(One Piece) Green
March 24th, 2007 01:31![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
salmon_pinkTitle: Green
Fandom: One Piece
Pairings: Tentacles/Usopp, Tentacles/Nami, Tentacles/Luffy, Tentacles/Sanji, Tentacles/Chopper, Tentacles/Zoro, Tentacles/Robin
Rating: NC-17
Words: 3110
Timeline: Post-Alabasta
Notes: Questionable consent. Tentacles.
Summary: United they stand, divided they, uh, flail?
Usopp’s alone, and that’s never good. He grumbles to himself as he makes his way through the never-ending tunnels, and wonders where the hell his nakama are, and tries not to jump at every little noise.
The caverns are made of a strange mineral, something that shines, appears almost wet in the strange light that doesn’t appear to be coming from anywhere but manages to illuminate his path. He’s careful about where he steps, listening for the telltale cracks like the one they’d all heard before the floor gave out underneath them and they’d all ended up separated.
There’s breeze on the air, and it creeps up Usopp’s spine like a physical presence. Or maybe. Maybe he’s being watched.
That thought has his head whipping round.
Nothing.
“Luffy?” he says, and his voice isn’t too much of a whimper. “Nami? Zoro? Chopper? Anyone?”
There’s a rustling noise to his right, and he spins so fast he thinks he hears something in his neck snap. But there’s nothing there, and there’s no answer from his nakama and, oh God, let this be a dream.
And this time the rustling noise is directly behind him, and there’s a shadow on the opposite wall that doesn’t belong to him.
Usopp’s a blur of motion, and the tunnels whip past him as he sprints through them.
Don’t stop, don’t look back, if you can’t see, it’s not really there, right, right?!
Something wraps around his ankle and he feels it at the same time he realises he’s moving too fast to stop, and his foot is yanked backwards, even though his body keeps going.
It takes a moment for everything to stop spinning, for his breath to come back, and his arm and hip hurt, but at least he managed to twist in midair and not land on his face.
And then he remembers that there’s still something wrapped around his ankle.
It’s green, is his first thought. Rather articulate considering his current state of fear and disorientation. It’s also wet, maybe slimy, and it’s moving and oh crap that means it’s alive, and Usopp has to get away.
But the … whatever it is clings on to him when he tries to scramble away. He stops, turns to look at it. Frowns, then shakes his leg. It quivers and circles around him more tightly.
It’s coming from the floor, Usopp realises, and lifts his leg higher. There’s a crack there, a thin hole, seemingly too thin for the strange long green thing to be fitting through. He swallows nervously and wonders if there are more green things down there.
“Uh. O-oi,” he says, feeling kind of stupid, talking to something he’s certain is alive, but doesn’t appear to have a face, let alone ears. “Get off of me.”
The thing shudders at the sound of his voice, so maybe it has ears after all, and he realises he can pull his leg a little closer to himself. But it’s not because the thing is letting go, it’s because it’s stretching, or maybe more of it is squeezing through the narrow gap in the floor. It’s definitely slimy, Usopp can feel it starting to seep through his trousers, and the skin around his ankle tingles slightly.
“Let go,” he says again, trying to sound firm, shaking his leg around as frantically as possible. The green thing only snakes more firmly around him, climbing up his leg, and it manages to tug the leg of his trousers up, and it feels strangely numb where it touches his bare skin. Numb, or maybe not, maybe it feels like the sensation right before pins and needles, and Usopp doesn’t understand why he’s trying to figure out the way it feels, rather than trying to figure out how to get it the hell off him.
Feels a crackle of something shoot up his leg, and realises that maybe the green thing is poisonous, and that’s he going to die, just because it’s decided it wants to hug his ankle.
He yells and tries to pull his leg away and shakes and lurches around on the floor and fires every rubber band in his bag at the damn thing, and when he finally stops he’s breathing heavily and utterly exhausted.
And the thing is only holding him tighter, and there’s definitely more of it sliding up through the floor, coming up to loop around his knee, and that strange sensation shoots up his leg again, wracks a shiver up his spine.
He hopes Luffy and the others tell Kaya he died valiantly, saving them from a Merman or a Giant or something. Not that he was poisoned by a long green blob with personal space issues.
And it suddenly strikes him that he’s not afraid. He should be, since, even if he doesn’t understand the green thing’s motives, it is attacking him. And it’s not that he isn’t afraid of it, so much as something is stopping him from being afraid.
Poison, his mind supplies helpfully, or unhelpfully.
He sighs and feels very put-upon and leans forward with the intention of grabbing at it, forcefully dragging it off his leg.
But the second his hands touch it, he knows something is wrong. Its grip on his leg is solid, but his fingers slide into it, like unset jelly, and they feel cold inside of it, and there’s that odd feeling again, like a prickling at his skin. His eyelids flutter and his arms shake, and he should be pulling away, but he can’t. Doesn’t find the strength until he realises there’s another one, sliding through that tight gap in the floor to unfurl and reach up, and the first slide of it over the bare flesh of his arm steals a gasp from him.
He should be running, but he just wants to touch it.
He flexes his fingers inside of it, feels the way it yields to him, near-liquid insides moulding around each digit, and he lets it pet at his arm, because it only seems fair.
“What are you?” he whispers, and it trembles around him, and there’s no warning, just it clamping around each wrist, stretching, more long green tendrils growing out of the originals, and it yanks him forward, and he lands awkwardly, sprawled on his front.
A touch of fear creeps back into his mind, shakes apart the dreamlike trance he’d been in, and he’s about to protest, or maybe just scream for Luffy some more, when one of them reaches for his face.
He shuts his eyes tightly and waits it out.
It’s almost cold as it brushes over his cheek, and it leaves a trail of slime, that turns to liquid warmth, soothing him. He fights the sensation, tries to hold on to the fear, squirms as it brushes over the back of each eyelid. Blushes as it wraps itself around his nose, although he’s not sure why. There’s a heat pooling at the base of his spine, and there are more tendrils circling his arms, one at his neck. Feels them judder against him, so soft in the way they touch his face, but firmer with his arms, as if they realise where he is more fragile.
One slides under his t-shirt, presses between his shoulder blades, not uncomfortable, and his face is flushed now, and Usopp shivers and lets the tendrils touch him, as fascinated by him as he is by them, and wonders where this is going.
*
Nami’s not stupid, she knows where this going.
Growls and twists, but the green thing, long and cold and seeming to come from the wall, just holds on to her wrist, and the one wrapped around her thigh creeps higher.
She’s flushed and panting, sweat glistening on her forehead. She’s given up on screaming, given up on yelling at the green tendrils, trying to scare them away. Feels every inch of her body acutely, suddenly so aware of herself, sensitised.
It’s getting higher, too high, and her free hand dives under her skirt, trying to pry it away. But her fingers just slide into it, like it’s not real, like there’s no skin on it, no solidness to it at all, and, God, fingers going too far without anything to stop them, accidentally pressing at herself between her legs, and her head rolls back and she gasps because, yeah, sensitised.
And that seems to intrigue it. It pushes at her fingers, and she realises that it can manipulate its own consistency because it’s suddenly solid again against the back of her hand, and it presses her own fingers up and into the damp material of her panties. Trembles at the sound of her groan, and the vibration travels through her hand and only has her groaning louder.
How long has it been since she’s been able to do this? Touch, explore, enjoy herself. The problem with being stuck at sea, sharing a room, never finding a moment’s peace to herself. Suddenly she’s aching for it, and she knows it has something to do with the damn green tendrils but right now she wants it, and that’s okay.
Her legs tremble and give out beneath her, but there’s green underneath her knees, rather than the solid of the ground, cushioning her fall.
She takes a deep breath and grits her teeth.
“We do this on my terms,” she hisses, and imagines the shaking she receives in reply is understanding. And then she’s sliding her hand higher, thumb hooking into the waistband, and she’s tugging her panties down, and the green tendrils are practically writhing against her thigh in what she guesses is joy.
A sharp smile takes over her face, determination setting in, steeling herself as if to tackle a cyclone, and her own fingers are between her legs, and the tendrils are there, and they seem to numb her skin at the same time as spiking electricity through her, and there’s laughter caught in her throat.
Spreads her legs, narrows her eyes and really gets into it. Hips thrusting down, fingers pressing up, all the familiar flicks and twists of her wrists, but everything heightened by the tendril’s assistance, and it doesn’t seem to be touching her quite so much now, almost as if it’s content to let her show it how it’s really done, and she feels an odd flare of affection for it, but mostly she feels really really fucking good.
*
Luffy punches at the long green things hanging from the ceiling. Not because he wants to hurt them, can already see that every time his fist reaches them, it just slides through, no damage at all. But it feels weird, the way they swallow his fists, and his hands are tingling and he feels suddenly energized and ready for anything and like he could take on the world. Bouncing off the walls, jumping and dancing through the tendrils, which sway towards him. Like a game, never quite letting them touch him. Okay for him to strike out at them, but they can’t steal the contact from him.
He kicks out, and his leg passes through one, and then another, and another, because each time they’re hitting a different part of his leg, and everywhere they touch feels good, and Luffy laughs.
Let’s one reach for him, holds out his hand, tries to close his fist around it, and it squishes in his fingers and wraps around them, but he can still feel it in his grip. Like holding hands, or something, and that makes him laugh even more, and he really wants to show his nakama just how weird these things are.
Lets more wrap around him, bounces a little on the balls of his feet, feeling the way they cling to him, not wanting to get shaken off. His skin feels odd where they touch, more like heated marshmallow than rubber, and they seem near frantic to touch as much skin as possible.
And then one tendril at his hip slides under the waistband of his shorts and down.
And Luffy’s eyes only widen for the briefest of moments before they narrow, sharpen. “Oh,” he whispers, and his grin is no longer broad and cheery, but something more feral and the tendrils feel the shift in his mood and tremble with excitement. “Okay.”
*
Sanji whines and tries to kick at them again, but they only hug more tightly at him, only spread his legs wider.
His precious Nami-san could be anywhere, trembling, waiting for him to rescue her, and this damn green blob had come at him from nowhere, and now her screams have stopped and he has no way of tracking where she might be.
The tendrils grip at his hips, circle around his thighs, brush over his crotch. Slime soaking through his trousers, ruining them, and he has no idea why he’s hard, but he’s thrusting his hips up with each teasing brush between his legs. Disorientated, vision swimming, sweating and writhing in their grip.
“God fucking damn, what the hell is going on?” he manages to bellow, and is only rewarded by one tendril forcing its way into his mouth.
His first thought is sweet, yet vaguely minty, a tang that makes his tongue buzz and press up towards it against his will. It squirms over his teeth, barest tip inside of him, and then it's surging with enough force to arch his head back, filling every part of his mouth, and Sanji’s eyes roll back into his head.
The tendrils at his crotch pause, and then they’re pressing against him fiercely, and somehow one of them manages to flick up the catch on his zipper, and the fly of his trousers opens instantly under the insistent press of his erection. And they’re pushing inside, through the open fly, over the edge of the waistband, and he doesn’t know if they undo the button or if it just pops off from the strain, and then his trousers are being dragged down his hips, boxers following quickly behind, and Sanji groans around his mouthful.
They waste no time in wrapping around his aching cock, slimy and slick and perfect as they shift and writhe around him. Almost like fingers, almost like tongues, somewhere in between, and Sanji squirms and presses into their hold and gives up on his sanity. It’s like being bathed in ice and fire and it’s the sweetest torture, tease of a touch, yet so vivid. Dipping into him, tasting him, sparks shooting up his cock, gripping his stomach, and he has a feeling this is going to be over very quickly. They pulse against him, cup his balls, slide further back, and Sanji’s eyes cross and all he can do is moan encouragement and hope that nobody finds him.
*
Chopper hopes somebody finds him.
He feels kind of dizzy, the strangest smell tickling at his sensitive nose. The quivering green tendrils poke and prod at him, but nothing can break through Guard Point.
He wonders where Luffy and the rest of his nakama could be, and if they’re okay.
And really really hopes someone finds him in the next two minutes and seven seconds. Once the Rumble Ball wears off, he figures he’s pretty much doomed.
*
Zoro pants and bucks, but the tendrils only yank his arms higher over his head. His whole body is quaking and he grits his teeth and tries to fight the shaking, and he’s not even sure if it’s due to the third time he’d thrown everything he had into slicing the tendrils to ribbons, only for them to reform and surge at him seconds later, or if it’s to do with the slimy substance that glistens on his skin and sticks his clothes to his body.
He knows his own body well enough to know that the arousal swirling through him is unnatural, and to know that his body has ceased to care. His hips strain against the hold the tendrils have on him, and he’s certain the way they snake out one at a time, brushing over his cock maddeningly, before pulling back, is a deliberate tease and a punishment. Squeezes his eyes shut and struggles not to roll his hips into those light touches, and it feels like a battle of wills.
Laughter cracks at his throat when they finally wrap around him, tug at his cock, and he wants to shout and taunt, because he’s won, but he’s too busy groaning at the sensation. Constant writhing, wringing, milking him, drawing his spine taunt, and he isn’t sure if it would be insulting to the tendrils if he came right away, or lasted forever. Has a feeling they want the latter, and his body warns him that it doesn’t matter, because it prefers the former.
Decides, yeah, he can go with that, crazed grin on his face, and thrusts up into their grip. Rush along, it’ll all be over soon, return to normalcy, that’s what he wants, never mind the fact that he’s aching for release. The tendrils shudder against him, happy with his belated cooperation, and they’re just a touch too soft with him, more so than he would be with himself, but it’s different, and that makes it good.
And then one slides back, slick trail of slime that ignites his skin, and Zoro’s eyes widen, lost in it, and he snarls and tries to twist away, but he has no leverage. Feels the press at previously untouched flesh, and if they’re gentle on his cock, there’s no such luxury avoided as they suddenly shove inside him.
And Zoro’s lurches against his bonds, screams “Fuck!” And then he’s coming, spinning, burning, panting and moaning, and he knows the tendrils just won, but he barely cares.
*
Robin smiles, another hand growing out of the floor to stroke along a stray tendril. It quivers happily, wraps around her wrist, nuzzles against her.
She sits with her legs spread, a wall of her own arms supporting her back, two sets of her fingers and several tendrils moving idly between her legs. The first wave of urgency the tendril’s translucent residue had inspired in her has long since worn off, but she’s content to remain there, muscles glowing with a familiar lethargy.
A hand, one of her own, comes up to brush her damp hair out of her eyes, and she watches the way the tendrils twine around her many arms, and feels the faint echo of each slide over sensitive skin in her own arms, and wonders if her nakama are having as much fun as she is.
Fandom: One Piece
Pairings: Tentacles/Usopp, Tentacles/Nami, Tentacles/Luffy, Tentacles/Sanji, Tentacles/Chopper, Tentacles/Zoro, Tentacles/Robin
Rating: NC-17
Words: 3110
Timeline: Post-Alabasta
Notes: Questionable consent. Tentacles.
Summary: United they stand, divided they, uh, flail?
Usopp’s alone, and that’s never good. He grumbles to himself as he makes his way through the never-ending tunnels, and wonders where the hell his nakama are, and tries not to jump at every little noise.
The caverns are made of a strange mineral, something that shines, appears almost wet in the strange light that doesn’t appear to be coming from anywhere but manages to illuminate his path. He’s careful about where he steps, listening for the telltale cracks like the one they’d all heard before the floor gave out underneath them and they’d all ended up separated.
There’s breeze on the air, and it creeps up Usopp’s spine like a physical presence. Or maybe. Maybe he’s being watched.
That thought has his head whipping round.
Nothing.
“Luffy?” he says, and his voice isn’t too much of a whimper. “Nami? Zoro? Chopper? Anyone?”
There’s a rustling noise to his right, and he spins so fast he thinks he hears something in his neck snap. But there’s nothing there, and there’s no answer from his nakama and, oh God, let this be a dream.
And this time the rustling noise is directly behind him, and there’s a shadow on the opposite wall that doesn’t belong to him.
Usopp’s a blur of motion, and the tunnels whip past him as he sprints through them.
Don’t stop, don’t look back, if you can’t see, it’s not really there, right, right?!
Something wraps around his ankle and he feels it at the same time he realises he’s moving too fast to stop, and his foot is yanked backwards, even though his body keeps going.
It takes a moment for everything to stop spinning, for his breath to come back, and his arm and hip hurt, but at least he managed to twist in midair and not land on his face.
And then he remembers that there’s still something wrapped around his ankle.
It’s green, is his first thought. Rather articulate considering his current state of fear and disorientation. It’s also wet, maybe slimy, and it’s moving and oh crap that means it’s alive, and Usopp has to get away.
But the … whatever it is clings on to him when he tries to scramble away. He stops, turns to look at it. Frowns, then shakes his leg. It quivers and circles around him more tightly.
It’s coming from the floor, Usopp realises, and lifts his leg higher. There’s a crack there, a thin hole, seemingly too thin for the strange long green thing to be fitting through. He swallows nervously and wonders if there are more green things down there.
“Uh. O-oi,” he says, feeling kind of stupid, talking to something he’s certain is alive, but doesn’t appear to have a face, let alone ears. “Get off of me.”
The thing shudders at the sound of his voice, so maybe it has ears after all, and he realises he can pull his leg a little closer to himself. But it’s not because the thing is letting go, it’s because it’s stretching, or maybe more of it is squeezing through the narrow gap in the floor. It’s definitely slimy, Usopp can feel it starting to seep through his trousers, and the skin around his ankle tingles slightly.
“Let go,” he says again, trying to sound firm, shaking his leg around as frantically as possible. The green thing only snakes more firmly around him, climbing up his leg, and it manages to tug the leg of his trousers up, and it feels strangely numb where it touches his bare skin. Numb, or maybe not, maybe it feels like the sensation right before pins and needles, and Usopp doesn’t understand why he’s trying to figure out the way it feels, rather than trying to figure out how to get it the hell off him.
Feels a crackle of something shoot up his leg, and realises that maybe the green thing is poisonous, and that’s he going to die, just because it’s decided it wants to hug his ankle.
He yells and tries to pull his leg away and shakes and lurches around on the floor and fires every rubber band in his bag at the damn thing, and when he finally stops he’s breathing heavily and utterly exhausted.
And the thing is only holding him tighter, and there’s definitely more of it sliding up through the floor, coming up to loop around his knee, and that strange sensation shoots up his leg again, wracks a shiver up his spine.
He hopes Luffy and the others tell Kaya he died valiantly, saving them from a Merman or a Giant or something. Not that he was poisoned by a long green blob with personal space issues.
And it suddenly strikes him that he’s not afraid. He should be, since, even if he doesn’t understand the green thing’s motives, it is attacking him. And it’s not that he isn’t afraid of it, so much as something is stopping him from being afraid.
Poison, his mind supplies helpfully, or unhelpfully.
He sighs and feels very put-upon and leans forward with the intention of grabbing at it, forcefully dragging it off his leg.
But the second his hands touch it, he knows something is wrong. Its grip on his leg is solid, but his fingers slide into it, like unset jelly, and they feel cold inside of it, and there’s that odd feeling again, like a prickling at his skin. His eyelids flutter and his arms shake, and he should be pulling away, but he can’t. Doesn’t find the strength until he realises there’s another one, sliding through that tight gap in the floor to unfurl and reach up, and the first slide of it over the bare flesh of his arm steals a gasp from him.
He should be running, but he just wants to touch it.
He flexes his fingers inside of it, feels the way it yields to him, near-liquid insides moulding around each digit, and he lets it pet at his arm, because it only seems fair.
“What are you?” he whispers, and it trembles around him, and there’s no warning, just it clamping around each wrist, stretching, more long green tendrils growing out of the originals, and it yanks him forward, and he lands awkwardly, sprawled on his front.
A touch of fear creeps back into his mind, shakes apart the dreamlike trance he’d been in, and he’s about to protest, or maybe just scream for Luffy some more, when one of them reaches for his face.
He shuts his eyes tightly and waits it out.
It’s almost cold as it brushes over his cheek, and it leaves a trail of slime, that turns to liquid warmth, soothing him. He fights the sensation, tries to hold on to the fear, squirms as it brushes over the back of each eyelid. Blushes as it wraps itself around his nose, although he’s not sure why. There’s a heat pooling at the base of his spine, and there are more tendrils circling his arms, one at his neck. Feels them judder against him, so soft in the way they touch his face, but firmer with his arms, as if they realise where he is more fragile.
One slides under his t-shirt, presses between his shoulder blades, not uncomfortable, and his face is flushed now, and Usopp shivers and lets the tendrils touch him, as fascinated by him as he is by them, and wonders where this is going.
*
Nami’s not stupid, she knows where this going.
Growls and twists, but the green thing, long and cold and seeming to come from the wall, just holds on to her wrist, and the one wrapped around her thigh creeps higher.
She’s flushed and panting, sweat glistening on her forehead. She’s given up on screaming, given up on yelling at the green tendrils, trying to scare them away. Feels every inch of her body acutely, suddenly so aware of herself, sensitised.
It’s getting higher, too high, and her free hand dives under her skirt, trying to pry it away. But her fingers just slide into it, like it’s not real, like there’s no skin on it, no solidness to it at all, and, God, fingers going too far without anything to stop them, accidentally pressing at herself between her legs, and her head rolls back and she gasps because, yeah, sensitised.
And that seems to intrigue it. It pushes at her fingers, and she realises that it can manipulate its own consistency because it’s suddenly solid again against the back of her hand, and it presses her own fingers up and into the damp material of her panties. Trembles at the sound of her groan, and the vibration travels through her hand and only has her groaning louder.
How long has it been since she’s been able to do this? Touch, explore, enjoy herself. The problem with being stuck at sea, sharing a room, never finding a moment’s peace to herself. Suddenly she’s aching for it, and she knows it has something to do with the damn green tendrils but right now she wants it, and that’s okay.
Her legs tremble and give out beneath her, but there’s green underneath her knees, rather than the solid of the ground, cushioning her fall.
She takes a deep breath and grits her teeth.
“We do this on my terms,” she hisses, and imagines the shaking she receives in reply is understanding. And then she’s sliding her hand higher, thumb hooking into the waistband, and she’s tugging her panties down, and the green tendrils are practically writhing against her thigh in what she guesses is joy.
A sharp smile takes over her face, determination setting in, steeling herself as if to tackle a cyclone, and her own fingers are between her legs, and the tendrils are there, and they seem to numb her skin at the same time as spiking electricity through her, and there’s laughter caught in her throat.
Spreads her legs, narrows her eyes and really gets into it. Hips thrusting down, fingers pressing up, all the familiar flicks and twists of her wrists, but everything heightened by the tendril’s assistance, and it doesn’t seem to be touching her quite so much now, almost as if it’s content to let her show it how it’s really done, and she feels an odd flare of affection for it, but mostly she feels really really fucking good.
*
Luffy punches at the long green things hanging from the ceiling. Not because he wants to hurt them, can already see that every time his fist reaches them, it just slides through, no damage at all. But it feels weird, the way they swallow his fists, and his hands are tingling and he feels suddenly energized and ready for anything and like he could take on the world. Bouncing off the walls, jumping and dancing through the tendrils, which sway towards him. Like a game, never quite letting them touch him. Okay for him to strike out at them, but they can’t steal the contact from him.
He kicks out, and his leg passes through one, and then another, and another, because each time they’re hitting a different part of his leg, and everywhere they touch feels good, and Luffy laughs.
Let’s one reach for him, holds out his hand, tries to close his fist around it, and it squishes in his fingers and wraps around them, but he can still feel it in his grip. Like holding hands, or something, and that makes him laugh even more, and he really wants to show his nakama just how weird these things are.
Lets more wrap around him, bounces a little on the balls of his feet, feeling the way they cling to him, not wanting to get shaken off. His skin feels odd where they touch, more like heated marshmallow than rubber, and they seem near frantic to touch as much skin as possible.
And then one tendril at his hip slides under the waistband of his shorts and down.
And Luffy’s eyes only widen for the briefest of moments before they narrow, sharpen. “Oh,” he whispers, and his grin is no longer broad and cheery, but something more feral and the tendrils feel the shift in his mood and tremble with excitement. “Okay.”
*
Sanji whines and tries to kick at them again, but they only hug more tightly at him, only spread his legs wider.
His precious Nami-san could be anywhere, trembling, waiting for him to rescue her, and this damn green blob had come at him from nowhere, and now her screams have stopped and he has no way of tracking where she might be.
The tendrils grip at his hips, circle around his thighs, brush over his crotch. Slime soaking through his trousers, ruining them, and he has no idea why he’s hard, but he’s thrusting his hips up with each teasing brush between his legs. Disorientated, vision swimming, sweating and writhing in their grip.
“God fucking damn, what the hell is going on?” he manages to bellow, and is only rewarded by one tendril forcing its way into his mouth.
His first thought is sweet, yet vaguely minty, a tang that makes his tongue buzz and press up towards it against his will. It squirms over his teeth, barest tip inside of him, and then it's surging with enough force to arch his head back, filling every part of his mouth, and Sanji’s eyes roll back into his head.
The tendrils at his crotch pause, and then they’re pressing against him fiercely, and somehow one of them manages to flick up the catch on his zipper, and the fly of his trousers opens instantly under the insistent press of his erection. And they’re pushing inside, through the open fly, over the edge of the waistband, and he doesn’t know if they undo the button or if it just pops off from the strain, and then his trousers are being dragged down his hips, boxers following quickly behind, and Sanji groans around his mouthful.
They waste no time in wrapping around his aching cock, slimy and slick and perfect as they shift and writhe around him. Almost like fingers, almost like tongues, somewhere in between, and Sanji squirms and presses into their hold and gives up on his sanity. It’s like being bathed in ice and fire and it’s the sweetest torture, tease of a touch, yet so vivid. Dipping into him, tasting him, sparks shooting up his cock, gripping his stomach, and he has a feeling this is going to be over very quickly. They pulse against him, cup his balls, slide further back, and Sanji’s eyes cross and all he can do is moan encouragement and hope that nobody finds him.
*
Chopper hopes somebody finds him.
He feels kind of dizzy, the strangest smell tickling at his sensitive nose. The quivering green tendrils poke and prod at him, but nothing can break through Guard Point.
He wonders where Luffy and the rest of his nakama could be, and if they’re okay.
And really really hopes someone finds him in the next two minutes and seven seconds. Once the Rumble Ball wears off, he figures he’s pretty much doomed.
*
Zoro pants and bucks, but the tendrils only yank his arms higher over his head. His whole body is quaking and he grits his teeth and tries to fight the shaking, and he’s not even sure if it’s due to the third time he’d thrown everything he had into slicing the tendrils to ribbons, only for them to reform and surge at him seconds later, or if it’s to do with the slimy substance that glistens on his skin and sticks his clothes to his body.
He knows his own body well enough to know that the arousal swirling through him is unnatural, and to know that his body has ceased to care. His hips strain against the hold the tendrils have on him, and he’s certain the way they snake out one at a time, brushing over his cock maddeningly, before pulling back, is a deliberate tease and a punishment. Squeezes his eyes shut and struggles not to roll his hips into those light touches, and it feels like a battle of wills.
Laughter cracks at his throat when they finally wrap around him, tug at his cock, and he wants to shout and taunt, because he’s won, but he’s too busy groaning at the sensation. Constant writhing, wringing, milking him, drawing his spine taunt, and he isn’t sure if it would be insulting to the tendrils if he came right away, or lasted forever. Has a feeling they want the latter, and his body warns him that it doesn’t matter, because it prefers the former.
Decides, yeah, he can go with that, crazed grin on his face, and thrusts up into their grip. Rush along, it’ll all be over soon, return to normalcy, that’s what he wants, never mind the fact that he’s aching for release. The tendrils shudder against him, happy with his belated cooperation, and they’re just a touch too soft with him, more so than he would be with himself, but it’s different, and that makes it good.
And then one slides back, slick trail of slime that ignites his skin, and Zoro’s eyes widen, lost in it, and he snarls and tries to twist away, but he has no leverage. Feels the press at previously untouched flesh, and if they’re gentle on his cock, there’s no such luxury avoided as they suddenly shove inside him.
And Zoro’s lurches against his bonds, screams “Fuck!” And then he’s coming, spinning, burning, panting and moaning, and he knows the tendrils just won, but he barely cares.
*
Robin smiles, another hand growing out of the floor to stroke along a stray tendril. It quivers happily, wraps around her wrist, nuzzles against her.
She sits with her legs spread, a wall of her own arms supporting her back, two sets of her fingers and several tendrils moving idly between her legs. The first wave of urgency the tendril’s translucent residue had inspired in her has long since worn off, but she’s content to remain there, muscles glowing with a familiar lethargy.
A hand, one of her own, comes up to brush her damp hair out of her eyes, and she watches the way the tendrils twine around her many arms, and feels the faint echo of each slide over sensitive skin in her own arms, and wonders if her nakama are having as much fun as she is.
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