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All Of Yourself - 3

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All Of Yourself 3

Word Count: 6514

Tags:Fem!Reader; Ruthless!Law; Obsessive!Cora; Intense!Doffy; Soft!Cora; Dark Themes; Modern Day World AU; Cora Lives; Law is damaged; Doflamingo is a walking red flag; Mafia Romance; Dark Romance Vibes; Dub Con; Degradation; Praise; NSFW; Oral Sex (reader performing); Penetrative Sex (P in V; P in M); Choking; Posessivness; Overstimulation; Multiple Orgasms; Filthy talk; Biting; Ownership; Physical Restrainment; Reverse Harem (no M/M, they only focus on you); Multiple Penetration; Orgasm Denial; Why choose romance; Pierced!Law; Porn With Plot; Rough Sex; Still Unsure About Good or Bad Ending; Voyeurism; Spanking; Dom!Law; Somnophilia; BDSM; Use of aphrodisiac; Future Tags Will/May include: Breath Play; Dom!Doflamingo; Anal Play; Edging; Jealousy; Stockholm Syndrome; Free use of sexual toys; Violence; Torture; Blood; Gore;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: You're on the run. The Donquixote Family is your only chance of protection, but that comes with a cost: you. All of you. Law demands control. Doflamingo claims ownership. Cora offers love. Trapped between their wants and your needs, where do you draw the line between captivity and surrender?

Notes: Please do enjoy this very much Doflamingo-centred chapter. It was fun to write. Here's hoping it finally unblocked my creativity. *sigh*

Note 2: I seem to find a pattern here. I OBSESS over a song and a new chapter comes out... make sure you take a listen, it's the EXACT vibe I want for this fic.

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 |

Divider by @cafekitsune

Law had left the morning after and would be gone for God knew how long. At least, that was the only information Cora had for you. Cora assured you that Law had left on business—something he needed to clean up, people who needed to be interrogated—but you knew better.

You had pissed him off.

Sure, he might’ve been doing business too, but you ultimately knew he would much rather spend time away from you and the inconvenience that you posed, than put up with your advances.

You had screwed up. Even if you really were just trying to help him.

Doflamingo was strangely absent too, but maybe that was for the best. You knew he wanted to know all your secrets, and you were scared of the methods he might use to get them. Even though you knew you couldn’t avoid him forever, perhaps it was for the best.

You felt safe. For once in a very long time, you didn’t have to keep watching your back, or sleep with a knife under your pillow and one eye open.

When Doflamingo granted you protection, you thought you would be stowed away like their dirty little secret. Kept in misleading captivity, a gilded cage, left to your own devices until one of them decided they needed you.

But not sweet Cora. Cora never left you alone. You were in his room, his bed, his bathroom, his arms. He was obsessed, addicted in a way that made your heart swell. You knew it wasn’t love. But it was a twisted form of adoration. Maybe some way to heal from his own trauma, something he had yet to share with you.

Considering where you were and who you belonged to, his attachment to you was definitely the lesser evil. And yet… a twisted part of you, a hidden something you didn’t want to analyze, craved something else… someone else. Law… Doflamingo… you feared them, but your body responded to them in ways it didn’t with Cora.

They were different, and you needed them with equal fervor.

Yet you were enjoying the bliss of being Cora’s. He touched you like you were the answer to his prayers, beheld you like you were a goddess walking the earth, kissed you like you were giving him the air he needed to breathe.

And when he fucked you, he did it with reverence, leaving no inch untouched, no pleasure ungiven, no orgasm denied.

You were his.

But you knew, with absolute certainty, that you owned him.

-*-

You were summoned like a pet.

The afternoon sun was starting its descent, and you had been in Cora’s room reading a book he had brought you while he was away on business when a light knock on the door startled you. When you opened it, a staff member informed you that your presence was requested in the office.

And then left. Without any further information about why you were needed or who had summoned you. Though, instinctively, you knew.

Doflamingo. He had finally decided it was time to learn your secrets.

You took a few moments to gather your wits and strengthen your resolve. He would not get what he wanted without a fight. You still didn’t trust the Donquixotes enough. The information you held was valuable, and they could easily sell you to the highest bidder.

Doflamingo was only loyal to his family, and despite having granted you protection, his family would always come first.

Plagued by these thoughts that you reached his office. When you opened the door, you were blown away by its sheer opulence. If the other room—the one you had been brought into when you arrived—lacked furniture and personality, this one overflowed with both. Dark wooden panels, shelves of liquor and books, priceless art hanging on the walls, dim lighting, lush carpets, and a velvet chaise made this room unequivocally his.

The scent of his rich cologne—woodsy, spicy, forbidden—inflamed your nostrils, sending a warm tingle down your spine that you chose to ignore.

Doflamingo sat behind a dark mahogany desk, a throne of different sorts, for he was still every bit a king. One leg was draped over his knee, his head tilted to the side in curiosity, and his eyes hidden behind tinted lenses.

You shivered.

“You asked for me?” Try as you might to keep your voice steady, a small shiver of uncertainty still made it tremble.

He picked up on it—how could he not?—and his lips twitched with amusement. You stood by the entrance as the staff member closed the door behind you, leaving you both alone in a space that, despite being large, felt strangely suffocating.

Silence ate away the time, the antique grandfather clock in the corner ticking ominously, like a soundtrack to Doflamingo’s grand power play.

You trembled first, and just like that, he had the upper hand.

“You look so cozy in my brother’s clothes, pequeña. Do they make you feel safe?”

What?

You stared down at the oversized dress shirt you were wearing, something you had taken from Cora’s closet when the staff came looking for you. Your fingers gripped its hem and clenched, a sense of helplessness mixing with frustration.

“That’s irrelevant. Sir,” you added when his eyebrow quirked up. “I have no other clothes, and I refuse to walk around naked. Your brother lent me this.”

Further amusement showed on his face, making it twitch before he spoke again.

“What do you mean? You have a room of your own. You have clothes. Silk and lace, makeup, and an ensuite just for you,” he scoffed. “We are mobsters, querida, not savages.”

You felt heat creep up your neck and settle in your cheeks, setting them ablaze with embarrassment and frustration. How were you supposed to know they had given you a room? Cora kept you in his bed, in his room, in his arms.

“Oh, I see,” Doflamingo said, a low laugh emerging from his lips. “My brother has been keeping you all to himself. Too afraid that you'll leave him if he lets you go.” Another chuckle. “Pathetic…”

“He’s not pathetic!” The need to defend the one Donquixote who had been nothing but kind to you rose in the form of heated words you had no way to stop.

Doflamingo’s smirk faltered as he observed you, trying to read you.

“Interesting,” he muttered. Then he rose, took off the jacket of his impeccable wine-colored suit, and placed it neatly on the back of the chair. Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, he walked towards the shelf that held the liquor bottles—mostly whiskey. “He’s been coddling you too much, leading you to a false sense of safety.”

You shifted in your place to face him, still standing in front of the door, as if that gave you the possibility of running away from him. Fool.

“You granted me protection. Am I not supposed to feel safe in your home?”

“I granted you protection from whatever or whomever you were running from. You forget that you are now living amongst devils. You should never feel safe around us.”

A warning?

He let out a prolonged chuckle, his eyes glinting behind his tinted lenses. Then he poured a drink from a smaller crystal bottle—unlabeled—and started to walk towards you.

“Living with a little bit of fear is always the right way to do it. It makes your emotions run stronger.” With two long strides, he was towering over you. Craning your neck to look into his eyes, you clenched your fists, trying to control the erratic beating of your heart. “It makes your desires burn hotter.”

The unhinged smirk on his lips widened, his gaze finding the maddening throbbing of your pulse on your neck. His attention made the vein flutter harder and sent a shiver down your spine.

“Salud,” he exclaimed, grabbing your hand and placing the glass in it, urging you to drink.

You had no idea what was in it. Knowing Doflamingo’s reputation, it was either a spirit so magnificent it might’ve been made especially for him.

Or something more dangerous.

Your tongue tingled with the need to taste the liquid, your hand, still held by his larger one, trembled, your nerves showing. But you hesitated.

He cocked his head to the side, one eyebrow quirking up in curiosity. “It’s not poison, pequeña. It’s just something to… loosen your inhibitions.”

A drug, then.

He chuckled, and without letting go of your hand, brought the tumbler to his lips and took a sip. Your throat burned. His hidden eyes never left yours. When he finished the sip and brought the glass to your lips, you opened them.

And drank.

“Perfect,” he hummed, and his voice vibrated in your skin. The liquid dripped down your throat, burning you in its path and igniting your senses.

What was it?

Doflamingo removed the glass from your lips and leaned down; his tongue swiped your lower lip to collect the tiny drop left behind. The trail of the wet muscle blazed and burned, and the need to have him bite you instead of lick slammed your senses, coming out of nowhere.

“Hmm… Princesa, you taste like lies and omissions,” he drawled, pulling his face back just enough to lean against your ear, his whisper sending tingles down your neck and perking up your nipples. “You carry the scent of fear and betrayal with you like a shroud. What happened? Who are you running from?”

Your hand was still wrapped around the glass, held by his, and it was so hot that the burn was nearly painful. You clenched your other hand, your jaw locking as you felt the slight caress of his cheek against yours.

The heat from the drink was still blooming inside you—spreading. It burned from your throat to your lungs, down your belly, and settled low in your abdomen. It reached everywhere, making every pore, every single inch of your skin come alive.

He pulled back, letting go of your hand and taking the tumbler with him. Then he circled you. You didn’t turn to meet him, but your body felt him everywhere. “Can you feel it? The heat? The want? The need?”

His finger ran deliberately down your nape.

You bit your lower lip so hard it nearly drew blood. Holding your breath to contain any incriminating sound that might escape you, you made the awful realization of what you had just ingested.

An aphrodisiac.

“Let it sink in, cariño. Let loose. You’re not in danger anymore—well,” he chuckled, and the warm hair brushing right behind your ear sent a wave of heat to your core, making you clench your thighs instinctively. “That’s a lie, and we both know it. What I meant was that your life is no longer in peril.” His hands rested on your shoulders—lightly, very lightly—and then he ran them down your arms, the expensive cotton of the dress shirt rough against your over-sensitive skin yet, at the same time, maddening. “I told you before, what I want is your soul.”

You could hear your heart pounding in your ears, its accelerated beat sounding like a mating song. God, you needed him badly. Your body thrummed and hummed at his light touch and at every sinful word coming out of his perfect lips. Your brain kept feeding you images of the night you arrived and how thoroughly he ruined you.

You wanted it again.

His hands came up to your front, undoing the three buttons of the shirt with slow precision. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, a clear indication of your state, even though you weren’t speaking.

Slowly, Doflamingo peeled the shirt off you, letting it pool on the floor at your feet and leaving you bare to his scrutiny.

Heat. So much heat.

Sweat was already dripping from your temples, beading at the hollow of your throat. Your thighs were sticky, and you knew that wasn’t sweat. How in the world were you already dripping when he hadn’t even touched you properly?

How powerful was this aphrodisiac?

“Do you need something, princesa?” The innocence lacing his voice was equal parts dangerous.

You faced his empty desk, trying to focus on anything other than his intoxicating scent. “No,” you answered too quickly, too harshly.

Breathlessly.

“Liar,” he uttered. One word alone, but you could feel his disappointment. And dread settled alongside want inside your stomach. He pulled away from you, circling you like a predator taunting his prey, stretching the agonizing moments where the prey already knows it’s dead and there is no way of escaping, but where the predator still plays the game like there’s any chance of surviving it.

“Make no mistake, you will tell me one secret—one truth—tonight,” he stated, his voice so heavy with certainty that your stomach churned in response. “It is up to you to choose if you will share it willingly or not.”

Pictures of tortured, limbless bodies flashed before your eyes. Secret, and not-so-secret, documents that you had had access to showing all the horrors the Donquixotes were capable of. Were you to be subjected to the same torture, too? Would he call Law to surgically extract information out of you until you were begging them for your death?

Had they not granted you protection? Would they be capable of hurting you themselves?

“Come here,” Doflamingo demanded, chasing away your thoughts. You turned slowly and found him spread-legged on the chaise, one arm hanging on the back of it, his other hand patting his thigh in a sinful invitation.

Your breath caught in your throat. Even if you wanted to run away from him, you couldn’t; you were burning. Liquid fire was spreading through your veins, consuming everything in its path. You knew only one way to smother these flames, and he was beckoning you to him.

So you went.

Each step made you more aware of your body, and each move made your arousal ramp up to infinite heights. You could swear Doflamingo could smell the slick dripping between your thighs.

You didn’t care.

When you reached him, you were more than ready to be ravaged. He patted his thigh again, and you turned slightly to the side, aiming to sit properly on his leg, but he tutted at you, a mischievous grin spreading his lips.

“Not like that, querida,” he admonished. No more explanation was necessary. You turned to him, supporting your hands on his broad shoulders and straddling him, your knees sinking slightly on the velvety plushness of the chaise. You didn’t sink onto his lap, though, opting to hover over him, even though you wanted nothing more than to grind yourself against him for some sort of relief. He was still wearing his slacks, and you were feeling self-conscious about ruining them with your arousal.

He tutted again, placing his hand on your hip and applying pressure. You sank right into the hardness of his cock.

You closed your eyes, rolling them back as a shiver of pleasure coursed through your body when your clit came into contact with the rough fabric underneath you. This time, you actually drew blood while holding back a pathetic whimper of need.

Your hands slithered down to Doflamingo’s chest, feeling the tautness of his muscles coiling as he rolled you shamelessly against him. God, God, God! The amount of need and want building within you was insane.

With your eyes still closed, you felt the rumble of his chuckle in his chest before he let it out through his lips.

“You are so needy, princesa. Ruining my pants, gripping me so tightly but still trying to hold back those pretty noises,” he murmured, moving his mouth along the frantic pulse of your neck. The hand on the back of the chaise moved to grip your jaw, cupping it tightly. “Eyes,” he commanded.

You reluctantly opened them, knowing they would give away the turmoil of incessant desire building inside you. He pressed on your hip, forcing your core to grind harder against his clothed length. Your clit throbbed, and you moved your hips along to get more and more friction. Your legs trembled, your breath shook, and your nails sank relentlessly into expensive fabric.

Doflamingo held your eyes behind tinted lenses, and you knew you were about to shatter.

One more grind, just one more, perfect grind, and you would—

The strength he applied to your hip forced you to stop your motions, and this time, no force in heaven or hell could contain the frustrated whimper that parted your lips.

“Who are you running from?” Doflamingo asked. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, and he swiped it against your lips, collecting the little drops of blood you had drawn earlier and sending another wave of heat to your center.

You arched your back in response, your nipples grazing the fabric of his shirt as he still held your hips, keeping you from moving them.

“What do you know?” He fired another question, his lips brushing against yours while you panted, sweat drenching your body as you were held right on the brink.

“Nothing?” Doflamingo let out a dark chuckle. “I’ve got all night, cariño.” He let go of your jaw, slithering his hand between your thighs, circling your entrance—teasing you. “Dripping wet. So ready to be taken. I can give you the relief you seek if you give me one truth. Just one.”

Your lips remained sealed. You couldn’t tell him. You had no idea how long you were going to be able to hold on to your truths—your secrets—but you couldn’t let them know what you knew. If the secret got out, then the people after you would know where you were and who you were with. And even though the Donquixotes were devils, there were monsters far more evil than they.

“I admire your resolve, I really do. Let’s see how long you last,” he said, his words sounding more like a threat than a warning. His fingers moved, and he inserted two inside you with a curling motion.

You held back the ungodly moan ready to escape your lips but couldn’t control the shaky huff that flared your nostrils. Your nails sank so hard into his chest that he hissed, his grin turning feral as he bucked his hips up unwillingly.

Then it hit you. This was torture for him as well; he had taken a sip of the aphrodisiac.

No, no, it couldn’t be. Just a sip shouldn’t take his control away like that. But that meant that he was having a hard time controlling his lust simply because of how much he desired you.

That thought didn’t have time to linger in your mind as Doflamingo withdrew his fingers from you just as you were about to come. A groan left you, and you trapped an expletive behind your teeth before he used one hand to grip your wrists together behind your back.

“You will tell me what I want to know. It’s just a matter of time, or how much of this you can take,” he mumbled against the hollow of your throat. He was still holding your hips in place, but he pulled on your wrists, making you arch your back further, and started to lick his way down your sternum.

When his mouth touched your breast, heat curled in your belly, the coil tightening further as you tried to control your panting. And then, achingly slowly, he circled around your nipple with his hot tongue, never truly touching its hardness, leaving you desperately lacking, pulsing with need.

Every inch of you was throbbing, shaking with desire. Your skin felt so sensitive that it was like you were burning from the inside out. And the fire only kept spreading further, burning brighter and hotter with nothing to stop it.

“It’s only words, princesa, no outside harm will come to you. I told you that you’re safe with us,” he assured you, licking his way to the other nipple without truly touching it.

Only words. God, yes. Only words. You could say it. And then he would end this maddening torture. You could…

But you wouldn’t.

His mouth returned to your ear, hot breath tickling your skin, sending a wave of dizziness into your head. “Do you realize just how easily I could make you come?” Your swollen clit throbbed with his empty promise. “One flick of my wrist and you’d be unraveling and writhing in my lap.” Your nipples tightened so hard they ached. “You’re so sensitive right now, cariño, that one brush of my finger would shatter you.”

He was right, oh, he was so right. And your achingly empty cunt protested when he didn’t do any of the things he was promising.

“Fucking admirable,” he exclaimed.

Then he let go of your hips and your wrists, leaning back against the chaise and observing you. You wobbled without the support of his hands and instinctively clenched your legs around him to hold steady. Without his hands to hold you back, you arched, ready to roll your hips and grind him to completion.

“Don’t you dare.” It was a command. He didn’t raise his voice; he didn’t even alter his tone, but the whisper forced you to obey all the same. So you didn’t move. And the pain of emptiness echoed in your atoms.

“Please…” you whispered against your better judgement. His eyebrow shot up, followed by the corner of his lips.

“Are you going to tell me what I want to know?” This was his leniency. His reprieve. Him hoisting his white flag while you pondered the pros and cons of giving up the information you held, the only bargaining chip you possessed, and, quite frankly, the unleashing of a death threat over your head the minute you shared it.

It wasn’t worth a few seconds of pleasure.

“Very well, then. Brace yourself,” he stated while his grin widened to unhinged lengths.

And then it was all a blur. Time passed. Sometimes slowly, other times maddeningly fast. Seconds, minutes, hours… you had no idea. It all blended as you were held in a limbo of ecstasy and torture.

Doflamingo kept edging you, leading you to the brink of climax over and over again. So many times you’d lost count. You were a mess of sweat, slick, tears, and drool. You were no longer shaking but rather quaking. Each taunt, each touch, each lick or brush of lips made you dizzy, your body thrumming and aching for him. Needing him. Desiring him. Lusting him.

It was madness.

You’d lost control of your moans a while back, your throat aching and raw after trying to contain them. You were sure some of your nails had cracked with how hard you dug them into his skin and the chaise. Your hair was so damp with sweat that it stuck to your scalp, and your feverish skin was scalding hot.

Somewhere along the line, Doflamingo had gotten rid of his sweat-soaked shirt, his spectacular torso glistening with sweat, too. His glasses lay forgotten somewhere over his desk, and his eyes, heaven forbid, glinted with madness and amusement.

You had no strength left. Nothing more to give, yet at the same time, you still held everything inside.

He had you lying on the ruined chaise—there was no way he was keeping it after what your bodily fluids had done to it—panting and holding back frustrated tears. You were shaking, just wishing the torture to end, even if he left you dangling on the edge, he needed to stop. You couldn’t take any more.

But this was Doflamingo. He wasn’t going to stop.

His fingers brushed your core and slipped inside without any resistance, given how wet you were. He curled them up and pressed, and, by God, that nearly sent you soaring. You arched your head back and let out a strangled cry. The loudest noise you’ve made since he started this.

Doflamingo stopped, his face leaning down, red eyes glinting to meet your own. “Are you ready to talk, princesa?” His voice was soft and ragged at the same time, the hours having also taken their toll on him.

No.

Yes.

Maybe.

The world was spinning too fast, the air was reaching your lungs too slowly, and the fire burning in your veins was too consuming.

Stop. He needed to stop. He—

“Teach…” you rasped, your voice sounding miles away; unused, raw, and aching.

You shut your eyes and let another stubborn fear trickle down your cheek. You couldn’t hold on to your secret.

“Ah,” Doflamingo said, making you open your eyes. “I see.” He seemed pensive for a moment, but then his grin returned. He withdrew his fingers from inside you, licking each of them as if he had just finished the greatest meal of his life. You hated how that turned you on even more.

You thought he was done. That he would send you away or leave you there to fend for yourself. Instead, he raised you so you had your back leaning against the chaise and kneeled in front of you.

Your breath caught in your throat—surely you were dreaming. You had blacked out from the incessant torture, and this was the result of it. Because there was no way in hell Donquixote Doflamingo would kneel in front of you.

“I asked for one truth. You delivered. You’ve earned this reward.”

Then, without warning, he spread your thighs and devoured you.

The first lick nearly sent you over the edge. Your head lolled back against the plushness of the chaise, a ragged cry leaving your lips like a prayer, heat searing away at every single inch of your skin, and ache blooming between your legs.

You were going to come.

Hours and hours of stimulation without release were going to make you crash violently and quickly.

Doflamingo was aiming for it.

His long tongue reached places inside you that made you whimper and squirm; the palm of his hand burned imprints into your thighs, spreading you open so he could feast.

You took a sharp breath…

And shattered.

The orgasm hit you like a violent tsunami, wrecking everything in its path. Wave after wave of pleasure numbed your extremities, ignited the fire in your belly, turning your panting into loud moans and soft prayers.

Too much.

Not for him.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t relent. Didn’t let you recover. Doflamingo’s fingers pressed harder into your thighs, holding you in place and bringing you closer to his mouth when you started to writhe away from his ministrations.

You sobbed, a few words dropping from your lips—might’ve been his name, might’ve been gibberish—and he continued.

A second orgasm followed the first without preamble, making your legs shake and convulse, your hips bucking from overstimulation.

And he didn’t stop.

Tears streamed down your face in rivulets, your vision blurred, your throat dry from moaning, gasping, and crying out.

Only when your body lay limp, exhausted, messy, and ruined did he stop. He rose, chin wet from your release, lips spread in a wide smile and glistening like a madman who had found his obsession and was unwilling to let it go.

Your body shivered and twitched involuntarily. All the orgasms he had denied you were being handed to you on a silver, murderous platter.

“We’re not done, princesa,” he rasped, his voice raw from holding back. He seemed like a man who had no patience to see all of his wishes fulfilled, so these hours he played you might’ve also been torture for him.

With a swift movement, he undid his belt, the button, and the zipper of his slacks, throwing them carelessly to the side. You barely had time to register the magnificence of Donquixote Doflamingo’s naked body before he settled between your legs, laying you back on the chaise.

“Your reward, mi querida.”

He lined himself up. And then he thrust.

Your back arched off the chaise, nails raking the ruined fabric as a cry that didn’t seem like your own tore through your throat. Even though you were more than wet, slick everywhere, you still felt the stretch of his cock against your walls.

It was divine and sinful at the same time.

And not enough.

With a deep grunt, Doflamingo grabbed your hips and pulled back. Then he thrust back in with such force it stole the breath from of your lungs. The pace he set after that was relentless.

He leaned forward, brushing his moving chest against yours, the sweat of your bodies colliding, the ungodly slaps of skin on skin making you even more aroused, turning your brain to mush and spiking your pulse to soaring heights.

Doflamingo slithered a hand between your bodies and furiously circled your swollen clit.

You came again.

By all the Gods that are and ever were, you shattered on his cock once more, just when you thought you had nothing left to give.

“Still not done,” he snarled, thrusting faster and harder, curling your legs and holding you by the knees as he pounded relentlessly. The chaise groaned and protested beneath you, and your cries and moans blurred into an unending crescendo.

He kept going, even as you lay spent, no control whatsoever over your spasming body. It twitched and trembled, shaking under his ministrations as he kept making you come. One orgasm building into another until you were nothing more than sensation and overstimulation.

Black dots floated in your vision, and your voice turned hoarse. You knew you were about to pass out.

But so did he.

With two more thrusts, he stilled inside you, coming with a deep, guttural growl as beads of sweat cascaded down his forehead and temple, gathering on his chin and dripping over your body.

For a moment, everything stilled except your ragged breaths. He held your gaze, and in your delirious state, you found something other than his usual madness.

It was warmth.

And then everything went dark.

-*-

You turned to the side and moaned in pain. Everything hurt. Every muscle, every limb, every bone in your body was screaming.

But there was warmth and softness all around you.

You slowly opened your eyes, finding that you were in a bed. Not Cora’s. Definitely not Doflamingo’s. The room felt impersonal, with its cream and white tones, pillows, a vanity, and a closet. Could this be the room Doflamingo told you about? Your room?

Doflamingo…

You shifted slowly, and the soreness between your legs made your heart rate climb. You swallowed, and your throat felt raw and bruised. Flashes of what had happened ran through your mind like a movie—an R-rated, filthy movie—and heat crept up your neck, settling in your cheeks.

You had never felt torture like the one Doflamingo inflicted upon you, but you had never felt that kind of pleasure either. With a soft groan, you buried your face in the pillow, trying to shy away from all the feelings and emotions creeping up on you.

Especially how you had caved and the implications that would bring.

That’s when you noticed the softness of the sheets, the sweet lavender scent coming from them and from you, like you’d been bathed and—one quick look down—dressed.

You sat up and swallowed a whimper from the strain. You were wearing a silk nightgown, deep red, short, and with a slit on the side that went up your thighs. Had Doflamingo dressed you? Bathed you? Cleaned you up?

Impossible.

He didn’t seem like a man who would do that. Doflamingo wasn’t soft or warm with anybody. He must’ve called Cora to do it. You ignored the little voice of reason telling you that Cora would’ve never left your side had it been him, and instead looked around.

The closet’s doors were left slightly ajar, and you could see rows of feminine clothes inside, as well as shoes lined up neatly on the floor. So this really was meant to be your room.

On the nightstand, there was a small tray with a covered glass of water, two pills—you assumed to be painkillers—and some food.

Your heart twisted strangely at the kindness, while your head still denied that this could be Doflamingo’s doing. With a soft shake of your head, you swallowed the pills with the water, tried to have a few bites of food, and, looking outside the window, realized it was still the middle of the night, so you settled down to rest some more.

You held your eyes open, gazing at the pillow next to you until they burned and started to water. Then you blinked and repeated the process. Your heartbeat ramped up to impossible heights as something like warmth bloomed in your chest.

The soft pillow next to yours was rumpled and creased, almost like someone had been lying there.

Like someone had stayed for a while.

Watching you.

-*-

Law stepped inside Doflamingo’s office with a scowl on his lips, as usual. He noticed the absence of the chaise in the corner, saw the smirk on Doflamingo’s face—promptly ignored it—and sat down on the chair facing the desk, crossing his legs.

“Great timing for your return, Law,” Doflamingo drawled, twirling a red wine glass by the stem with his thumb and forefinger.

“Is it? Because I would rather be elsewhere. I was looking forward to some R&R.”

“Rest and relaxation?” Cora asked from the corner. He was sitting near the open window, smoking, his face heavy.

Law smirked. “Not really. More like ‘ruin and repentance’. I’ve brought Caesar back, and I want to know why the Green Bit deal went to shit. I do the ruining, and they always repent near the end.”

Cora shook his head and sighed heavily while Doffy laughed behind his desk.

“Why are we all gathered here?” Law asked, cutting to the chase, his patience wearing thin.

“I got a name. Our esteemed guest told me who she’s running away from,” Doflamingo said, pausing dramatically for reactions that never came. “Teach.”

Law straightened in his chair, and Cora rose and started pacing the room, his cigarette forgotten in the ashtray.

“Marshall D. Teach? From the Blackbeard family?” Law asked, and Doffy nodded. “He’s after her?” Another nod. “Why?”

“Don’t know. I asked her for one truth and, frankly, she was too tired to give me more after that,” he drawled, amusement dripping with every word.

“Too tired?” Cora interjected, stopping next to Doflamingo and glaring at him.

“Oh, yes. Hours of careful interrogation. She was a very hard nut to crack.” The unhinged grin on his face widened, and Law knew without a shadow of a doubt that Doflamingo’s interrogation was nothing like the ones he liked to perform.

“Hours of torture, Doffy! I saw you carrying her out of here. She was out cold.” It had been a while since Law had heard this level of anger in Cora’s voice. Interesting.

“Torture?” Doflamingo laughed, setting the glass of wine down on the desk. “Hardly! It’s not torture when you're rewarded with orgasms. It’s foreplay. And I was very generous.”

Cora was seething. He started pacing again, his hands clenched into fists.

“She’s still recovering from what you did!”

“It means I did my job well, brother.” Doflamingo’s smirk turned into a frown, his voice turning low and dangerous, a clear indicator that he was done explaining himself, even to his brother.

“How can you—”

“I’ll get the rest of the information out of her,” Law said, interrupting Cora. Both brothers stared at him. Doffy with a hint of amusement, Cora with unfiltered anger. “If she’s sitting on information that might be important to us, we need to act. If Teach finds out where she’s hiding, we’ll become his next target.”

Not that he was afraid. The Blackbeards were a powerful family, with money, power, and many allies. The numbers they had were the only thing mildly alarming. What Law didn’t like was to be kept in the dark. He liked to know all the variables to a problem so he could formulate plans to succeed.

“I am not going to let you subject her to your kind of torture, Law. Not on my watch.” Cora’s stern warning made him clench his jaw. Law was no longer a child. Cora had no right to admonish him like that.

“This is important, Cora. You don’t get to play protector if she’s putting us all in danger. This is about the family’s safety.”

“She is under the family’s protection! She is part of us, whether or not it’s inconvenient for you, Law,” Cora asserted, towering over Law’s sitting form. Doflamingo watched them both with interest and renewed amusement.

Law’s jaw clenched. “Doffy only got half the truth. Half the truth could get us all killed. You want that to happen just so you can get your dick wet, Cora?”

Cora hummed in disappointment, shaking his head. “Don’t disrespect me, Law.”

A pang of uneasiness reverberated in Law’s chest before he brushed it away.

“I’m not. I’m just reminding you not to let your feelings get in the way of the family’s safety. She’s not worth it.”

“She’s worth every bit of it,” Cora spat, his eyes glinting with certainty.

Silence lingered in the air like a thick fog, the tension humming so loudly it was palpable.

Doflamingo got up, placing his palms on the desk and drawing their attention to him. “I will not have a woman sow dissent in this family. You can argue, and you can disagree. But you are family. She is not.”

Cora opened his mouth to protest, but Doflamingo’s glare made him swallow his words.

“However, she is under our protection, and we now know Teach is after her. We will look into his family and see what we can find. After she rests and regains her strength, we’ll speak to her. No torture,” he said, turning his eyes to Law. “No coddling,” he finished by locking eyes with his brother. “We will speak like four adults and get to the bottom of this.”

Doflamingo held their eyes for a moment before settling back on his chair and picking his wine glass up.

Cora’s gaze returned to the window and to the cigarette that had burned to the filter, smoking itself into nonexistence in the ashtray.

Law uncrossed his legs and leaned on his elbows, a pensive look on his face.

“Teach won’t wait for us to have a civil conversation like adults,” Law pointed out. “If—when—he finds out she’s here, and if what she’s hiding is as important as I suspect it to be, he’ll bring war to our doorstep.”

Doflamingo looked at Law over his tinted sunglasses, his characteristic grin returning with a low rumble of his chuckle. “Let. Him. Come.”

Cora sighed, dropping his eyes to the floor as the air shifted around the room with an unspoken understanding. You were under their protection. They would not break that promise.

Even if it meant risking war between two of the most dangerous families in the city.

Liked this story? Like my writing? Consider buying me a Ko-Fi, please!

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pandora-writes-one-piece · 12 days ago

Text

The Meet-Cute - Kid's Story - 21

Source for pic

Imperfect 21 🔞

Word Count: 7605

Tags and Summary can be found here.

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Notes: Aren't you all excited about that 🔞 symbol near the title? I know I am! I'm so sorry about the delay in this chapter, but life happened, and even though my extreme anxiety and made-up-deadlines only my brain needs to follow press down on me telling me otherwise, I don't really care that I failed my imaginary updating schedule. Because I know I made up for it. Read it and let me know, though, will you?

Note 2: Might get a little nasty near the end, but I ain't gonna apologize for the filth 😎 Y'all knew what you were signing up for once you followed me.

Here's a Spotify Playlist I created for this story if you want to check it out!

Masterlist

Divider by @cafekitsune

Moments pass. Maybe hours, you’re not quite sure.

You and Kid keep breaking the kiss, only to fall back into each other's lips again, as if pulled together by sheer magnetism.

Your hands have drifted twice below Kid’s shirt already, and each time he let out a noise that shot straight to your core; either a throaty grunt or a smoldering hiss. You’ve shamelessly pressed your core closer to his, just to feel him unconsciously rub against you, as if he can’t help himself. And each of those rubs, each swipe of his tongue against yours, each press of his fingers against your burning skin is turning your blood into molten lava, creating a fire inside you that you won’t be able to put out alone.

For his part, Kid is behaving more than you are. His hands roam from your hips to your waist, then part from your body to curl around your hair or cup your face. He doesn’t touch anywhere else; his restraint is admirable, but not quite what you want at the moment.

You want to keep going. You need more.

You want to believe that you and Kid have made progress, that he won’t pull away, that he won’t push you away. That this is safe, and that whatever you share moving forward won’t cause you any more heartbreak.

Besides, it’s not sudden.

You and Kid have been dancing this dance for what feels like forever. It’s earned. And you’ve missed him so goddamn much.

His fingers grip your hair tighter, and he tugs at your scalp, hips thrusting against your heat as his metal fingers dig into your hip, harsher than he’s been all night. You moan into his mouth, and he shudders under your hands, his abs tightening and trembling with a low rumble.

Then… he stops.

Not abruptly. He finishes the kiss, pulling back a little, both hands settling on your hips to keep the distance between your bodies. His forehead rests against yours as you both catch your breath.

“We should stop,” he breathes, jaw clenching.

Your heart stutters in your chest, the instant fear of him rejecting you and pushing you away pressing down on it.

“I mean… I don’t wanna do this if yer not sure ye wanna,” he rasps, holding his breath as your hands still roam under his shirt, seeking the warmth of his skin.

“I want to,” you reply, even though your voice trembles more than you wish it to, the fear of losing him—of losing yourself—still very present in the forefront of your mind.

“I can feel ye tremblin’, Sparkles,” he adds, planting his lips against your forehead. “And I wanna do this right this time.”

You know that even though you talked about it, that first time in the motel room—with the moon and his nightmares—still haunts him. “I regret takin’ instead of askin’. I regret not takin’ my time with ye.” You still remember the words he said afterwards, like they’re branded into your heart.

You sigh softly, removing your hands from the warmth of his skin and placing them on his waist—over his clothes—instead. “Okay. We’ll take things slowly.”

He kisses your lips again, so softly it sends shivers straight to your heart. When he pulls back and uses his thumb to wipe a tear from your cheek, you gasp in surprise, not even realizing you’d let it fall.

“I missed ye,” he confesses in a whisper so low you barely make out the words.

You wrap your arms around him, burying your face against his chest. This still feels surreal. You had to fight so hard for him from the beginning that this victory feels more like a mirage than reality.

“I missed you too,” you admit, leaving behind the words you really want to tell him because the last time you confessed your love, he used it against you.

And if this is a dream instead of reality, you need to let it last a little while longer.

-*-

After a while, you both agree to go home. The ride feels lighter, warmer, even though the wind is nippy despite you wearing Kid’s jacket. When he drops you off at the bar, near your car, you find it hard to part with him.

“Kid?” you say, handing him the helmet without meeting his eyes, not quite sure how to voice the worries inside your head.

“Hey,” he starts, dismounting the bike and using his hand to tilt your chin up. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, already regretting bringing anything up. You’re going to have doubts about everything at first, you know you can’t avoid it, but he doesn’t deserve your suspicions after working so hard on himself.

“It’s noth—”

“I said never again,” he says, taking a step closer to you. “I know I haven’t given ye much, that I shouldn’t be askin’ for trust when I got nothin’ to back that up. But fuck me if I ever let ye go again. Ye can be sure I’ll be here tomorrow, and the day after, and after… I’ll be here until ye want me to.”

You smile as he cradles your cheek with his big hand. Knowing Kid has always had a hard time with vulnerability, hearing these words coming out of his mouth is enough to ease your worries.

“I don’t want this night to end…” you admit sheepishly. “I don’t want to have to wait until tomorrow night to see you again.”

Kid’s mouth twitches upwards into a smug smile. “Ye don’t have to. Victoria misses ye… wanna come to the garage tomorrow?”

He’s still smiling, but you see his throat bobbing as he swallows, clearly afraid you’ll reject his offer.

“I’ll be there.”

Kid lets out a huff of relief and nods. This tentativeness between you—a place where you’re both walking on eggshells, feeling what works and what doesn’t—should be weird, should feel like you’re trying too hard.

Instead, it feels like you’re trying just enough. That neither of you wants to hurt the other, that this is all too precious to treat carelessly.

“Night, Sparkles,” Kid says, leaning in to peck your lips softly once more.

You drive home with the silliest smile plastered on your lips.

-*-

“Damn, that’s a lot of dust,” you exclaim, entering the garage with two cups of coffee and a bag of donuts, eyeing Victoria with a frown. The first breath you take fills your lungs with familiar scents: motor oil, rust, paint, and that musky, distinct Kid scent. The classic rock and metal playlist Kid adores is playing in the background, though today there are no tools or banging sounds to accompany the symphony.

Kid drops whatever he was looking at on the workbench with a loud clang and turns towards the door, the easy grin you were used to curving his lips up.

“Are ye talkin’ ‘bout me, sweetheart? Missed me enough to do some polishin’?”

You snort, nearly dropping the coffees on the floor, glad he’s back to the easy, flirty banter from before.

“Maybe, depending on how well you behave,” you drawl, shoving the donut bag against his chest and setting the coffees on the workbench.

His grin intensifies the moment he realizes you’re responding to his cheeky banter, just like old times. Then he takes a donut out of the bag, shoves it whole into his mouth, and speaks with his cheeks puffed out like a hamster.

“I behave really well when I have the right motivation, Sparkles,” he chuckles, setting the bag on the workbench and taking a step closer to you, chewing loudly and obnoxiously. His scent, the one that’s no longer etched in the jacket he lent you, fills your nostrils, travels through your lungs, into your bloodstream, and pulses in your core.

God, you’ve missed him.

“Though I’m not sure how much interest I have in behavin’ when yer around…” You feel heat creep into your cheeks, your own grin intensifying.

“That so?” you ask teasingly, taking a donut for yourself and nibbling a much smaller bite.

Kid hums, taking another step forward, closing the distance between you. “Can I have a bite?” he asks, though his eyes never leave yours.

With a sigh, you lift the donut you’re holding. “You shouldn’t have inhaled yours… here, you can have—”

He wraps his hand around your wrist, angling it to the side, and leans down, pressing his lips against yours. The kiss is very innocent and fleeting. No tongue, no teeth, no desperation. Just heat.

And sweetness.

His lips taste like sugar from the donut and feel as warm as sunshine. He nibbles your lower lip before pulling back, the fire in his eyes burning with more intensity than it has in a while. Then he licks his lips, his thumb brushing against the accelerated pulse on your wrist.

“Perfect bite,” he says, humming again. “Sweet.”

Your heart pounds relentlessly against your chest, and the butterflies that had lain dormant inside your stomach all these weeks suddenly come alive in a restless flutter.

Now you’re blushing again. You can still sense some shadows behind his eyes, can still feel him hesitating a little with every move and every word, but he’s getting bolder, growing back to the flirty, full-of-banter Kid you love. But he also feels so much more whole than before; more complete.

“These are good donuts…” you reply cheekily, earning yourself a chuckle back.

Your eyes finally fix on what he was staring at when you arrived: the broken dashboard from Victoria. He follows your gaze and sighs, releasing your wrist as you place the donut down on the bag. Then you wipe your hand on your jeans and run your fingers along the crack, stopping right at the center where the jagged edges are sunken.

“What happened, Kid?” you ask, immediately noticing how the air around you changes, the tension thickening as he rubs the back of his neck, shifting restlessly in his place. “And why haven’t you fixed her yet?”

“Well, that one’s easy. I didn’t fix her ‘cause ye weren’t here. It didn’t feel right,” he confesses with a low, raspy voice. His fingers mimic your own, tracing the path of the crack and then stopping at the center. He grunts softly, clenching his hand into a fist and placing it against the hole.

It fits perfectly.

“Oh,” you let out, realization dawning on you. “Oh!” He punched it. He was angry or hurt or both, and he took it out on the car.

“We’d just gotten back from the car show…” he starts. Your stomach churns, and you shift uncomfortably, remembering what happened on the drive home, when you were feeling exactly like earlier: light, like everything was falling into its rightful place.

And then it happened. Kid protecting you and… losing control.

“They showed up: my ghosts. I see ‘em all the time,” Kid says, his hoarse voice an indicator of how much he doesn’t want to talk about this.

Your brow raises in surprise, and you cock your head to the side, gazing at him. “Who?”

He takes a deep breath. “My squad. Heat, Wire, Bubblegum… the whole lot.” Kid’s mouth twists in agony as he shuts his eyes and shakes his head, rubbing his hand over his mouth. “They… um… they haunt me. They say things like how undeservin’ I am, or how it was all my fuckin’ fault.”

You hold your breath for this revelation, your heart clenching in pain for his suffering.

“They look—fuck—they look like they did when I let ‘em die. Bloody, gritty, missin’ pieces… as if they were frozen in that form as a reminder of what I did—or didn’t do. How I couldn’t save ‘em.”

You catch your lower lip between your teeth, eyes dropping to your hands, and you feel the need to interrupt. “You didn’t let them die, Kid. It was war. There was nothing you could’ve done differently; you were following orders. It’s not that you couldn’t save them; there was nothing you could’ve done.”

Rationality doesn’t seem to cut it, and he shakes his head, ignoring your words altogether. “They just don’t shut up. They’re angry at me, they blame me, and they remind me every single fuckin’ day of how worthless I am.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he takes a deep breath, calming down, and continues.

“When we got back, they were there, tauntin’ me, remindin’ me that I’d hurt ye, that I’m a coward, and that I keep runnin’ away from things.” Kid grits his teeth, his jaw ticking away the pain, like you’ve seen him do often. “They’ve never forgiven me for what I did, so they haunt me, constantly remindin’ me of my failures...”

His breath shudders, and he closes his eyes, lost inside his head, drowning in pain and guilt that he doesn’t seem able to shake away, even with therapy. You place your hand over his, smoothing it until he opens his fist. Then you interlace your fingers with his and squeeze, speaking so softly you barely hear it yourself.

“Is it possible that you’re the one who still hasn’t forgiven yourself?”

Kid freezes. Even his breathing stops. He stares at you with his eyes wide, making you realize that he has never looked at his ghosts as an extension of himself. Maybe he still hasn’t spoken about them properly in therapy, because you think his therapist would’ve made the connection.

“Kid,” you say, turning fully to him, cupping his face, your thumbs brushing his cheeks softly. “They will forgive you. Soon. I know it.”

As soon as he forgives himself. As soon as he deems himself worth it. And you’ll be there for him when they do, to pick up any pieces that fall behind.

“Aye,” he agrees, his voice sounding like it’s scratching his throat on the way out. “I believe ye.”

Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t. But he’s not dismissing the thought. He’s not pushing your compassion away; he’s embracing it. Welcoming your help and your understanding. And that is a huge step forward.

“Now, let’s fix this girl, shall we? I kind of miss taking her for a spin…” you say with a smile, bumping your hip against him playfully. Kid inhales deeply and nods at you.

“Aye, let’s fix her. But ye ain’t takin’ her out without driving lessons. The way ye shift gears is a crime against humanity.”

Your outraged gasp gets swallowed by his cheeky laugh, while the tension settles back into a playful one.

-*-

Days pass. Easy and breezy, with all the lightness of summer.

Kid goes to therapy regularly. Sometimes he comes out looking like he’s been through hell, other times like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

He still meets you at work religiously.

Porche switched shifts with another coworker, and you said ‘good riddance,’ though ultimately, you knew it wouldn’t matter whether she were there or not. Kid is yours. And you’re Kid’s. And no Porche will get in the way of that.

Killer is ecstatic about seeing you and Kid together. His happiness is genuinely visible. He says, verbatim: ‘Thank fuck, you fucking morons. Now, no one better screw this up, because I lost years of my life worrying about you two!’

But the hug he gives you says he’d do it all over again if he had to. And the small, lingering kiss he presses to the top of your head tells you he’s more than happy you and Kid are healing together.

That’s how much he cares about both of you.

You still haven’t told Shanks everything.

He knows you and Kid are working things through, and he hates it. He doesn’t say it outright, but you can see it in his eyes every time you leave the farmhouse to meet Kid at the garage, or when you come home later than usual and he checks to make sure you got back safely.

You appreciate his effort to trust your choices. And that makes you feel guilty about not telling him everything.

All in due time.

And so, time passes. Slowly and steadily, but so very light.

-*-

“Hello?” You answer your phone with a happy—though strained—tilt in your voice. The sun scorches your skin, hot as a furnace, even though it’s already mid-afternoon. You balance your phone on your shoulder, car keys jingling on one hand while you juggle the bag of donuts and the coffees in the other—part of what has now become your and Kid’s little ritual.

“Hello, doll.” The drawl in the voice is unmistakable. You drop the keys on the floor, sucking in a breath through your teeth as you grab the coffees tightly before they follow.

“What the hell do you want, Ichiji?” you growl. Thank heavens your voice remains steady.

“Feisty.” He chuckles softly into the phone. “I thought something had snuffed out all the wildfire in you during our last years together. Apparently, it was always there, lying dormant under all that compliance.”

He sounds surprised. Amused, even.

You don’t give a shit.

“Goodbye,” you state, ready to hang up without even caring what he has to say.

“Wait!” he cuts you off, and you must be feeling extremely generous today because you don’t hang up. You don’t spare him another word, just wait for him to continue his spiel while you pick up the keys, unlock your car, and drop your stuff inside.

“I heard you were working at some dingy biker bar,” he drawls again. You can almost see his smug smile twisting his lips like it used to. “Serving beers, wiping tables for some miserable tips? What the hell happened to the firecracker who had the world at her feet?”

You did, asshole!

Still, you say nothing, gritting your teeth and closing the car door with more force than necessary while sticking the keys in the ignition.

“And dating a mechanic?” His words drip with condescension. “My, how the mighty have fallen. You could’ve had everything, doll. I could’ve given you the world. You just—”

“Is there a point to this conversation, Ichiji, or do you just like to hear yourself talk? Because if that’s the case, I hear parrots are good company.”

You strap on your seatbelt while Ichiji chuckles with unrestrained amusement.

“Yes. You’re right. Straight to the point, then,” he says, pausing for dramatic effect like he owns your time. It takes a loud sigh from you for him to continue. “Come back to me.”

The shocked laugh that comes out of your mouth is unfiltered and raw, and you can’t believe your ears.

“Ichiji, you might need to see one of your father’s private doctors, because you’ve gone insane. I wouldn’t go back to you if the world were on fire and you had the only bunker available. Not nice talking to you. Have a terrible day. Goodbye.”

You can almost hear the anger crackling through the connection; you can even imagine his jaw ticking and pulsing from exasperation like you haven’t seen in years. He was right. You had been a complacent little doll during the last years of your relationship, whereas in the beginning, you were a wildfire, consuming everything in your path.

Well, he never took the time to know who you’d become after college, and now it’s too late.

“Tell me something before you go,” he begins, and again, you must be in a really good mood—though it’s surely dwindling—because you don’t disconnect the call. “Does your little mechanic make you scream like I did?”

“Oh, fuck you, Ichiji!”

And this time, you do hang up, your mood definitely ruined.

-*-

“You’re not going to believe who—” You stop talking the moment you set foot inside the garage and see Kid. He’s hunched over the workbench, his prosthetic to the side, sweat dripping from his forehead, his face scrunched up in pain.

The feeling of déjà vu hits you like a freight train. You’ve been here. You’ve seen this.

It’s phantom pain.

You hold your breath as you slowly walk towards him, approaching him as you would a wild animal. You know what happened last time; you remember the harsh words, the accusations, the venom in his voice. You don’t want a repeat of that; the pain is still too fresh.

“Kid?” you try gently, setting down the bag and coffees, trying to catch his gaze.

He sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth, snapping his eyes shut for a moment before opening them with a long exhale. Then he walks to the cabinet that stores the first aid kit, removes the same muscle relaxant lotion you applied last time, and extends it towards you.

“Can ye help?” The words come out raspy and apologetic, like a white flag being waved in the wind, because last time is probably still too fresh in his memory, too.

You nod, your throat tight with emotion, and take the lotion from his hand, urging him to sit on the battered couch.

This time, he takes off his shirt without you having to ask. He also leans forward, giving you access to his back. You smile cheekily, trying to lighten the mood. “Wow, Kid. If you wanted to show me your muscles, I’m sure there were easier ways to do it.”

The corner of his lip lifts, even though sweat still dampens his forehead, and his hand twitches into a fist over his knee.

“Aye, Sparkles, I know. Needed to make sure ye haven’t forgotten the view, though. Needed the excuse.”

You chuckle and sit beside him, your knees up on the couch.

“Like I would forget this view,” you mumble under your breath, not sure if he heard you or not, though if his smug grin is anything to go by, he sure did. “How bad is it this time?” you continue the conversation, trying to distract him from the pain as you uncap the lotion and lather some between your palms.

He sighs and closes his eyes when your hands come into contact with his scarred skin and you begin massaging his sore stump.

“It ain’t as bad as last time, but it still hurts like a bitch. I already took a few painkillers, they ought to be kickin’ in, too.” He hums low, like your fingers are taking away the pain. “Aye, that feels good.”

Warmth blooms in your chest at how different this situation is from before. Last time, he fought your help with teeth and nails, chasing away every tiny bit of vulnerability. This time, he welcomes your help like an old friend. And in accepting it, his pain slithers away more easily.

You let him relax, distracting him with little things, talking about Victoria, asking when he’ll take you on a ride; talking about how cool it would be to ride his bike, just for him to scoff and say you can’t handle all that power. Then you bet you could and would be a natural at it, making him chuckle more, your distractions working perfectly.

After a while, he seems much more relaxed, the pills doing their job, and your massage helping. You’re rubbing out the last knots on his neck when he sighs and takes your hand in his, stopping your motions and staring at you.

“Thank ye,” he rasps, and you smile. “I hate lookin’ like I’m about to break, but if it has to be in front of anyone, I’m glad it’s ye.”

“It didn’t look like you were about to break, Kid,” you tell him, dropping your hands against his chest, his still over yours. “You already broke, remember? But you got up. And you’re fighting every goddamn day. It’s okay.”

He stays quiet for a little while, letting your words settle, his fingers tracing gentle circles over the back of your hand.

“Yer good for me,” he admits, never breaking your gaze. His throat bobs like he wants to say something else, but can’t. “I—” Kid sighs, letting go of your hand so he can cup your cheek and angle his body towards you. “Ye… fuck—”

His mouth opens and closes before he grits his teeth and leans down for a kiss. It’s desperate, at first. All tongue and teeth and claiming, like he’s pouring out everything he’s feeling and can’t find a way to say. So you take it, meeting his tongue stroke by stroke, letting him know you feel the same way, even if neither of you seems able to say it yet.

Kid breaks the kiss, lifting one leg over the couch, the other still on the floor, while he uses his arm on the back for support. “Lie back,” he asks, voice raw. You do as he asks, the back of your head hitting the armrest before you part your legs so he slots right in.

He leans down, his body covering yours as his mouth hovers over yours again. “Yer all I need,” he finally manages to say, though it leaves his lips as a whisper.

His mouth lands on yours, and he kisses you reverently. You sigh into him, hands mapping the muscles of his chest and back like it’s the first time, your bodies fitting together perfectly, like they never forgot what it was like to be apart.

“Kid, I want this,” you say between sighs, when he parts the kiss. His lips trail your jaw, lowering to the curve of your neck and down your collarbone. Heat begins pooling in your abdomen, its tendrils spreading to every nerve ending in your body. “God, I really want this. But you’re hurting… we should slow down.”

Kid hums low against your throat, the vibration pulling a soft, moan-like sound from your lips. Your nails bite into his skin, your legs parting further, beckoning him closer as your body betrays your words.

“I’m better now,” he admits, lowering his lips and swiping his tongue across the swell of your breasts. “The pills…” Kid uses his legs to support his weight as his flesh hand gropes your breast, and you suck in a breath to hold back a moan. “I’m fine…” he assures you, slipping his hand inside your shirt, pulling the cup of your bra down and wrapping his lips around your nipple—over the fabric of your shirt—amping the sensation as he sucks and laps with his tongue.

“Shit!” you groan, head lolling back as your hips roll against his hardness, the sensation on your needy clit making you moan even harder.

“Fuck,” Kid breathes. The soft whoosh of air on the damp shirt only makes your nipples pebble harder. “Fuck yeah, I’m definitely better,” he groans, pushing his hips forward against yours.

Your breath stutters as your heart pounds relentlessly against your ribs. This is happening. God, yes, this is happening. You rake your nails down his back, arching yours to meet the slow, taunting grinds of his pelvis.

His mouth stops tormenting your nipples, leaving a damp spot on your shirt before he swipes his tongue up your neck and takes your lips in his again. It’s not a completely desperate kiss. He’s taking his time savouring you, with slow strokes of his tongue against yours. But the way he grips your hip, with much less restraint and something feral, shows you how badly he wants this.

“I mean it,” you try again when he breaks the kiss, finding another sweet spot behind your ear to tease, making wetness pool between your thighs and heat rush through your veins. “We don’t need to—fuck—rush this,” you say between breaths, your words broken with soft sighs and trembles.

“We ain’t rushin’, sweetheart,” he stops his ministrations to capture your gaze in his heated one. “We were always meant to be.”

The sigh that escapes your lips at his words has nothing to do with all the friction in your core, but everything to do with the stuttering in your heart.

Kid gives you a small peck on your lips before getting up from the couch, extending his hand. “C’mon, not on the communal couch,” he teases, making you trap a small chuckle behind your lips, still embarrassed about the way Killer interrupted you back then, and how neither of you wants a repeat of that.

So you take his hand and get up. He grins at you, mischief dancing behind his eyes as he takes a moment to adjust himself in his pants. You bite your lower lip, eyes roaming his form appreciatively. He catches you and lets out a low rumble—something akin to a snarl—before hooking his arm under your knee. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck, and he lifts you in a one-armed princess carry like you’re weightless.

“Kid!” you breathe out, something primal rolling inside your chest at his caveman-like action. “I can walk!”

“Aye, but this is how I claim what’s mine,” he says with a grin, eyebrows wiggling suggestively as you let out a heartfelt laugh.

“You really are a caveman,” you tease, and he laughs back, walking towards the workbench and lowering you.

“Grab my arm, sweetheart, I might need it for what I have planned,” he says, nudging you towards his metal prosthetic. You reach for it and clutch it tight, studying him intently as he moves towards the stairs with ease.

He does seem to be feeling better. No lines of pain between his eyes, no dampness on his temples, no twitching from pain.

“I’m fine, woman, stop fussin’. Ye ain’t gettin’ out of this,” he rumbles with a laugh as he climbs the steps, two at a time, as if your weight is no burden for him. “That fuckin’ alarm still haunts my dreams. Had to cancel it again. No more fuckin’ postponin’ this.”

Alarm? Oh! You let out a giggle, remembering the scheduled ‘Ass demolition’ you never got to.

“Well, Kid, lucky for you, my schedule is completely open today. It’s Wednesday, and I have a day off,” you tell him suggestively.

He reaches his door and stops, another snarl-like noise escaping him at your words, his eyes promising all the things he wants to do to you, a look that shoots straight between your legs, making you even wetter.

“Open the door for me, Sparkles, or I’m gonna take ye against it.”

The fire in his eyes attests to his words. He would take you against it. And damn it, you’re quite tempted to let him try it.

But all the previous interruptions are still pretty fresh in your mind, so you turn the handle on the door, and Kid kicks it open, carrying you through the threshold of his home in a bridal carry that leaves you blushing from more than just lust.

You barely have time to take in the fact that his house is clean and tidy before he takes you straight to the bedroom, kicking off his boots haphazardly and setting you on the bed while clicking his prosthetic arm into place.

He flexes his metal fingers and rolls his arm. You watch his face, searching for any hint of discomfort. There’s none. Only hunger and need, a mirror of your own desires.

“Are you going to stare all day, or are you going to do something to back up your words, Kid?” you tease him, coaxing another smug grin from his lips.

He stalks toward you as you kick off your shoes, propping yourself up on your elbows and looking at him expectantly. His muscles rip and flex with each movement, and your mind keeps conjuring up how good it felt to have his weight over you that first time, even if he wasn’t fully present then.

“I might stare for a while,” he says, leaning down, his face inches from yours. He tilts your chin up with his thumb and forefinger, and your breath catches. “I’ve been waitin’ a long time to have ye in my bed.”

A blush creeps into your cheeks before he kisses you reverently. His tongue demands everything from you, his hand gripping your face tightly—needily. He breaks the kiss with a small pant, then drags his hands lazily over your thighs, running them up and down. His thumbs caress so close to your core, you have to stifle a moan.

“Lie back,” Kid says, his voice raspy with lust.

You obey without another word, too overwhelmed to tease him back. He takes off your pants, pressing his lips to your inner thigh as he climbs back up. The contrasting coolness of his metal hand against the warmth of his tongue sends jolts up and down your spine, and you know he can see how drenched your panties are.

“Kid,” you plead, fisting the covers for purchase as you fight the urge to touch yourself.

He chuckles against your inner thigh, his warm breath ghosting over your pussy, making you squirm with impatience. How is he doing this? Kid is impulsive and impatient, wild and unrestrained. Where did he get so much control?

He hovers over you, eyes glinting, that eternal grin plastered on his lips. You release another needy whine, begging without words for him to do something.

He reaches under your shirt and lifts it over your head as you move to help him. Your bra comes off next without hesitation. Then he stops and stares, his grin faltering as if reality just hit him hard.

You lean up on your elbows again to stare back at him, your brow arched as heavy pants leave your lips. His throat bobs before he leans down, shifting his gaze from your breasts to your eyes, his grin returning in full force.

“I’m gonna do this the right way this time, sweetheart. Slow and sweet, like ye deserve. Gonna take care of ye and worship ye until ye feel so good yer gonna burst.” His words send warmth flooding through your chest, knowing he wants to make up for the roughness of that first time.

Then his grin widens and he lowers his face even more. His hand moves, fingers dipping below the waistband of your panties as you suck in a breath, eyes widening.

“After that, I’m gonna do this the wrong way. Gonna make ye come so hard and so many times yer not even gonna remember yer own name.” Your breath hitches in your throat, a gasp trapped between your parted lips. “But ye’ll remember mine. Since ye’ll be screamin’ it so loud yer throat’s gonna be raw by mornin’.”

“Fuck, Kid,” you whimper. Another wave of heat crashes through you, this one threading nowhere near your heart, but settling low in your core.

“Aye, that’s the plan,” he teases, fingers hovering over your mound, not moving, just taunting. “Fuck ye hard, fuck ye good. For all the fuckin’ time I wasted. I ain’t wastin’ anythin’ with ye anymore. I’m gonna enjoy every—” He lowers his fingers, brushing your clit, drawing a soft moan from your lips. “—fuckin’ second. Every—” Two fingers peel you open, another one sliding inside, thick and slow, curling deliberately to hit your sweet spot. The keen you release is guttural, shaking you from top to bottom as your head lolls back. “—fuckin’ pretty noise ye make.”

“God! Kid!” you groan, dropping your elbows and collapsing back onto the bed as he pumps his finger in and out of you. You’re already seeing stars, and he hasn’t even really begun.

“I know, I know, sweetheart,” he coos, slipping in another thick finger. Wetness gushes out to meet his shallow thrusts. Your back arches off the bed, your panting intensifies, and then he—

Stops.

Your whine meets his chuckle, but he doesn’t say anything. He kneels over your legs reverently, and you whimper again, already anticipating the heat of his tongue. Kid removes your panties, tossing them aside next to your discarded pile of clothes.

He runs his tongue along your inner thigh, stopping near your pussy, and you groan, holding your breath, waiting for him to kiss you where you’re throbbing.

“Fuckin’ drenched for me, Sparkles. Look at ye,” he observes, his eyes on your center as you keep arching off the bed, angling your hips towards him. He reaches into his pants to adjust himself once more, then chuckles. “And I thought I was the impatient one,” he teases.

You grit your teeth, angling your head up to tell him off, but whatever you wanted to say gets lost in limbo when he finally places his mouth on you. And by God, it’s even better than you remember.

“Ye’ll get yer fill,” he says directly to your pussy and your groan, one of your arms splaying over your eyes as you bite your lower lip to contain more sounds. “I’mma do this slow and sweet,” he promises with a sinful swipe of his tongue before taking your clit into his mouth.

His lips close around the nub, and he sucks—decadently and unrelentingly. You cry out, unable to contain your noises anymore, and your hands find purchase in his hair, holding him down as you writhe into his face.

He groans into you, the vibrations sending a jolt of pleasure so hot it nearly burns. You can’t think or breathe. You are fire and sensation, pleasure and desire.

You moan his name deeply, grinding yourself against his hot mouth, and he lets you, meeting your thrusts with precise swipes and licks, even a few nibbles on your throbbing clit, jarring you into a different sensation before pulling you back into blinding pleasure.

“Ye taste even better than I remember, fuck. A goddamn feast,” he says between licks. You can’t answer him; you can only moan back, writhing your hips against him once more before he stills you, his metal hand pressing down on your belly as he flattens his tongue against your slick folds before circling back to your clit.

You’re so fucking close.

And he knows it. He slows down his motions; your pants turn into frustrated ones. “Kid!”

“Shhh, sweetheart. I said slow and sweet. I wanna wring out every sweet moan from that pretty mouth. I’ll get ye there. Don’t worry.” He plants both hands on your inner thighs, spreading you open even further before plunging his fingers inside you, curling them up and resuming his sinful licks—this time pumping them in time with his tongue.

When he adds a third finger and sucks your clit between his lips, your muscles lock, your thighs clench, and a hot wave is already cresting, threatening to desperately crash.

“God—Kid! I’m—”

“Aye, I know. Let it out,” he demands with a snarl, pumping you harder and circling your nub with the tip of his tongue.

You shatter into a million pieces.

Your orgasm rushes through your body in hot, relentless waves, and you scream his name over and over, as he licks through every wave and spasm until you’re left panting, limp, and spent. Your vision is swimming, and your chest is heaving with effort and pleasure.

God, you missed him.

You open your eyes to catch Kid sucking on his fingers like he just ate the most delicious meal, his cocky grin in place as he takes in your post-orgasmic expression.

“I like how you do this the right way, Kid,” you tease breathlessly, pulling yourself up on the bed as he unbuckles his pants and tosses them to the side, the bulge in his underwear evident and huge.

“Then yer gonna love the wrong way,” he promises, climbing in between your legs and crashing his lips against yours, making you taste yourself on him and moaning. He rolls his hips against you, soaking his underwear in your slick as he grinds and grinds and fucking grinds.

You push his lips off you with a pant, your arms gripping his shoulders, nails biting into his skin. “Kid! I need you inside me. Now.”

“Aye, aye,” he agrees, his chest rising and falling in heavy pants. He gets rid of his boxers with one hand before he stops cold and stares at you. “Last time… we didn’t—I didn’t use a condom and—”

“It’s okay, Kid, you don't have to worry about it,” you assure him, knowing you're safe. You curl your hand on the back of his neck and pull him in for another kiss while your other hand caresses his chest, lowers to his abs, and feels him tighten up the muscles before you let your fingers trail down and wrap around his girthy cock.

Shit.

You remember it was big and thick, but seeing it again, waiting for him to slip it inside you, already has you anticipating the sweet stretch as you pant in his mouth.

“Yer gonna take all of that into yer tight pussy, ain’t ye?” he teases, nipping your lower lip as he sets you back down and adjusts himself until the tip of his leaking cock presses against your soaked entrance.

He slides it in, just the tip, and groans as you’re so wet you suck him right in.

“Kid, please!” You’re done with his teasing games. You need him. Now.

“Fuck!” he curses, pushing his hips forward, any hint of restraint forgotten. He goes slow, though, not like last time when he slammed into you unforgivingly. You feel every vein, every ridge of his hard cock entering your hole, inch by amazing inch, until he’s fully buried inside you.

You breathe in slowly through your nose, feeling impossibly full. Your walls stretch and accommodate him, wrapping him so snugly he’s already panting.

“Fuck, yer tighter than I remember,” he drops his forehead to yours, leaning on his elbows as they cage you in. “I forgot how fuckin’ perfect ye feel wrapped around me like this. Fuckin’ heaven if there’s such a thing.”

“Oh, God,” you mutter, wrapping your arms around his torso, your nails digging for purchase as he just stands still, waiting for you. Not taking anything, just giving. “You can move, Kid.”

And that’s exactly what he does.

He pulls back a few inches and then thrusts inside with a groan. You gasp softly, feeling him roll his hips to fill you perfectly. He repeats the movement slowly and steadily, driving you insane while leaving you on the brink of pleasure.

“Kid,” you moan out, rolling your hips, trying to get him to pick up the pace. “Is this the right way?”

He grunts, pulling back again and sliding right in, torturously slow. “Aye,” he answers with a nod.

“I want the wrong way!” you demand, your hands going lower, gripping his butt to try to make him go faster.

He lets out another one of those animal-like sounds that travel straight to your core and locks eyes with you, reading your intentions. You just nod at him. You can feel him holding back, trying to make up for how raw he was back at the motel, but you’ve been longing for him for weeks. You need all of him.

“Fuck it,” he swears, grabbing your legs and setting your calves against his shoulders, bending you in half, his hands pressed against your thighs, spreading you impossibly wide.

Then he slams into you, thrusting deeper, harder, faster. The bed creaks, the sounds of skin hitting skin, his low grunts and your high moans mixing into a haze of lust and desire.

“Like this? Feel every inch as I claim what’s mine, sweetheart?”

“God, Kid, yes!”

Like this, exactly like this.

You writhe, trying to meet his thrusts with your hips, but he’s pounding you so hard against the mattress you can barely move. Every thrust hits a pleasurable spot, and as he goes harder and deeper, your moans turn into cries, and you’re dangling at the edge again, so ready to fall.

“Yer gonna come all over my cock, ain’t ye?”

“Yes, Kid, I—” You don’t even have time to finish your sentence. Your orgasm crashes over you, much more powerful than the one before, stealing a loud cry of his name from your lips as your pussy clenches his cock, pulsing around his length and squeezing him deeper.

He groans louder, and your muscles lock with tension as he fucks you through your orgasm at an unrelenting pace, just like you needed.

“Right or wrong?” he asks with a snarl, still fucking you hard, riding through the aftershocks, turning you into a trembling puddle. You barely register what he’s telling you. “Right or wrong, Sparkles?”

“Wrong!” you cry out, still letting out ungodly moans and keens as sweat drips from your temples.

He grunts, suddenly pulling out of you and stroking himself furiously with one hand. With another snarl he lets out through his teeth, Kid spills himself over your chest and belly, his hot seed painting you as you moan through the sensation, your skin tingling and oversensitive.

You both stand still, panting through the aftershocks, revelling in the sensations flooding your chests, your eyes locked together with all the unsaid words left between you.

Then Kid lets go of your legs and lies over you, smearing you both in his cum before he plants a wet, breathless kiss on your lips. You try to catch your breath when he pulls back, stroking an errant tear away from your cheek, his cocky grin back in place even though he’s still panting like crazy.

“That was the wrong way.”

You let out a small chuckle, still trembling, still panting, so satiated and happy that you never want this moment to end.

“Don’t ever try to do it the right way again, Kid.”

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