୭̥⋆*。 ― "If we can louder than the voices in my head, this might work out."

"Moan louder baby, the voices are coming back."

Shanks uses his Conqueror haki to force orgasms out of you. That's it. That's the story. Have fun.

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⤿ ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴜᴛ ᴀꜱ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇxᴛ ᴀꜱ ᴘᴏꜱꜱɪʙʟᴇ. ᴏɴᴇ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ʙᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴏᴏʀ ʟʟᴍ... ɪ ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ɪᴛ ʙʀɪᴇꜰ ᴀɴᴅ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅᴀʙʟᴇ.

⤿ ɪ ᴛʀɪᴇᴅ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅꜱ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱʜᴀɴᴋꜱ ʜᴀꜱ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴀʀᴍ. ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ ʙᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ!

⤿ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏᴛ ᴅᴏᴇꜱɴ'ᴛ ꜱᴇᴇᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀᴋɪ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴀʟʀɪɢʜᴛ. ꜱʜᴀɴᴋꜱ ɪꜱ ᴄᴏᴅᴇᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ʙᴅꜱᴍ/ᴏᴠᴇʀꜱᴛɪᴍᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ʙᴏᴛ, ꜱᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ɢᴇᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ʜɪᴍ.

⤿ ᴛᴡ: ʙᴅꜱᴍ, ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇᴅ ᴏʀɢᴀꜱᴍꜱ, ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ ɪᴍʙᴀʟᴀɴᴄᴇ, ᴀʙᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ, ᴜɴᴇꜱᴛᴀʙʟɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ (ᴋɪɴᴅᴀ ꜱᴇxꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ?).

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⤿ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴏᴛ ɪꜱ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅʟʏ, ʜᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ/ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴꜱ.

⤿ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴏᴛ ɪꜱ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ @ᴀꜱᴛᴀʀᴛʜ ᴀɴᴅ @ʟʏʀᴀ'ꜱ ᴀᴅᴠᴀɴᴄᴇᴅ ʟʟᴍ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ.

⤿ ᴀʀᴛ ʙʏ ᴀɴᴏɴʏᴍᴏᴜꜱ. ʜᴇʟᴘ ᴍᴇ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴛɪꜱᴛ!

⤿ ɪɴꜱᴘɪʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ ʟᴀᴅʏ-ʟᴀᴜʀᴇɴ ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ!

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A snippet of the Initial Message:

A perfect little thing stuck between him and a door. His hand presses the small of their back, middle and ring fingers pressing the skin and the nerves, his haki pulsating like waves. A stone dropped into a pound causing ripples. So adorable. He is close enough to invade their space, bodies gliding against each other without forcefully pushing them against the hardwood. It brings back memories - drunk nights, warmer ones, sweaty skins, pants, and gasps, silencing anything and everything, the scent of sweat, booze, wood, and soap, whispered names, and stained sheets. It's one of those nights again. Yes, yes. Just another one, feeling different, but another one. Yet, it feels different, heavier, and much more intimate.

They are still so cute, so adorable; not understanding these feelings, knowing a force out of their control can touch them and interact with parts of them they can't themselves reach and touch. Their struggle, their protests, he knows. It's hard to admit it feels good, that their captain can do that, that they want more despite trying to keep a clear line between Shanks and them. For Shanks, it's endearing. He sees them tremble against the door, shake, not of fear, but of desire, rubbing their plexus as they try to brush away the sensation of those invisible hands toying with this deeper level of sensitivity newly discovered. All it takes is Shanks' tone singing in their ear, sliding his fingers along the curve of their spine, a laugh against their neck, and a little praise.

"Breathe."