Taking dangerous chances on Sabaody
You like watching handsome men fight, and Killer's excited to have an admirer.
Smut, MDNI.
Info: Pre-Ts, Sabaody Arc, Hookup, Oral - Reader recieving, Public sex, semi-anonymous sex, danger kink, knife/blade kink, overstim, Fightslut reader, GN reader, reader has a vulva, stealth Killer
CW: un-negotiated kink, un-negotiated everything, reader is into the threats being made but they are made.
On Ao3
He moves like smoke in a gale. A whirlwind of blades and twisting gold. An omen of death that twists with manic grace as he dances across the impromptu battlefield. He toys with his foe. Effortlessly remaining just out of range, teasing the threat of his blades, pausing just long enough to bait a swing before springing back into his frenzied, acrobatic waltz.
His opponent is a giant of a man with feathery wings bouncing behind his shoulders. You recognise him from a bounty poster but his name, for now, escaped your interest.
You’re far from the only one to notice the display. In fact you'd been drawn to it by the cries of fear that erupted from the winged man’s initial rampage before the blond had challenged him and threw himself into the chaos. But while other bystanders watch the fray in rapturous fear, you watch one half of the fight as the peacocking it was. A leggy blond in clinging jeans. A lean-muscled man in a barely-buttoned shirt that generously exposed both the sharp lines of his chest and the blond hair trailing down his firm belly. The Massacre Soldier, Killer, showing off for an audience.
Your own crew's well-meaning cautions echo distantly in your mind as a heat rises to your cheeks. Your breath catches before lapsing into a languid, heavy rhythm while your eyes follow, ravenously, every motion of the man you're well-aware lives up to his name. You couldn't help it, such a violent reputation only makes it hotter.
He’s on the defensive now, but only barely, and you feel your heart thumping with secondhand adrenaline as your eyes chase the blond’s every swift, slick movement. The winged man fights with a pillar-thick baton, more masonry than weapon, and chases Killer’s darting evasions with gleeful intensity. Either man landing a blow could end the fight, but Killer seems unwilling to strike and end the show.
Not that you would complain. You could watch this forever.
Killer springs up into the air, poised finally for what would surely be a devastating attack. The scant seconds he’s airborne seem to stretch into minutes where your body flushes with the anticipation, breath catching in preparation for the surely cataclysmic moment when the strike lands.
But it never does.
So laser focused were you on Killer’s display, that your eyes hadn’t even caught the third figure to enter the fray, until his blade catches and shoves Killer off-course with a shout.
“If you want to do this, wait until you’re in the new world!”
You’re more than a little put out that the fight’s been broken up, but your greedy gaze nonetheless remains on Killer, and you hang back to watch just in case the gorgeous grim reaper wants to have a go at the killjoy. No luck. He backs off as the giant taunts him, the smooth, blank surface of his helmet betraying no emotion, body moving with a lazy, arrogant fluidity even now.
Allowing yourself a few more moments to gaze, you rake your eyes down the sleek lines of his body. Standing still you could appreciate how his shirt hangs loose around his trim waist but still pinches and pulls tight across his shoulders, spilling open to frame his sharp collarbones and the blond-dusted valley of his pecs. The red sash sitting snugly on his hips flutters in the breeze along with the tasseled chaps fastened around his thigh-hugging jeans, and stray locks of his heavy, golden mane. His arms hang lazily at his side, as if weighed down by the bulky, bladed gauntlets that envelope them. Maybe you'd buy that they were if you hadn't just seen the ease with which he maneuvered them.
By the time your gaze drags itself back up the endlessly enticing shapes of his frame, the prickling sensation of being watched has already made its home at the back of your neck. Your eyes meet the white and blue stripes of the pirate's helmet, and widen as you take in the angle. Tilted lazily, and facing directly at you.
Fear flushes through you, hot and sharp. Adrenaline sparks along the thumping of your heart, rhythm rising in tandem with long, striding footfalls heading your way. Bystanders- those that hadn't already melted away -scatter in The Massacre Soldier’s wake like water split and sprayed by the blunt blade of a ship. The brief seconds you believe you have left alive feel like they’re extending for an age. You stand alone in what feels like an ever expanding hallway, nowhere to run even if you could dream of outpacing the man you’d been ogling for his strength and speed. Just before he reaches you an idle thought in the back of your mind that sounds startlingly close to one of your crewmates, sees fit to remind you that if you die right now your corpse will be found with drenched underwear.
Death does not come.
Killer stands a little under four feet in-front of you, staring. Just staring. Head cocked slightly, arms folded across his lean chest, perfectly still in dead silence. If his approach felt like an age this feels like an eternity.
You feel like a caged animal being examined by a prospective butcher, and you’re far more embarrassed than you ever thought you would be by how hot it’s making you.
He, on the other hand, is mentally kicking himself for not thinking of something to say before he stopped walking.
“Enjoy the show?” When it finally comes, Killer’s voice is smooth and low, years of practiced control hiding his own giddy nerves.
“Yes.”
“You're blushing.” Blunt observations that he feels should have him recoiling in embarrassment only seem to redden your cheeks further, “You enjoy it that much?”
A squirm works its way from your hips down to your feet, which shuffle nervously against the grass as you desperately seek your breath to respond.
“I like watching handsome men fight,” Your mouth answers before you can stop it, and Killer’s complete lack of apparent reaction only seems to embolden it to blurt out more, “the way you moved was- it’s- it was really hot- amazing- amazingly hot-”
You finally silence yourself with a gasp, the herculean effort of shutting the fuck up feeling like it’s taking a physical toll on your body as the walking death machine before you continues to simply stand and stare.
In truth, he’s fighting every molecule of his body to not shatter the image you seem to have of him as a stoic, bladed sex machine by answering the awkward compliment with a chorus of overenthusiastic confirmations. He’s on cloud nine. He’s made it. No laughter, no mockery. Some random tripping over themselves to call him a sexy and attractive man with a kind of nervous, captivated terror he could only describe as-
“Cute.” It is. You are. Every jittery, fidgeting movement as you try to avoid his hidden gaze while not looking away, serves to stoke his recently emboldened ego and fuel a rising flame in his gut.
You cough nervously and the sound feels deafening. You’re about 70% sure at this point that he’s flirting with you, but can’t shake the possibility that this is some horny murder hangup, or that you’d even mind if it was. Your traitorous eyes keep glancing over the sharp, taut musculature of his shoulders before darting away as if you weren’t already caught staring, while his unseen gaze feels like lead on your shoulders.
Mercifully, the object of your fixation sees fit to speak again before you’re forced to respond further.
“You normally just stand about blushing ‘til someone else makes a move?” Killer all but drawls, mystifying himself with where the words are coming from but too busy riding the high of your attention to care. He gets it now he really does, why Kid, and Heat, and Wire- and hell, half the crew -throw their weight around as big. tough pirates in bars. He’s not sure if he’s ever felt quite this sexy.
Embarrassment pools briefly, cold and uncomfortable, in your gut as you fumble for some kind of defense, but it’s heated quickly by another wave of terrified captivation as Killer leans in quickly.
“I like it.”
With that simple statement, he pulls away, taking a few steps back. Heart hammering still, you watch in red-faced trepidation as he cocks his head before stepping past your semi-frozen form and down an alleyway.
Four agonising deep breaths pass before you find yourself turning on your heel to follow him.
-
Killer, you find, tucked away just shy of where the light spills through, lounging against the wall as he idly fidgets with one of his gauntlets. He looks up when your footsteps stop, meeting you with another maddeningly impassive head tilt.
“You often follow strangers into dark places?” He asks, coolly to your ears.
Your lip trembles between your teeth before you manage to speak over the pounding behind your ribs.
“Only when they’re hot enough to take the chance.”
“Pretty dangerous.” Killer comments casually, screaming internally and for once glad his personal situation hides that he is presently rock hard in his jeans.
He pushes himself away from the wall, those long, long legs carrying him behind you in barely four strides. He’s caging you in, quite blatantly, but you find yourself simply turning to keep feeding your greedy eyes the sight of him shrouded in cool shadow. Back here, with the bustle of the street all muffled and distant, you can hear him breathing heavily. Not quite panting, but there's a labour in the rhythm, echoed oddly by his helmet and whistling slightly through the holes. In the dim light, your ever-roaming eyes trace over a faint flush creeping down the smooth plane of his neck.
“Am I going to find out why I shouldn't take it?" you breathe, emboldened by the obvious interest Killer seems to take in your role as willing prey, thoroughly thinking with your pussy and not your head as you let yourself be backed up against the wall he’d leant on.
“Or why I should?”
“Do you wanna find out?”
If this is how he murders some people you’re quite certain by now that you don’t mind at all. Your heart pounds with the thrill of danger, the heat between your thighs feels molten. His long, lean frame blocks out the light and you could melt from the rush of being trapped by him.
“Please.” You mean it. Every fibre of you that had buzzed with excitement at the way he fought now hums with desire at the threat of him being so close. Death in blue jeans and an unbuttoned shirt, looming over you with the promise of pleasure or pain or both. Your life could end at any moment and you’ve never felt so desperate.
“Reckon I’ve got some time to kill before my crew comes lookin’ for me.”
Killer regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, not least because he’s certain he’s just parroting something he’d heard Quincey coo at some barmaid once. He has no idea what to do next. It's not like he carries the gear on him.
He could change his mind. Fake hearing someone calling for him back on the street. The hell were you going to do about it? Stop him? He could, probably, just actually kill you and never think about this encounter again, lest he wake up cringing at himself for the rest of his days.
But then his gaze darts down to the glassy, wanton fear in your eyes and he can’t suppress the shudder, the throb, or the soft groan that slips from his hidden lips.
Killer’s never been looked at like this before. Sure, he’s used to being looked at in fear, embraces it, invites it. Want and desire have been turned his way enough to grow familiar too, and to finally fill him with more than skin-crawling disgust. But never, ever, has he seen this addictive mix of lust and terror so brazenly trained, all on him.
The Massacre Soldier’s next moves are swift. His gauntleted right forearm thunks heavily across your chest, pinning you against the wall and forcing a gasp from your lungs. It drags its way down to rest against your upper belly as Killer drops to a crouch before you. His left hand thumbs at the fastening of your pants, but your eyes are fixed on the way it's twin flexes, and the blade resting so close to your eminently sliceable flesh twitches with the motion. Your clit throbs in tandem with your racing heart, want pooling slick and sticky in the seat of your underwear as fear and arousal dance filthily in your gut. You must be breathing because you haven't yet collapsed, but it's so shallow you could've been a corpse. Maybe you were, and still you don’t care.
Another shuddering gasp escapes your lips as you feel your pants tugged down without ceremony, underwear too, baring your cunt to air that feels freezing against the dripping heat of your need.
“Oh so that’s how much you enjoyed the show,” Killer murmurs, and you manage a breathy, nervous hum of agreement.
“I-I like watching handsome men fight- nnh-!” You reiterate your defence from before, the words tripping over themselves in their haste to escape your throat and ending in a strangled whine as Killer’s thumb draws lazily over the aching nub of your clit.
“Think you can do what yer told?” Killer asks, low and hungry, and you can hear a strain in his voice, a weight in his breaths.
“Yes sir.”
“Keep your eyes closed,” briefly those eyes flick down, to the sight of his helmet angled up at you, left-hand fingers braced on the lower edge, “or I’ll be the last thing y’ever see.”
Your eyes snap shut, breath shuddering from your lips in ecstatic fear, core throbbing from the threat, the thrill, sparks racing across your pebbled flesh as warm lips mouth sloppily against your quivering thigh.
“There’s a good pet.”
Killer’s voice is low, lustful, muffled now by your skin instead of his helmet. Whimpers climb up your throat as unseen teeth nip at the sensitive plane of your inner thighs, soft and playful at first, quickly growing hungry and sharp. He soothes the stinging bites with his tongue- wet, hot, burning as touch strives to do its part in compensating for your sight. Settling on one spot, you feel full lips close firmly about the skin just inches shy of your aching sex, sucking hard before teeth clamp down and bite even harder. A desperate cry tears itself from your lungs, and your hands fly to clap over your eyes before they can impulsively snap open.
Panting harshly you allow yourself to melt into the feeling with a shaky, drawn out whine. Focusing on the way your skin feels between Killer’s teeth, the way his tongue laps against it. The bustling street outside the alley feels both impossibly loud and utterly indecipherable. Anyone could be watching with you unable to see and the thought only makes your clit pulse those torturous inches it remains from your sweet assailant's lips.
Finally, Killer pulls back, releases your flesh from his mouth, and the cool air against your damp skin stings in the absence of his heat.
“Souvenir.” He murmurs, teasingly maybe, but his tone is no easier to read save for the hunger of it.
A thumb rubs soft circles against your other thigh, each soft pass counting out another second you’re given to pretend you’ve caught your breath.
Between your legs Killer’s pulse races in his ears. He takes a moment to study your form, the uneven tension in your quaking body, palms tight over your eyes, soft, nervous shudders twitching your shoulders, your knees. You look pretty pinned between the punisher and the wall, a blade mere inches from your soft body suits you, and Killer shifts to slip his heel between his thighs for a little relief.
He leans in, blowing softly against your twitching, swollen, clit, humming in amusement as it draws a shuddering whine from your lips, thumb digging into your thigh and urging you to open up a little more. You can feel his breath, the brush of his lips against the slick and needy folds of your slit, the only warning you get before the searing wet heat of his tongue slips between your lower lips in a long, slow lick, flicking hard once against the underside of your clit before the pirate digs his face hard between your thighs to devour you. His tongue dives into you relentlessly, lapping against your inner walls while you writhe and moan into your self-imposed darkness. Your knees shake and tremble as you feel your clit teased against the hard bridge of your assailant's nose, unseen profile printed between your twitching thighs.
If the sounds of the street outside sounded loud, the sound of Killer between your thighs feels deafening. Wet, heavy, hungry, punctuated by his low groans of contentment and your own half-stifled cries of pleasure.
“Nnh-! Please-!” Your own whimpered voice feels distant, and while you’re unsure of what you’re even pleading for, Killer seems to understand instinctively. Before you can try and articulate the shuddering want clawing its way through your body, he’s pulling back to wrap his lips around your aching clit and suck long and hard, forcing a choked wail from your throat. Your eyes roll against your palms, the muscles in your belly fluttering and tensing beneath the heavy press of Killer’s gauntlet as your bliss draws taut, threatening to snap.
The tension falls slack as Killer pulls away with a soft pop, and your mounting pleasure scatters out through your nerves, leaving you panting and frustrated in its electric wake.
“H-hah- w-why?!” The words are thick and rough in your throat, but however wrecked you sound to your own ears is nothing compared to what you hear when Killer replies;
“Be- be patient, pet.,” it’s practically a growl. Guttural and low, “not done with you yet.”
His left hand leaves your still-trembling thigh, the fingers probing against the sloppy, sensitive lips of your pussy. A whimpered plea is cut off in your throat as two long, strong fingers plunge deep into your core. The harsh edges of Killer’s left gauntlet dig into your soft inner-thighs, the pain only sharpening the sensation of his fingers seeking out whatever point inside you will make the muscles below your waist jump the hardest. He finds it easily enough, forcing a soft cry from your lips and a sharp shudder through your body, before stroking against your sweet spot mercilessly.
“Mmmph… Pretty…” The breathy murmur is the only warning you get before Killer’s lips latch tight around your clit once more and the moan drawn out of you in answer is more of a sob.
That tight, bowstring pleasure begins to draw again. The fingers inside you rolling relentlessly in tandem with the tongue swirling greedily around your trapped and throbbing clit. Your legs are weak, shaking violently around Killer’s presence between them, the gauntlet still pressed hard over your abdomen feeling like the only thing keeping you upright- or failing that, tethered to reality.
“Killer-! Killer-!” Your lips fumble over the shape of his name, a breathless chant growing higher and higher as the bliss-tension pulls tight, muscles taut and quivering. Killer’s fingers dig into you roughly as he flicks his tongue hard against your clit and you cry out as the pleasure snaps. Your nerves are electric with relief, sparks of glittering bliss cascading through your body, leaving your muscles shuddering in their wake.
Your head thumps hard against the wall as you writhe, back arching as much as it can where you’re trapped. Moans and curses spill past your lips as Killer drags out the hot waves of pleasure rolling through your nerves. He doesn’t let up for a second, no slowing down, no gentle easing through the sensation, keeping up the relentless stimulation until you feel like you’ll burst. Until your throat spills sobs and your eyes sting beneath your hands. Too much, too much. Your legs are jelly and your arms feel like lead. Still Killer slurps greedily at your poor, aching clit as his fingers roll and grind inside you.
With the last of your strength, you squeeze your eyes shut, dropping your hands to fumble blindly for the monster between your thighs. Your fingers sink into thick, warm locks, damp with sweat, deliriously carding through them before taking hold and pushing weakly. It’s like a mouse trying to shove a warship, but Killer finally relents.
With one last, leisurely lick, he releases your twitching clit, fingers slowing to a stop inside you.
For several long seconds, you simply gasp for breath against the wall, the wheezing pitch of your breath filling the alleyway as your heart steadily calms in the wake of pumping so much fire through your veins. You can hear Killer panting too. If you’d dared to open your eyes you could have watched how the uneven grinds against his heel stuttered to a stop in time with a hitching grunt breathed out between your weak and trembling legs.
At last, his fingers slip free of your twitching, oversensitive cunt, and yours from his hair, falling limp beside your hips. A low, satisfied hum reverberates in your ears as he lazily sucks the lust from his fingers, and you feel the shape of him shifting to stand after one last parting kiss to your thigh.
“You can look now,” He murmurs, and your eyes flutter open, darkness giving way to the stark stripes of his helmet, back in place and gazing down at you.
“H-hey,” you breathe, voice rough to your own ears, “that was incredible.”
The spell is broken by Killer clearing his throat and angling his head away, almost shyly. A deep red flush still paints its way down his long, strong neck.
“Don’t mention it.”
He pulls away fully and you almost collapse without the arm pinning you against the wall by your stomach, eyes gazing after him as you find your footing to stay leaning back and upright. He watches while you catch your breath and allow your body to bask in the fuzzy, post-orgasmic glow a few more moments, finally taking a step back when it seems like you won’t collapse.
“W-wait, what now? You- You’re just leaving?” You ask breathlessly, though you’re unsure of what you expected.
“Aye. Better get going before the crew come looking.” Killer answers, a little too hastily to be as nonchalant as he wanted, he turns, taking another step away before pausing.
“I did have fun, so if I’m lucky, I’ll catch you watching me again some time.”
You laugh weakly, stomach fluttering with his parting words as Killer vanishes beyond the mouth of the alley.
In the silence that follows, you finally move to re-dress yourself, pausing to admire the “souvenir” Killer left on your skin. More than one it seems, as you find a darkening bruise, and your thighs smeared generously with purple lipstick.
—
"Oi Killer! Where've ye been?!" Kid barks, glower shifting into a softer smirk as he spies his second in command, "thought ye were gonna miss our seats to the rich cunt depravity."
Killer huffs as he jogs to catch up, "sorry Kid, met an... admirer."
Kid's anger dissipates in favour of curiosity, craning his head to face Killer with a brow raised,
"Oh aye?"
"Aye." Killer nods, tilting his head and splaying a V with two fingers across the lower half of his helmet.
A chorus of gasps and wolf whistles met the motion as Kid's eyes widen. Cheeks flushing, he halts for a moment, before his grin returns wild and manic, voice pitched in a cackle.
"Good man!" He cheers, slapping Killer hard on the back as he caught up, spurring him to match his stride, "knew ye had it in ya!"
