Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Muffled rain patters against the rooftop and coupled style window lined with metal bars in the empty, lofted attic a certain straw hat wearing pirate inexplicably finds himself waking in. High pitched ringing fills the disorientated ears of Monkey D Luffy as he lies prone, a whimper of pain emitting from the man with his face down against a wooden floor, a floor that reeked of dust and decay, splintered and creaky with large gaps between the planks, deep grooves like claw marks wear away at the flooring like this place had once been the home to some manner of beast for quite a long time before Luffy ever was here.

He can still smell it. Whatever it was. It died in this place. There is a stain on the floor below him, darkening the old oak planks.

It wasn’t the smell that woke Luffy, or the rain. But the steel toed boot that kicked him in the face and sent him rolling into this spot. He raises his head, dizzy, his mouth swelling with the familiar taste copper. He pushes himself on his elbows and spits something loose rolling around on his tongue out, along with a mouthful of blood, adding his mark to the room in a sharp splatter of red as one of his front teeth goes rolling across the floor towards the boot that kicked him.

“LUFFY!!”

The muffled cry of a familiar voice finally reaches Luffy’s ears now that the ringing had stopped. It sounded like something was obscuring the speaker. He looks between the legs of his attacker to see others here with them in this attic.

Dust particles float thickly through the beams of light cutting in through the bars over the window. The night is upon them, leaving everything in a dusky shade of blue and yellow from a street lamp outside this place.

Three bodies, standing there in the dim haze of the attic atop a rectangular section of the floor that don’t look right. Luffy squints. It looked like closed metal flaps, like a trap door, maybe. All three of these people have their hands bound in cuffs with burlap sacks over their heads. There are ropes tied in a noose around their necks, Luffy’s eyes follow the rope to the rafters, where each rope is secured around a beam.

One of the people Luffy has no doubt is Chopper, even with a bag on his head, he’d know that little raccoon-like body anywhere. The other two? He isn’t sure, but they look beat up pretty badly.  

That’s when an ugly mug wearing a green monocle crosses his line of vision. Familiar, and grinning ugly and sadistic down at the disorientated man on the floor dripping blood down his chin.

“Good, you’re finally up. Lovely for you to join us in the land of the living, Straw Hat Luffy.”  The monocle man sneers his moniker like it was an insult.

Luffy’s eyes widen in recognition. I know this man—he’s that guy, that weird pet-pet fruit guy! And a hand that fumbles towards his throat confirms that this is the same guy. A green ring of a collar sits around Luffy’s neck, just like before. Luffy has no idea how he got here, or what this guy wants, but there is one thing he does no for sure and he sneers it out at the guy as he pushes himself up to a sitting position.

Luffy spits blood at the guy’s shoes before snarling up at the pathetic control freak beta, “Didn’t get enough of an ass kicking last time we met?”

Breed only laughs.

Not loud or manic at first, but a deep, smug rumble that creeps out of his throat like he’s been waiting for this moment for a long, long time. His grin widens, yellow teeth glinting in the half-light, the green monocle glimmering as he tilts his head just slightly, expectant. Waiting. Not saying a damn word.

Luffy’s breath hitches as he stares at him, nostrils flaring, the silence more unsettling than anything Breed might’ve said. Like he wants Luffy to ask. Like he’s been waiting for the questions to come pouring out of his bloodied mouth.

“What the hell are you doing to Chopper?” Luffy growls, eyes flicking back toward the three bound figures. His heart hammers. “Did you hurt him?”

Breed’s smile never falters. He doesn’t say anything. Just lifts his arm—slowly—and shows Luffy what he’s holding. A small black remote. One thumb hovers over the oversized red button in its center.

Luffy’s jaw clenches tight.

“That depends on you, Straw Hat,” Breed finally says, calm and pleased, like he’s savoring every syllable. “It all depends on how well you behave.”

From across the attic, a small choked sob escapes Chopper’s covered face. It sounds stuffed, wrong, like there’s something jammed in his mouth keeping him quiet. A gag, maybe. Luffy hears the soft clink of the cuffs as Chopper tries to struggle, the rope tightening against his neck with every little movement.

Another cry pierces the attic, louder, desperate. It’s from the one in the middle—the one in the orange boiler suit. Muffled too. Luffy’s head whips that way, eyes narrowing as the man lurches beneath the sack over his head.

Luffy bares his teeth. “How the hell did you get on the Sunny?” he demands, voice cracking with fury. “Where’s the rest of my crew?! You better not’ve touched them! You better not’ve hurt them—”

Breed throws his head back and laughs. Really laughs this time, clutching his stomach like it’s the funniest damn thing he’s heard in years. It goes on way too long. Luffy trembles on the floor, every nerve in his body screaming to launch at him, to punch the smug off his face until his knuckles break.

When the laughing dies down, Breed wipes a tear from beneath his monocle.

“Oh, Straw Hat. So predictable. Relax. The rest of your little pirate family is just fine. Safe and sound.”

Luffy grits his teeth, jaw tight.

Breed moves. He doesn’t turn his back—he never turns his back—but he steps carefully, sideways, like a snake coiling around his prey. He stops beside one of the other prisoners. The one wearing bloodstained, spotty jeans and a ripped, sweat-stained tank top. Bandages are slapped all over him, barely sticking. Haphazard, careless. Dried blood crusted at the edges. Whoever treated him either didn’t care or did it fast.

Breed grins as he reaches down, “About how I got you and Choppy off your ship… let’s just say I had help,” he purrs. He yanks the burlap sack off in one swift motion.

Luffy gasps. His eyes go wide, breath stolen from his lungs as he stares, “T-Traffy—?!”

Trafalgar Law’s head lolls forward, barely conscious. He has one of Breed’s collars on him too, and some kind of fabric wrapped around his head and stuffed into his mouth. His left eye is black and swollen completely shut, dark bruising curling all around it like a rotten fruit. Dried blood clings to his upper lip, crusted below his nose. There’s gauze wrapped around his forehead, messy and stained, slipping just enough to reveal part of a jagged gash underneath. His tattoos are faded beneath grime and bruises, his face pale and sickly. His hair is a wild, tangled mess like he’s been through hell.

Luffy’s body moves before he can think. He’s on his feet, fists clenched, vision swimming red with fury, “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO TRAFFY?!” His voice shakes the attic.

Breed’s expression shifts. Still smiling. But sharper now. A glint in his eye as he snarls out the command, “SIT. DOWN.”

And Luffy—he doesn’t even want to—feels his whole body jerk. His legs give out. His knees slam to the floor. He sits. Eyes wide with panic and rage and humiliation, muscles tensing against the invisible leash snapping around his spine.

“N-not this stupid trick again..!” He hisses out in frustration and strain as he fights against the control with everything he has.

Breed offers an explanation, brimming with glee now that he has the opportunity to boast about his good fortune and his own perceived genius, “I didn’t do anything to Trafalgar! I rescued him! Him and his handsome bear friend! Found them both adrift in the sea on the verge of death, it really was very fortunate for the both of them! I even nursed them back to health! He had your vivre card on him, and I flowed it, from there, I intercepted your ship, commanded Trafalgar to use his devil fruit to teleport you and Choppy to my ship, and took the lot of you to my home! Your friends never suspected a thing! Now look at me, with the infamous alpha Emperor of The Sea, Monkey D Luffy and his little side kick the former warlord and alpha Trafalgar Law both under MY heel, a mere beta! How pathetic you both look right now!”

Luffy’s breath heaves through his nose, every muscle in his body locked tight under the command he can’t shake. His nails scrape against the cracked wood beneath him, jaw clenched as he tries to lift his arms, twitch a finger—anything—but that same sickening force holds him fast like invisible chains wrapped around his bones.

Luffy’s eyes snap toward Law again, wide with disbelief. This doesn’t make sense. Just a week ago—a week—he and Law split ways off the coast of Wano. Law was fine. Cocky. Annoyed. Alive. His crew was with him. There was no way this happened in a week.

His mind races. What the hell happened to you, Traffy? Who did this to you? Where is your crew?

His gaze flicks to the figure in the orange boiler suit—slumped, shoulders rising and falling unevenly. His head hangs, burlap sack limp over a familiar broad frame. Thick wrists cuffed in front of him. Luffy stares at the ends of his arms.

Those big paws, white fur. I think that’s his bear friend, Bepo…

Breed follows Luffy’s eyes and grins wider, delighted.

“Yes, yes! That one gave me quite the fight—until I slapped one of these babies on him.” He taps the side of the green collar on Law like it’s a prize ribbon. “There will be no plugging your ears this time, either. I’ve been practicing with my fruit. No more silly mistakes, Straw Hat. I’ve evolved. My commands are sharper, cleaner. I worked out all my weaknesses.”

Luffy’s lip curls. “Big deal,” he spits. “My crew has my vivre card too. They're probably already on their way here! Even if your powers work on me or Traffy, they won’t work on them! They’re tough as hell, and they’ll get us outta here—then I’m gonna kick your ASS so hard you’ll never get back up!”

Breed just laughs. Loud and long, head thrown back like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard, “Oh, Straw Hat. Your crew can follow that vivre card all they want,” he says, voice turning low and gleeful, “but they are never reaching this place. Not without getting past the Marines. And the Holy Knights.”

Luffy freezes. “...What the hell are you talking about?”

Breed’s grin stretches in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes. He saunters across the room, slow and smug. Then, without warning, he reaches down and grabs Luffy by the hair, yanking him up with a sharp jerk.

“HEY—!” Luffy snarls, struggling, but the collar flares hot against his throat, dragging his strength down like lead weights shackled to his limbs.

Breed hauls him across the room like a ragdoll, over to the window lined in thick, black bars, then shoves his face into them.

Luffy gasps, the cold biting instantly into his skin—but worse is the drain. His entire body sags, stomach flipping as a sick wave of nausea crashes over him. His limbs tremble. That spark inside him—the fire that never goes out—flickers dim. Like it’s dying.

“Sea stone...” he mumbles weakly, slurring the words as his knees wobble.

Breed presses him in harder, chuckling as Luffy shudders and grits his teeth against a whimper.

“Have a look, Emperor,” Breed purrs in his ear.

Outside, the city glows. Tall towers, glowing windows, and cobblestone streets lit by oil lanterns and cold electric beams. People bustle about even at this hour. But more than that—there are patrols. Luffy’s foggy eyes track them: Marines. Dozens of them, maybe hundreds, in thick groups and armored units. Their boots echo even from here.

And among them—those ones in white. Their armor shining, long capes fluttering behind them. The Holy Knights. Luffy’s heart pounds. In the distance, rising high on a hill that towers above the rest of the glowing city, sits a massive palace—tall and sharp, like a crown of gold stabbed into the earth.

Breed leans in close, his breath hot against Luffy’s ear.

“Welcome to Mary Geoise.”

Breed yanks Luffy back from the bars and throws him to the floor like a piece of trash. The moment Luffy hits the ground, his body crumples—all strength stripped from his limbs, muscles limp and useless from the sea stone’s lingering chill. He groans, head spinning, spine burning with helpless frustration as he lies sprawled on the creaky, splintery wooden floor.

Breed looms over him, breathing heavy, chest heaving with glee,“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” he croons, voice rich with mockery. “Look at you.  Look at what you are now, little alpha.”

He starts to pace, slow, dramatic, like he’s been rehearsing this moment for years.

“You humiliated me,” he spits, the laughter gone from his tone, replaced by venom. “Do you even remember? You and that damn Trafalgar destroyed my ship! You mocked me! Made me a joke—just another stupid villain in a filler arc!”

His teeth grit. “But while you were off parading across the seas—defeating Doflamingo, Kaido, Big Mom—making yourselves into legends…”

He stops walking. His shadow falls over Luffy’s crumpled form. His voice softens, almost reverent, “I was training.”

He kneels, eyes gleaming, “I was preparing.”

He raises a finger, jabbing it toward Luffy’s chest with each word, “I knew this day would come. This glorious day. When I’d get my revenge. And here it is.”

He stands back up, straightens his coat with a flourish, then flicks his fingers dismissively, “Now. Crawl.”

Luffy twitches. Breed smirks, voice rising with the giddy pitch of command, “Crawl to Trafalgar. Now.”

Luffy’s body jerks again—his hands slap against the floor, elbows dragging across the harsh wood planks, his weight making them creek with each shift of his weight. His teeth grind as his bare knees scrape forward, slow and stiff, head lowered in bitter defiance even as his body obeys.

“I hate you,” he growls, low and feral, voice raw with effort and rage. “I hate you.”

Breed just laughs, “Oh… you don’t hate me yet. Just wait, little alpha.”

Luffy's hands tremble as they slap against the old wooden planks, rough and dusty, scraping his skin raw with each forced shuffle forward. The attic is musty—soaked in age, the scent of mildew and rat droppings thick in the air. Every inch he moves makes the floor creak and groan beneath him, boards bending under his weight.

He hates this. Hates the feel of being dragged like a puppet. Hates the sound of his own breath shaking in his chest. In front of him, under a lumpy burlap sack tied over his head, Chopper lets out a muffled sound. A choked, tearful whimper.

“Mmmh—Luhh-fee—mmgh—sshhmm…!”

Luffy’s eyes flick over. He can see the small reindeer’s form twitching under the ropes that bind him, can hear the muffled panic in his voice, but not the words. Still—he knows what that kind of panic means. Chopper’s trying to warn him.

Warn me about what? What are you trying to tell me, Chopper?

Luffy grits his teeth harder, nails curling against the floor as he is forced by Breed’s will to keep going forward. Every movement is wrong. He should have been able to do something earlier. Last time Breed used his powers, he had to be specific. There were loopholes in his commands. When he said sit, Luffy sat—but he could still move his arms. Could talk. Could spit. Could still try just so long as he was sitting.

A cold knot curls low in his belly. He wasn’t lying. He really did get stronger. His knees drag over a nail. He feels the sting, but can’t stop himself. He keeps crawling. And finally—he reaches him.

Trafalgar Law.

He’s slumped in place, cuffed in sea stone chains, arms bound tight behind his back. His head is lowered, hair messy and dull, his body limp and bruised—but it’s him. Even like this, it’s Law.

Luffy stays on all fours, right in front of him, unable to move an inch more. Every muscle frozen in place. He can smell Law’s blood, dried and sharp. He can feel his heat. But he can’t touch him. Can’t move out of his crawling position because Breed never said he could.

The air shifts as Breed crosses the attic with leisurely steps, his polished shoes tapping rhythmically over the creaky floor.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He stops behind Law and the others, right above a thick, rusted metal trapdoor set into the floor. With a smug little hum, he taps his foot once—clang—against it. Then he raises the small, shining remote in his hand, his finger hovering just over the button.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed this, little captain,” he purrs. “And I bet you know what happens if I press this button, don’t you?”

Luffy growls through his teeth, eyes locked on the trapdoor, his voice cold with fury.

“They’ll hang.”

Breed claps, delighted. “Ding ding ding! That’s right! Smart little alpha, aren’t you?”

Luffy jerks his head up as much as he can manage, eyes blazing. “What the hell is your game?! If you can control us with your stupid powers, why are they tied up like that?!”

Breed laughs. A full, hearty, grating laugh, “Oh, sweet boy,” he coos, crouching just beside Luffy’s frozen form. “Because the more broken my pets are, the better they listen,” His grin widens. “So we’re going to play a little game. Just a simple one. To train you.”

Breed rises to his feet again, slow and graceful, like a man admiring a painting in a gallery. He stands beside Law, hands behind his back, and breathes in deep.

“What a mess,” he murmurs, eyes roving over the bruises and dried blood coating Law’s restrained form. “I didn’t make you this way, did I?” He reaches out, gentle at first, then grabs Law’s jaw with a sudden, cruel grip. His thumb presses deep into a mottled blue bruise, right beneath Law’s cheekbone. “But whoever did…? Exquisite craftsmanship.”

Law’s head is wrenched to the side. His messy hair shifts, exposing one ear. He’s biting down hard on the gag between his teeth, eyes blazing, nostrils flaring with every ragged breath. His body trembles—whether from pain, fury, or restraint, it’s hard to tell.

Breed leans in close, lips brushing just beside that exposed ear, “Go into rut.”

A sound claws out of Law’s throat. Not quite a growl. Not quite a scream. His body bucks hard, jerking back from Breed with all the strength he has—but the noose around his neck snaps tight, the rope groaning against the beam above. His feet scrabble for balance, gasping and choking against the sudden pressure. He fights it, fights hard, shaking his head in raw refusal, even as the command sinks like a hook into his body.

“Traffy!” Luffy’s voice cracks, hoarse and stunned. His heart is hammering. “You—You can’t do that!” he shouts at Breed, voice frantic, high with disbelief. “That’s not—! You can’t just make somebody go into rut! That’s—that’s not how it works!”

Breed glances at Luffy, a slow, knowing smile curling his lips, “Oh, can’t I?” he purrs. “Is that what you think, little captain?” He holds up his hand and snaps his fingers once.

Law’s back arches violently—his breath hitches in a strangled grunt. His body lurches, a tremor running through him from the base of his spine to his toes. Sweat beads along his temple. His pupils flare wide, dilated and unfocused, teeth still sunk into the gag as his body betrays him.

Breed just watches, delighted. “I told you I’ve improved,” he says, voice syrup-sweet. “No more loopholes. No more wiggle room.”

Luffy stares, heart crawling up his throat, cold dread slamming into his chest like a punch. This wasn’t like last time. This wasn’t anything like last time.

Law’s breath stutters, then drags in ragged and deep, as if his lungs can’t get enough air. His spine bows hard again, body thrumming with heat that seems to radiate straight off his skin in pulsing waves. The air thickens with it—thickens with him.

Pheromones burst from him like a cracked bottle, flooding the room in a storm of sharp, furious alpha scent. It stings at the back of the throat. Smells like blood and danger and sex. There’s nothing delicate about it. It’s not a calling—it’s a threat. A violent, territorial, mine-or-die kind of scent.

His muscles twitch under bruised skin, tension coiling through his body like a wound spring ready to snap. He pulls hard at the cuffs binding his wrists, the chains clanking as if they’re under pressure, his body straining for action—for violence—for release.

Alphas in rut don’t think clearly. They don’t ask. They take. Their instincts scream for a partner, someone to fuck, someone to claim, someone to stuff full of seed until they’re satisfied. That satisfaction never comes easy. Not unless someone submits. Not unless someone belongs to them.

Law’s body knows this, even if his mind still fights it. His scent spikes again—agitated, volatile, maddened—as his head jerks, eyes darting toward the other alpha in the room.

Luffy.

Breed watches with amusement glinting in his eyes, as a beta, he’s completely untouched by the tension spiking like a live wire in the air. The scent makes him instinctively want to back off and leave, but he remembers he’s the one in control here.

“Do you know,” he hums, almost conversational, “what happens when two alphas in rut are trapped in the same room?”

Luffy stiffens. His arms tremble under him. He’s still frozen, still stuck on all fours. But his face—his face goes pale, the blood draining from it as the horror sets in. He shakes his head, violently, rapidly, panic clawing up his throat.

Breed grins. “They try to kill each other.”

Luffy’s whole body jerks. “Don’t—” he croaks out. “Don’t you dare.”

Breed doesn’t even look at him. “Go into rut.”

The command slams into Luffy’s body like a sledgehammer. Heat flares beneath his skin in an instant. His breath catches, then punches out of him in a gasp as his body burns. His heart hammers like it’s trying to break out of his chest. His own scent hits him—sour and sharp, then darker, thicker, needy.

Law’s head snaps toward him, pupils blown wide. His body twitches, shoulders heaving. There’s recognition there. Recognition and rage.

Two alphas. Two ticking bombs. And nowhere to run.

“On your knees, Straw Hat.” Breed commands.

Luffy rises from his hands and puts all his weight onto his knees like he’s been pulled taut by an invisible string linked to his spine. The command echoes through his bones, overriding everything—instinct, thought, even fury. His teeth grind together, lips pulled back in a grimace, saliva foaming at the corners of his mouth. His eyes, bloodshot and red-rimmed, lock on Law.

He pants hard through his nose, chest heaving, nostrils flaring. The scent hits him again—Law’s scent. Heavy and dark and territorial. It curls in his lungs like smoke, clawing at the inside of his skull, lighting up that primal center of his alpha brain like a switch. Another alpha. Another rutting alpha. His brain doesn’t know nuance anymore. Doesn’t recognize Law as friend or ally. Not right now.

All it sees is threat.

Law’s scent is mocking him. It dares him. Dominates him. It howls I'm stronger. I'm better. I'm the one who gets to breed, who gets to lead. It’s intolerable.

Luffy snarls behind clenched teeth. His hands flex uselessly at his sides, fingers twitching like they’re searching for something to tear into. His vision fogs at the edges, the need to establish dominance screaming louder than any thought he has left. And Law—Law is reacting the same way. His body is trembling with adrenaline, pupils pinning Luffy in place like a rival he has to destroy.

From the corners of the room, muffled cries rattle against gagged mouths. Bepo and Chopper thrash uselessly in their bindings, their pleading garbled and panicked. It doesn’t matter. Not to Luffy. Not to Law. Not right now.

Breed watches with delight glinting in his eyes. “Now that’s better,” he says, stepping closer. “You’re really starting to feel it, huh?”

Luffy growls. It’s deep and animal. Inhuman. But he still can’t move. Not yet.

Breed crouches beside him, fingers toying with the remote like it’s a toy. “Let me explain how this little training session’s going to work,” he says casually. “You see, I don’t want to command you every time. That builds tolerance. Immunity. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Luffy doesn’t answer. Can’t. His body’s a riot of heat and pressure and fury.

“So,” Breed says sweetly, “I need your submission to be willing. I need you to want to follow orders. And if you don’t? I’ll just keep raising the stakes until you learn.”

He smiles then. It's not friendly. It's the smile of a man who’s already imagined a thousand ways to break someone.

“You have a choice coming, captain. I’m going to give you the release command. Your body will be yours again. But you’ll need to do one of three things. Or they hang."

Breed leans in, voice low like he’s sharing a secret. “Don’t even think about lunging for me. Try it, and I’ll make you regret it in ways you can’t even imagine.” The tip of the remote taps gently under Luffy’s chin. “Now. Your options.”

“One… break your own arm. Two… piss on your fellow alpha. Or three… crawl to your little doctor and bite him. Make it a mating mark.” Breed finishes his options and stands, moving away from Luffy. the room filled with panting, snarling, and frantic sobbing from Bepo and Chopper.

Breed moves behind them, pulling their burlap sacks from their faces one at a time, first Bepo, then Chopper. Both of them look absolutely wrecked with fear and misery. Snot and tears soaking their faces. Bepo’s fur is matted in blood and he looks like he’s in no better shape than Law. His fur just hides it better.

Breed moves to the far side of the attic, behind the trio on the trap door, putting plenty of distance between him and the straw hat captain before he gives the command, “Straw Hat- released.”

Luffy’s body unfreezes with a violent jolt, like a dam bursting. His breath claws out of his lungs in a ragged growl as full control crashes back into his limbs. The force of it buckles him forward, hands slamming onto the wooden floor beneath him. Nails dig deep into the old planks, splintering the surface as every muscle coils, straining under the weight of instinct and fury.

His rut is a wildfire now—blazing, choking, suffocating. Law’s scent drowns him. Alpha. Heat. Challenge. His brain screams tear him apart. Dominate. Climb over his body and bury your teeth in his throat until he yields.

But then—Bepo’s broken sob, raw and helpless. Chopper’s terrified whimper. Law’s shallow, shaky breath, barely more than a rasp.

Luffy’s head jerks up, vision swimming. The sacks are gone, and what’s left— Bepo looks like he’s been torn apart. His blood mats the white of his fur, and his mouth trembles behind the duct tape. Chopper’s antlers shake, his swollen eye barely open, tears slipping down like a leaking faucet. And Law—Law is drenched in sweat, chest hitching with every breath, his wrists raw from where he fought the restraints.

They're all standing on a metal panel just slightly off-level from the floor. The nooses twitch with every movement above. The ropes creak ominously.

Luffy sees it now—he remembers through the haze of his rut what lies underneath them. That square outline. That’s the trap. That’s the drop. And that’s the nooses tight around their throats.

“You’re free,” Breed says from where he’s leaning back against the wall, “So what’s it gonna be?”

Luffy doesn’t move.

Breed raises an eyebrow. “Tick-tock, captain.”

Luffy’s jaw clenches so tight his teeth might crack. The fire in his chest doesn’t go out—it can’t. Not with Law’s rut scent thick in the room. Not with his own body howling for release. But something shoves its way through the haze.

His crew. His friends.

Luffy shudders, every muscle twitching with restraint as he stands. His eyes are feral, red-rimmed, pupils blown wide, lips pulled into a grimace so tight it’s more snarl than smile.

And then—he raises his arm.

Breed’s eyebrows twitch up.

Luffy’s teeth grit so hard his jaw aches. His breath heaves, wild and burning in his lungs, but he launches anyway, snapping his fist back with a snarl— “Gum-Gum… Pistol!” His arm snaps forward with the speed of a bullet, flying across the attic like a whip.

Breed just smirks.

Click.

The remote in his hand beeps once—and the metal trapdoor under Law, Chopper, and Bepo slams open.

“No—!!”

Luffy’s attack hits nothing but air as Breed throws himself aside, laughing.

The floor vanishes beneath them. All three of his friends drop, chains rattle. Nooses snap tight. Wood groans. Feet kick.

Luffy's scream tears out of him raw,“No!! STOP!! STOP IT!!”

They sway. Law’s bound hands jerk upward, choking. His neck pulls taut against the rope. Chopper thrashes, high-pitched squeals muffled by the gag, tiny limbs flailing helplessly. Bepo’s massive paws scrabble for purchase as his body sways violently, choking on dry gasps.

Luffy lunges without thinking—but he doesn’t get more than an inch.

“DON’T MOVE!” Breed commands, voice sharp, delighted.

And Luffy freezes. Completely. Can’t move. He’s stuck—knees bent, hand outstretched toward them. Eyes wide. Watching. Watching everything. Their faces twist—bulging, red, eyes watering. Law’s jaw clenches around the gag, teeth bared. Chopper’s little body convulses. Bepo’s paws tremble, now limp and twitching.

Luffy sobs, “Please—PLEASE!! Stop—please—don’t—don’t do this—I’ll do anything!! Anything—just stop!!”

The smell of panic, sweat, and blood is suffocating. His body burns, rut fire roaring in his bloodstream, begging to move—but he can’t. He can’t fucking move.

Breed lifts the remote again. “You were warned, little alpha.”

Click. The trapdoor slams shuts.

Their feet land on solid ground, but the tautness of the rope leave them all standing. They get no mercy, no ability to crumple into a pile on the floor. They’re forced to stand or strangle themselves. The three of them are Choking, gasping, twitching, heaving. Chopper wheezes, sobbing into the gag. Bepo’s knees are shaking violently. Law coughs wetly around his gag, dragging air in like he’s breathing for the first time in years.

Luffy shakes, sweat pouring off him.

Breed dusts off his sleeves as he strolls leisurely back into view, “Tsk. You lost the right to choose,” he says, voice light, casual. “And worse—you hurt your friends. They almost died because of your little outburst. You were told not to try and come after me.”

Luffy’s eyes gleam with wet, broken rage. He wants to scream again—but nothing comes out.

Breed stops right in front of him, the smile returning, “I won’t command you this time,” he says, tone syrupy sweet. “I’m just telling you.” His smile spreads wider, teeth sharp as knives, “Go piss on your fellow alpha.”

Luffy stares at him. Like he hadn’t heard. Like his brain short-circuited. He shakes his head—once. A slow, broken motion.

Breed tilts his head. “Oh? Problem?”

Luffy’s throat works. “That’s…” he pants, voice cracking, “…you’re insane. That’s a challenge. That’s… war.”

Breed just grins, “Exactly. And you’ll do it, or they are getting hung again. How many times do you suppose I can hang them before they die of asphyxiation? There is also the potential of any one of them snapping their neck from the drop. You’re lucky it didn’t happen this first time.”

A low, guttural growl rolls from Luffy’s chest, his voice strained and shaking.

Breed’s eyes sparkle. “Now. Let’s see if you can behave yourself…. Straw Hat—released.”

The invisible command lifts. Luffy stumbles forward a half step, his body suddenly his own again. His fists clench tight, knuckles white. He could. He could launch at him right now, end this— but Breed’s thumb is still hovering over that button.

Still close. Too close. Luffy's heart thunders as he trembles with restrained fury. One wrong move, and those ropes tighten again. One gamble, and his friends might not survive the next drop.

I can’t do that to them again. I can’t. Seeing them like that—they could have died, they could STILL die if I don’t do what this bastard says. Play along. My crew will come, they’ll come. I can rely on them, they’re the best. They’ll stop this, I just have to… have to deal with this.

Breed tilts his head with a soft, mock-gentle voice. “Go on. I’m waiting.”

Luffy snarls through his teeth and stomps over to Law.

Law's red-rimmed eyes snap open when he hears Luffy approach, and he starts shaking his head violently, mouth gagged but clearly trying to warn him.

Luffy’s jaw quivers. “I’m sorry,” he growls under his breath, voice thick and torn.

He reaches down, hands shaking, and yanks down the front of his shorts, heat still pounding behind his eyes and chest. His cock bobs free, but he doesn’t move to point it anywhere… significant. He wasn’t told where to piss—just on Law. So he aims low, right at Law’s shoes.

Luffy grits his teeth and forces himself to go, body clenching against the humiliation. Just a couple shallow, strained trickles escape, warm and slow, splattering onto Law’s black heeled boots.

The moment the scent hits, Law growls—a thunderous, vicious sound that shakes in his throat like a snarl of pure rage and then—

WHAM.

Law’s foot slams into Luffy’s ribs with brutal force, sending him flying backward across the floorboards. Luffy crashes back against the wall with nothing in the attic to break his fall,  the wind knocked out of him with a violent gasp.

The attic fills with Breed’s laughter—sharp, delighted, like a kid unwrapping the best present of his life.

“Haha! Beautiful! Oh, that was perfect! He really hates you now, Straw Hat!” Breed wipes tears from his eyes, clapping gleefully.

Luffy curls on the floor, holding his side and wheezing.

Breed paces slowly in the attic, the remote swinging lazily from his fingers like a toy. His grin stretches wide, teeth bared in something feral—something gleeful and cruel, “Well now, Straw Hat,” he says, voice syrupy with mock sympathy. “That was a lovely warm-up. But we’ve still got so much to explore.”

Luffy groans from the floor, coughing as he tries to sit up, arm wrapped protectively around his side. His face is pale and clammy, sweat beading at his temple. His chest rises and falls in ragged pants. But his eyes—his eyes are still burning—because now Traffy hit him—another alpha in rut hit him, and its making his instincts go wild, it’s taking every shred of self-control he has not to attack his former alliance partner.

He just keeps repeating in his head, these are my friends, my friends need me, they NEED me, I need to focus—Traffy isn’t my enemy—pet guy is—don’t hurt Traffy—don’t hurt Traffy—don’t hurt Traffy—

Breed’s grin widens. “Time for your next choice.”

Luffy flinches.

“Let’s see…” Breed tilts his head, pretending to think. “How about this? Option one: bite a chunk out of the bear’s ear.” He points at Bepo, who lets out a panicked sound through his gag, eyes going wide and wild, shaking his head frantically.

“Option two: fuck and knot the reindeer.” Breed gestures toward Chopper, who immediately thrashes in his bonds, his muffled sobs turning to screams behind the gag. His small body trembles so hard the chains rattle.

Breed taps his chin. “And option three… oh, this one’s poetic. Go lick your own piss off Trafalgar’s boots.”

Luffy stares at him. Breed’s words echo in his skull like gunshots. The attic falls silent except for the sobbing of Bepo and Chopper, the creak of rope, and the soft static hum of horror. Luffy’s mouth parts, but no sound comes out at first. He just stares up at Breed, as if the very suggestion has cracked something fundamental in him, and then—

“...You’re a monster,” Luffy whispers, his voice hoarse. He’s not snarling anymore. He’s not yelling. He just says it, like it’s a truth carved into the earth.

Breed clicks his tongue. “A monster?” He snorts. “I’m just a man who knows how to use his tools. I gave you a choice, didn’t I? This is all you, Straw Hat.”

Luffy's hands shake where they’re pressed against the floor. His nails dig into the wood like claws. He looks at Bepo, whose eyes silently beg him not to choose option one. He looks at Chopper, whose body is so small, so vulnerable, still in the throes of a panic attack, whimpering like a child. Then his eyes slide back to Law—tied, panting, sweating through his rut. Blood on his lips from biting down too hard. Rage and humiliation simmering in his gaze, even though he refuses to meet Luffy’s eyes.

Luffy’s stomach churns. His whole body shakes with the effort not to scream, but he already knows. There’s only one option he can live with. His jaw tightens. He swallows something thick and acidic down, like bile made of broken pride and shame.

“I’ll…” His voice comes out like sandpaper. “I’ll lick the boots.”

Breed’s smile stretches, beaming, “That’s the spirit.”

Luffy pushes himself off the floor with a pained grunt, ribs throbbing with every breath, but he stands. His limbs tremble—not just from pain, but from restraint. From the war between instinct and will. The attic is hot and stifling, full of the thick scent of sweat, blood, and alpha rut, and it coils in Luffy’s lungs like poison.

He steps toward Law, but the moment he gets close, Law lashes out with a sharp kick to his shoulder. Luffy stumbles back, teeth clenched, and Law’s heel slams down again—closer this time. It’s messy and unbalanced, but Law’s trying. It’s all he can do with his arms yanked behind him and locked in sea stone cuffs.

Luffy growls, “How’m I supposed to do this if Traffy’s just gonna kick me in the face?!”

Breed doesn’t miss a beat. He flicks his wrist toward Bepo and Chopper, casual as tossing a coin. “You’ve got other options.”

Luffy’s eyes cut to them. Bepo, whimpering behind his gag, shaking so hard his chains rattle. Chopper, still sobbing, a panicked, high-pitched sound that doesn’t sound like him anymore. Just a scared kid.

Luffy growls low in his throat, fists clenching at his sides. His instincts are a wildfire, demanding blood, demanding a fight. He can smell Law’s rut—sharp, bitter, challenging—and it makes every nerve scream to attack. To bite. To prove something. But Luffy sucks in a breath through his teeth and forces himself to stop.

These are my friends, he chants in his mind. My friends. They need me. Traffy’s hurt. He’s not the enemy. Pet guy is. Breed is. Not Traffy.

Another kick flies toward him, and this time Luffy catches it—fingers wrapping tight around Law’s ankle. The force nearly knocks Law off balance, and the noose pulls taut with a brutal jolt that makes him choke.

“Shit—hold still!” Luffy lunges forward, grabbing his arm and steadying him so the rope doesn’t snap his neck.

Law snarls behind the gag, furious, muffled curses bubbling up. His whole body trembles like a strung wire, held up only by Luffy’s grip and the cruel noose overhead.

“Get a hold of yourself!” Luffy snaps. “You’re gonna die if you don’t stop!”

Law kicks again—less forceful now, more reactive—but Luffy holds his leg firm and drops to a crouch, dragging in one last breath before he lowers his face.

He’s your friend, Luffy thinks.

His lips brush the leather of Law’s boot. The piss is already drying, bitter and acrid on his tongue. He licks once—quick, angry—and Law jerks his leg back like he’s been shocked.

Luffy spits on the ground, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He glares at Breed, teeth bared.

“There,” he growls. “Are we DONE?”

Breed claps slowly, mock admiration dripping from every movement. “Bravo. That fire in your eyes?” He grins wider than should be humanly possible. “That’s what I’m after. That spark,.”

He steps forward, hands behind his back like a teacher with a lesson plan. “We’re just getting started with the fun tonight. And it won’t end until that fire in your eyes is nothing but smoke and ash. Until all that defiance is drowned in submission. That’s when we’re done.”

Luffy’s whole body is trembling. His fists clench and unclench, breath shallow, blood boiling like magma beneath his skin. The fire Breed talked about? It’s real. It’s pulsing in his head, behind his eyes, coiling in his gut like a storm about to break.

“I’m gonna kill you,” Luffy growls, too low for it to be a scream, too rough for it to be a whisper.

And then he snaps.

“Gum-Gum Pistol!!”

His arm stretches back with lightning speed, fist aimed directly for Breed’s smug, disgusting face—

“CHANGE YOUR TARGET.”

The words hit like a whipcrack. Luffy’s eyes fly wide, and his whole body jerks. His arm wrenches in midair, bones twisting with the rubber, and it curves—the trajectory skews, warps, bends—

Crack.

His fist slams into Bepo’s snout with a sickening crunch. The bear lets out a stifled, pained yowl, his body going limp in the chains. Blood blooms beneath his gag and drips down his chin.

Luffy’s arm snaps back to him like a slingshot. He stares at his own fist in horror.

“B-Bepo—” his voice cracks. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t—I didn’t mean—!”

Bepo sobs softly behind his gag, the sound small and broken.

Breed’s laughter shakes the rafters. He clutches his chest, gasping like it’s the funniest thing he’s seen all week. “Oh, that was beautiful. You should’ve seen your face! That guilt! That’s what real power looks like, Straw Hat.”

Luffy’s eyes burn, not from the heat of his rut, but from shame. Rage. Powerlessness. His nails dig crescent moons into his palms.

Breed wipes a tear from his eye and leers. “But you know what? You just earned yourself another punishment. I warned you not to strike at me. You disobeyed.”

Luffy goes to lunge again, fury twisting his muscles—but then:

“Stand still.”

And his body obeys.

Luffy freezes mid-step, locked in place like a puppet on snapped strings. His breath quickens. Sweat rolls down his temple, a mix of heat and adrenaline and the primal wrongness of losing control.

Breed strolls across the room at a leisurely pace, each step deliberate, savoring it. Luffy can’t move. Can’t even flinch. All he can do is wait, heart pounding like a war drum, as Breed closes in.

His instincts scream louder than ever—fight, run, defend—but his body refuses. He can only stand there, stuck in his own skin, as Breed reaches him, then walks past him with a smirk.

His instincts scream louder than ever—fight, run, defend—but his body refuses. He can only stand there, stuck in his own skin, as Breed reaches him… then walks past him with a smirk.

The attic door creaks as Breed opens it with theatrical slowness. Just behind it, leaning innocently against the wall, is a metal bat—long, heavy, and stained near the base with something that looks suspiciously dark. Breed picks it up and rolls it in his palm like it’s an old friend.

He turns and walks back slowly, each step echoing with a threat of violence. The bat swings lazily in his grip. He comes to a stop in front of Luffy, lifts the bat, and holds it inches from his face. Close enough for his hot breath to fog the cold metal. His eyes are unblinking, daring Luffy to flinch.

Luffy doesn’t.

Breed lowers the bat without a word and begins pacing, circling the trio bound at the center of the room—Law limp and gagged, Chopper trembling, Bepo bleeding through his snout and breathing unevenly.

The bat clinks softly against the wooden floor with every second step.

Luffy’s eyes follow him like a hawk, locked on his every move.

Breed points the bat straight at him. “Because you can’t follow orders, Straw Hat,” he says, voice light but laced with malice, “you just earned your friends a lesson. I’m going to beat the wholly living fuck out of one of them.” He leaves room for a dramatic pause as his grin widens with sadistic satisfaction in the way Luffy is sweating bullets, “And you get to choose who.”

Luffy’s face twists into something feral. He bares his teeth, fists trembling at his sides even though he still can’t move. “I CHOOSE ME!” he barks, almost roars. “Pick me, you bastard!!”

Breed snorts out a laugh, the sound full of mockery. “Oh, I’d love to beat you bloody, believe me. But that wouldn’t teach you the point I’m trying to make here.”

He turns back to the circle.

Luffy watches in paralyzed horror as Breed steps behind Chopper, lifts the bat, and gently—tap, tap—taps it against the top of his little hat. Not hard. Not yet. Just enough to make Chopper wince and squeeze his eyes shut.

Breed’s eyes gleam when he looks back at Luffy. “So here’s how this goes. You pick one. Right now. Or…” He gestures loosely at the ropes above, at the trapdoor, at the pulleys still creaking in the rafters. “All of them get dropped. Fifteen seconds. Long enough to maybe live. Or maybe not.”

He clicks his tongue, amused. “Could be a miracle. Could be a funeral.”  Breed just smiles at him for a long moment, like he’s luxuriating in the stress he’s causing before continuing, voice low and syrupy. “Tick-tock, Straw Hat.”

“I’M NOT CHOOSING SOMETHING LIKE THAT!” Luffy screams, spit flying from his mouth. His voice breaks with raw fury. “YOU CAN GO TO HELL!!”

Breed raises his brows, almost impressed by the feral defiance. “Mm,” he hums. “You’re sure? No second thoughts?” He tilts his head as if he’s asking about dinner plans. “Because not choosing,” he says, low and ominous, “has its own… consequences.”

Luffy doesn’t answer. He can’t. The heat under his skin is blinding—rage, rut, Law’s potent alpha scent soaking the air like poison. His pupils are blown wide, skin slick with sweat, nostrils flaring with each breath. Drool strings down from his clenched teeth as he trembles from the pressure building inside him, like a volcano just before eruption.

The windows are fogged up now. Rain patters heavily outside, muffled by the walls and barred glass. It’s darker outside, the sun long gone, the yellow glow of streetlamps casting long shadows through the slats of the attic like prison bars. Everything feels caged. Claustrophobic. The kind of silence that comes just before a scream.

Breed sighs dramatically. “Then remember,” he says, flashing his teeth, “what happens next is on you.”

And then he swings. The bat connects with a sickening crack against the side of Chopper’s head.

The room explodes into muffled screams—Chopper’s gagged, strangled sobs, Bepo’s horrified shout, the creak of strained ropes, and the raw, animalistic wail Luffy makes, voice cracking into something unrecognizable. His ears ring violently as Breed rains blow after blow down on Chopper’s tiny, trembling form—eight in total. Each swing worse than the last. Not just hitting—beating, punishing, shattering. Blood splatters across the wood, across Breed’s sleeves, and drips down Chopper’s snout as he hangs dazed and broken in the noose, barely able to hold himself upright.

Then Breed turns, flicks the bat. Blood sprays off like he's cleaning it, and he moves to Bepo.

“NO!!” Luffy cries, voice already ragged from screaming.

Breed ignores him, he starts again.

The first hit cracks something deep in Bepo’s side. The next knocks his head to the side. By the fourth, one of Bepo’s sharp white teeth sails through the air and clinks to the floor like a stone. His white fur is matted red. He whimpers beneath his gag, his legs shaking, but he’s forced to keep standing by the cruel tension of the rope.

Luffy can only sob. Hot tears stream down his cheeks, snot running freely as his breath hitches again and again. He wants to collapse, to throw himself in front of them, to bite, maul, rip—but Breed’s order holds him locked in place like chains.

Then Breed moves to Law.

Luffy barely recognizes his own scream anymore, but it doesn’t matter.

The bat hits Law once in the side, and again across the back. The third blow lands on his thigh. Not as brutal, not like before. Law’s already slumped, half-unconscious, too out of it to cry out—but still, the metal strikes him and the sound of it hurts.

Maybe Breed’s going easy on him. Maybe he’s saving him for later. Maybe it’s worse that way.

The room reeks of blood, sweat, pain. And pheromones. Luffy’s rut has him shaking, the need to protect, to destroy, to mount, to kill all warring inside him until he doesn’t know who he is anymore.

He doesn’t even realize he’s been begging.

“Stop,” he whimpers. “Stop—stop, please—stop—”

Over and over and over, until the ringing dulls and the room swims back into focus.

Breed finally stops. He’s panting slightly from the effort, one hand slicking back his hair as he straightens and turns. The bat, soaked in blood, drips onto the floorboards. Breed walks up to Luffy, close enough that the scent of violence rolls off him in waves. He lifts the bat, points it right between Luffy’s wide, red-rimmed eyes.

“This,” he whispers, “is what happens when you don’t follow orders.” He leans in, face barely inches from Luffy’s, voice gentle like a mockery of comfort, “Do you understand?”

Luffy’s chest heaves, his breath shallow and rapid. Rage coils in his gut like a serpent ready to strike. His voice, when it comes, is raw, serrated, “YES.”

It’s not obedience. It’s a threat. A promise. A storm packed into one trembling syllable. The look in his eyes burns hotter than hellfire—wild, bloodshot, feral. His whole body vibrates with the need to lunge, to tear, to destroy. Every ounce of him screams violence.

Breed just clicks his tongue, smile turning sour. “No,” he says softly, shaking his head with feigned disappointment. “No, no, no… you don’t. You’re still looking at me like that. With that nasty little look. You still got that fire.” He tsks again, stepping away, dragging blood with his shoes as he moves. “I don’t think you truly understand. Maybe you never will.”

He strolls lazily out the door, disappearing briefly. The sound of the bat being placed outside echoes faintly, metal on tile, hollow and final. When he returns, it’s with the calm of someone walking into a lounge—not the scene of brutalized bodies hanging by nooses.

Breed ambles over to Law, still gagged and cuffed, his legs shaking under him, breaths rattling wet in his lungs. With delicate fingers, Breed removes the noose from his neck. The gag comes next, untied with practiced ease. It falls, slick with spit and blood.

Law sucks in deep, desperate gulps of air. Then, with voice cracked and hoarse, he croaks out the warning, “Straw Hat… run…”

Luffy’s eyes widen. “I can’t!” he roars back, like it physically hurts to admit it.

“He’s going to make us fight!” Law barks, voice picking up strength through his panic. Breed is behind him now, the jangle of keys ringing out as he draws them from his pocket. Law jerks away from his touch, snarling like an animal.

“Stand still,” Breed commands.

Law freezes. He pants, shaking, throat tight as he forces the words out. “He told us before you woke up—he’s going to make us fight to the death! It’s all part of the show!”

Chopper and Bepo—battered, bloodied, barely upright in their nooses—sob, nodding frantically behind their gags.

Luffy’s hands tremble at his sides, fists clenched so hard his nails bite into his palms. His voice cracks, furious and devastated.

“Then how the hell do you expect me to run!?” he screams at Law. “I can’t—I can’t move unless he says so!!”

A horrible silence crushes the room. The air is thick, stifling, humid with rage and rot and fear. Only the steady patter of rain outside cuts through, the windowpanes fogging from the heat of ruts and blood and the smothered tension of impending violence.

The clink of seastone cuffs hitting the floor sounds like a gunshot. Law is free. But his body is frozen—rigid, unmoving, face twisted in fury and fear.

Breed backs away slowly, eyes dancing with delight as he saunters toward the far end of the attic. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching the unraveling before him like it’s his favorite play.

“This,” he says smoothly, “was always the plan. Afterward, whoever survives gets the honor of being trained properly. Into a good, obedient little pet.”

His gaze shifts to Luffy, slow and deliberate. “You…  I was planning on having more fun with you, Straw Hat. But you’re such a brat.” He sighs. “So fiery. Too dangerous to leave unbroken. You’ve left me no choice but to cut my fun short. You’ve tried to strike me twice now, and you still look at me like you want me dead, and I can’t have that. You need to learn.” He spreads his arms, as if offering them a gift. “After this, assuming you’re not dead, I’m sure you’ll finally understand who’s in charge here… won’t you?”

The yellow streetlight behind Breed casts his shadow long across the floor, stretching like a claw toward them. Luffy’s tears trail down his cheeks in silence, bitter and furious—not from fear, but from the sheer injustice of it all. From helplessness. From knowing what’s coming next, and being unable to stop it.

He turns to Law, voice trembling with restrained desperation.

“Just submit to me,” he snarls. “It’s the only way.”

Law’s head snaps toward him, eyes wild. “Fuck no!” he roars. “YOU submit to ME!!”

“I can’t!!” Luffy shouts, voice breaking. “It’s impossible! You have to—Traffy, you have to submit!”

“I’M NOT DOING IT EITHER!” Law growls, chest heaving with unfiltered rage.

“ONE OF US HAS TO SUBMIT OR WE’LL KILL EACH OTHER!” Luffy screams back, stepping forward, fists clenched.

“I GUESS WE’RE FUCKED THEN!!” Law howls.

They stand, quivering, inches apart. Their eyes locked. Their breath loud, ragged. The scent in the room sharpens into something unbearable—thick, oily, suffocating. The stench of clashing alpha pheromones saturates the air, coating the walls like a stormcloud before lightning. Bepo and Chopper gag and sob harder, barely able to breathe through it, shaking their heads, muffled cries turning frantic.

Breed doesn’t look concerned. He looks amused.

“Straw Hat, Trafalgar,” he calls, slow and dramatic, the way a ringmaster might.

“The rules: no Devil Fruit powers. No escape. No attacking me.” A beat. Then, with a grin too wide, too cruel— “Released.”

The command hits like a hammer. Luffy’s control shatters instantly. Law’s restraint buckles in the same breath. They lunge at each other like starving wolves.

It’s not a fight. It’s a collision—a violent, snarling tangle of limbs, teeth, and fury. Fists hammer into flesh with wet, cracking thuds. Knees slam into ribs. Feet stomp, dig, scramble for advantage. Nails rake down backs and arms, leaving bloody trails. One of them bites—the other bites back.

They’re rolling across the floor now, locked together, a snarling mass of blood and heat and blind instinct. Law’s teeth snap an inch from Luffy’s throat. Luffy headbutts him hard enough to break skin. Bones crack. One of them screams. Neither stops.

They growl, snarl, roar—not words, not thoughts, just noise, just rage. Their alpha instincts are in full command, no logic left, no memory of who they are or why they ever cared about each other. Only the overwhelming need to dominate or die.

Bepo and Chopper thrash in their bindings, screaming behind their gags, voices ragged with desperation. Tears stream from their eyes, sobs muffled but pleading.

Stop! Please stop! Think! You’re killing each other!

But it's no use. There’s no Luffy. No Law. Only two rival alphas drenched in blood and rage, locked in a fight neither of them can afford to win.

They crash back to the floor in a tangle of limbs, dirt and blood smeared across their skin like war paint. Luffy’s arm hooks around Law’s neck in a vicious headlock, just as Law's forearm wraps around Luffy’s throat. They choke each other out, snarling nose-to-nose, red in the face, sweat pouring off their temples.

“Submit already!” Law hisses, spit flying, arm tightening like a vice.

Luffy wheezes against his grip, voice raw. “No—YOU! I’m stronger than you!”

“BITE ME!” Law roars.

So Luffy does.

He sinks his teeth deep into Law’s arm where it clamps around his neck, and Law jerks, inhaling sharp through clenched teeth. His retaliation is instant—he buries his teeth into Luffy’s forearm, growling deep in his chest like an animal defending its territory.

When they finally tear their teeth out of each other, their breaths come even rougher, messier, blood smearing their mouths and arms. Luffy roars and throws his full weight into Law, forcing him toward the floor with every ounce of strength left in him.

Law fights him the entire way, shaking, snarling, trying to buck him off—but goddamn, Luffy pushes. His muscles burn. His arms tremble. Law is so fucking strong, and it’s infuriating. Every inch gained feels like a war won. He can barely breathe—the air is too thick, choked with heat and pheromones, alpha rut musk so heavy it feels like steam rising off their bodies. Every brush of skin is a provocation, every breath from the other’s mouth is a dare.

But finally—finally—he slams Law’s back to the floor, straddling his hips, panting, body trembling with effort, triumph, rage—

“FREEZE!!” Breed’s voice cuts through the chaos like a gunshot.

Both men stop dead, eyes wide, bodies frozen mid-struggle. Luffy’s hand is still fisted in Law’s shirt. Law’s legs are still tensed to throw him off. They stare at Breed, panting like caged animals.

Breed starts laughing. Loud, ugly laughter, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye as he straightens up. “Ohhhhhhh,” he croons. “Ohhh, that was good. That was great. I’m a genius.”

He clasps his hands together with a grin so wide it shows all his teeth, “I just thought of something AMAZING! Even better than letting you two tear each other apart!” He starts pacing, giddy, talking like he’s presenting a masterpiece. “Ohhh, you’re gonna love it,” he chuckles darkly. “This is going to be so much fun.”

Breed saunters over, slow and casual, like he's just strolling through a garden instead of approaching two bloodied, panting alphas locked in a primal clash. He crouches beside them, just out of reach, eyes glinting with sadistic excitement, that ever-present smug grin twitching at the corners.

“You know,” he says, voice dipped in glee, “I’ve just had the most perfect idea. A genius idea.”

Luffy glares up at him from where he’s still straddling Law, chest heaving, blood drying on his lip. Law, beneath him, tense and bruised, stares too—eyes sharp, calculating, refusing to show the exhaustion in his limbs.

Breed leans closer, elbows resting on his knees, grin widening.

“I figured out how to really break Straw Hat,” he coos. “Not just his mind. Not just that little heroic spirit he clings to.” He tilts his head, voice lowering like he’s sharing a dirty secret. “No... I’m going to break his body. Strip him of that loudmouth pride of his. That stubborn little alpha dignity.”

He pauses for dramatic effect, relishing the tension hanging thick between them.

“I’m going to let Trafalgar—” he clicks his tongue, grin sharp as a blade “—bitch him.”

Luffy’s body jolts like he’s been electrocuted. His breath hitches, face twisting in horror, fury and disbelief mixing into something volatile. “What?!”

Law’s eyes snap wide, the color draining from his already pale face. His body goes stiff beneath Luffy, not from dominance now—but sheer shock. “You fucking bastard,” he breathes.

Breed just laughs, long and loud, like this is the best joke he’s ever told, “Ohhh, that look on your face, Straw Hat! Priceless!” he giggles.

Law growls deep in his chest, trembling, teeth clenched so tight they creak. “You sick son of a—”

“I’m not his bitch!” Luffy snarls suddenly, voice cracked and raw. “I’m not anybody’s bitch!!”

Breed’s grin only widens. “Oh, but you will be.”

Silence crashes over the attic like a dropped guillotine. Luffy’s fists clench in Law’s shirt. Law stares up at him, still pinned beneath him, breaths short and shallow, that familiar wariness blooming behind his eyes.

“No—no you can’t—” Luffy starts, but Breed doesn’t give a shit what Luffy wants.

Breed talks over Luffy, “—I want this to play out as naturally as possible,” he says, tapping his chin like he’s pondering the weather, “gotta phrase the command just right.” He looks to Law and speaks with command, “On the snap of my fingers, you’ll properly bitch Luffy. Every step. No skipping.”

Law growls, voice rough and ragged, “This is POINTLESS! Bitching won’t happen after just one hookup!”

“Oh, I know, I’m well aware of how it works.” Breed grins wickedly, disgusting and sadistic, “It’s not like any of you are going anywhere anytime soon. You’re home now.”

Law and Luffy both pale a little at that, sharing a stomaching sinking feeling. Luffy still holds out hopes that his crew will somehow find and save them but—given where they are, he doubts it will be easy. He knows they can do it, but it might take time. And if they aren’t fast then… Luffy swallows past a lump in his throat, not wanting to let himself finish thinking, he lets his mind go completely blank, to deny the reality of what his life is right now.  

Breed looks to Luffy now, speaking with command again, “As for you, Straw Hat, on the snap of my fingers, you’ll be perfectly obedient for your alpha, Trafalgar Law. Do exactly what he wants. Be a pliant little doll for him.”

Luffy stiffens, trying to stop himself from the involuntary trembling his entire body is doing. He’s ashamed that Law can feel it, feel him weak like this, scared. Law can probably smell it too, and that pisses Luffy off. Pisses off his alpha nature, the side of him that wants to be dominant in front of another alpha in rut.

When Breed raises his fingers, preparing to snap, Luffy blurts out a desperate gamble, a plea, “W-wait! Wait a second! Hold on!”

Breed pauses, raising a brow, the corners of his lips twitching upward in amusement as he humors Luffy and waits.

Luffy’s breathing is labored and his words tumble out fast, almost tangling up his tongue on their way out, “I’ll—I’ll get you meat—Sanji—Sanji has—he has the BEST meat recipes, and I’ll give some to you!”

Dead silence fills the room, aside from the heavy pattering of rain outside. Breed blinks, then snorts with a incredulous scowl, “Seriously...?” He asks, “you are trying to barter for your alpha dignity with meat?” Breed wants to hear no more of this nonsense, he gives no further opportunities to plea and bargain, he snaps his fingers.

Snap!

The sound rings out like a gunshot in the attic. Law jerks, his body moves without his say-so, but its not rough or sudden, its controlled and methodical. Breed’s mistake was in the wording. Law isn’t commanded to force Luffy, he’s commanded to properly bitch him. And the proper way isn’t cruel, its slow, it’s careful. It starts with scenting and gentle coaxing, emotionally wearing down another alpha into a puddle of soft submission BEFORE ever putting his knot inside them. Brute strength isn’t needed unless the other alpha is fighting against him, and even then, it’s not supposed to be a brawl or anything vicious, its pinning, its biting the nape of their neck and holding them down until they relax before attempting to  have the weaker alpha scent the stronger one again. It’s a cycle, it’s repetitive and tedious in the beginning, particularly with stubborn alphas.  

Law exhales through his nose, jaw tight with tension as his hands rise, as his body shifts. Every ache screams through his limbs as he sits up, cradling Luffy’s limp form with him. He winces, his ribs feel like they’ve cracked, shoulder grinds bone against bone, but he doesn’t stop. It’s not like he can anyway.

Luffy makes a sound—small and broken, caught somewhere between a sob and a whimper. But he doesn’t resist, he’s obeying the command. Perfectly obedient.

Law’s hands move to adjust him with an eerie calm. One arm slides under Luffy’s knees, lifting his legs over Law’s hips, trailing behind him like discarded limbs. The other arm steadies Luffy’s back. Their positions lock into place. Luffy seated between Law’s thighs, chest to chest, trembling.

Law’s throat bobs, his hands are his own and not his own. His mind screams even as his pals settle on Luffy’s hips.

I’m sorry, is what Law wants to say, but instead comes out, “It’s okay.” he breathes. It doesn’t come out choked. It doesn’t come out broken, it’s quiet, flat, he doesn’t know if Luffy even hears him.

This process doesn’t allow for apologies, nothing that implies the dominant alpha has any doubts or hesitation in what they are doing. No weakness. He can use soothing words, but no apologies. He can soothe; he can praise. Nothing more.

He reaches up, gently, fingers sliding behind Luffy’s head and guiding it downward, Luffy doesn’t fight it.

His face is pressed to the side of Law’s neck just beneath his jaw—right where Law’s scent is heaviest, strongest, made for imprinting. Law feels the soft brush of Luffy’s breath there, feels the tension start to shiver loose in Luffy’s limbs.

Scenting, the first step.

Law’s fingers stay in Luffy’s hair, anchoring him there as his body responds to breed’s command and prepares his pheromones with the soothing balm required for bitching another alpha. Which turn out to be similar enough to courting an omega mate. The seep out of him, muting the pungent violent rut aroma he’d been releasing until then. The scent is thick and cool, like pine trees in a crisp winter. Which would be incredibly enticing for an omega in heat.

Luffy breathes in deep without wanting to, because he was told to. He was told to be perfectly obedient, which meant scenting his alpha. And it burns in Luffy’s throat. It’s not the kind of scent that’s meant for him. An alpha is enticed by sweet, juicy scents. The sweeter the better, meant the omega is leaking plenty of slick and ready to be bred. The sweetness typically indicates high levels of fertility. Alphas are either icy or spicy with hints of this that and the other, which entice certain omegas with the promise of cooling their heat, or intensifying it to a state of burning ecstasy

Smelling Law like this, releasing mating pheromones for another alpha goes against nature. It’s confusing to the point of being sickening. All Law’s scent does is make Luffy feel agitated because it insinuates the other alpha believes him to be an omega.

And what an insult that is.

Luffy’s stomach is knotted up, twisting in on itself in ugly ways. He wants to cry, and scream—but that’s not being pliant little doll. Dolls are quiet. Dolls keep their bodies loose and posed however who is playing with them wants them to be.

Luffy is burning up with his rut, clothes now damp and clinging to his body. The skin to skin contact he has with Law is making him even hotter because Law’s body temperature is intense too. Up this close, underneath Law’s pheromones, Luffy can smell his wounds. All the blood on him, and it makes some small part of him not drowning in the thick haze of this mess feel devastated for his friend and outraged at whoever did this to him.

Law can feel Luffy’s frustration through his scent, despite how relaxed his body is, “Relax,” Law whispers.

And Luffy through it was cruel of Law to say. Because Breed’s command makes him obey everything Law says too. So Luffy is forced to relax, inside and out. His mind goes completely blank, he can’t stress if he can’t think.

Law’s other hand strokes slow down Luffy’s back, almost like he’s calming a startled animal. It’s not really him. But it is. His instincts, his biology, his will twisted by the command. He lowers his head, resting his chin on Luffy’s crown.

The attic is silent now. Even Breed has gone quiet, watching. Bepo and Chopper seem to be holding their breaths, like they were anticipating more violence, more pain—though there is a hesitance of relief in their tear shiny eyes, seeing that at least this bitching process seems to be… gentle.

Neither of them realize how much more humiliating gentle is than violent. To be bitched gently was far more devastating, and Breed seems to know it, he is luxuriating in this proper process judging by the grin on his face.

Law thinks, maybe his wording was intentional after all.

Law’s hands move on their own. There’s no decision in it, just the steady progression dictated by instincts hijacked and warped under Breed’s command. His fingers drag slowly, reverently up Luffy’s back, palms pressing flat and smoothing down again. It’s soothing. Repetitive. Intentional in its slowness.

Touch. The second step.

It only happens when the submissive alpha is calm. Luffy hasn’t moved, hasn’t spoken, his face still pressed against the hot, scent-heavy skin of Law’s neck. He’s breathing Law in because he has to, and Law holds him there with gentle pressure behind his neck, coaxing rather than forcing. The way it’s supposed to be done. The proper way.

His other hand slides up into Luffy’s hair, carding through it like he’s lulling him to sleep. It’s rhythm, more than comfort—steady strokes that seem to ground them both. It’s not Law making the choices anymore. This is his body following the script. A doctor following procedure, down to each precise instruction. Breed said to do it right, and Law knows how to do this right, whether he wants to or not.

His palm flattens again, stroking down Luffy’s spine, and this time his fingers catch the edge of red fabric. The shirt hanging off Luffy’s damp skin is soft and loose, already unbuttoned like it always is. Law’s grip shifts, slow and deliberate, brushing the fabric down over Luffy’s shoulders.

He keeps Luffy close, nose still tucked to Law’s neck, never breaking the scent contact. His hand cradles the back of Luffy’s head as he pushes the shirt down, baring his friend’s back, his chest, his arms. Luffy’s skin is warm and flushed, his breath dragging heavier now, body reacting to the growing pressure of rut even if his mind is forcibly blank.

Law doesn’t think. Can’t think. He’s not here. He’s watching it happen from somewhere far away, detached, unable to stop himself but still forced to feel the unbearable weight of guilt and shame twisting in his chest. Every time his hand brushes over Luffy’s skin, it claws deeper. He keeps thinking, at least it’s not me being bitched, and then hating himself for the relief.

His palms slide over Luffy’s bare back again. Once. Twice. Over and over. Touching like he’s smoothing down ruffled feathers. He moves to Luffy’s arms, thumb dragging the length of a bicep, then a shoulder. A touch that would be intimate, if it wasn’t clinical. If it wasn’t being done by command.

Minutes drag.

The attic is heavy with silence, thick and warm with pheromones and sweat. Bepo and Chopper are sitting now, nooses undone, their eyes wide and wet and stunned as they watch Law’s hands stroke over Luffy’s skin. Breed is gone—got bored, made some flippant comment about how long this would take, and wandered off after undoing the nooses of the other two captives and commanding them to sit. The door creaked behind him. His boots echoed down the stairs. The monster will be back, eventually.

Law is grateful for the silence. Grateful no one’s barking orders right now. Grateful that, if this has to happen, at least it’s happening like this—with care and patience instead of cruelty. He doesn’t know if that’s better, or worse. Maybe both. Maybe it’s worse because it pretends to be gentle. Pretends this is intimacy. Pretends this is something natural, when it isn’t.

He exhales slowly, brushing his lips against the top of Luffy’s head without thinking. His hand slides to Luffy’s side, still soothing, still slow. Five minutes have passed. Maybe more. Luffy hasn’t moved. Hasn’t spoken. His face stays tucked to Law’s neck, breathing in and out like he doesn’t exist.

Like he’s just a doll. Exactly like he was told to be.

Law’s gut turns, an acidic curl of guilt and shame as his body shifts them toward the next step. His instincts move without his consent, biological process taking the reins now that Luffy isn’t resisting. The submissive alpha’s scent has softened, muscles loose and mind blank, and that’s all it takes. All the signals are green. It means Law has permission. And that feels worse than any resistance would have. He shifts them gently, breath catching when Luffy just moves with him, like a ragdoll. No protest. No hesitation. No sign that Luffy even realizes what he’s doing. Law positions him slowly onto his back, guiding him with care. Luffy’s lashes flutter once, then still again, face blank and quiet except for the subtle red staining his cheeks.

Law’s fingers tremble when they hook into the waistband of Luffy’s shorts. He pulls them down slowly, inch by inch, exposing too much pale skin, too much heat, too much Luffy. His thighs, muscled soft, and with an surprisingly adorable tan line that matched the shape of his shorts reveals itself. Luffy’s legs flex subtly before relaxing again. The shorts hit the floor with a whisper of fabric, and Law can’t breathe.

Luffy is completely bare, and Law is still fully dressed.

That’s part of the process too—designed to make the submissive alpha feel small, exposed, stripped of authority. But it twists Law’s heart. He doesn't want Luffy to feel like this. He shouldn't be feeling like this. It's wrong. He knows it, and still his hands keep moving, compelled forward.

He starts to touch. The scenting phase is over. Now, it’s more skin contact, more intimacy.

He runs his palms up Luffy’s thighs, from the soft flesh to the edges of taut muscle, rubbing in slow, steady circles that he hopes register as soothing rather than invasive. Down to his knees, then back up, trailing up the line of his hips. All of it careful. All of it deliberate. He avoids Luffy’s cock entirely—not even glancing at it—because he can’t handle what it means. Can’t handle how hard it is, how natural it is, when none of this is.

Law’s is the same. Has been since Breed commanded him into rut. He doesn’t acknowledge that either. The front of his jeans are soaked, because shamefully, an another alpha submitting to him is turning him on.

Law reaches Luffy’s knees, curls his fingers around the backs of them and gently pushes. Spreading them open, positioning him in the most vulnerable way an alpha can be placed. His heart lurches violently. This is what the books say. This is what the biology demands. Missionary is best for the first time—builds connection, builds submission. But in their case, it doesn’t build anything but a quiet horror between them.

Luffy's face burns a deep, mottled pink. His eyes are glassy and unfocused, but his lips wobble, like he might cry. Like he wants to scream, but Breed’s command won’t let him. Law nearly breaks. He nearly says fuck it all, nearly throws himself off Luffy and into the wall.

But he can’t do that. It’s not allowed. He can only do what’s allowed. Comforting the submissive alpha during the bitching process is allowed. He just bows his head and presses a kiss to Luffy’s knee.

That wasn’t part of the process. That was his choice.

He doesn't even know why he does it. Some part of him desperate to remind Luffy—and himself—that he’s still here. That it’s still him, not just some mechanical puppet of the system Breed is using. The kiss is chaste. Gentle. Gone in a second.

But it makes Luffy’s breath catch. Law’s stomach sinks deeper.

The next step is worse.

He hesitates—but his body, ever obedient to instinct and the implanted behavioral conditioning, stoops low between Luffy’s thighs anyway. Pain threads through his shoulders and hips as he lowers onto his elbows and knees. He lets Luffy’s legs rest against his shoulders, the weight of them warm and heavy, pressing into him. His face hovers over Luffy’s lower stomach, and Law clenches his jaw so hard it clicks.

Belly kissing. A ceremonial part of the process, symbolic and sentimental. It’s meant to mimic the tenderness shared between a bonded pair, a promise of the life that will soon grow inside the submissive alpha when eventually the process of bitching changes their secondary gender to omega and allows them a womb for creating life. The gesture is of reverence, devotion. Of respect and love for the future mother of his pups.

Law wants to scream. Instead, his lips lower. Soft, dragging kisses across the trembling heat of Luffy’s belly.

Across the room, a whisper hisses out, “I don’t know how to feel… this looks so romantic, even though I know they aren’t… you know… doing this themselves.” Chopper murmurs.

Bepo, slack-jawed, gawks and says, “Yeah… it’s weird.”

Law nearly bites Luffy out of pure mortification. His ears ring. He had forgotten—just for a moment—that they were watching. Witnessing every single humiliating motion with wide, confused eyes and rope burns still raw around their necks. He remembers the nooses. Remembers the drop. He should be grateful they’re still breathing.

But god, he wants the ground to swallow him whole.

He forces his attention back to Luffy’s belly. Each kiss burns worse than the last. The skin is slick with sweat, fever-warm, and soaked in scent—Luffy’s scent, intense and primal, the aroma of fire-roasted meat, rosemary, sea salt, and something darker underneath. Something wild and scorched.

Law’s mouth waters. He hates himself for it. He’s not supposed to be enticed by another alpha’s scent—but he’s always drooled over Luffy’s in silent shame.

And maybe that’s why—maybe out of rebellion, or defiance, or his confusing, shameful feelings for Luffy, or just the desperation to feel like something he does is still his—he opens his mouth and lets his tongue swirl into Luffy’s bellybutton. A strange, almost playful flick. Not technically part of the process, but licking, kissing, sucking, and biting are all encouraged throughout the proper bitching process, not mandatory.

Luffy’s reaction is immediate.

His thighs snap inward around Law’s head, not crushing but holding, firm and tight. A sharp breath escapes his throat, and his back arches slightly. Eyes flutter as a blush spreads over his chest and throat, blooming like a sunrise.

Law freezes. That reaction didn’t come from instinct or command. That was real. Luffy did that because it was a natural bodily reaction and couldn’t help it.

Law stares at Luffy’s belly, breathing hard through his nose. Luffy’s thighs are still snug around his neck, not holding him there by force, but… not letting go either. He doesn’t know what comes over him—but his tongue is moving again before he can think better of it.

He leans in and flicks his tongue into Luffy’s bellybutton, slow at first, then in small swirling strokes, like he’s tracing a pattern only he can see. The skin tastes like heat and desperation, a tangle of musk and sweat and salted skin, and Law hates that it makes his mouth water all over again.

It’s the only thing he seems to be allowed to do on his own. The only action the process hasn’t dictated to the exact second. So he does it again. He licks deeper, dragging the flat of his tongue along the rim before dipping back inside, this time with a soft suck.

Luffy jerks. His breath stutters, catching high in his throat, and his stomach quivers. It’s like Law tapped some secret nerve—one Luffy didn’t know existed. Like Law found a button buried under skin and instinct, and now, with every flick and lap of Law’s hot tongue, Luffy’s body responds without his consent. It tingles. It tickles. And it feels good. So humiliatingly good.

Luffy shudders. His toes curl tight. The nerves in his abdomen twitch in pleasure, and something low and needy pulses deep between his hips. His cock is leaking now, the flush tip pressed shamefully against the side of Law’s neck where his position has pinned it.

Luffy’s cheeks are on fire. He wishes he could clench his fists but all they can do is lie relaxed on the floor at his sides. Because of Breed’s command. Pliant doll. He doesn’t know why it feels like this, but he hates that it does. That it feels so warm, so melty, like syrup trickling down into the pit of his gut.

But then it happens. His body registers pleasure—and Law moves, like a switch has been flipped. Like the system, the procedure, the programming—all of it has sensed the reaction and yanked Law forward into the next step.

The little moment of rebellion is over.

Law pulls away from Luffy’s belly and the wet, flushed skin there. His face is tight. He doesn’t meet Luffy’s eyes as he sits back, breath stuttering and teeth clenched. Something shifts wrong inside him as he moves—something sharp, deep in his ribcage or maybe his hip—and a flash of pain flickers across his face, he winces hard. Law hates that he can’t stop and tend to himself. Hates that he doesn’t get even that much mercy. Whatever’s broken is going to make the next part unbearable.

But he’s already moving. Already reaching for the button of his jeans.

Luffy’s watching him. Still lying where Law left him—spread out, soft belly glistening with spit, legs parted loosely around Law’s body. His cock is flushed and aching, resting against his lower stomach now. His chest rises and falls with heavy, uncertain breaths. He’s too still.

Law tries not to look. He lowers his gaze; fingers slow and reluctant on the zipper. The sound of the zipper is deafening in the quiet attic. It's slow, tooth by metal tooth, a countdown to something neither of them wants. Law's hands shake—actually shake—and he hates that too. Hates that his body betrays his fear, his disgust, his unwillingness.

He doesn't want Luffy to see him like this. Doesn't want to be seen at all.

But there's no hiding. The process demands exposure now. Law pulls his jeans down just enough, just past his hips, and his cock springs free—angry red and slick with pre-come that's been gathering since this nightmare began. The sight of it makes him nauseous. It's a betrayal of everything he believes, everything he wants. His body's enthusiasm for something his mind rejects.

Law's eyes flick to Luffy's face for just a moment before darting away again. He can't bear to see the humiliation there, the forced blankness, knowing that underneath, Luffy is screaming. He knows because he's screaming too, locked inside his own mind while his body moves forward like a puppet on strings.

Law shifts forward, positioning himself between Luffy's spread thighs. His hands move to Luffy's hips, thumbs pressing into the soft hollows beside bone. The touch is gentle but firm—stabilizing, preparing. Everything in him rebels against this moment, but his body continues the motions, driven by Breed's command to do this properly.

Properly means he can’t use his fingers or saliva to stretch Luffy, he has to do this with his cock, with his precum. He has to do it slowly, easing inside, making the submissive alpha feel themselves be opened up by the cock that is bitching them, claiming them. The proper way is still gentle, Law is allowed and encouraged by its rules to use just his tip for as long as the submissive alpha needs him him to, until he can take more, and more.

Law is agonizingly aware of the stillness of the room, of Bepo and Chopper's watchful, horrified gazes, of the sweat sliding down his temples. He's dizzy with it—the intimacy, the violation, the unbearable weight of what they're being forced to do.

His body leans forward, pressing the wet tip of his cock against Luffy's entrance. The contact sends an electric current up his spine, pleasure he doesn't want coursing through him. Luffy's body is tight, unprepared—alphas aren't built for this. They don't self-lubricate. They don't yield easily.

Law's throat constricts. "It’s okay," he whispers, this time against Luffy's ear as he bends over him, chest to chest now. "You’re okay..." The words are allowed to slip through because he’s allowed to soothe, and praise, not apologize.

He pushes forward slowly, just barely breaching Luffy's rim, and it burns—a searing, stretching pain that makes Luffy's breath catch sharply. Law feels it too, the resistance, the way Luffy's body fights against the intrusion. His heart hammers wildly in his chest as he holds himself still, waiting, allowing Luffy's body time to adjust.

"Breathe," Law murmurs, his voice a ragged whisper against Luffy's ear. It's both command and plea. Luffy's body instantly obeys, drawing in a shuddering breath that makes his chest press harder against Law's.

Law's arms tremble as he holds himself above Luffy, careful not to crush him with his weight. His wounds scream in protest—ribs shifting wrongly, muscles torn and aching—but he can't collapse. The proper way means he can't rush this.

Minutes pass like this, Law holding perfectly still, penetrating Luffy only enough to begin the process, waiting for the smaller alpha's body to yield. He watches Luffy's face carefully, searching for any sign beyond the blank obedience. The younger man's eyes are unfocused, staring at the ceiling, but his throat works in subtle swallows, his chest rising and falling with increasingly rapid breaths.

When Law finally inches deeper, Luffy's body clenches around him painfully. There's no slick, no natural preparation—just the meager wetness of Law's own pre-come and the rigid resistance of a body being used in ways it wasn't designed for. Law bites his lip until he tastes copper, fighting the urge to pull away, to end this violation. But Breed's command holds them both in its grip.

If Luffy wasn’t made of rubber this would be more excruciating and uncomfortable than it already is. But Luffy’s body stretches and welcomes Law in, like an omega’s would, and that causes Law’s cock to throb and his knot start to swell shamefully.

He hates it. Hates that his body responds this way even as his mind recoils. Hates that Luffy's rubber body makes this easier, makes the violation smoother, when there should be nothing smooth or easy about this nightmare.

Law's vision blurs as he pushes in another inch. Luffy's breathing changes—quickens, shallows—and Law can feel the younger captain's heartbeat hammering against his chest where they're pressed together. It's too intimate. Too close. Law can smell the salt of sweat in Luffy's hair, can feel every twitch and tremor that runs through the rubber man's body.

"Good," Law whispers, the praise slipping out as part of the ritual. His voice sounds alien to his own ears—husky, strained. "You're doing so good."

Luffy's body responds to the praise against his will, muscles relaxing incrementally around Law's intrusion. Law inches deeper, sweat beading on his forehead, dripping onto Luffy's collarbone. The pain in his ribs is white-hot now, stabbing with each careful movement. He's certain something has punctured something vital, but his body won't allow him to stop, won't allow him to falter.

Luffy's muscles contract around him, and Law has to bite back a groan. The sensation is overwhelming—tight heat gripping him, pulling him deeper despite every effort to go slow. He feels Luffy's cock twitch against his stomach, hard and leaking, another betrayal of their bodies that neither can control.

Across the room, Bepo makes a small, distressed sound and turns his face away. Law catches the movement from the corner of his eye and shame burns hotter in his gut. He can’t let himself think about their audience right now. It’s not like he can stop this.

Law's focus narrows to the point where their bodies join, to the terrible intimacy of this act. With excruciating slowness, he pushes all the way in, until he's fully seated inside Luffy, his hips flush against the rubber man's body. He holds there, trembling with the effort of restraint, of pain, of rage at their helplessness.

Luffy's eyes finally meet his—wide, dark, filled with something Law can't bear to name. Not accusation. Not hatred. Something worse: acceptance. Understanding. As if Luffy is trying to tell him it's okay, that he knows Law has no choice, that he doesn't blame him.

It's unbearable.

Law starts to move. He has to. The process demands it. Slow, shallow thrusts at first, each one sending lightning bolts of unwanted pleasure up his spine.

Luffy's breath hitches with each thrust, his body moving with Law's rhythm. His rubber limbs remain pliant, unresisting, even as his chest heaves and his skin flushes deep crimson. Law can see the struggle in his eyes—the fight to maintain something of himself beneath the blank obedience Breed has forced upon him.

The sounds are what torment Law most—the soft, wet noises where their bodies join, the subtle catch in Luffy's breath when Law hits something sensitive inside him, the unbidden moans that escape from his own throat. It's all evidence of their violation, a soundtrack to their shared humiliation.

"That's it," Law murmurs, the words dragged from him by the protocol. His hips settle into a deeper rhythm, the pace quickening as Luffy's body adjusts to accommodate him. "Taking it so well."

Luffy's eyes flutter closed, his body responding against his will. His back arches slightly, pressing them closer together. Law can feel the younger captain's hardness trapped between their stomachs, leaking and hot. He knows Luffy's body is finding pleasure in this—the same unwanted, mechanical pleasure that courses through Law's own veins—and that knowledge is somehow worse than if it were pure pain.

Law's knot continues to swell, catching at Luffy's entrance with each thrust. Soon it will be too large to pull out, locking them together as the process demands. The thought makes his stomach lurch, but his hips keep moving, driving deeper, harder.

The most humiliating part for Luffy is that his command by Breed to be obedient, pliant, doll-like, made it impossible to hold his sounds back, he wasn’t even permitted THAT dignity of swallowing down anything. Once it starts feeling good, Luffy’s voice lets loose, “Mhh~ hhhnnn..”

“Aah— ahhh –ahh~”

Law's mouth goes dry at the sounds, each one driving into him like a physical blow. They're real—not manufactured, not commanded. The noises spilling from Luffy's lips are genuine responses his body can't suppress, and that knowledge twists something deep in Law's gut.

"Nhhh~ Traffy..." Luffy breathes, the nickname slipping out between moans. His eyes are half-lidded, glazed with unwanted pleasure. His hips twitch upward involuntarily, seeking more contact, more friction. The rubber of his body stretches and yields in ways that make Law's knot throb painfully, expanding with each thrust.

Law feels the pressure building at the base of his spine, the tightening of his balls. He's getting close—too close—and there's nothing he can do to stop it. The protocol demands completion. Demands knotting.

Shame burns through Law like acid, but his body moves on its own, pumping harder, deeper. The wet glide of his own precum making their coupling sound juicy and mortifyingly loud in the silence of the attic. Plap, plap, plap, as his balls slap up against Luffy’s plump ass. His hands grip Luffy's hips with bruising force, holding him steady as the thrusts become more erratic. Law can feel himself losing control—the last vestige of dignity stripped away as animal instinct takes over.

"Look at me," he gasps, the command part of the ritual. Bitching properly means the submissive alpha needs to see who's claiming them, to witness their own subjugation, acknowlaged it, “S-say my name.” Law burns from saying it, with humiliation and shame. But it’s not his choice to say these words.

Luffy's eyes snap open, meeting Law's gaze with startling clarity despite the haze of forced pleasure. There's something there—a flicker of the real Luffy, the indomitable will that even Breed's collar can't fully suppress. It pierces Law to his core.

“Mhh –mmhh— mhhnn—” Luffy makes jostled humming noises as he’s rocked against the creaky floorboards on Law’s cock, then his lips part and as he’s told, speaks his alpha’s name,  breathless and barely there, “Law,”

It’s fucking insane to see while he’s driving his cock into Luffy’s body and knocking sounds he should never hear from the younger alpha captain.

Law can't look away. His body won't let him. Some sick part of his brain doesn’t want to. The part he’s ashamed of, that he knows shouldn’t exist. The part of him that feels enticed by the alpha beneath him and has for a long time. He's forced to witness every twitch of Luffy's face, every parting of his lips around those sounds, every flush that spreads across his cheeks. It's intimate in ways that transcend the physical—seeing Luffy like this, vulnerable and exposed, is a violation deeper than the act itself.

His knot swells further, catching on Luffy's rim with each thrust, making the smaller captain's breath hitch sharply. Law knows what's coming—the final indignity, the completion of this ritual of dominance.

Law's knot catches on Luffy's rim with finality, too swollen now to pull out. He's locked inside, their bodies joined in the most intimate way possible. Law tries to hold back, to delay the inevitable, but his hips stutter forward one last time as his orgasm crashes through him.

"Fuck—" The word tears from his throat as he comes, spilling deep inside Luffy's body. The sensation is overwhelming—pleasure mixed with revulsion, relief tangled with self-hatred. His knot pulses, pumping more seed into Luffy with each throb.

Beneath him, Luffy's entire body trembles and a sob escapes him as his own knot swells fully against Law’s belly and pumps a huge fucking mess of hot cum between them. Luffy's eyes screw shut, tears finally escaping as his body convulses with unwanted pleasure. Law can feel the hot splash against his stomach, the way Luffy's internal muscles clench rhythmically around his knot, milking him for more.

They're locked together now, panting, trembling. Connected in a mockery of intimacy.

And Luffy is an Alpha too, so he’s pumping out just as much cum as Law, a disastrous, messy amount, because bitching confuses a submissive Alpha’s body into thinking he is breeding someone, and that’s what it’s trying to do.

Law collapses against Luffy as they both continue to spill seed in a slower trickle now. His strength finally giving out. The pain in his ribs flares white-hot as his weight settles, but he can't hold himself up anymore. His face presses into the crook of Luffy's neck, and he feels wetness there—tears sliding silently down the younger captain's temples, disappearing into his hair.

"You’re okay… you did so good," Law whispers, too quietly for Bepo and Chopper to hear, the loud rain against the attic roof top thankfully drowns him out. His lips brush against Luffy's ear when he speaks. They’re still all he can say. He can’t offer an apology yet. Because this isn’t done. after his knot goes down, he will be forced to pull Luffy’s hips into his lap to angle them up, and massage his hips and belly for another thirty minutes, as if he WERE an omega trying to conceive.

Then, and only then, will it be over.

Law feels Luffy's chest heaving against his, both of them trapped in this forced intimacy that feels endless. The younger captain's rubber limbs lie limp and spread, his body completely surrendered not by choice but by command. Law's knot pulses inside him, a constant reminder of their violation.

Minutes stretch like hours. Law's body won't let him move, won't let him offer Luffy even the small mercy of space. Instead, they remain locked together, skin to skin, breath to breath, as Law's seed continues to pump into the younger alpha's body.

Luffy's eyes have gone distant again, staring at some fixed point on the ceiling. He wants to apologize and comfort Luffy, but his hands remain fixed on Luffy's hips, holding him in place as the process demands. The silence in the attic is oppressive, broken only by their ragged breathing and the steady drumming of rain overhead.

After what feels like an eternity, Law feels his knot begin to subside. The relief is short-lived as his body immediately moves into the next phase of the ritual. His hands slide beneath Luffy's thighs, lifting and repositioning him with mechanical precision. Law pulls the smaller captain into his lap, angling his hips upward, and his fingers begin to work methodically over Luffy's lower abdomen.

The massaging motion is deliberate, almost tender in its execution. It's the most perverse part of this ritual—this pantomime of care, of nurturing, as if they were actually trying to conceive. As if Luffy were an omega being tended to after mating, his body being encouraged to accept Law's seed.

The room is quiet, thick with the smell of sex and sweat and something sweeter—Luffy’s release, still dripping between his thighs and smeared over both of them in a way Law can’t ignore, no matter how hard he tries.

The mess is everywhere. It’s glossy and white and clinging, and as Law’s hand slides down Luffy’s hip in an attempt to soothe the residual tremors in his muscles, his fingers glide right through it—sticky and warm, slipping over the curve of Luffy’s thigh and catching between his knuckles. It coats his hand. Trails smear across Luffy’s lower back, down his legs, in thick rivulets that pool beneath them on the attic floor. It soaks into the denim at Law’s knees, damp and cool now, making the fabric cling wetly to his skin. Luffy’s belly, his thighs, even the insides of his arms are glazed with it.

The sight is obscene.

Luffy’s still curled up, trembling slightly, his arms tucked to his chest like he can shrink himself down small enough to disappear. His face is flushed a deep red, shiny with sweat, and his eyes are glassy with the threat of tears. His lips are parted, breath shallow and hitched. The shame rolling off him is nearly tangible. His mouth twitches like he wants to say something—apologize, maybe. Beg. He looks like he wants the floor to open and swallow him whole.

And then—click.

The door swings open.

Breed strides in like he owns the place. The sight of them—Luffy humiliated, Law on his knees, the sticky evidence of everything they just did smeared all around them—makes him grin. He holds up a transponder snail with a little lens attached to it.

“Knew you’d be done by now, hahaahaha! Perfect timing!” he says cheerfully, like this is a game and not a nightmare. His thumb hits the shutter. Snap.