around your wrist. Your eyes snap to his as he stops you.

For a second, he just looks. Your flushed skin. Your swollen mouth. The way you're looking at him like you want to climb on top of him and fight him for making you wait this long.

A possessive heat twists low in his gut. His thumb drags once over the inside of your wrist before he lets go. Then he cups your face instead, rough palm against your cheek.

“Down,” he says, voice low and absolute.

Not cruel. Not careless. Just Kidd—used to being obeyed, and knowing damn well you'll do it.

You do. Of course you do.

The sight of you sinking down in front of him steals the air from his lungs.

Fuck.

For one sharp second, all he can think about is how badly he'd wanted this—wanted you close, wanted you safe, wanted something he could understand after seven days of watching you slip farther into a power he couldn't control.

This, at least, he understands. The way your hands settle against him. The way his whole body goes taut the second you touch him.

“That’s my Mouse,” he breathes, the words rough, almost reverent, before he can stop them.

Kidd scowls the second he hears himself. Too fucking soft. Still true.

Kidd’s hand stays in your hair, thumb brushing once near your temple as he steadies himself on the sight of you there. On your knees.  It does something vicious to him. Because even like this, you don’t look broken. You look willing. You look like you chose this. Chose him. Even after everything.

Tch.

His free hand slides to your jaw, thumb catching briefly against your lower lip before he tips your face up another inch.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes catch his with that same stubborn fire still burning beneath the want in your expression. Something in his chest pulls tight. Your mouth is swollen from his kisses, your breathing already ragged, all that fire in you fixed entirely on him.

He'd missed this. Missed having you under his hands where he could read every reaction, every hitch in your breathing, every small tremor that told him what you were feeling before you ever spoke. Missed knowing you.

Out there—in training, in battle, in the mess of whatever the hell this new power was becoming—he'd been off balance for months. But here? Here he knows you.

Knows exactly how long you can hold his gaze before your lashes begin to flutter. Knows the difference between the silence you wear like armor and the sounds that betray you anyway. 

“That’s my girl,” he says, his voice roughened by it. Not soft. Not sweet. Just Kidd, Claiming a truth the only way he knows how.

“Open.” 

The command comes out low and rough. No hesitation. Just trust. For a second he can only watch—the way your lips part for him, the way your eyes stay on his like you’re daring him to lose control first.

Kidd sucks in a breath through his teeth.

Fuck.

His thumb drags once across your cheek, rough enough to make the point, before his hand falls away. Kidd isn't asking you to be careful. He’s just asking for you.

“Good,” he mutters, more to himself than to you.

Kidd stares back this time, waiting. He watches your eyes flutter in surrender as you take him in your mouth. His own head tips back at the slow pressure you build, and for one fleeting moment, he lets himself get lost in the sensation.

Your fingers tighten around his thighs, as if anchoring him there. Needing him just as much as he needs you. A string of curses slips from him as your tongue moves in that cruel, familiar way that always has him buckling beneath you like some pathetic rookie.

His fingers tighten in your hair, but he doesn't move. Not yet. Then you take the last few inches.

The tight pull of your throat nearly unravels him as you gag. His grip tightens instinctively, drawing you back before you can go any farther, his glare fixed on you as he fights to steady himself.

His Mouse. Flushed. Stubborn. Looking up at him through half-lidded eyes like you know exactly what you’re doing to him.

“Look at you,” he mutters, voice gone rough around the edges. Not praise. Not a snark asshole comment. Something uglier– truer. Needier.

“Mine.”

The word slips out softer before he can stop it. He scowls immediately after. Doesn’t take it back.

Kidd’s hand stays in your hair a moment longer before he finally eases his grip and helps you back to your feet. You come up unsteady, breathless, and he has to fight the dark pulse of satisfaction that hits him at the sight. A mess already.

Good.

His thumb drags across your lips as he leans in, gaze following with an unapologetic hunger. The sight of you like this—flushed, swollen-mouthed, wrecked from him, swells a twisted sense of pride in his chest. 

A whole fucking week. He could have had you in his arms instead of pacing his workshop like an idiot and pretending distance was somehow the same thing as control.

His jaw tightens. Then he hooks a hand around your waist and turns you, firm and unhurried, until your back is to his chest. He faces the mast.

“Bend over.” The order lands low and absolute.

You hesitate, looking back at him. 

"Make me," you taunt. "Captain." 

There it is. Your voice is softer than usual, but it’s there all the same. His stubborn little shit. 

The corner of Kidd's mouth twitches. He catches both your wrists in one hand, his other settling at the back of your neck.

“Brat.” Kidd mutters against your hair. 

His hand comes down sharp against the curve of your ass. Your breathless moan unravels what little restraint he has left.  

“I said,” he growls, voice dropping, “bend over.”

This time you obey.

Good. His eyes drag over the line of your body as you brace yourself in front of him—bent for him, on his deck. 

Kidd’s hand settles over the spot he struck, rubbing slow over the lingering heat he left behind. The contrast feels crueler than the impact ever could. His touch drifts lower from your hip, fingers tracing teasingly along your inner thigh before sliding back up.

Anyone stupid enough to come topside would know exactly what they were interrupting. The thought sends possession curling hot and ugly through his gut. The corner of his mouth pulls into something mean. 

“Where's that smart mouth of yours now? Thought you were worried about getting caught,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear, voice rough with amusement.

His teeth graze lightly at your neck before he pulls back just enough to look at you.

“Or was that just talk?”

You make a small sound—half protest, half something else—and Kidd huffs a laugh against your skin.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “That’s what I thought.”

His palm smooths once more over your ass before gripping your hip hard enough to hold you in place.

“Stay still.”

His palm glides slowly over the curve of your ass again, soothing the sting he left behind before drifting lower. Slowly. Never rushing.

He wants to feel every tiny reaction you're trying so damn hard not to give him. Every shift in your body. Every hitch in your breathing. Your muscles jump beneath his touch. 

Tch. His fingers trace teasingly along the inside of your thigh, then higher. A quiet sound slips free before you can stop it. Kidd's mouth curls as your hips buck against him.

“There you are.” The words come out low, rough, quietly pleased.

He presses you more firmly against the mast, his weight holding you there as his hand continues its deliberate work, drawing each reaction from you as though he'd earned every last one.

“Still not breaking?” The words come out low, a challenge. Like he's asking. Like he's hoping. His teeth graze your ear before he lets out a quiet, humorless laugh.

“Good.”

His hand never falters. Slow. Steady. He pushes in knuckles deep as you mewl underneath him. Testing. Re-learning how well you fit beneath his hands. 

His fingers abuse that sweet spot of yours just to the left. Your hips twitch. Kidd catches it immediately. The corner of his mouth curls in satisfaction.

You're close.

His grip tightens on your waist, holding you exactly where he wants you.

“Ah-ah.” His voice drops, warning threaded with dark amusement. “I told you to stay still.”

He waits a beat, thumb pressing in just enough to make your breath catch. Then he leans in again, mouth brushing the shell of your ear.

“Or do you need me to hold you down for that too?” 

Desire stirs hotter with the satisfaction of you tensing, going even more rigid beneath him.

Good.

He wants the reaction. Wants the way your body gives you away even when your mouth won’t. Wants to feel exactly how much he’s getting to you, because it’s the only thing that’s felt simple all damn week.

Out there, he can’t stop you from running yourself into the ground. Can’t fight whatever this new power is turning into. Can’t protect you from the parts of yourself you keep trying to master alone. But here—

Here he can make you feel him. Here he can pin you in place and drag every honest sound out of you until there’s no room left for either of you to pretend.

His jaw clenches, breath catching rough in his throat. For one sharp second, all that heat in him collides headfirst with something that makes his stomach drop. 

Two weeks.

He'd stayed away from you for two weeks, and he'd accomplished jack shit. Did he hate you? No. Was he angry? Yeah. But anger was something he could deal with. His workshop was damn near destroyed. But Kidd didn’t know what the hell to do with whatever the fuck happened in his cabin. 

One minute he had everything under control. You were hurt—shaking, bleeding—and he'd fixed it. Or thought he did. Then his own strength started disappearing.

Kidd knew how to fix things. Knew how to build. How to fight. How to break whatever got in his way. But this?

Watching you push yourself past every limit he understood. Becoming something stronger. Something more dangerous. And having no idea how to stop it if it all went wrong.  

Because when everything went to hell in his room, Kidd had realized something he couldn't stand: 

He didn't know how to protect you from yourself. He fucking hated that .

His hand tightens on your hip. Kidd thrusts his hips into yours, his cock disappearing between you. He hisses. And beneath him, you shift restlessly, warm and flushed and breathing hard from his touch—still here, still alive, still trusting him enough to put yourself in his hands like this. Something in his chest twists hard enough to hurt.

Tch. 

Maybe he can’t stop you from tearing yourself apart chasing this new power. Can’t fight whatever the hell it’s turning into. Can’t save you from the parts of yourself you keep trying to master alone.

But this?

This, he knows.

The weight of you under his hands. The sounds you make when he pushes just right. The way your body gives him the truth even when your mouth won't. The way you still put yourself in his hands. It's not enough. But right now, it's all he has. All he can give. All he understands. He drags himself out of you, revelling in each low moan that spills from your lips before pushing back in. Harder– deeper. 

His mouth drops to the back of your shoulder, teeth scraping lightly before he kisses the spot in the same breath. Then, low against your skin—

“I’ve got you.” The words come out rough. Almost angry. Because they're not just words. They're a fucking promise. 

His hand slides down your side, steadying you, grounding both of you, his hips still flush against yours. 

“You hear me?”

A demand, because that’s the only way Kidd knows how to ask for reassurance without sounding like he needs it.

“You’re with me.” That’s all the warning he gives.

Kidd thrusts into you faster, shoving you further into the mast. His grunts swallow your moans as he lets go.

To the heat in his blood. To the weeks of frustration. To the sick, desperate relief of having you here under his hands instead of half-dead in his bed with your blood on his sheets and no idea how to stop what was happening to you.

His grip tightens on your hips as he pulls you back against him, the movement rough enough to knock a broken gasp from your throat.

You take him with a startled sound, body going taut around him, and Kidd’s head drops forward with a curse, forehead pressing briefly between your shoulders as the feeling of you nearly knocks the air from his lungs.

Fuck.

He stays there for half a heartbeat, breathing hard against your skin, fingers digging into your hips like he needs the bruising pressure just to hold himself together.

His hips piston into yours now. No more teasing. No more dragging it out just to watch you squirm. Your hands scrambling for purchase against the wood in front of you. 

Soon, there's no room left for thought. All that’s left is the way your body gives beneath his hands like he'd been built to hold you there. 

His arm hooks around your waist to keep you upright when your knees threaten to buckle.

The other stays locked on your hip, controlling the pace, the angle, all of it. He can feel every reaction. Every shudder. Every sharp inhale. Every sound you fail to swallow down.

Something in him thrills. Because you're here, and he can still reach you. 

“Knew you could take it,” he grits out, voice wrecked.

The words are half taunt, half praise, dragged out of him without thought.

You make a broken sound at that, trying to twist back toward him, and Kidd’s hand slides up from your waist to your throat—not squeezing, just holding, fingers spread warm against your pulse as he hauls you upright against his chest.

“Stay with me,” he mutters against your ear. Rough. Making sure you're still here.

Your head lolls forward with a sound that’s half wrecked laugh, half moan. That’s it. That’s fucking it. 

The last of his restraint snaps. He drives into you harder, chasing the way you tighten around him, the catch of your breath, the way your weight gives to his hold as pleasure strips you apart piece by piece. 

By the time you come, it hits you hard enough that your whole body jerks.

Kidd curses under his breath and follows after not long behind, the force of it tearing a raw sound out of him as he buries his face against your shoulder and holds you there through it, through every shudder and aftershock and ragged breath.

For a few long seconds, neither of you moves. 

The deck creaks softly beneath you. The sea keeps rolling under the ship like nothing happened. Kidd’s breathing comes hard and uneven against the back of your neck. His arms stay locked around you. Not ready to let go yet.

Eventually, he exhales a sharp breath and eases his hold enough to turn you toward him. You look wrecked. Boneless. Flushed from throat to chest, eyes half-lidded, mouth swollen from his kisses. Beautiful. Kidd’s thumb brushes over your lower lip before he can stop himself.

“Tch.” The sound comes out quieter than usual, stripped of most of its bite. 

He reaches down, yanks his cape off where it’s half-fallen around his shoulders, and drapes it over you without ceremony. You make a sleepy noise of protest when he scoops you up, one arm under your knees, the other braced across your back.

“Quit bitching,” he mutters automatically, even as he shifts you closer against his chest.

You don't fight him. Just curl in, spent and trusting, burying your face in the familiar red of his cape without a second thought. A fierce ache twists beneath Kidd's ribs. 

Idiot. He’s not sure if he’s saying it to you or himself anymore. He carries you without another word. Back to his cabin. Back to his bed. He lowers you onto the mattress as carefully as a man like him knows how. He'd bite the head off anyone stupid enough to call it gentle. 

By the time he gets you settled, you’re already half asleep. Your eyes barely crack open when the mattress dips beside you. Kidd lies down with a grunt, one arm immediately finding its way around your waist before he can think too hard about it. You make a soft sound and shift closer on instinct, tucking yourself into his side. Like the last two weeks never happened. Like neither of you spent them looking everywhere but at each other. Two stubborn idiots. 

Kidd stares at the ceiling for a long moment. Then at you. Your breathing has already evened out. Your face has gone soft with sleep, hair a mess against his pillow. His hand comes up before he can stop it, brushing a stray strand of hair back from your face. Soft. Too damn gentle for a man like him.  He scowls anyway. Then leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“Tch,” he mutters against your skin. His hand lingers at your cheek. “I’m still pissed at you, y’know.” The words are quiet. Worn thin. Too tired to carry their usual bite. 

Not a lie. But not the whole truth either. His thumb brushes once over your cheekbone.

“Can’t do that shit again,” he says, voice roughening. “Don’t care how strong you get. Don’t care if you think you can handle it. Don’t care if it hurts me in the process.”

A pause. His jaw works once.

“Don’t scare me like that.” The admission is so quiet it almost disappears into the dark.

He lets out a sharp breath through his nose and drags you closer, tucking you against him until your head fits beneath his chin and your leg tangles with his. Protective. Possessive. Necessary.

“Still mine, Mouse,” he murmurs, exhausted enough that the words lose some of their usual edge. Then, quieter:

“So stay.”

By the time sleep finally drags him under, Kidd’s face is buried in your hair, one arm locked around your waist like he thinks you might disappear if he loosens it.

It’s the best sleep he’s had in a week.

[fanaticsnail]

Relief

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 10,700+

Synopsis: After a town was successfully ran out of marines and laid plain for piracy to overtake it by your crew, the Kid Pirates found drink and merriment in their frivolity. After a game of kings, queens, and hearts, an unexpected turn of conversation between friends ends as it normally does: horny. Despite your well-kept secret amongst yourself, the crew finally learn that you had never experienced a climax with a partner before - or even by yourself. With the pick of the litter, both Kid and Killer take that shame as a personal slight against them and set to rectify the wrong made against you.

Warnings: Eustass Kid x f!reader x Massacre Soldier Killer, MDNI, 18+, smut, NSFW, throuple, double penetration (same hole), cock sucking, vibrator play, swearing, pet names (babe, doll, blossom, baby, sweetheart, little one, pretty), messy eating, masked sex, fingering, oral sex, inappropriate use of devil fruit, size difference, praise, cervix touching, Killer has a shrill laugh, overstimulation, sweet aftercare, creampie, squirting, friends with benefits, friendly sex, kid pirate shenanigans, there is also a dilf there that Wire is kind of into, and Quincy is just herself and we love that.

Notes: WELL THEN. THAT FIC GOT OUT OF HAND FAST. I have several people to blame and thank for this, including @cicadamoon for their beautiful playlist and company, to which this fic is dedicated to, and @hellkaiserinphoenix for their input on the plot. Thank you to my friends at various stages over the past few weeks to write alongside me in silent solidarity while sharing snippets of their work. This fic is such a fun one to write and I hope you enjoy!

The first time you’d joined the crew of misfits clad in leather and iron, you knew this was the family you had been searching for. Every member served their purpose, and you were no different. Whether it was fighting, drinking, or ensuring the Victoria Punk was ready to make waves, each member of the crew worked in tandem to ensure their actions were cohesive. Every hand gesture to pass drinks down the line, every laugh flowing off the end of a bad joke, or sharpener tossed between eyeliner pencils to ensure their attires were exactly as they needed to be was in perfect synchrony.

Each commander served their purpose. Wire was the literate commander with the only legible handwriting, in charge of notating their departures and corresponding via carrier rather than den dens. Heat was the enforcer of crew safeguarding and discipline, despite the fact the crew was hardly in need of it. Killer was the second in command, following his captains orders and ensuring they were followed down the line of command. And then there was Eustass Captain Kid, the red headed leader of the Kid Pirates. He was as loud as he was ruthless, and you adored spending time in his shadow whenever he allowed you to. 

It was once again a time where drinks were flowing, a town successfully ran out of marines and laid plain for piracy to overtake it by your crew. And where the Kid Pirates found drink, they found their morals slowly dropping from their shoulders and pooling at their feet - alongside, what you assumed were either Quincy or Bubblegum’s frilled thong. It mattered very little to you, just as long as you continued to play cards and barter your beri away in exchange for kings, queens, and hearts. 

“Oi, ya off, Wire?” your captain asked as the tallest commander rose to his feet beside you, “Thought you were gonna stay until ya bled me dry, bloody vampire.” Kid followed his insult with a large laugh before following Wire’s eyeline to the bar. An older gentleman sat at the bar drinking whiskey out of a tumbler, slowly raking his eyes over the commander’s fishnet-clad attire before turning back around and snarling at his glass. 

“Again?” Heat arched his brow with his dimpled lips rising into a smirk, “I thought you were well past that little kink of yours, man.” Heat snickered and nudged his shoulder with Wire’s retreating thigh while the taller man tilts his head and continues rising a playful smile towards the older man who continued to actively avoid making eye contact as if it burned him.

“I don’t know what it is about it, but there’s nothing truly like showing an older man how good it feels to cum untouched from a prostate massage. There’s something special about turning a man into the little cockslut they were born to be,” Wire shrugged softly, “That little blush, you know? Lips parted and drooling into a pillow? Little curl in their toes before they paint the damn bed in all of themselves?” Wire turned his head and smiled towards the table of Kid Pirates remaining behind, “We all have our little quirks to get us our best ‘O’s, don’t we?” 

“I can’t say we do,” you chuckle with a shrug of your own, “At least you guys can have orgasms.” You took a large gulp of your drink before waving your hands in a panic and clarifying, “I-I mean! What I was trying to say was you can have big ones to fill up or paint your partners.” You made eye contact with Quincy, giving her a small look with a plea on your face, “We don’t get that luxury, you know?” 

“Speak fer yerself, babe,” Quincy’s laugh blurted out before she could stop it, “All the chicks I mess with love it when they make me squirt on ‘em. Marks my territory ‘n that, and it's such a pretty picture.” Hop leaned over and clanged her tankard on the side of Quincy’s in solidarity before smiling into her gulp. Quincy returned her look to you, mischief filling her cheeks with a warm blush, “But I don’t think that’s what ya were tryin’ t’say, was it? What?” She leaned towards you over the round table, accidentally tipping Killer’s drink and landing the remaining liquid on Bubblegum’s lap, she chuckled, “Ya can’t cum, or?” 

“I…” you took a quick recess to gaze around the table and avoided the pointed look your captain shot at you, “...Have not had enough to drink to have this conversation.” Kid quickly swapped your tankard with his near full one, scoffing at you as he did.

“Drink up, lass. Then ya can give us some more on, what the fuck?” he shook his head towards you, releasing his tankard and returning back to his chair properly, “Ya can’t get an ‘O’? Like, at all?” You quickly turned your attention towards Wire, pleading with the commander to save you from this conversation as he would usually. Instead, Wire surprised you by returning to his seat and sitting down beside you with his entire attention on you. 

“Don’t you have a daddy to make cum touchless, commander?” you prompted him, gesturing towards the bar where the older man continued to hide his sneaked glances towards Wire. He shook his head and pointed his lengthy finger towards your nose, booping it as he did.

“Not missing this conversation,” Wire confirmed sharply, “What do you mean, and I mean this sincerely. Not out of scrutiny, but genuinity?” He reached for your drink and handed it to you from the table and into your hands, “Drink up if that helps, but I ain’t gonna move the conversation from this stopping point. Up, up, up the beer goes.” He tilted the drink into your lips, prompting you to stumble and hastily swallow the liquid while your crew laughed merrily. 

Taking a few coughing breaths, you wiped your lips from the foam accumulated over your upper lip and swiped the remnants on Wire’s cloak as punishment for him tipping it too quickly. He chuckled at you and swatted your hands away, returning your attention to the table. 

“Obligate top, or…?” Wire started, prompting you to shake your head ‘no’.

“It just didn’t seem like a priority to me,” you shrugged towards them, “I’ve had partners, and don’t get me wrong, I have sex. Sex is pleasurable. I just…” you trail off before shaking your head and steeling your nerves in front of part of your crew, “Look. It’s not that simple. It’s like… If I top and give pleasure, I can have pleasure by proxy, you know? But it’s more frustrating for me to try to get there and fail with a partner- hells, by myself!” You flailed your hands, knocking what remained of your tankard on Bubblegum’s lap after he cleaned it from Quincy’s earlier drink, “I just… Can’t… It’s like when I’m on the path to get there, the wheel falls off the wagon or some shit. Like I can taste it, and then it melts away at the corners and I just end up in a frustrated heap on the damn bed. Easier to focus on my partner than it is to focus on myself, or have the focus be on myself and then we both end up frustrated and sad.” 

Those around the table nodded their heads along while you spoke, the most silent form of solidarity being from the intense eye contact you could feel burning into you from the first mate of the crew. Killer sat in silence, focussing his gaze entirely on you while you finished your words, making a non-verbal pact with his crew the captain didn’t realise he was making when he said-.

“-You want to pick one of us to make ya cum?” 

“Captain,” you rolled your eyes with a low groan, “Didn’t you hear what I just said-?”

“-I did,” he overspoke, moving his attention to the menagerie of leather-clad crew before returning his eyes back to you, “Sounds like yer’v been havin’ some real shit lays in the past and we’re gonna fuckin’ change that, ain’t we?” Kid furrowed his naked brows down at you, his eyes growing wild under the realization that just hit him, “Is this why you sit on the damn ship when we wanna go out and get our freak on with the locals?” 

Sinking into your chair, you slump your shoulders into your chest and avoid your captain’s eyes. Their focus had you feeling more defeated than every time you had used every toy in your arsenal to try to get yourself off for hours, only to throw the objects at a wall and watch them shatter while crying at another failure. You felt two larger hands fall onto your lap and encase your hands in their warmth before bringing them up to his lips and kissing your knuckles. The intensity of Wire’s eyes held an apologetic sorrow you didn’t ask for, yet it almost felt sweet.

“Don’t pity me. There’s thousands of people that can’t get off, and there’s nothing wrong with that,” you reassured him, “And I’m fine. Really fine, in fact.” You moved your hands within Wire’s grip and gave his fingers a gentle kiss on the tips of his digits, simply to reciprocate the affection from your commander. Your captain coughed and nudged the co-captain to his side, something you only just caught out of the corner of your eye before the blonde rose to his feet. 

“You’re upset about it,” Killer finally spoke, “You mentioned how hard it is for you to try by yourself. I wouldn’t be much of a friend if I let you go without something you want that I can provide.” Kid stood up beside his friend, smirking as he did, adding, “And I wouldn’t be much of a captain if I let ya go without somethin’ ya so desperately fuckin’ need. C’mon. Just us three, no one else unless our little lass says so.” 

“Captain,” You shook your head while smiling down at your hands, removing them from the grasp Wire had on your digits before shrugging, “If you’re interested in a night that would end in nothing but your own disappointment, be my guest. Let’s go.” You rose your hand, meeting it with Killer’s outstretched palm as he aided you to stand. You turned your head towards Wire, and uttered over your shoulder, “I bet that older guy is going to have a far better time than he anticipates. Keep me updated?” 

“Only if you keep me in the know about shit you’ve got going on,” Wire scoffs, almost offended at your words, “I can’t believe you’d keep that from me. We’re meant to be friends, baby. Where’s the friendship?” 

“Urgh, you’re such a pain,” you chuckle at him, feeling another hand come and rest on your lower back before tugging you into the hard chest of your captain, “Okay. I’ll keep you updated, Wire. Go have fun.” Bidding your farewells to the remainder of the Kid Pirates, you and the two highest ranking members of the crew began to escort you to the ship in lieu of the rooms you had hired for the night. You’d began to open your mouth to ask a question, but Killer silenced you with a reassuring squeeze on your hand. 

The walk back was in silence, the bustling nightlife of the town you’d raided seemed to return without the presence of marines. There was something buzzing in the atmosphere, but you were certain it was simply the coiling anxiety of the evening you expected ahead. You tried your hardest to not get your hopes up, but there was something about the low rasp in Killer’s voice that struck a chord in your belly. It was… hot… Your belly was hot as soon as he’d offered his hand in aiding you into the sweet abyss of pleasure. A friend. A comrade. A lover. That was what you were promised in the arms of the blonde first mate. 

Until your captain reminded you that you and Killer were not alone on this endeavor. 

Eustass Kid slowly began making his quarters homely for you. It was almost sweet how he took care to ensure the chilly space was warmed by the heater in the corner, the bed was made and clean, and the space was given an ambiance by a few incense burning in the corner table of the room. Your nerves started pricking at the edges and shuddering your fingertips while Killer continued to stare at you in your silence before he helped you break it.

“There’s no need to be nervous, doll,” he nodded, slowly reaching for your shoulders and rubbing them in circles with his thumbs, “You need to relax before we can make you cum. Few ways we can do that. Do you want another drink, or would you prefer we ease into it slowly?” You turned your face down to the floor, prompting Killer to reach out and slowly clasp your chin between his thumb and index finger, raising your face back up to look at his mask-clad face, “We’re friends first. There’s nothing to be nervous or embarrassed about.” 

“You think yer the only one Killer has made cum in this room before?” Kid broke the tension with a large laugh, “Friends can fuck about, and that’s perfectly normal. It’s nice to have a good bud to help get ya there. Now, Kil, yer bein’ real intimidatin’ with all yer tender touches n’shit. Go take yer shoes off and get comfy while me n’this little lass get t’have a talk.”

Killer nodded and slowly made his way to the other side of the room. He methodologically removed his boots and placed them in an assortment beside Kid’s along the border of the door, removing his socks next and placing them over the lip of his boots. He then undid his waist sash and folded it three times before putting it atop the toes of his boots, undoing his belt and rolling it atop the sash while you watched on in astonishment. Everything had a routine, a place and a purpose, and it seemed like he was getting into the appropriate headspace for something you could not quite place. 

In fact, you had no time to think on what exactly he was preparing for. You were too busy attempting to form the connection between what your eyes were seeing and your body was experiencing. For one, you went from staring at Killer to then having your view skewed by flesh. For another, the hard kiss on your lips smudging lip paint into your skin was another distraction for your mind to become accustomed to. 

Your captain was kissing you. 

As soon as you made that link in your thought, you squeaked into the kiss, prompting Kid to shake his head at you and kiss you harder. You wriggled against his touch before you finally relaxed into the kiss. His lips were soft, uncalloused and moisturized - something you were not expecting from your captain. He seemed like the kind of man that didn’t care about his appearance and skin - but it was almost as if he cared too much about it instead. You parted your lips and slowly moaned into the kiss, distracted from the small steps Kid took with you in his embrace until the backs of your knees brushed with the mattress of his large bed. 

“C-Captain!” you whispered into the kiss, “A talk?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Kid chuckled, finally breaking the kiss and smiling down at you, “Just had to get that out of the way to have you not circling in your head about it. Nothin’ works as well to break the spiraling thoughts of ‘how do I do this’ than just doin’ it. Now, missy, let’s talk.” He moved past you and slowly sat with his back against his arrangement of oddly shaped pillows of various sizes. He used his remaining hand to pat the bed besides you twice, encouraging you to sit beside him. You crawled up the bed to do exactly that and arranged yourself in a way that had you reclining while facing him, yet on your back and relaxing. 

“Talk to me, sir,” you nodded with a smile, “What do we need to talk about? I’m confused, I think.” 

“Well.” Kid turned his body to face you, placing his head on his pillow and resting in a way that felt both intimate and sweet while boyish and mischievous. Kid cleared his throat before continuing, “So, you know my good friend Killer, yeah?” he nodded over to the man, yet still holding your attention with unwavering eye contact, “He is exceptionally good at reading a body and judging what it needs by interpreting it the way ya need to be read. What works well is if ya just let him do his thing, answering any questions he has when he asks them, and he’ll get ya t’where you wanna be.” You nodded intently while Kid added, “See, what works best is if I distract ya up here while he does what he fuckin’ likes down there.” 

“Captain,” Killer warned him while slowly peeling his blue shirt from his shoulders and folding it in his arms, “Clothes.” 

“Right.” Kid reached towards his chest and slowly removed his vest, leaving his pants on while his cloak fell onto the floor beside the bed in a crumpled heap. He smiled at you before moving back onto his side and pointing towards your chest, “Your turn, blossom. Off it goes.” He made no move towards you, yet his hand gesture alone felt both intimate and demanding in unison. You moved your hand towards your shirt and stopped before rising it over your belly, feeling a little uneasy with the situation despite Kid working to ease you in.

“It’s okay,” Killer encouraged you, slowly slipping towards the edge of the bed and touching your ankle. Reaching for your shoes, he slowly removed them and laid them at the foot of the bed before rising reach your pants, “You can keep yer shirt on if it makes you more comfortable. Whatever helps ground you, doll. But these?” he tapped your shin twice to emphasize his words, “These gotta go. Want me to take ‘em off ya?” You looked at Killer’s face still covered in the mask and nodded shyly, prompting Kid to bark a small gaggle of laughter from his kiss-smeared lips. 

“Look, again, we’re friends here,” he reassured you, “We can be silly, we can goof off, we can take it as slow or as fast as ya need, but ya gotta get those off so the big guy can get t’pleasin’ ya. Okay?” You turned your head to face your captain as the first mate reached up and slowly removed your pants. You angled your hips up to help him glide them down alongside your bottoms, trying to fight that hard slap the blush in your cheeks beat into your face to no avail. You felt your eyes get glassy, foggy with both anxiety and lust at the feeling of two larger shirtless men in the same vicinity as you - especially the fact that those two were your superiors. 

As soon as your mind began to form into a murky soup of inhibitions and protests, Kid’s lips once again found yours. His kiss was soft, deep, and almost gentle in the intensity of his press. He parted his lips and slowly found your tongue with his own. Dancing the muscles together, he glided it over the seam of your lips and into your mouth before encouraging you to do the same with his. You could almost feel the waves of anxiety slowly release the longer he kissed you. Every deep pass of his lips pressed against yours was a sanctuary amongst the uncertainty, and you were grateful to be grounded to something as tender as this. 

Wandering hands began to massage your body between soft whispers of: “is this okay?” to check in with you. When Killer’s hands found below your bust, he again checked in, which prompted you to nod your head into Kid’s kiss. Before you knew it, you were morphed into a gasping puddle of lust, whimpering into Kid’s lips while Killer rubbed your peaked nipples with his thumbs over your shirt. He was yet to remove his mask from his features, but you could feel the soft look he was giving you in every soft movement of his hands. 

Kid’s kiss only deepened before he slowly moved away from your lips and down towards your neck. His and Killer’s bulking mass both pressed comfortably against your body and sandwiched you between them in a way that had your belly tightening in anticipation, but your mind quickly snuffed out that thought and caught your arousal before it ever had a chance to fully begin. 

“Oi,” Kid grumbled at you, “I felt that, did you, Kil?” 

“Yeah, boss,” Killer confirmed before removing his hands from you completely. He moved up to your other side and slowly raised his mask up for you to take a look at his lips as he spoke to you, “Look, doll. If this is gonna work, you need to relax into what we’re doing. If you need Kid to be a better distraction, you need to tell us. If you need more of a voice to talk ya through it, he can do that too. You just need to let us get on with it, okay?” Killer smiled at you, leaning up and pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips. With his mask digging into your cheek and your nose, he pulled away and added, “Stay out of your head and let me and Kid settle in there, okay? Can you do that for me?” 

“I…” you gasped, triangulating your brows up in the centre of your forehead, “I can try, but it’s hard. I would prefer to please you both instead of us doing this so then we can be all satisfied that way. You know?” Kid and Killer shared a look over the your middle before manhandling you into a position where your head was resting comfortably on Kid’s chest while his bicep and arm held you in place, while Killer was positioned with his face between your legs. You wriggled in their grip, but the wriggling only prompted them to hold you down further. 

“Let Killer at ya, okay?” Kid whispered in your ear, “I promise it’ll be different, and even if it ends up the same, don’t he look good down there?” Kid took his hand and raised it to your chin, angling your head down to face Killer. The blonde’s mask was up on his head and shielding his eyes from view, leaving his purple-painted lips out for you to witness. You held your breath while Killer’s hands slowly spread open your cunt with his thumbs, whistling at the view. 

“Yer real pretty, you know?” Killer praised you, “Prettiest pussy I’ve seen. Look at how wet ya are, too.” Killer chuckled and released your walls from his fingers before asking, “Can I touch? You can say ‘no’ - but only if you don’t want me to touch you, not for you to default back to tryin’ t’please us.” You scoffed and bit-back your smile before nodding down at him.

“You can touch me. It’s okay,” you confirmed. Kid squeezed your shoulder with his hand before moving it towards your chest, “And you’re right. You do look good there, Killer.” You looked up at him and nodded in affirming his actions, which encouraged him to focus more on your body and learning it. You felt Killer’s hands move back down to opening your pussy and slowly exploring your body with a gentle touch. He was intentional, and his fingers felt both experienced and educated in their motions. He found your clit with ease and slowly pressed the pad of his index finger against it. 

Hissing at the touch, you furrowed your brows at the slight sting at the touch, which in turn encouraged Killer to move his finger down to your slit and slowly gather your arousal on his digits before returning. Now with slippery fingers, you bit your lip and tilted your head back into Kid’s embrace. 

“See?” Kid whispered against your ear, kissing your cheek softly, “Kil knows what he’s doin’. Makin’ sure yer wet and enjoyin’ yerself on his fingers. Do you like the big guys fingers on that pretty pussy of yours?” Kid slowly rolled your nipple within his hand while his biceps held you against his chest firmly, “I bet you do, don’t ya? Mmmm, yer archin’ into me.” Kid focussed his attention on Killer, checking in with him with a nod to encourage him along with his movements. 

Killer slowly began returning your slick juices up to your clit and rolling it beneath his fingers. His breath fanned over your bare cunt while he watched your body’s every reaction. He watched your clit throb and chased its movements with his fingers, moving from on and off, to back and forward, to small and intimate circles against your body. He could see how much arousal your body had pooling out of your slit and it encouraged him to continue on in the movements that quickened your breath and pulse. 

And just like that, for the first time in a long time, your body began to feel the first few sparks of an orgasm slowly draw in at the corners of your belly. Slowly fluttering, slowly rising, slowly beating alongside your heart into what you thought could be a possibility of an orgasm that never usually followed through with that rise you knew existed in fantasy. As soon as that thought entered your mind, your body responded by immediately tearing that thought from your head.

“You’re allowed to feel good,” Kid whispered in your ear, slowly moving his hand down to your belly and pressing on your middle, “Look at him, just playin’ with ya. Yer allowed to feel good, to wriggle into his touch and chase it. He’s gonna find it, babe. Don’t ya worry.” Your captain rolled his thumb over your belly before returning it up to your chin and cupping it in his palm. Slowly rising your face to meet his, he moved his chin down and pressed a soft kiss atop your nose while smiling down at you. 

Killer resumed his touch as if completely unaffected by your body’s refusal to heed the call of the pleasure he gave you. His touch was patient, was subtle and soft enough to cause your body to chase it. Without words, he gave you more pressure while your hips slowly rocked into his touch. Kid cooed down at you before rejoining your lips together and humming along with the pleasured whimpers your lips slowly sobbed. 

“Get out of yer head,” he mumbled into your lips, “Yer allowed to chase it. We’re gonna be here as long as ya let us be, okay?” Kid moved his lips to your ear while Killer chased your pearly clit with his thumbs, massaging it to the beat of your heart as if he knew it inside out. Pleasure bubbled at you, but ebbed away like foamy waves swallowed by a bay of sand. The frustration slowly returned to you as tears pricked your eyes and had you whimpering into the kiss. 

Pulling away from the kiss, Kid took a moment to study your features as you gazed up at him behind you. The quiver in your lip, the tears stinging your eyes, the pain on your face with that rise in pleasure in the dampening of your cheeks. Kid clicked his tongue before giving you two quick pecks on the lips, pulling back to tilt his head and whisper at you.

“He is determined, babe. Once he sets his mind t’somethin’ yer gonna need a fuckin’ crowbar to get the big guy off ya,” Kid nodded down to you, all with that smile you adored, “Yer’v got us on yer side, okay? You wanna cum, don’t ya?” Kid moved his hand to brace against your chest, holding you against himself more in a friendly embrace rather than an intimate one he was doing with you prior. He nodded down at you, encouraging you to whimper and nod in return, still with those tears of frustration slowly swelling against your waterline. 

“I don’t think it’s vaginismus,” Killer nodded towards your pussy while slowing his motions, “I ain’t hurtin’ ya, am I? You don’t have that sting on penetration, right? No tightness like an elastic band pulled too far apart?” Concern was laden in his tone while he gazed up at you. You shook your head ‘no’ while sniffing back your tears. “Then you just need to find that rhythm-, -I do, actually. All you gotta do is let me, doll.” 

“I can’t. It won’t work,” you whimpered, prompting Kid to hush you with another quick kiss before you continued, “You’ll get bored before I’m able to get there-.”

“-Just in case yer unaware or ignorant,” Killer interjected immediately, “I happen to actually like pussy. And there’s a pretty pussy in my face right now, and I am really enjoying lookin’ at it. I think yer more likely t’fall asleep t’me playin’ with it than me gettin’ bored, doll.” Killer chuckled before kissing your thigh with a gruff growl, “Get that thought out. Out now. Out of yer head.” Killer moved his lips down and bit you on the flesh softly, still eliciting a squeak from your lips while he returned back up, “You don’t need to do anything. I’m happy where I am, and yer so beautiful, it’s almost fuckin’ unfair. Boss, you need to see this pussy. It’s insane how beautiful she is.” 

“I know, I can see her from here, big guy,” Kid chuckled down at him over your shoulder, “You’re in love, ain’t ya?” Killer nodded before returning to playing in that slow, rhythmic, pulsating circular motion that your body responded to earlier. Kid chuckled before returning his attention down at you. “See, babe? We’re not goin’ nowhere. And if yer not hurtin’, we’re gonna stay here fer as long as ya let us.” Kid sealed his promise with a kiss that started sweet and continued on until he fogged your mind with the overwhelming presence of the man your captain was.

Little by little, and before you could work out internally what your body was doing, it began responding once more to the Massacre Soldier with his fingers slowly sliding in and out against your clit and your slit. He never entered, just focussing his attention on your clit and reading your body as if it were a book he knew by heart. Every word, every syllable, every author’s mistaken ink blotch at the corner of the tannin page - Killer found the part of your body that you felt as if you’d long-since forgotten. Just with a simple touch of his fingers, he began reading your every movement while you wriggled in his touch. 

Your hips moved against their will, slowly grinding against Killer’s hand while Kid had your focus on his kiss that came out of nowhere and overwhelmed your senses. His hand had you stationary in his grip, holding you firmly against his chest while the two of you paid no mind or heeded no attention to his hard cock digging in your back. 

“There it is,” Killer whispered against your thigh, slowly finding that rhythm that had your body responding and lips whining, “Oh, there she is. We found ya, didn’t we? Semi-circles in a figure eight, hm? Such a pretty girl. That’s it, grind into me. I’ve got ya.” Killer’s encouragement only caused a further flush to rise in your face. You found your belly tightening once more, only to again leave you-.

“-Nope,” Kid whispered against your ear, “That focus in your belly, keep it there.” Kid whispered against your lips, squeezing you against his chest and stealing your breath from every direction, “We’re here. Fuck that noise off, babe. Killer’s got you. Let him have ya. Let him have all of you.” Kid pressed his lips to yours and held your body hostage while Killer assaulted your cunt with his fingers, drawing on that motion and focussing on the symbols of passion carved into your skin. 

And there it was.

The light.

That light calling your name, drawing you to the edge and propelling you to jump from it into the abyss. 

It slowly attempted to call you away, but the joint effort of the captain and co-captain had your body present enough in the moment to draw complete focus. Your legs both tightened their muscles and pressed them outwards, locking into place while shuddering into the sensation. Tears pricked your eyes while your belly completely tightened at the corners, dragging out in the corners until the sharps severed the tension and exploded into a realm of fire it longed for.

“Cumming,” Killer whispered in a gasped breath, “Oh, look at you. You're cumming. Look at that pussy begging for me. Shit.” Killer continued his movements, watching your slit clench around nothing while the band of muscle was dampened by the silky slick pouring from your body as if it was weeping for him. “Gorgeous.” Killer continued to move his finger, watching your clit bob with the rhythmic thrum of your cunt, “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” 

Despite his words, you were distracted by the sensation ringing in your ears and the kiss upon your lips. Your body reached its pinnacle and was thrown off it with ease, slowly rippling down into the awaiting hands of Killer while you began to cry into Kid’s kiss. 

You’d cum.

You came. 

On just a finger.

 And that finger hadn’t even been inside you yet.

“See, babe?” Kid spoke in a soft and sweet whisper, “We’ve got ya. Yer safe in our arms, alright?” He removed his lips from yours and made eye contact with Killer, batting his smoked-out lashes down at the first mate before uttering a statement that had you more nervous than beginning this evening ever did.

“Now give her another.”

“W-What?” you gasped, still reeling from the high Killer carved out of you to process what the captain was saying. Kid chuckled and slowly began kissing your cheek while moving his hand to play with your breasts. Your breath heaved and slowly ballooned your lungs to their natural capacity, only to then steal the breath you’d earned back via Killer’s lips sucking on your clit. Your body heaved forwards, drawn back into Kid’s arms while he played with your chest.

“You heard me, blossom,” he teased you, kissing your temple, “Now we know yer body can cum.” Kid’s thumb pinched at your nipple, slowly rolling the bud between his thumb and forefinger while you keened out a mourning wail. Killer paid your song no attention, focussing completely with laser-like precision on orchestrating your pleasure from the moment his eyes first met your body. His lips pursed and his kiss deepened, rolling your sensitive nub between his lips before his finger began sliding against your entrance.

“Can I put it in?” Killer asked you gently, still mouthing at you while he did so. You took a moment to dart your eyes along the ceiling before you gave a quick nod with a squeaked, 'yes', to which Kid verbalised with a quick, “She said yeah, bud.” 

It was almost unfair and hilarious to which Killer managed to tug the next orgasm out of you. He’d barely gotten a knuckle deep before your body reeled around him. Your cunt sucked on his fingers while the second orgasm hit you. Your mind could barely comprehend it, despite it being a much milder one than the one prior. Every lapping wave of your bliss rocked in time with Killer’s attentive kiss on your clit and fingers in your cunt.

“You’re cumming again, ain’t ya?” Kid asked with a broad grin. He chuckled warmly before leaning down and kissing your temple, “Look at you go, babe. Urgh, look at those legs shaking. Fucking seas.” He leaned down and moved his hand from your breast to hold your leg while it trembled, “Fuck, Kil. You got another one.”

“It’s so fuckin’ gorgeous down here, boss.” Killer’s voice drew you back down to the bed you were laying on with your soul intact with your body, “Back with us, doll? Hm?” He pressed his lips against your thigh, prompting you to squeak and move away from his touch. Killer chuckled and slowly slid his digits between your folds and smeared your arousal around your centre as if it was a precious nectar from the gods of the sea. 

Your body felt relaxed. Completely relaxed. More relaxed than it had been in years with that wall broken through with Killer’s expert touch. There was a moment where you were certain your eyes had eclipsed with a black cast over them, hiding you from the world while your body was struck by lighting. You were unsure when exactly you had started crying, but tears warmed your cheeks in that sweet relief you had been longing for - like a pain that had finally been balmed over by a friend’s embrace. With Kid’s hand holding you still, you grew limp in his arms while Killer continued exploring you gently. 

“Another one?” Kid asked you sweetly with a mischievous smile, “And don’t say ya can’t because we know ya can now. You want another?” He leaned down and kissed your forehead before moving his head around to see Killer. “You okay down there, big guy?” Kid chuckled menacingly down at Killer, whose smile reached his hidden cheeks beneath his mask, “You look happy, bud.”

“So happy, boss,” Killer beamed, “Fuck, this pussy is so gorgeous. You know that, doll? Prettiest sight in all the blues is havin’ the privilege of watchin’ her cum for me. You want another, don’t you?” Killer’s hand slowly slotted in and out of your slit, your pussy greedily sucking on his fingers as soon as they went inside you, “I think you do, but yer’v gotta tell me. Use those words fer me.” Killer stilled his fingers, tilting his head up in a way for you to see the blue hue in his hidden eyes. 

Taking a moment to catch your breath and come down from the secondary high he’d just given you, you slowly nodded your head alongside exhaling a shaken breath. He clicked his tongue and mouthed, ‘words,’ at you, prompting you to let out an audible confirmation.

“Yes.” 

Killer grinned and returned back his attention to your pussy, slowly leaning forward and pressing his lips to your crotch above your clit in a small kiss. You jumped in Kid’s arms and let out a swift squeak. Kid chuckled at you before pressing a kiss to your temple to encourage you on. Killer’s lips then slipped towards your clit and mouthed at your core in a way that felt more deep and intimate than any kiss you’d received. Kid, almost instinctively, moved his lips against yours and kissed you in tandem to the motions Killer was carving into your clit. 

The motion had your body tensing, causing Kid to grapple you further against himself and Killer body your legs apart. Your body, already sensitive with the pleasure he’d managed to get out of you twice, was reaching its peak once more - this time far more quickly than the others. Killer hummed against your pussy, vibrating his lips while gasping into you. Kid smiled into the kiss as soon as your lips began to whimper against his. 

Sobbing, keening, mourning: that was the sound you’d elicited against your captain’s lips as soon as Killer threw you over that resounding heap and into the arms of pleasure. He refused to unlatch his lips from your clit until it had finished causing your knees to buckle. The swirl of his tongue against your clit beneath the closure of his lips was enough to have you continuing to softly gasp and wail until you finished riding through the waves of your orgasm. 

“Look at you, pretty,” Kid chuckled into your kiss before removing his lips from your own, “I knew you had it in ya. Look at that. Are we at three now, Kil?” Kid glanced down at Killer who swapped from latching against your clit to slowly mouthing and lapping at your slit. He gathered your arousal on his tongue and slowly slotted the muscle inside you before giving it a final kiss and rising up to sit on his calves. 

“Three so far, boss,” he hummed in thought, moving his mask back down to cover his face, “I don’t think I am even close to stopping. How are you down there, hm? Still comfy down there, boss, or do ya want to switch it up?” Kid hummed in though before nodding down at you with a glint in his eyes. 

“Depends,” he shrugged beneath you, “Ya wanna suck my cock, babe? I think it’d be nice for ya to have something other than a kiss to focus on, hm?” You looked up at him through your glazed, teary eyes and gave him a smile while limply attempting to roll onto your belly and off where he kept you hostage in his embrace. Kid chuckled and moved his arm to let you up, standing on the edge of the bed and unceremoniously dropping his pants. 

A blazing trail of red hair led from his belly down to his crotch, darker than the hair on his head, curly and almost sweet-looking in comparison to how intimidating the hard bulge of his angry cock looked. His flushed tip was red and shiny with how much blood was used to pump it full of need, veins bordering his shaft with their swollen presence. Precum slowly dribbled from his slit while watching you slowly crawl over to the edge of the mattress. 

“Do you like anything in particular, captain?” you asked sweetly, still staring up at him with eyes glazed with relief and glassy with fallen tears, “I can learn from your sounds, or you can teach me.” You slowly reached for his shaft, only to fall back onto your chest while Killer’s legs encircled around your thighs and tugged you back into his body. You laughed and looked over your shoulder towards Killer, who’s pants were also dropped in the process of Kid rolling over to the edge of the bed. 

“Should be askin’ you that, doll,” Killer smiled beneath his mask, “You okay with me goin’ inside ya wrapped, or can I go in without one?” He gave your ass a gentle slap before soothing you over with his palm, “I want to make ya cum on me, and I gotta respect ya preferences.” Killer slowly massaged your ass and focussed on the way your body felt in his hands before returning his fingers back to your slit and slowly playing with your body. 

“I-... I’m on birth control and I’m clean,” you nodded towards him, “You guys know I don’t take up on casual flings the way the rest of us do.” Killer nodded at your words and moved his mask up to glance at Kid through his ports while you continued, “I prefer it raw, but if you want to wrap it, I won’t stop you. Just as long as you move the band down and hold it if you’re fucking me roughly so it doesn’t snag inside me.” Kid chuckled down at you and turned your attention back to him with his hand gently cupping your chin and tilting it up at him. 

“Yer a little shit, babe,” he praised you with a sweeter smile than the one he’d offered you prior, “Now, before I get my cock in ya mouth and Killer puts his in that pretty pussy, give us yer hard boundaries so we don’t accidentally do something yer not into.” Kid slowly slid his thumb up and pressed it against your lower lip and smoothed over the brim to maintain your attention. 

“I don’t particularly enjoy being man handled into a position where I’m turned into a little ball and fucked like that for over ten minutes,” you nodded up at him while kissing his thumb, “I can do a mating press, but it has to be for under ten minutes or I start getting dizzy from the lack of oxygen going up towards my face.” You turned your attention towards Killer and slowly said something you haven’t thought you’d ever say to your captain and his first mate, feeling rather sheepish while your lips mentioned it, “While I’m fond of anal play, I haven’t done any preparation for it. I’ve been to the bathroom a few hours ago, but I haven’t done anything to allow for that as an option tonight. I-I mean, I can do that now-?”

“-It’s okay,” Killer nodded down at you before giving your ass another swift slap, “I don’t want to get you out of this position enough to prepare for that possibility. I like ya as ya are right here.” He moved his hand away from your slit before he lined up the tip of his cock with your slit, “No cock in the ass. Got it. Fingers, though?” 

“Happy with fingers,” you giggled at him while returning your attention to your captain with a sly smile, “What about you, boss? Are you happy with a finger or two while I suck your cock?” You slowly moved your hand against his thighs and up towards his ass, prompting him to swat at you with his hand and tap his cock against your bottom lip.

“You just worry about suckin’ on this. I doubt it’d be yer main focus while the big guy is back there,” Kid chuckled before slowly rubbing his cock amongst the seam of your lips, asking you wordlessly to open your lips, “If it gets too much for ya, focus on making those pretty little sounds rather than gettin’ me off, okay?” You rolled your eyes at his words before slowly parting your lips and taking him into your mouth. As soon as you moved past the curvature of his tip, you felt Killer begin to press his blunt cock-head against your slit. 

A low moan escaped the lips of your captain while you slowly bobbed your lips along his cock, only to then chuckle as soon as you let out a moan of your own at the contact of Killer slowly rocking inside you. He let out a pitched laugh of his own before gulping back the squeak and pushing it in further. When his cock finally met the apex of your cervix, you let out a small squeak at the pressure, prompting Killer to slowly retract his cock until it was almost completely sated inside you. 

“Bit big, huh?” Kid chuckled down at you, “Killer’s got such a pretty cock. Almost a shame yer only feelin’ it and not seein’ it. Pressure okay?” Killer continued to rock inside you without pushing in his whole length, ensuring it didn’t hurt you while he enjoyed feeling your cunt wrapped around him. You nodded and whimpered against Kid’s cock before returning your movements with vigour. Kid chuckled once more and made eye contact with Killer before nodding to him and allowing you to relax into his cock.

Eustass Kid had a very beautiful cock. There was something about the way the veins felt on your tongue that helped you feel soothed almost. His bulbous head slowly found its way to the back of your throat, prompting you to relax your tongue and flatten it against his legth to allow for more of his thickness to occupy your throat.

That was until Killer's cock hit something in your belly that didn't feel quite right. It wasn't a pain, not an unpleasant sensation, but not something you'd normally feel pressed inside you. It was like the curviture of his cock reached something in your belly that felt like your body needed to go to the bathroom while being completely full with air and liquid. You whimpered against Kid's cock, prompting the redhead to look down at you and reach down with his hand. Slowly caressing your cheek, he tilted his head and examined your face for any sign of pain. Finding none, he nodded to Killer and went right back to keeping you grounded on with his shaft between your lips.

"Yer'v cum three times, babe," Kid nodded down at you, "Such a pretty little thing cumming so pretty like that, by the way. Look even prettier with yer lips wrapped around me." Kid tapped your cheek twice with his index finger. You responded immediately by looking up at him while slowly bobbing your head along his shaft. Lathering his length in your saliva, you attempted to maintain focus on making Kid feel good by swirling your tongue against his tip before moving back down in a repetitive motion.

Keeping the rhythm steady was easy.

Maintaining it while Killer reached his hand around your waist and played with your clit in that same movement was harder.

You squeaked on Kid's cock while Killer's continued to slowly knock your breath from your lungs with every in-thrust. He kept the motion fluid enough that you could feel the sensation of a steady build up towards another climax, but this one felt different. It was more. It was a sensation you were not used to at all - but what sensation were you accustomed to, being one that had never had an orgasm and found yourself maliable like putty in Killer's steady hands while Kid's voice guided you on.

"There ya go," Killer gasped behind you, "Mmngh-, I can feel that pretty cunt fluttering around me, doll. There's somethin' happening. Yer gonna cum, ain't ya?" Killer moved his fingers away from focussing on your clit and pressed the heel of his palm against your core instead. Holding you in place one handed, he used his other hand to steady your thigh while continuing that harsh pace not quite reaching all the way down to his crotch.

A bulb of light bloomed in your belly, but also felt uneasy to the point where you panicked on Kid's cock in your mouth.

"Kil?" Kid gasped, "What's goin' on?" The captain looked up at his first mate who continued his motions without hesitation, only getting harder on his in-thrusts and building up momentum. Kid tilted his head to the side before the two of them worked in unity to remove both cocks from you and flip you onto your back with Killer still kneeling between your legs.

Immediately, Killer filled your cunt still throbbing from his cock with two of his fingers and pressed the heel of his palm down on your clit to add pressure. Your mind was dizzy and fogged with confusion at what was going on, but your body refused to give up on that orgasm Killer was building in you. The blonde found that uneasy spot inside of your body and curled his fingers into it, tugging against your walls until your ring of muscle began sucking on his fingers. Your surprise release was followed by a stream of fluid from your body you had no context for. It felt like you were peeing yourself, but not the same sensation. Your entire soul felt ripped on fire while Killer removed his hands from your cunt and allowed you to cum by yourself.

The scream your mouth spurted was loud enough you were sure it was just the ringing in your ears and not from your own throat. The pleasure was intensified by the fact both men were cheering for you when you returned to consciousness, blissfully ignorant that you had even lost the consciousness to begin with. Kid appeared happiest, especially with the way he'd returned to kneel beside you on the bed while Killer gawked behind his mask down at you.

"Doll." Killer's awe-stricken voice whispered down at you, "Oh, doll." Reaching up behind the mask, Killer withdrew the pin of his hockeymask and tossed it to the floor in a way uncharacteristic to his earlier methodological approach to his attire. "I was gonna ask ya if ya knew you were a squirter, but this is the first time yerv had an orgasm with a partner, right?"

"F-…" you panted, shaking your head and slowly rising your hands to cover your face, "…First time… At all."

The silence in the room was only broken by the three of you panting together.

Until laughter eclipsed the panting in a large and upragious gaggle. The pitched laughter from Killer was only overtaken by the loud bark of your captain that you mirrored in your own. It was a joy you couldn't name. Something new, inviting, soft, and friendly. Killer was covered in so much of you that you didn't know what to do with, and your body felt like it had depleted the entire stock of what you had been unable to find.

And not before long, that laughter slowly became sobs. Through quivering lips, you drew your hands up and hid your face while your shoulders shook with a violent and relentless wave of relief. Your heart couldn't keep up and your mind refused to put a lable on the way your body felt. Sobbing was more of a relief than you thought it would be. The expulsion of your feelings alongside your four orgasms was hard for you to process.

Two warm bodies lay either side of you and their voices began slowly cooing down at you from both sides. As soon as their arms wrapped around you and held you tightly to them, you steadied your breathing in time with theirs and grounded yourself to them. Their heartbeats were not as laboured, and it was easy to find your body catching up to them once more. Steadying your breath, you let out a shaken exhale and slowly nodded your head down with your eyes fluttering open from their wet close.

"S-Sorry," you smiled at them, "I just… It's a-… A-…" You couldn't find the words to explain what you were attempting to speak, only managing to find them as soon as your eyes met with the navy in Killer's tourmaline eyes. The blue-green hue was enough to rip another gasp from you as you breathed the word in synchrony with the two men.

"Relief."

"Aye," Kid nodded, kissing your shoulder while you continued to gaze up at Killer, "I bet it's a big one, babe. I can see how much pressure it's taken off ya. Especially in yer shoulders." You couldn't bring yourself to look away from Killer's eyes, no matter how gentle Kid's kisses felt against your skin. It was the first time you'd seen his entire face, and it was mesmerizing to the point of extreme unfairness. He was beautiful. Pretty, even. You could see why he would hide his face from others - maintaining his exterior hardness by masking his beauty with a fearful monicker.

"You must be feelin' better, hm?" Killer whispered at you. Your eyes were momentarily drawn down to his lips while he smiled at you. His purple lip-paint was smeared by his earlier ministrations, overflowing down his lower lip and onto his chin; both marbled by your desire marked into his skin.

Before you could stop yourself, you pressed your lips into Killer's. His shock was spoken into your lips with a hiccupped squeak, yet he returned the kiss once he recovered. Kid chuckled at you and removed himself from the bed while you inadvertantly crawled on top of Killer. Continuing the kiss, you tilted your chin and rolled his lips beneath yours in a practiced and dominating way. The flavour of lip-paint mixed with your lust was enough to spark a fresh wave of desire in you once more.

Oh shaky knees, you straddled Killer's lap and coaxed his cock inside you without breaking the kiss. Killer hissed into your lips as you sunk onto his cock. Moving up from your kneeling position, you planted your feet either side of his body and bounced against his lap until his cock was completely seated inside you. You could feel the shift in his shaft curving into your belly and pressing against the underside of your clit while you bounced against him.

"W-Well, then," Killer stuttered once he broke the kiss, allowing you more anchor to bounce freely with your momentum against his belly, "Look at you go. F-Fu-uck-! It's a bit deep, doll. You, o-oh, fuck, you okay?" The clapping of skin against skin caused you to pick up reserves of your stamina before your muscles began to burn in the base of your thighs. Killer drew his hands up to collect your ass, curling his biceps with you in his grip to rock you down and against him.

Just as your legs began to scream at you for abusing them, Kid returned to you and chuckled down at you. He moved his hand around your waist and steadied you once more against his chest while Killer took your weight in his arms with ease. You slowed until you were flush with Killer's lap, letting your body become used to his size until your belly adjusted accordingly.

"Guess what we're gonna do now, pretty girl," Kid whispered in your ear softly, pressing a kiss to the outer shell before he moved his hand to the front of your body, "We're gonna both fuck ya. I know you said no anal, and we're gonna respect that." Kid's kiss slowly moved down to your neck and grazed along your skin until you felt one of Killer's hands move to line Kid's cock up with your slit. You sucked in a sharp breath, tensing up and mentally preparing yourself for the pinch - until Kid's hand moved to your clit and placing a small sphere against your clit while adding, "But we're gonna make it feel nice to have two cocks inside that pretty pussy, aren't we?"

As soon as you began to feel that gliding pinch of another cock entering your slit, Kid ignited the sphere and it immediately roared with a fizzing sensation against your clit. It felt like an appology for the feeling of fullness while they stretched your cunt out on the two of them. Killer groaned out a whine that sounded like, "tight," while you squeaked at the sensation. You were not unfamiliar with vibrators, but the way these two were manhandling you as if you weighed nothing while focussing on your pleasure alongside their own was endearing.

"C-Captain! Full-!" you squeaked while your legs shook and felt like your feet were stilted on jelly, "I c-can't stay still!"

"Let Kil carry ya," Kid whispered in your ear, "Relax into him while we make ya feel goo-… Fuck, this pussy is good. Fucking seas!" At the click of his fingers pressed against you, the captain ignited his powers and held the vibrator flush with you while moving his arm around your waist. "Don't worry," he reassured you, "We've both got ya. You ain't goin' nowhere, blossom."

Killer moved his hand from Kid's shaft once seated in you to your thighs and helped stabilize you while Kid used his impressive strength to curl you into himself. Your belly was full completely, and you went limp in their arms while they began to move. The two men were in unison in their movements, pistonning their cocks inside you with a hard clapping sound. The humming of the vibrator rose, compelling your chest to hollow itself with a large flurry of panting whines.

"M'not gonna last," Killer grunted while continuing to lift and drop you in time with Kid's thrusts, "Fuckin' can't with this cunt. Shit, doll. Yer gonna milk me dry. In- fuck- Inside okay? I can cum inside you? Please?" Killer's voice moved into a higher registry while he attempted to quiet himself enough to stifle his moans. "Sh-Shit, I can't pull out. Please let me know if I can cum inside you! Just g-ive me a 'yes'. Please? Please, doll. Yer gonna make me cum! FUCK-!"

"C-Cum inside me, Massacre Soldier," you whimpered as best as you could while Kid moved the vibrator to a higher pressure, "Fuck, fuck, fuck-! T-Too much! Too big! Please? It's-!" Your body continued to double over in intensity, all the while Killer puffed out before arching his back in a perfect bow. His lips dropped into a silent scream before his voice caught up with him.

While you were certain you had heard many beautiful sounds in your life, there was nothing quite as beautiful as the higher pitched whimpers Killer sobbed up at you. Through his trembling lips, Killer sobbed that sounded like a hiccuping laugh, all beautiful to the point that you felt your belly run hot and flutter in time with his pulsating length pumping his climax inside you.

"Fuck, look at you both," Kid gasped behind you, "You cum so pretty, Kil. Fuck, and it's hot. Fuck, just stay still for a second or I'll cum." The captain focussed on your clit with the vibrator for a moment longer, waiting while edging himself inside you. He listened to your body while it reached it's peak before rising the shudders of the sphere up another level higher. You couldn't speak. Your core immediately gushed and sucked Kid and Killer's cocks inside you while contracting around their thick lengths until you finally felt your body forced into the hardest rushing force of your climax.

"Fuck, just like that," your captain gasped at you, "Fuck. Milk my cock, baby. M'gonna fill ya up. Fuck, fuck, fuck, she's suckin' me so good. Shit, m'cumming." Kid's cock slowly released wave after wave of uncoiling ecstasy inside your body to merge with Killer's release while tears painted your cheeks in relief. With a few gutteral growls, Kid emptied himself inside you before slowly aiding you back down onto the bed beside Killer.

Kid moved your hand atop Killer's chest, ensuring you were adequately pressed together before wasting no time in getting up from the bed and running hot water in his ensuite. Dampening a towel in his sink, he returned to your side and immediately moved to press it against you perineum and soothe over your muscle. Not cleaning you up of the mixture of cum, but ensuring your slit remained untorn and void of ache. After holding it there for a few moments, he switched to cleaning your body while Killer tilted his head towards you and kissed your nose.

"You okay?" the blonde asked you sweetly, "Alive down there?" Using the reserves of your strength, your limp body allowed itself to be moved to better angles for your captain to take care of you all with the towel. You returned Killer's kiss by pressing one of your own against his nose before laughing gently.

"I'm better than alive," you smiled in return, "I just… I feel so much… So much relief, you know? It's like I can breathe after not taking in the right air, sun, or water. I'm… I'm just…" You moved away from your words after Kid moved beside you, turning your head and pressing a gentle kiss against his lips that he returned greedily before letting you go. You cupped his cheek from over your shoulder and swiped your thumb over the apple beneath his eye with a gentle smile.

"…I'm going to have so much to tell Wire tomorrow."

The three of you laughed together once more before settling into the bed beside one another, tucked into the sheets as one while you allowed the exhaustion of your sex finally have you slipping into a sound slumber. Despite the wobble in your legs on the morrow, the smile on your face was the first thing Wire noticed about you as he waved you over to enjoy breakfast beside him with the crew.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @mermaniaa @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @armiliadawn @thenotsofantasticlifestory @nerium-lil @sinning-23 @a-killer-obsession @saraptor-art @starchild-unnamed @hellkaiserinphoenix @cicadamoon

If you liked this fic and feel inclined to support me in my writing journey, my ko-fi link is here like a busking cap. Thank you so much for reading my works, it means so much to me!

[kit-kat0037]

Unbreakable Ch. 32

Masterlist

CW: guilt, self-blame, lingering trauma from captivity, anxiety, power development, emotional tension, avoidance coping mechanisms.

Summary: Nobody talks about what happened.

Kidd pretends he's fine. Killer pretends he isn't worried. You pretend the guilt isn't eating you alive. Unfortunately, your powers have other plans. The crew falls back into rhythm. And for the first time since Sabaody, you're no longer struggling to keep up. You're becoming something dangerous.

Something that belongs beside the Kidd Pirates.

Reader

Silence wraps the ship like a barnacle-infested anchor chain—heavy, dragging, impossible to ignore. None of you have talked about that night. Not you. Not Killer. Not Kidd. Most mornings you wake alone.

Kidd is gone before sunrise. Killer vanishes whenever you enter a room. The crew pretends not to stare.

They all know something happened. They just don't know what.

You can recognize you fucked up. Not understanding your powers explains it. It doesn't excuse it. Kidd nearly died because of you.

But he promised.

And damn it pisses you off. 

He promised to stop you if you lost control. Promised to be your leash. Promised he'd never let you become a monster.

Then he stood there and let you drain him dry.

It’s a quiet morning as dawn breaks over the sea. Its rays warm the deck, a warm wind blowing a new direction. 

Kidd comes up beside you—close enough that his shoulder brushes yours as he passes. The first contact you’ve had in a week. 

He doesn’t slow, doesn’t look at you long enough to make it anything more than coincidence. Like he hasn’t been ignoring your very presence.

“We’re fine,” he says once. 

A sharp breath escapes your nose before you can stop yourself. He’s shoving it down. Locking the memory away. Deciding for everyone that there was no real threat so it doesn’t matter. 

Something sour hooks under your ribs as relief floods you. You know it isn’t right. Just because he decides it didn’t matter doesn’t erase the damage. 

But of course he’d pull this shit. Because he’s Kidd.

The man who survives by refusing to stop moving. Refuses to linger on wounds even if they’re still bleeding.

You force yourself to let it go anyway, dragging salt-heavy air deep into your lungs. Too exhausted to pick this fight with him. 

Kidd says you're fine. 

You know you'll never let it happen again. So you do your best to shake it off, trying to ignore the nauseating hook buried beneath your ribs. Whatever argument might have followed dies before it can leave your mouth.

Kidd has already moved on.

He stands at the bow- metal scraps lazily orbiting around him, jaw set in that familiar stubbornness. His mind already made up. 

And just like that, the ship and everything with it moves forward with him.

The decision comes without ceremony.

“We’re not sitting still anymore,” he says, voice carrying just enough to cut through the morning chatter. “There’s a coater on the next island. Retired. Keeps his head down. We get the ship done there. Then we dive.”

No name. No location. He doesn’t need to explain how he found the man. Or what kind of conversation convinced him to take the job.

A ripple moves through the deck. Not cheering — not yet. Just the sharp shift of bodies snapping into motion. Heat grins. Wire starts checking lines and supplies without a word. Killer gives a small nod, calm and steady as ever.

And just like that, the Victoria Punk feels alive again.

There’s a relief in the air, like a pressure valve released. No suffocation. No fear– hiding and waiting for the next catastrophe to strike. It’s fresh air moving through the ship, through every crew member, driving the Victoria forward.

Movement.

The kind that means whatever you’ve become out here — wings, hunger, power, all of it — is about to be tested somewhere the world stops being forgiving. And you realize you’re not scared. You’re excited. 

******************************************

The sea is calm as the Punk sails. The kind of still that makes the ship feel louder than usual — ropes creaking, hull shifting, boots against wood. The crew fills the quiet with training, repairs, card games, anything to burn the restless energy that builds when everyone knows they’re about to be stuck in one place for a while.

You fill it with practice.

You stand near the bow, Kidd hiding away in his workshop. You lean on the railing, far enough forward that your voice won’t carry straight into the rest of the crew. Mask on. Wings tucked tight beneath your coat. The wind pulls at your hair as you test it again.

A low hum. Soft. Barely there. It vibrates through your chest, through your throat, into the air.

Nothing happens. You try again. Lower this time. Slower. The note drags out of you, long and controlled, more breath than sound. And then—

Something flickers. Not sight. Not sound—something in between. A pulse. Something answering back. 

You stop. The world snaps back into place. You frown—and try again. A soft, steady hum, deeper in your chest. You let it roll out, careful not to let it spike, not to let it become that weapon you know it can be. This time you keep it going. And slowly, the world begins to form around you.

Not in color. Outlines. Echoes.

The curve of the railing in front of you. The sway of rope overhead. Movement behind you — a crewman crossing the deck. You can’t see him, but you know exactly where he is. You feel the space around you– mapped in pulses.

Your breath catches. You stop. It disappears again. A quiet, stunned laugh slips out before you can stop it.

Echolocation. The realization settles—clear, undeniable, the world reshaping itself around you. It becomes part of everything after that. Quiet. Constant.

Kidd has all but locked himself in his workshop. When they had asked what he was doing he snapped —something about a thought he needed out of his head. 

No one’s brave enough to push it. But you and Killer know better than that. He’s hiding. 

Not that he’d admit it. If you called him on it, he'd probably throw a wrench at your head. 

He hasn't slept much. You can see it in the shadows under his eyes the few times he leaves the workshop. Metal screaming behind the door. Nobody comments on it. 

Where his ego is concerned, he only has two modes: stand- fight- bark until the other person backs down; or, when that ego takes a hit, he disappears somewhere his frustration can burn itself out. 

Until then, there’s nothing you can do for him.

So you practice when the deck is quiet.

The first few days its just low, soft sounds, learning how to feel the shape of the ship. How to track movement without looking. How to move without needing your eyes to guide every step.

By the third day you can map most of the deck without opening your eyes. On the fifth, you’re trying to bounce sound vibrations through the walls. 

Your personal goal is to push it far enough that you might be able to see through Kidd’s steel workshop door—just to check on him when he shuts himself away.

Killer stops avoiding you as well. He starts pulling you into regular spars again—not just drills, but real fights that force you to think, react, adapt.

Your scythes feel more natural in your hands now. Your stance is stronger. Your balance is steadier. 

“Control,” he reminds you once, low and even.

You nod.

That’s enough. The tension between you settles into something quieter. Not gone. Just… understood.

Heat joins the sparring sometimes, all raw force and laughter, pushing you harder than you expect.

Wire is quieter. Sharper. He catches mistakes you don’t even realize you’re making.

And you start to feel it. Confidence- not arrogance. But close enough to brush against it. Because for once- since Sabaody, you’re finally keeping pace with the rest of the crew. Not the thing slowing them down.

You're becoming something that can stand beside them. Something dangerous. Something strong.

[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.