quill-and-again

[quill-and-again]

Compartmentalize

Quill x Marco

summary: Quill struggles to focus on *this life*, despite several lifetimes spent compartmentalizing each separate life.

“Hey,” Marco clears his throat, waving a drink in front of me, getting me to finally look at him. “You zoned out so hard I was gettin’ worried.”

“Ah, sorry.” I sigh, taking the drink with an apologetic, and weary, smile.

“What’s on your mind?”

“… Twelve lives.” I admit with a forlorn expression, looking away and hiding in the mug Marco had brought me.

“Struggling to compartmentalize?” He prompts and I nod.

“It’s… It’s a lot harder in this life.” I admit, anger on the edges of my tone. “There’s nothing there, you know? Nothing from this life. No childhood, no formative years, no family… nothing. I have nothing from this life until the day you saved me. There’s nothing there except everything before it.”

Frustration is building in my tone and actions, but Marco doesn’t stop me.

“Without that foundation I can’t put up the walls I usually do. Any part of myself, any story I share, anything that has to do with my sense of self is from everything outside this world. So everything keeps pulling me back into memories I can’t do anything with. People and places I’ll never see again.”

I’m quiet for a long time, and Marco sits with me, waiting for me to either continue, or to ask something of him. My situation is so unique he’s not entirely sure what to do to help, but even in just the last few months it’s become obvious that I have, for better or worse, plenty of experience.

“I haven’t felt this disconnected from a world since my first rebirth.” I admit quietly, my gaze is lost in the mug I’m holding, distant and moving further away. That first life was indescribably hard. “These aren’t my stars, this isn’t my world.” My voice is full of such deep sorrow, and I can’t hold it back. How does he do this to me? Why am I so compelled to talk when it’s him? “Why am I-.”

The mug hits the deck, but he’s not concerned about it. His arms are around me, holding onto me with a desperation neither of us expected. I don’t know what it was that causes him to react like this, but it’s soothing.

Grounding.

I set my mug down, putting my hands on the arm that’s across my chest. It was still startling how strong he was, how solid he was. The assumption had been that the devil fruit did the heavy lifting, but Marco had the strength and flexibility of an acrobat.

Flesh and blood. Skin and muscle. Very much in three dimensions. Very much alive. Very much filled with life and details far beyond what could be conveyed by a story - no matter how long and complex it was.

The fine blonde hairs that were on his forearms, the chest hair that was felt easier than it was seen, the birth mark on the front of his hips that nearly took me out the first time I noticed it. The way his head was shaved on the sides, the way he made a funny face when he caught me staring, only to go back to a completely neutral expression a split second later.

All the details.

“Marco?”

“Yeah?”

“… Will you be my stars?” I ask the question, heat rising into my face, looking toward Marco even if I can’t bring myself to look into his eyes right now. A dozen lives, and what was embarrassing was still embarrassing. Baring my soul like this never gets easier.

He’s quiet for a long moment, but Marco gives me time to process, so I will do the same in return. I can feel my stomach knotting in embarrassment, or concern maybe. I want to say more and clarify if it didn’t make sense, but I don’t want to over speak and make it worse, or weird, or wrong.

Marco shifts a little, resting his head against my back, arms and hands nearly engulfing me completely, given the difference in size and the way I was curled up in a ball already. The warm flicker of flames as his arms changed to massive wings, hiding us both from everything else for the moment.

Right here and now there was nothing else. No other lives, no sky, no ocean. No one but the two of us.

“Always.”

[quill-and-again]

Quill’s Fear

“What’s my biggest fear?” I repeat the question to give myself a chance to think on it. “Darkness, probably.”

“Like nighttime?” Comes the reply, and I smile.

“Nah, nighttime has moons and stars and the flicker of hearth and bioluminescence.” I say. “I mean, like, full darkness. Can’t see your hands even when you touch your face.”

Darkness.

Breathe in. I tell myself. Breathe in because you can, you can still breathe so fucking do it. The rush of air pulls in through my nostrils and I’m relieved to find I can actually breathe.

If you can breathe, you can survive. Darkness is temporary. So’s light, warmth, people… everything gives way to time and time changes all of it. Even you.

Keep breathing, I focus my thoughts. Keeping my head clear enough to talk to myself is useful. If your heart pops in fear you won’t be able to breathe. So focus on each action.

My fingers can move, but there’s something restricting them, and my arms, and legs. Immobilized and plunged into darkness, but not suffocating, someone wants you alive so that’s a check in the positive column.

Alive is options.

Bitch, dead is options for you. You’ll just go onto your next life. Centuries of talking to myself, you’d think I could do it without being a snarky cunt.

Focus. What else is there?

The air’s crisp, clean and not stale. The scent of leather and wood and… piss. Lovely. There’s motion to be felt, but moving is hard.

Alright, so probably bound up like the problem child you are, on a ship. That’s something I can work with. Traveling means you’re wanted somewhere, and being bound without being in chains means they don’t want others to know it’s you?

Maybe?

If I’d talked this out with someone before hand it would be a fantastic bdsm session. But the last thing I can remember is laying my head down on the pillow at that inn.

Nothing hurt in a way that worries me, but I am sore and stiff. Maybe something was released into my room while I slept and then I got all bundled up while I was passed out. It’s been a good while too, because I don’t easily get sore or stiff, and how perfectly snug I’m bound meant that my body changed before they bundled me.

The small things are nice, for sure. It would be more than a little uncomfortable to have that thick strap between my legs like this if I had a dick currently. Going to bed a man and waking up a woman.

No one could see my face scrunch up in frustration, but the idea that I would’ve been in chains if I’d been in boy mode instead rankles me. Joke’s on whoever took this job, though, because I can get out of latex and leather just as easily as shackles and chains. It’s been quiet enough for long enough, no one else is around, and if they are they’re sleeping.

It sounds as if the very air is being rent, as the impotent materials used to bind me fall away like paper. Nothing but the small clothes they left me in remains, but that’s fine.

Darkness might be temporary, but my anger at being plunged into darkness is going to last until I’m sated.

I faced my fears lifetimes ago. War, intrigue, hatred, sorrow - everything is temporary. Time passes and it all changes. There’s not much left to fear when you’ve experienced most of it.

There’s even less to fear when death isn’t the end. Life waits for me on the other side of things, no matter what I decide to do, but these slavers don’t have those advantages.

Perfect.

[quill-and-again]

Some Quill and Marco moments

Just little dribbles I needed to get out of my head.

Quill explaining to Marco about fanfics and the whole fandom of One Piece (as concisely as possible), while like, drying dishes or something on the Moby. No one else is around.

“So I mean, that’s why I wanted to have the chance to get to know you.” Quill admits, handing Marco a dry glass for the upper shelves. “Not just the story and head canons I had picked up in my prime life.”

“That… is a lot, yoi.” He admits. “Flattering though.”

Quill snorts. “Okay, fair, but holding someone to fairytale standards like that, all suave and sexy and near infinitely understanding wouldn’t have been…”

They can feel him, right next to them, reaching over them, hand resting on the cabinet door on the other side of them. Quill didn’t have to look to know the expression on his face, they’d just spend the last couple hours talking about fan fics and tropes and story telling within and outside of fandoms - and what fandoms were.

Marco was, apparently, as attentive as one would expect.

“Don’t deny me, yoi.” Marco hums, his voice soft, and a little teasing.

Quill nearly whimpers, following the line of abs in their immediate view and letting their eyes move up, over the tattoo, to the stretched out arm, and the confident and crooked grin on his face.

Up to his eyes. Hooded, relaxed, glowing softly within the slight shadow he’d created by looming over them. Quill could feel the heat rushing up their cheeks, but did their best to appear calm. They were older, they should be able to be more suave, and more in control, and-.

The warmth just under their chin nearly makes their knees buckle, as Marco tilts Quill’s chin up a little further with a single finger. There’s the sound of glass breaking but Quill isn’t sure if it’s all in their head, or outside, or if they dropped the glass they were drying. Unlikely on the last one, since Marco seems unbothered.

“Care for a kiss, pretty bird?” He hums inquisitively.

Augh, just the

Quill: I don’t want you to feel like you have to play a part for me. Marco: okay, but if it’s not playing? Quill: O///O

[quill-and-again]

Ask Game for someone’s OC(s)

✨- How did you come up with the OC’s name?

🌼 - How old are they? (Or approximate age range)

🌺- Do they have any love interest(s)?

🍕 - What is their favorite food?

💼 - What do they do for a living?

🎹 - Do they have any hobbies?

🎯 -What do they do best?

🥊 -What do they love to do? What do they hate to do?

❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories?

✂️ - What is one of your OC’s worst memories?

🧊 - Is their current design the first one?

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC?

🌂 - What genre do they belong in?

💚 - What is your OC’s gender identity and sexuality?

🙌 - How many sibling does your OC have?

🍎 - What is the OC’s relationship w/their parents like?

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC?

✏️ - How often do you draw/write about the OC?

💎 - Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC?

💀 - Does your OC have any phobias?

🍩 -Who is your OC’s arch-nemesis or rival?

🎓 - How long have you had the OC?

🍥 - What age were you when you created the OC?

[quill-and-again]

Quill: *Smiling watching Lil' have a good time on the dance floor.*

Marco: *clears his throat, holding out his hand.*

Quill: ... Oh. Oh no, no no no, I don't dance. You've seen me try, not even letting someone lead saves me.

Marco: *Smiles smoothly* I think I have a solution.

Quill: ... *narrows eyes* Alright, but the end state of your toes aren't my fault.

Marco: I hereby absolve you of all fault regarding my person, yoi. *bows a little and extends his hand again, managing to almost look up at Quill.*

Quill: *redder than a tomato on a summer afternoon.* ... kay.

Moments later Quill is laughing as Marco swings them around in time to a fast-paced song. Turns out they can dance, as long as they absolutely do not think about it, and getting twirled and spun all over the place makes it hard to think about it.

~Dancing~

Lil: *On the dancefloor with Shanks at her welcome home party.*

Sanji: *taps Shanks on the shoulder* May I cut in? I'd love to get to know the beautiful lady of the hour.

Shanks: Beat it kid.

Lil: Be nice, old man *pinches the redhead's cheek before taking Sanji's hand*

Zoro: *Watching her laugh with the shitty cook*

Robin: You should ask her to dance.

Perona: *sitting in Robin's lap* Yeah, watching you get jealous is nauseating.

Zoro: Shut up. *Looks at Robin* I can't dance.

Luffy: She's a good teacher!

*As the song fades into a slower tempo Sanji bumps into Zoro*

Sanji: She's not looking for a downgrade Marimo.

Lil: Oof, you slid down the list a little there Curly Q. *winks at Zoro*

Sanji: *Marches off offended*

Zoro: *Immediately steps on Lil's feet and trips them both up*

Lil: *chuckles* You're really terrible at this.

Zoro: Yeah, I don't dance.

Lil: *Stops and adjusts their position moving one hand from his shoulder to his lower back*

Zoro: *Looks down at her surprised* What're you doing?

Lil: Leading. *Looks at him confidently* When I move you follow, ready?

Zoro: *clears his throat* Sure.

[quill-and-again]

#2 & #23 for lives: 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, & 13 (all the prime lives!).

I love that you come out of the gate swinging \o/

Lives 1, 3, and 11 Quill didn't make it to a legal age (Interestingly those are the only times Quill doesn't live past 18, so if you'd got for all evens or non-primes, it wouldn't have caught any of them XD )

We'll scoop all three into life 8 for these answers.

Question 2 - What turns them off/on?

Life 2: Turn ons: Suffering. Quill lost their mind in their second reincarnation and did horrible and terrible things and reveled in them on a primal level. Turn off: Laughter, joy, etc. poor thing had some shit to work through.

Life 5: Turn ons: Shibari, acrobatic positions. Turn offs: People who can't take no for an answer.

Life 7: Turn ons: Just about everything. Quill died at 19 as a casualty of war, their body hadn't left the whole "get it up for a can of soup" phase, and everything tended to flip the switch. Turn offs: A draft.

Life 8: Turn Ons: Muscled tall blonde. Good thing her parents married her off to a Grand Duke that looks just like that. Turn offs: having to deal with court intrigue and snibby nobles. Marathon sex too - the body they had that run was not physically strong.

Life 13: Turn Ons: Marco (but gods there are just so many pretty people in this world). Turn offs: By this point there isn't much that squicks Quill. They've just lived through too much. At this point the dividing line is consensual yay, non-consensual boo XD

Question 23: Worst Sex Experience:

Life 2: Honestly, maybe a little too off their rocker to have anything objectively good or bad to list here. They were most certainly the worst sex experience for everyone unlucky enough to cross their path ^^;;;

Life 5: A few - Quill has ZERO idea that they were Ranma, in this life. Unlike me, they just weren't familiar with the story. So there were a lot of pushy people trying to get in their pants and it was exhausting.

Life 7: Blow job in a back alley before being shipped off to war. The intention was meant well, but considering they never made it back home the whole thing was just bittersweet.

Life 8: None, really. Married off to an amazingly skilled noble, and no one was stupid enough to try and do anything.

Life 13: Quill starts without their memories of this life, so it's hard to say. In the version where they're with Marco they don't have any really big bad things happen. With one exception, but it's not sexual.

Now, in the AU version of this where they end up mixed up with Doflamingo, I'd almost say every interaction is just a worst sex experience.

NSFW OC MEME ASKS

[quill-and-again]

NSFT OC Asks

I've got a bit going on today, but send in a number or two and I'll tell you about Quill escapades.

If you want you can ask for the answer for one of their previous lives (they're on #13, that's the "canon" one for their story). It might be neat to see how their view on something changed over the course of a couple lived lives. I'll default to life 13 if not specified, and there's a couple lives where they died young, so I'll grab a random # if those pop up.

[quill-and-again]

A Moment - Marco the Phoenix

[Moments are interactions between Quill and other One Piece characters/OCs that may not ever make it into the more canonical long-form stories. They can be angsty, spicy, smutty, or feature "bad ends". It's a way for me to play with Quill without the weighty commitment of "canon".]

Summary: Confession.

Warning: While Quill is an OC, I write them in the "reader" perspective, because they're a reincarnator and their first life was this Earth/Reality. As a fan of One Piece, they are almost more "reader" than OC. This can be jarring for folks, hence the warning. (this may change the more I develop Quill)

Warning: Uh, this might actually be in the canon story XD so possible fic spoilers??

"You're the most beautiful man I've ever seen." You blurt out the words without thinking. Well, no, that wasn't right, it was all you had been thinking since you woke up this morning.

Marco's eyes go wide, and so do yours. Heat rushes into your face and you look away covering your mouth.

"Oh-my-goooooods, I'm so sorry, I just... I just said that, didn't I?" You turn away from him entirely, mortification gripping you.

Running off would be worthless, you were both on the Moby right now, and while you could swim, you probably couldn't reach the next island. Besides, you weren't going to be leaving the crew unless you got kicked off, so it was better to face the fallout now.

"You think so, huh?" Marco says, a tone in his voice that sends relief and a sweet thrill up your spine.

"Yeah," you swallow thickly, trying to calm your nerves, your pounding heart, and the small, dense, heavy, ball of fear in your stomach. You take a deep breath to calm yourself a little bit more, and turn back toward him.

A dozen lives. Centuries worth of years lived. You'd known love, pleasure, joy, fear, hatred, anger - all of them, in all ways and contexts. There wasn't anything you hadn't experienced at this point.

But somehow.

For some reason.

You were nervous. You were scared. There wasn't anything that was going to happen that wasn't either reciprocation, or rejection, and no matter which you'd survive. It wasn't anything you hadn't experienced before.

But when you manage to face him again, heat and blood flushed into your face, making your ears burn, you can't deny that you want desperately for things to work out. For you to connect, to learn about one another in ways that only time and devotion can provide.

"Right now, yoi," he hums softly, reaching out and taking the length of hair that frames your face between his fingers. "I think you have me beat." He admits, kissing the strands curled between his fingers.

[quill-and-again]

New Quill Art Just Dropped

\o/ I got this beautiful commission from @rosiinantes and I can't even begin XD

I love the colors, the pose, the textures \lol/ the subtle print on Marco's suit Ahhhhhhhh IT IS JUST TOO GODDAMN CUTE

Sunny's commissions are still up and open, so check them out and get yourself so custom cute art if you can <3

[quill-and-again]

Part two

CW: forced orgasms, overstimulation, non con, impact play, anilingus, bondage - Beckman and Shanks don't say a word, mdni

Hongo left once him and Beckman were done slathering that crap over most of your body. What was concerning was that they’d left it off the places Shanks and Beckman were paying attention too. The firstmate’s arm was heavy against your collarbone, keeping your weighed down more than you already were.

Rough fingers tease your nipple while his mouth suckles the other one.

The pleasure was intense just from what he was doing, and while you didn’t believe in aphrodisiacs, you had to admit that if they didn’t exist, then the man’s skill was inhuman.

“St-stop it,” you husk, body jerking every time Shanks flicks his tongue randomly against your clit. “I sa-said I’d talk, I’ll talk, so stop!” You try to throw Beckman off, but he’s got almost two feet on you and at least 100 pounds, if not more. That plus the fact that your legs were pulled taut into a full split and your arms bound behind your back, you didn’t have any leverage.

You couldn’t use your haki, every time you even tried Shanks would smack your clit, and that shattered more than just your concentration.

“No! Fuck, no, no, not again, not-.” The familiar build up of pleasure bit into your muscles. It was only the third orgasm, but they weren’t listening to you. “Stop! Stop! Not ah-ah-AhhhhNNNNGH!”

Shanks’ hand moved from your calf to your stomach every time you came, holding you so that you didn’t accidentally dislocate your hips given the strained position you were in. And to keep your cunt from bruising his face.

It would serve him right if you busted a tooth from one of these orgasms.

Just as before, as you had with the ones before it, you came down slowly from the peak, but it never stopped feeling good. Usually your body would almost force a break between orgasms, having at least a few minutes before things would feel really good again, and another few minutes before you’d be building toward an orgasm.

And even then, the build usually took a little longer each time, because orgasming was physically strenuous.

But there was no full down time between these highs and your body was slick with sweat.

“No, shit,” you huff, feeling the pleasure already building again. Shanks wasn’t flicking his tongue against you, now he was sucking your mound, bullying the tip of your clit with his tongue non-stop. “Fuck the fucking lot of you!” You roar, straining against the ropes enough to make them creak.

“Ba-bastards!” Your voice cracks a little. The pleasure is too much, you want to curl up to get away from it, but you’ve barely enough wiggle room to flex your toes. “Stop, stop! The teeth! No, don’t bite, don’t! Hurts! It’s too much it HURTS! No, fuck! FUCK! NNNNGH-CUMMING FROM PAIN I HATE YOU BOTH!” You roar as your body tightens from the fourth orgasm, the intense stimulation from them using their teeth has you twitching as you slowly come down from the high.

You can feel everything. It’s like the particles in the air are caressing your skin. Shanks’ heart beat is in his lips and you can feel it against your skin. The rough texture of Beckman’s hands are less like leather and more like sandpaper now.

“Stop making me cum!” You nearly sob the words, the pathetic sound in your own voice pissing you off. “Fuckers.”

Their teeth retreat, and tongues and hands resume their soft caresses. You can already feel the tingle in your skin and you want to scream. The only thing keeping you from falling apart entirely is that it has to end.

It has to. Either they’ll tire, or you’ll pass out. It doesn’t matter if it takes days, it will end.

“Fuck, fuck,” you husk the word under your breath, trying to focus on your own voice instead of the sensations against your skin.

Beckman and Shanks shift without a word between them. The firstmate is bringing a flog down on your tits. It’s snappy, but heavy with a lot of leather straps. It doesn’t hurt, the way he’s using it is more like a lot of little fingers pawing at your chest. What hits your nipples, and how intense it is, is completely random because of all the whippy pieces.

Shanks spreads your ass cheeks and your yelling at him even as his tongue bullies deep into your ass.

“Don’t put your fucking tongue there! No! No, don’t - don’t! STOP!” The shift was unexpected, and his thumb against your clit while he’s tonguing your ass is too much.

“I-don’t-want-to-come-again-NNNNNNNGGH!!” Once you hit the crest of the orgasm Beckman snaps the flog onto your nipple with laser precision. You gasp in a breath, raising up off the bed as much as you’re physically able, and scream from the over-stimulation. The pain from the precision hit was a flash in the pan compared to the electrifying pins-and-needles feeling that didn’t subside for a full minute.

You get two, maybe three heaving breaths to yourself before Shanks leans back and spreads your labia.

No.

You can’t even say the word, barely able to form the words with your lips before that same snappy strike nails your throbbing clit. If you hadn’t already emptied your bladder earlier, this would’ve forced it out of you. The sharp pain almost felt like it actually cut your clit for a split second, but the coarse, lingering tingle afterward was going to drive you mad. You weren’t sure if you were cumming the whole time or just riding the edge with an intensity you’d never ever experienced before.

Shanks and Beckman pinned you fully to the bed while you made unintelligible sounds, going so far to even hold your toes so you couldn’t move them. There was no way to throw off the intense pleasure.

Slowly, too slowly, fuck this was going to last too long. You needed to pass out, the tingle was fading slowly, and after what felt like an eternity, you were able to start steadying your breathing a little.

Two thick fingers push into your vagina, and you can’t even protest. A soft swear bubbles off the side of your tongue as your eyes roll back as Shanks curls his fingers, thumbing your clit.

“Faaa,” you gurgle the swear, the sound breaking in your throat as the orgasm twists your muscles so harshly you feel like you’re going to puke. It curls your body whether you want it to or not, lifting your back off the mattress as your legs make the ropes keeping them wide groan. The sound of wetness splatters on the ground as this body squirts for what you think, is the first time it’s ever done so. The sloppy slick makes the work of Shanks’ fingers sound loud and lewd.

He pulls his fingers out and your body immediately crumples, relaxing except for a few lingering twitches.

Exhaustion takes you, and you’re out like a light.

I did a little sketch for this too

A Moment - Yandere Shanks

[Moments are interactions between Quill and other One Piece characters/OCs that may not ever make it into the more canonical long-form stories. They can be angsty, spicy, smutty, or feature "bad ends". It's a way for me to play with Quill without the weighty commitment of "canon".]

Summary: Quill catches Shanks' interest in the Yandere!Shanks AU.

Warning: While Quill is an OC, I write them in the "reader" perspective, because they're a reincarnator and their first life was this Earth/Reality. As a fan of One Piece, they are almost more "reader" than OC. This can be jarring for folks, hence the warning. (this may change the more I develop Quill)

CW: kidnapping, non-con, bondage, oral, peeing in an act of defiance, mdni

THIS IS VERY TOXIC SHANKS - Thanks to a friend who has been writing beautiful Yandere, I found myself needing to get this out of my system.

The fight had been fierce, but once you were tossed into Shanks’ room you’d lost. There was no escape from within the man’s room that you could manage. You’d managed a solid control of your haki, and it was only the literal lifetimes of experience that had given you any edge.

But your skill was breaking against Shanks’ raw power, and you just hadn’t had the time to develop in this world to win.

If only you could remember the first twenty or so years!

You struggle to stay on your feet. Blood drips from a few shallow wounds, and the deep ache of bruises that will be brilliant colors tomorrow throb in your limbs. He fills the door way, one-armed, disheveled, and wounded.

Though not on the same level as you.

He wipes blood from the cut on his cheek and gives you a grin. It had been an almost endearing and charming grin earlier, but now it sent a cold chill down your spine.

“I love this about you, Quill.” He says jovially, stepping into the room. You will your body into a defensive stance, but you know he’s not going to let you dart out that door. “You haven’t bent a knee to me from the first time we met.”

You’d met Shanks for the first time while traveling with Ace. You’d met Ace because you woke up on the Spade Pirates’ ship. They’d pulled you out of the ocean and things had gone from there. You remembered your past lives, but you couldn’t remember this life.

Admittedly, you had been a little antagonistic toward Shanks while Ace and the others were celebrating. You weren’t hostile, but you turned down several offers to drink with him, or even talk to him. The fact that he’d been intrigued enough to try and pull you in had been unsettling.

You’d run into him again a month after Ace was accepted onto the Whitebeard Pirate crew. You’d been out on a mission with Deuce and some others - little more than surveying, and while it had been tense for everyone, Shanks had entreated with you over Deuce for most of the encounter.

When a Yonko decides who they’re going to negotiate with, everyone just kind of accepts that.

Lifetimes of skill had saved you that time, at least. Shanks didn’t have near enough experience to try and talk you into circles. Two of you lives had been mired in noble society. Deuce would joke you could talk a god into giving up their divinity, but Shanks wasn’t so benevolent.

Still, you parted ways with no issue.

This last time you’d been hauled up onto his ship after a storm had tossed you from the Moby a couple days prior. Between the possible damages of the storm, prioritizing any devil fruit users, and the fact that you were sure you weren’t the only one still unaccounted for, it wasn’t completely surprising to get rescued by a different crew.

You’d turned aside every offer Shanks provided you with, and deflected every kindness he tried to show you. You’d accepted food and water, whether it was drugged or not didn’t matter, you’d been at sea too long to be able to turn it down.

Once your strength was back up it was time to leave, since it was long-past obvious that Shanks wasn’t trying to get you back on Whitebeard’s ship.

The plan had not worked.

“However, I need you to behave.” He scolds, and you feel it surge. That constant oppressive wave of conquerer’s haki floods again, battering into you in ways you couldn’t easily defend against. You weren’t succumbing to it entirely, but it was like every wave chipped away a little more, and more again.

Staggering, you notice Beckman coming into the room with Hongo. They’ve got ropes and shackles in their hands and another oppressive wave finally buckles your legs.

Once you’re down the other two are on you. It’s three against one, and even though you keep struggling you can’t win.

By the time Shanks’ haki eases up, you’re secured to the foot of his bed. Nude, with your legs pulled wide. Cushions under your hips force them up into the air. A cushion under your shoulders keeps the pressure off arms bound and folded behind your back, forcing your chest up and making it difficult for you to see.

You couldn’t lift your head easily for the heavy iron collar around your neck, and the chains that were pulled taut enough to keep you pinned in place.

Once Beckman and Hongo stepped away you gathered your haki and flexed your muscles, the ropes and the bed groaned, but a heavy, haki-coated smack on your clit shattered your concentration and you roared a swear at the lightning crackled pain that tore through you.

“Behave.” Shanks says curtly.

Whimpering, you writhe from the lingering pain of the blow, but you’re not actively trying to break the ropes. Once the throbbing crackle becomes more of a dull tingle you’re able to keep your body still, focusing on your breathing and calming down.

“There we go.” Your body stiffens when you feel his hand on your thigh. “All these times, I just wanted to talk.” He’s practically purring the words, rubbing your inner thigh until you manage to force your body to relax. “I can’t see the future when I look at you. Not even a little bit.”

A cold chill runs down your spine. You had a feeling observation haki didn’t work on you, and a theory as to why, but that explains how you got his attention without having done anything.

“But I think I’ll have to make you sing before I can get you to talk.”

His thumb runs up your slit and presses into your still throbbing clit.

“Fuck! Wait, no, I’ll talk, I’ll talk, shit, just,” you already know it’s futile, but the stimulation is too intense and it’s just his thumb. “Let me, let me—HNNNGH!!”

His thumb moves away and he sucks on your clit harshly. The pain and the pleasure are nearly equal, at least until Hongo and Beckman start rubbing something onto your skin.

“Wha-what? Wait - FUCK!” Shanks doesn’t bite your clit, but his teeth tease it and send sparks into your vision. “What the fuck are you putting on me!” You scream, desperate to keep your senses.

“Salve, for the cuts and bruises.” Hongo says evenly. You whimper, the idea of the pain being less meant the pleasure would overtake it.

“Mixed with an aphrodisiac.” Beckman adds.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” you growl, the pleasure winning out as Shanks switches to sweet little kitten licks against your clit.

“Think what you want.” Beckman says smoothly.

Anger, frustration, and a clear understanding of the inevitable outcome of this, you pee on Shanks.

“Oi! Hells,” He grumbles, stepping back as you relieve yourself onto the floor. “You really are a defiant little thing.” He laughs.

[quill-and-again]

A Moment - Yandere Shanks

[Moments are interactions between Quill and other One Piece characters/OCs that may not ever make it into the more canonical long-form stories. They can be angsty, spicy, smutty, or feature "bad ends". It's a way for me to play with Quill without the weighty commitment of "canon".]

Summary: Quill catches Shanks' interest in the Yandere!Shanks AU.

Warning: While Quill is an OC, I write them in the "reader" perspective, because they're a reincarnator and their first life was this Earth/Reality. As a fan of One Piece, they are almost more "reader" than OC. This can be jarring for folks, hence the warning. (this may change the more I develop Quill)

CW: kidnapping, non-con, bondage, oral, peeing in an act of defiance, mdni

THIS IS VERY TOXIC SHANKS - Thanks to a friend who has been writing beautiful Yandere, I found myself needing to get this out of my system.

The fight had been fierce, but once you were tossed into Shanks’ room you’d lost. There was no escape from within the man’s room that you could manage. You’d managed a solid control of your haki, and it was only the literal lifetimes of experience that had given you any edge.

But your skill was breaking against Shanks’ raw power, and you just hadn’t had the time to develop in this world to win.

If only you could remember the first twenty or so years!

You struggle to stay on your feet. Blood drips from a few shallow wounds, and the deep ache of bruises that will be brilliant colors tomorrow throb in your limbs. He fills the door way, one-armed, disheveled, and wounded.

Though not on the same level as you.

He wipes blood from the cut on his cheek and gives you a grin. It had been an almost endearing and charming grin earlier, but now it sent a cold chill down your spine.

“I love this about you, Quill.” He says jovially, stepping into the room. You will your body into a defensive stance, but you know he’s not going to let you dart out that door. “You haven’t bent a knee to me from the first time we met.”

You’d met Shanks for the first time while traveling with Ace. You’d met Ace because you woke up on the Spade Pirates’ ship. They’d pulled you out of the ocean and things had gone from there. You remembered your past lives, but you couldn’t remember this life.

Admittedly, you had been a little antagonistic toward Shanks while Ace and the others were celebrating. You weren’t hostile, but you turned down several offers to drink with him, or even talk to him. The fact that he’d been intrigued enough to try and pull you in had been unsettling.

You’d run into him again a month after Ace was accepted onto the Whitebeard Pirate crew. You’d been out on a mission with Deuce and some others - little more than surveying, and while it had been tense for everyone, Shanks had entreated with you over Deuce for most of the encounter.

When a Yonko decides who they’re going to negotiate with, everyone just kind of accepts that.

Lifetimes of skill had saved you that time, at least. Shanks didn’t have near enough experience to try and talk you into circles. Two of you lives had been mired in noble society. Deuce would joke you could talk a god into giving up their divinity, but Shanks wasn’t so benevolent.

Still, you parted ways with no issue.

This last time you’d been hauled up onto his ship after a storm had tossed you from the Moby a couple days prior. Between the possible damages of the storm, prioritizing any devil fruit users, and the fact that you were sure you weren’t the only one still unaccounted for, it wasn’t completely surprising to get rescued by a different crew.

You’d turned aside every offer Shanks provided you with, and deflected every kindness he tried to show you. You’d accepted food and water, whether it was drugged or not didn’t matter, you’d been at sea too long to be able to turn it down.

Once your strength was back up it was time to leave, since it was long-past obvious that Shanks wasn’t trying to get you back on Whitebeard’s ship.

The plan had not worked.

“However, I need you to behave.” He scolds, and you feel it surge. That constant oppressive wave of conquerer’s haki floods again, battering into you in ways you couldn’t easily defend against. You weren’t succumbing to it entirely, but it was like every wave chipped away a little more, and more again.

Staggering, you notice Beckman coming into the room with Hongo. They’ve got ropes and shackles in their hands and another oppressive wave finally buckles your legs.

Once you’re down the other two are on you. It’s three against one, and even though you keep struggling you can’t win.

By the time Shanks’ haki eases up, you’re secured to the foot of his bed. Nude, with your legs pulled wide. Cushions under your hips force them up into the air. A cushion under your shoulders keeps the pressure off arms bound and folded behind your back, forcing your chest up and making it difficult for you to see.

You couldn’t lift your head easily for the heavy iron collar around your neck, and the chains that were pulled taut enough to keep you pinned in place.

Once Beckman and Hongo stepped away you gathered your haki and flexed your muscles, the ropes and the bed groaned, but a heavy, haki-coated smack on your clit shattered your concentration and you roared a swear at the lightning crackled pain that tore through you.

“Behave.” Shanks says curtly.

Whimpering, you writhe from the lingering pain of the blow, but you’re not actively trying to break the ropes. Once the throbbing crackle becomes more of a dull tingle you’re able to keep your body still, focusing on your breathing and calming down.

“There we go.” Your body stiffens when you feel his hand on your thigh. “All these times, I just wanted to talk.” He’s practically purring the words, rubbing your inner thigh until you manage to force your body to relax. “I can’t see the future when I look at you. Not even a little bit.”

A cold chill runs down your spine. You had a feeling observation haki didn’t work on you, and a theory as to why, but that explains how you got his attention without having done anything.

“But I think I’ll have to make you sing before I can get you to talk.”

His thumb runs up your slit and presses into your still throbbing clit.

“Fuck! Wait, no, I’ll talk, I’ll talk, shit, just,” you already know it’s futile, but the stimulation is too intense and it’s just his thumb. “Let me, let me—HNNNGH!!”

His thumb moves away and he sucks on your clit harshly. The pain and the pleasure are nearly equal, at least until Hongo and Beckman start rubbing something onto your skin.

“Wha-what? Wait - FUCK!” Shanks doesn’t bite your clit, but his teeth tease it and send sparks into your vision. “What the fuck are you putting on me!” You scream, desperate to keep your senses.

“Salve, for the cuts and bruises.” Hongo says evenly. You whimper, the idea of the pain being less meant the pleasure would overtake it.

“Mixed with an aphrodisiac.” Beckman adds.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” you growl, the pleasure winning out as Shanks switches to sweet little kitten licks against your clit.

“Think what you want.” Beckman says smoothly.

Anger, frustration, and a clear understanding of the inevitable outcome of this, you pee on Shanks.

“Oi! Hells,” He grumbles, stepping back as you relieve yourself onto the floor. “You really are a defiant little thing.” He laughs.

[quill-and-again]

A Moment - Oleander Folderol

Finale

Summary: Quill makes a deal with Oleander. They like assisted orgasms more than solo play, and are willing to answer his questions about them in exchange for a good lay. Oleander agrees.

Oleander belongs to @sanjis-all-blue and has been utilized with permission. (I would like to note, for the record, that Blue is an incredible enabler.)

CW: angst, summary, yandere vibes, dubcon in the way that la croix is flavored, mdni

Part 1 -:- Part 2 -:- Part 3 -:- Part 4 -:- Part 5 -:- Part 6 -:-

You stood on the bow of the ship.

The marine ship was a few hours from making port. Even in the dense haze of 3am fog, you could sense the island in the distance.

And the ship that was already leaving port.

It had taken five months to glean enough of how his magic worked, to be able to use it well enough to undo the magic he used on you. At the end of it you offered one of your own teeth.

He railed the life out of you so hard it took you almost two days to recover.

But it was time to leave.

Stepping into the fog, you walked away without a sound. A few minutes later the marines on deck would wake up, all too embarrassed at having napped to admit to it. The ship would be docked once he was up.

Time would be spent checking the ship, and the town. By the time he finds the other ship, you’ll be on a different island.

You almost decided to stay, but there was something you wanted to witness with your own eyes, and he wasn’t going to be there. You weren’t in a position to change the world, or save anyone who you would’ve liked to save, but at least you can be there.

At the end of it all.

Maybe…

You shake the thought away. You needed to cover a lot of ground, and become as strong as you could in a relatively short amount of time. None of which you could spare to what ifs. Not yet.

-:-

It wasn’t the first time your jar had been empty. The first time he’d found you asleep on his desk. The second time you’d giggled something about hide and seek and he’d wasted - spent - an hour chasing your tiny form in his office.

This time there was a letter.

Coiled on top of it, in place of a wax seal, was your tooth, set in white gold. You’d been working on it since you couldn’t do much else the last couple of days. Rolling, bending, fitting and adjusting the fine detail work with equal measure of knowledge and frustration.

All the knowledge of a past life, none of the muscle memory.

He hadn’t wanted to believe it at first, but everything since had been proof for your claim, not against it. The look on your face when you told him about your lives, the tone that sombers your voice when you spoke of loss on a scale he wouldn’t live long enough to know.

He doesn’t want to read the letter. He already knows what’s written in it well enough.

Goodbye encoded into some smattering of words meant to soothe the sting. A sting he did not feel.

Picking up the transponder snail he speaks once the marine on the other end answers. “We have an escapee. Search the ship, the island, and bring me the records of ships in and out of port for the last hour.”

“Yes admiral, but… uh… we’ve only just docked in the last ten minutes sir.”

In the few seconds it took for the marine to talk, his fingers had betrayed him and opened the letter. The words were scrawled in a beautiful script, but the words swirled up emotions he did not want to deal with.

“Make it the last two hours.”

[“Who the FUCK falls in love with an asshole like you?!”]

-:-

That was it. The world “ended” and you were there to see it. You got to lay eyes on all the people that you knew that would never know you. It was more than you thought, if not less than you wanted.

It would be the one time you were born into a world that you knew, that you’d end up amnesiac and imprisoned to the point that you didn’t really get to do anything, but that was okay. Survival was going to be easier now, and if you traveled around you could certainly up your chances of running into people.

Maybe… well, there was one island you wouldn’t mind reaching. Maybe retire with the guardian bird there.

Swirling your finger around the magic you’d come to enjoy using, you create a tiny version of a very grumpy marine vice-admiral. He’s pouting because you took away his saxophone privileges a few weeks ago. Damn little beastie plays as bad as the real thing.

Probably just as on purpose too.

Sitting on the hillside you nudge the homunculus with your finger. “You think the big you survived all this?” The little creature, not nearly as sentient or as aware as a proper homunculus, huffs. “I sure hope so. Maybe he’ll find what he was looking for…”

The shadow that looms over you is one you recognize. So the certain aura you can feel at your back. You sigh, and smile, leaning back to beam up at the round, bug-looking glasses staring back down at you. It’s sunny outside, but somehow he manages to look like some form of shadow bug.

You start to say something, but the snap of magic pulls taut around you, and tendrils whip out from Oleander’s shadow with incredible speed. Before you can even react the magic slithers against your skin, like living rope, coiling under your clothes, forcing your wrists to your ankles, bending you backward as it lifts you off the ground.

Magic coils around your tongue, massaging it and keeping you effectively gagged as the rope-style mass continues until you are well-secured. And well aroused. Being bound was enough on its own, but his magic always seemed to sniff out every sensitive part of you. The garbled sound of a broken swear escapes you just as he forces the first, of what you imagine will be many, orgasms from you.

Hell of a way to say hello.

[quill-and-again]

A Moment - Oleander Folderol

Part 6

Summary: Quill makes a deal with Oleander. They like assisted orgasms more than solo play, and are willing to answer his questions about them in exchange for a good lay. Oleander agrees.

Oleander belongs to @sanjis-all-blue and has been utilized with permission. (I would like to note, for the record, that Blue is an incredible enabler.)

CW: mdni

Part 1 -:- Part 2 -:- Part 3 -:- Part 4 -:- Part 5 -:- Part 6 (YAH!) -:- Finale

“All I’m saying, Oleander, is that different reeds could give you a different sound.” You grouse, but only for a moment longer before you grin. “Playin’ like that on purpose, humph.”

“You think so?” He inquires, putting the cleaned parts back into the case.

“Know so, you asshole.” You laugh. “You can’t play that bad on accident. All that effort and focus you put into everything, I don’t believe for a minute you’re shit at anything you actually care enough to do.”

Sitting on the edge of the desk you let your eyes skim over the book titles more as you let your mind wander.

“I used to play.” You murmur. Oleander doesn’t say anything, and your mind is already going down memory lane, so you follow it. “For about twenty years in my first life. Didn’t do anything professional with it. Won some awards, had some fun, moved away from it and into spaces that didn’t really let me keep playing.

“I’d go back, at this point, just to wail like a couple of angry cats, playing whenever I wanted.” You admit. “That one life was so precious and I had no idea. I made myself so small, I let so much get away from me because I didn’t think I deserved the joy of it.”

“And then?”

You blink and look over at Oleander. Those round bug-eye glasses were always reflecting the light, and never giving his eyes a chance to shine, but you were used to it at this point.

“And then… for a while… life itself was the punishment, and there was no joy to be had, for me to decide if I was worth it or not.” You sigh, maybe a little heavier than you mean to. “But once my pity party was fucking over I decided to do the best I had with what I got. Maybe I’ll get my hands on a saxophone and find a nice mountain and jus-!”

You’d been lost enough in your thoughts you hadn’t seen Oleander get closer to you. Before you could finish your thought, large, warm hands wrapped around you, and lips - a little swollen from playing the saxophone - pressed desperately against yours. Eyes wide in surprise for a moment, and not just from the kiss, you stiffened in the sudden grasp and kiss.

Oleander’s eyes were focused on yours, his glasses no where to be found. For the first time you had a clear, unobstructed view of his eyes. He almost looked angry for a moment, but once you relaxed into the embrace, he shifted, cradling you better and urging your lips to part.

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips even as he took control of them, kissing you deeply. Not fighting the sweet sound that was working its way up your lungs, you moan into the kiss, letting your fingers tangle into his hair.

He tugs the tunic up, breaking the kiss long enough to pull it up and over your head before tossing it aside. Bare hands against bare skin, a hunger hanging heavy between you. His kiss slipped away from your lips, his tongue licking up your collarbone and curling around your neck before he kisses the crook of your shoulder.

Oleander manhandles you with an odd care, moving you as he pleases, licking and kissing every inch of skin he could reach. You didn’t fight him, or protest. Every sound that escapes you is formless and needy. If he was intent on devouring you, then maybe you wanted to let him.

His hands did no more than steady you, or guide you. He kissed the inside of your elbow, making your arm shiver, licking along the tips of your fingers, letting the pad of your thumb follow the sharp edge of his canine.

“Tooth,” you huff the word, Oleander grunting into you as his lips move over your legs. “Take one of mine.”

He hisses into your skin, his fingers biting into your body for a split second as he tenses. He turns you over on to your stomach, teeth against the meat of your ass, threatening to bite and break the skin before he decides to lick your skin again.

“Why?” He growls the question, one hand pressing you into the desk as he draws a line down your spine with his fingernail. It’s not heavy enough to hurt, but the soft pink line lingers long enough for him to admire it.

“If it changes once it’s removed, then it would be the best tooth in your collection.” You manage to explain it before Oleander licks a long strip up your spine making you gasp and squirm beneath him. “Fuck.” You husk the word as he moves your hair away from your shoulders, licking, kissing and nipping as you gasp and squirm against the desk.

“The teeth in my collection are from the dead.”

“I died lifetimes ago,” you gasp as he spreads your legs, hands heavy and demanding against your thighs. “Don’t turn down my gift.”

Oleander licks a heavy strip against your ass cheek and you moan at the sensation. “Talk,” he says, teeth against skin, dripping finger pressing into your ass. “For thirty-one minutes, talk about your past selves.” His finger sinks in deeper, the sweet stretch and sweeter pleasure filling you. “And for the last minute I’ll take a tooth.”

“Sure thing, doc.”

“Quill.” The sound of your name on his lips like that nearly makes you cum. It’s the same tone he uses, the same lie of disinterest, the same exhausted aggravation hurled at everyone else. It’s clipped and demanding, having no patience for anything but acquiescence.  “Use my name.”

The relentless pleasure of his fingers on the heels of that sound, had you nearly drooling on the desk. Before you could form any kind of word the orgasm rolls over you, dancing through your skin and rattling your teeth.

You reach behind yourself and Oleander clasps your two hands in his free one. You sag into the desk, breathing heavy just from the warm up. Face flushed, voice full of notes of pleasure you say his name. Sweet and thick and sticky like warm honey, it’s a sensation that licks at his brain in ways he’s not used to.

Oleander’s fingers flinch against your hands. You lost count of how many times he made you cum that day. All you know for sure was that you passed out so hard your body changed twice, and he extracted pleasure from you all over again and again.

[quill-and-again]

A Moment - Oleander Folderol

Part 5 (Two more parts to go >.> )

Summary: Quill makes a deal with Oleander. They like assisted orgasms more than solo play, and are willing to answer his questions about them in exchange for a good lay. Oleander agrees.

Oleander belongs to @sanjis-all-blue and has been utilized with permission. (I would like to note, for the record, that Blue is an incredible enabler.)

CW: Gender Unknown Quill, tentacles (magic), semi-public sex, At least two marines didn't sign up for this shit, master/pet dynamics, Oleander doesn't like being called "Daddy Ollie", mdni

Part 1 -:- Part 2 -:- Part 3 -:- Part 4 -:- Part 5 (YAH!) -:- Part 6

“Fuck, fuck, kuh-cum, I’mma cum, Ollie, please, let-let me!” Oleander grunts something positive sounding enough your body tenses within the mass of magic and you cum hard.

All you did was make a remark about how using his magic would probably be a better flex than just flexing the manna.

All he did was ask if you cared if people saw your face so long as they couldn’t see your private parts.

The writhing mass of magic looks like something that’s a mix between webbing and tentacles, and it currently has you pinned against the books behind Oleander’s desk. He’s devoted most of his attention to his work, but you have more of it than you needed.

His magic is warm, opaque, and wet. The wriggling mass is fucking, massaging, kissing and stroking every part of you it can find and the stimulation is intense. Three orgasms in and you didn’t give a shit who walked through the door at this point.

Aside from your face, the only things anyone else could see were your fingers - usually twined through his magic - and your feet, which were located near your hands. You weren’t quite folded in half beneath the magic, but close enough. Your white hair is sticky against sweaty skin, and when the first Captain enters you keep your eyes on Oleander.

There is no reprieve for you as he converses with the captain. The poor fellow’s gaze keeps flitting to you, but the most he gets from Oleander is that you’re up there by your own free will, and to focus on the report. You nod along with Oleander, keeping your eyes on the back of his head.

You’re blissed out, but maybe not enough to face some random marine’s gaze.

The longer the debrief went, the more you were struggling to stay quiet. There wasn’t anything set between you and Oleander that you needed to be quiet, but you automatically asking for permission to cum unprompted, and you didn’t want this marine to hear you orgasm.

But in another minute you weren’t going to be able to hold it back.

Your fingers and toes curl, and you bite on your lips, trying desperately to cum as quietly as possible. Save for a very small whimper you manage it, but once you’ve enjoyed the whole thing the magic stills, and Oleander stands up from his desk.

Two round circles look over at you.

“You didn’t ask permission.” He says flatly.

Oleander had been taking control of making you cum because he needed the currency to get his questions answered. At least so you had assumed, but this action was nothing more than dominating. There was no reason for him to want you to ask for permission.

And that was entirely too hot.

“I… I didn’t want to interrupt.” Your voice is shivering as his behavior is already throwing your body toward another orgasm despite that the only thing wriggling is you.

“Mm.” The magic begins to work you over again, while Oleander keeps staring at you. “Apologize to the captain.”

“I.. I’m s-.”

“Apologize to him, not me.”

“To, to,” you could feel the heat rush into your face and you willed yourself to look at this random man standing in Oleander’s office. The marine Captain looked almost as flustered as you. “Sorry, m’sorry, I - I shouldn’t have, um, cum… without… permission.” You manage, struggling to keep your gaze on him as the mass began to wriggle again.

“Uh…”

“Captain Sharinguru,” Oleander says, still looking at you. “Do you forgive it?”

“It?” The marine questions.

“Are you insulted by the appellation, pet?” Oleander prompts you, and you shake your head. You’re ready for him to just pull you off the bookshelves and rail you on the desk in front of Captain Sharing-is-caring or whatever his name is, after he called you pet so casually.

“Good. Now then Captain.” Oleander says again, turning toward him. “Answer the question.”

“Ques… ah, uh… forgive it?”

The wriggling mass begins to fuck you properly again and you moan as the pleasure begins to soak into your skin. There’s a long, awkward for the Captain, minute as you’re brought to the brink, and this time you don’t hesitate.

Even though there’s nothing to interrupt.

“M-Master,” you husk.

“It’s Vice-Admiral, pet.”

“Vice-Ad-Admiral, please, let me cum.” You beg. You’d lick his fucking shoes right now if you could, but hells and demons you aren’t going to say that much. “Please, I won’t miss asking ah-again.”

Oleander seems to be considering it, and you can’t help the whine as you struggle against letting it overtake you. The magic is getting more accurate and you feel yourself losing.

“Plea-.”

“Cum, pet.” He interrupts your plea and you sink into the orgasm, babbling breathy thank yous as the magical mass pushes your body into its fourth orgasm of the day.

Oleander finishes his conversation with the Captain who leaves as fast as he can manage, you’re certain. The Vice-Admiral’s attention returns to his paperwork and you enjoy your position until the next marine enters.

You don’t know the ranks by looking, but you don’t give a shit about them either. Even if you weren’t half fucked out of your mind you wouldn’t care. Oleander was giving this one the same attention and energy he gave the last one. Whoever he was, he was practically staring at you compared to the other.

Something about the way he stared was messing up your pleasure blob time.

“… Daddy Ollie, he’s staring.” You pout the words, giving what could only be a drunken scowl to the marine, whose eyes have gone wide at the title you used for Oleander.

“Don’t stare at my project, Captain.” Oleander says flatly.

This captain doesn’t last long, he’s leaving as you’re begging Oleander to let you cum again. He denies you, edging you until the next marine comes in almost twenty minutes later. He made you swear you’d never call him “Daddy Ollie” again and smushed your cheeks in his hand, making you look at the new marine as you came.

He gave you a break after that, his magic massaging your muscles and slowly moving your limbs. Once he was done with the marine you came out of the mass of magic and got to stretch and walk around. A meal, a few questions, and a bathroom break and then he hits you with a joke.

“Ready to hit the books again?” He says it so matter-of-fact that it takes you a moment and you snort.

“A joke, doc? You’re just full of surprises.”

“Mm.” There’s a hint of irritation in his tone this time.

“I… have a suggestion, if you’d like to up the concentration factor.” You say, pulling his chair away from his desk and crawling under it. You fit yourself in the space how you’d need and open your mouth, letting your tongue hang out as you look up at him.

“Just be careful,” you grin, since it looks like he’s okay with the idea. “If you dislocate my jaw I’m not answering any questions for a week.”

Magic forms up around you, giving you a comfortable, squishy, warm mass to relax into as Oleander sits down and uses more magic to pull his chair in. He undoes his belt and pants, a toothy, interesting grin on his face.

“I’d never abuse a pet that way.” He promises.

So he says, but you’re sure he thought about it when, after about an hour, you realized you could deep throat that anaconda if you were careful. And so you did, playing with him relentlessly for the entire forty minute snail call he had with his superior.

Credit where it’s due, he painted the back of your throat white twice during the call and never missed a beat.

[quill-and-again]

A Moment - Oleander Folderol

Part 4

Summary: Quill makes a deal with Oleander. They like assisted orgasms more than solo play, and are willing to answer his questions about them in exchange for a good lay. Oleander agrees.

Oleander belongs to @sanjis-all-blue and has been utilized with permission.

CW: Female-Mode Quill, extreme size difference, oral, ...thumbing?, mdni

Part 1 -:- Part 2 -:- Part 3 -:- Part 4 (YAH!) -:- Part 5

Half-Ass Illustration included - please note it's not explicit, but it is suggestive.

The last few days were a blur of questions and answers with Oleander. He had gone easy on you for a day after railing you into oblivion, but the questions had been almost without end.

You told him that you considered your first life, life 0, and had been counting up since then. This was the first time where you knew the world, but not yourself, but it wasn’t the first time your body changed under certain conditions. You only spoke objectively about the experiences - recounting simple details like what age you were when you died, what it was like transitioning between lives, and relating those worlds to this one, since it was Oleander’s only frame of reference.

While he questioned and queried, you studied in your own way.

Magic wasn’t unknown to you. Almost six centuries as an elf, and you knew magic more intimately than Oleander could hope to. If he could use it, so could you. But asking him to teach you was out of the question. So you were going to have to do whatever you could.

That meant sneaking a read of his books, learning from observation, and good old brute force try-until-it-works.

At least escaping the jar was just a matter of haki, and haki had been easy enough. You knew this world and had a decent idea of how it worked. It wasn’t too different from breathing techniques from other stories and worlds, so you had a solid chunk of knowledge regarding the function.

Oleander was going to be gone for a solid hour today. You know because he was complaining about it even as the poor sucker who got duped into fetching him was practically begging him to just come along. Prisoner transfer from another marine vessel. Lots of pomp and circumstance and paperwork.

The downside to your little jar break was that you couldn’t manipulate manna enough to undo the size transmutation. But manipulating the size of living things was tricky, manipulating non-living objects was far easier.

Oleander’s manna was always moving. He was always working it, and even though he seemed far more inclined to utility-styled applications instead of destructive ones, his capacity was impressive. Because of that you had a solid idea of how it worked as well. Manna inside the jar was scarce, but outside of it there was an abundance.

Either because no one else was using it, or because Oleander’s constant use of it had saturated his living spaces.

Hard to say.

But it made it easier for you whatever the reason. In twenty minutes time you had enough control over it to bring down a book from the shelves, and flip through it. The magic doing for you what you couldn’t do at your current size.

Biology, herbalism, a treatise on elements and their properties, a book on music theory, and lots of medical books. After a few moments you just start scanning titles, hoping to narrow down what you’ll go after the next time you get the chance to read without being interrupted.

Pushing the 100th book back into place, you can feel the exertion getting to you. Oleander was always flexing, and his stamina wasn’t anything to balk at. Magic wasn’t tied to physical strength when you used it as an elf, but it could sap your stamina like anything else if you didn’t mind the flow.

Practice, you were out of practice. Out of practice fucking, out of practice with magic, out of practice with fighting. You were grateful you were in a body that had no obvious issues, aside from changing how to it was shaped every bloody time you slept, but you wish you knew what you’d been doing for 20 or so years before now.

Turning toward the jar, you regard it for a moment and then just shake your head.

“Nope.” Not getting back up there. Not gonna get yourself back inside.  You use the last of your energy to shuffle around things on his desk, and then plop down in the middle of it and sleep.

-:-

Meetings were always a pain, but the irritation of them was worse since he came across his newest distraction. Leaving you unattended was also a small concern. There was something about you that was more capable than you let on.

The conversation about you being a reincarnator was something he was still trying to decide if he believed. Magic, souls, devil fruits and such were rather unbelievable on their own, so it wasn’t too much of a stretch to believe someone could bounce around realities like that.

But as much as you had told, he felt like there was more you were holding back. He wanted to know everything he could about you, and if that meant forcing pleasure into your body as payment, then so be it. The way you squirmed and the noises you made were, at the least, not annoying to him, so it was hardly a chore.

Closing the door behind him, Oleander immediately knew something was wrong. Nothing changed in him outwardly, but his eyes took in the entire room. You weren’t in your jar. His desk was in disarray. Something else was wrong, but when he saw you asleep on his desk, all of 4 inches tall, curled around a pen, he found he wasn’t concerned.

For a split second he was ready to tear the ship apart in order to find you, but there you are.

Little Menace.

Stepping around the desk, all the disarray begins to right itself, save for the pen you’re wrapped around. Oleander sits down, regarding you for a long moment. You answered his questions, didn’t fear him, and if anything else about him put you off you hadn’t shown it.

Did other lives lived give you such grace? Or was it merely apathy beneath a thick layer of physical desire?

A twirl of his finger lifts your body up off the pen and into the air. Your size expands as he moves you to his hand, making you just a little bit bigger. Big enough you barely fit in the palm of his hand, your head cradled against his fingers, legs dangling on either side of his thumb. A puff of air raises the simple linen you wear, and the pad of his thumb presses against your slit.

A little pressure, an idle rubbing motion with his thumb. He watches you intently. There’s work to do, more than he cares to deal with, but this requires his full attention.

It doesn’t take long before the soft pleasure he’s rolling into you rouses you from your sleep. The soft breath of pleasure slips your lips, and wakefulness begins to grip you.

“Oleander…” you murmur the word on the edges of awareness. Your fingers pressed against his and it takes only a few more seconds before you realize your situation.

“Hey doc,” you sigh, sinking into his palm. Ever smaller than him was the norm, certainly, but this was a bit extreme.

“Mm.” Still not afraid of him, intriguing.

“Th-think up some questions while you were gone?” You question, letting yourself sink into the pleasure he was granting you.

“One question for now.” He clarifies. “Though I didn’t have it in mind until I returned.”

Oleander moves you easily, hooking one of your legs over his pinkie, and the other over his thumb. The position forced your legs wide open, to the point that the stretch made your legs ache. His fingers curled, holding you snugly in place as he looms over you.

“How did you get out of the jar?”

“I… I…” You were willing to answer him, you really were, but Oleander’s lips parted and for a second you thought he was simply going to swallow you whole. Instead his tongue slipped out from behind his teeth as he brought you closer to his mouth.

The tip pressed against your slit, pushing your labia aside easily as the lewd muscle bullied your clit. The entire situation, from the size difference, to the almost tender act shorts your brain. The position has you stuck. You can’t reach out to him, you can’t close your legs, you’re nearly bound, and if there’s one weakness you have it’s being restrained.

“Ollie, Ollie, gods and demons, le-let me, let me,” your weak protests fail as you let your head fall back and just moan.

“Mm.” You’re beginning to love and detest that sound. Oleander brings you closer, the tip of his tongue teasing against the entrance of your cunt, as the sheer size of it allowed him to keep teasing your clit.

Your legs flex, your toes curl. The sensation is impossible and your brain can’t sort it out except that the pleasure of it is overwhelming. The over-powering sensation is mingling with how inescapable the situation is, and you’re too exhausted from earlier to put up any kind of resistance.

Not the resistance had been your intent at any point in all of this.

“Cum! I’mma cum!” You cry out and his tongue moves a little faster shoving you over the edge until what little motion you have available to you is being used to rut your leaking cunt into his tongue.

Oleander rides you through your orgasm, before sweeping a hand across his desk and scattering everything except your jar. The magic wrapped around the items stacks them neatly on the ground around the desk, and he sets you on it, returning you to your original size.

Your legs are forced on either side of his hips. His hands are on the desk on either side of your shoulders. The wide round lenses of his glasses leering down at you, hiding the far more interesting eyes behind them.

“How did you escape, little menace?”

[quill-and-again]

A Moment - Oleander Folderol

Part 3

Summary: Quill makes a deal with Oleander. They like assisted orgasms more than solo play, and are willing to answer his questions about them in exchange for a good lay. Oleander agrees.

Oleander belongs to @sanjis-all-blue and has been utilized with permission.

CW: Female-Mode Quill, rough sex, size difference, forced orgasms, threat of exposure - Oleander operates by the letter of the law, and Quill is learning that.

Part 1 -:- Part 2 -:- Part 3 (YAH!) -:- Part 4

“Ride me.” Oleander commands, lifting you out of your jar. You’re still sleepy and not entirely sure why he’s demanding it.

“Your body changed.” He explains even though you haven’t asked, as you return to full size in his lap. He already has you straddling him, keeping you caged between him and the desk. “We need to know how I fit.”

For simplicity’s sake, your clothes are now just a linen tunic long enough to be a robe or dress. No matter the shape of your body it gives you coverage and provides easy access. The two of you agreed on it before bed last night, after you explained to Oleander how your general proportions stayed the same, but your torso would change.

And your teeth.

“How you… fit? My ass hasn’t cha-,” you pause, realizing you have tits this morning, and Oleander’s dick is already pressing into your slit despite him not being hard. “Ah, right. I’m not taking that fire hose without prep.”

“Lube is easy enough.” He says holding up his hand.

You stand on the chair, putting a foot up on the armrest. Oleander’s eight feet is mostly in his legs, but his face is level with your chest since you’re barely five foot.

“I have entirely too much work.” His voice is flat, well it’s not like you took the pajamas off.

“Two minutes.” You say. “You can prep me deeper and faster with those banana-thick fingers, and I’ll do the r-rest!” You gasp as the slicked finger wriggles against your entrance, teasing your folds for a second before pushing in.

The lube makes it easy for his finger to push in deep. The full feeling is a little intimidating, considering his cock is thicker. Your hands are on his shoulders, steadying yourself and helping him as best you can. You’re almost biting through your lip to keep from moaning as he pushes the second finger in.

“Sensitive thing, aren’t you?” There’s amusement in his voice, but instead of a retort the only thing that escapes your lips is a needy gasp.

“Complaining?” You husk, practically fucking yourself on his fingers.

“Hardly. I get to ask questions when you orgasm, and I have a lot of questions.” He shoves his fingers in deep, making your legs shake. “This makes it more efficient.”

“Y-yeah, that’s enough, let’s-.”

“Cum first.” He interrupts.

“Stand-standing? No, I can start now.” You feel the heat rush to your face, but Oleander presses you against his shoulder, putting your mouth near his ear.

“Maybe it’ll help me.” He insists, his thumb pressing into your clit as his fingers thrust into you.

“Hnnngh! That’s!” Your grip on his uniform tightens as you moan into his ear. “Fuck, fuck - eight years my ass, how, how, are you so confident?”

“It was a good time.” He replies, his voice is so flat it’s hard to know if he’s annoyed or just stoic.

“Bite… lemme bite you.”

“Why?”

“Teef,” you sigh, mind hazing a bit as you near the edge, dragging the sharp point of your teeth against his ear. Oleander’s body tenses. “I’m small, you won’t bleed bad.” Your tongue flicks the bottom of his ear lobe and you can feel his control crack.

A split second is all he takes to think it over, pulling his uniform aside and exposing the curve of his neck into the shoulder.

“I have too much work for stitches, control yourself.” He commands.

You lick the taut skin - he’s always so tense, but you haven’t asked why - a hot keening sound escaping you as you start to cum. Biting down on his shoulder you mewl into his skin, the coppery taste of blood trickling against your tongue.

You release your bite when he removes his fingers. It’s a frenzy of movements between the two of you and he hisses as his straining bulge is frantically released from his pants. The head against your entrance is twitching and you sink down a little too quickly, grunting against the sharp sting before you pull yourself up, easing back down more slowly.

“Fuck, you’re huge.” Your voice and legs are shaking, but you’re still managing to ease more of him in.

“I’m almost twice your height.”

“Don’t get humble on me now,” you grin up at him, having sunk down far enough that you’re level with his neck. You catch him looking down at you from behind his glasses. It’s unfair how accidentally hot this man can be, especially when you’re well-aware he’s not trying.

“Humph.”

You begin unbuttoning the front of his uniform, and he doesn’t stop you. Oleander is already reaching around you and returning to his paperwork, seemingly satisfied that you’ll be fine on your own. You’ve no intention of stripping him, but it’s better to be able to touch skin when you’re in this state. Oleander is a sweaty man, but the scent of it isn’t offensive.

It’s not roses and vanilla, but you think the manna is making it different. Musky, sure, but something more like sage and pine wood, and less like gym socks. You can’t imagine he bothers with deodorant, but he seems to be decent with his hygiene.

You get him unbuttoned, shoving the extra layers aside and getting your hands against his stomach. You’re not surprised to learn he is ripped, the layers weren’t hiding it well from your eyes in the first place, but the tense, taut muscles didn’t seem to react to your touch.

“You’re always tense like this?”

“It’s a conscious effort.” He says absently as you sink a little further down on him.

“Explains a lot.” Leaning your head against his chest you reach down between your legs, pushing on your thighs and spreading yourself a little bit more to help you sink further. A soft swear dances on the sigh that passes your lips as he reaches deeper than you knew you went. Your legs are as spread as they can be and you might be short an inch maybe, but you’ve effectively taken all of him.

Rolling your hips you slowly and carefully begin riding him. Even the small movements are enough to make wet squelching sounds as your own arousal and his sheer size push excess lube out. You look up,  and smile.

“You’ve already stopped bleeding, good. I haven’t bitten anyone like that before-ah!” There’s a tug at your hair and Oleander has forced you back a little. You moan as his cock shifts inside you, but even the tug at your hair isn’t painful.

“Open.” He states, and you comply. “They look like full fishman teeth.”

You bare your teeth more clearly, keeping your mouth open, turning your head this way and that as he watches you. Tapping the tips with your tongue you nod.

“Yeah, ‘ertty shar’.”

“What causes that?”

You shrug. “Beats me. For all the things I can answer for you doc, I don’t know why my body does this. I can’t remember anything before, like, a month ago. I woke up in a room on that island, without a name.”

“Quill isn’t your name?”

“S’only one I got at the moment.” You huff the words, hips already riding him again. “Fuck, doc, you fit just right. Ask me something different, I’m not going to make you spend an orgasm on something I can’t answer.”

“If it’s something you refuse to answer?”

“Okay, won’t make you, sp-spend a question on something I can’t or wuh-won’t answer,” you husk, leaning back enough to slip a finger against your clit. “Gods… cumming with this beast in me, might make me scream.”

“It won’t bother me, but I’ll be getting a report soon.”

You freeze. “In person?”

“Mm.”

You start to move off him. “I’ll just- hey!” Oleander puts a hand on your back and presses you down, keeping you in place. “I don’t want just anyone to see me like this!” You hiss, but his grip tightens.

The aura that’s always around him shifts, and you can feel the rumble of his voice in his chest. You can’t make out the words well, but you can see the changes. After a second there’s a opaque white cover over you, almost like a tent. He seems to have fashioned it from his marine jacket.

“Stay.” He says gruffly. His consideration, sends a thrill up your spine you don’t know what to do with and you nod, relaxing against his chest.

Nothing, this was nothing. He probably just didn’t want to be bothered with putting you back in the jar. This way he could rack up orgasms and pester you with questions later.

“Let me have some of your blood.” He says it so randomly it stutters you for a second.

“Hah?”

“For research.”

“I…” You swallow hard, tucking your face into his chest, the tremble that runs through you is different. “You’ll have to strap me down.”

Oleander starts to say something but a knock at the door interrupts him. One large hand presses you into his chest until you warp your arms around his torso. The shift moves him inside you, and presses your clit into his rough pubic hairs. The soft whimper of pleasure that escapes you is drowned out by Oleander’s raised voice.

“Come in,” he says and you hear the door open. Fear tenses you up for a second before you remember the glamour that he’s cast, and you feel his fingers flinch against your back.

“Vice-Admiral, this is… uh… is that a tent?”

“Don’t gawk, get to the point, captain.” Oleander’s words are clipped and you realize his behavior toward you was, at the worst, neutral. You were at least a step or two above how he felt toward most others. Even if those steps were just interest based on your oddness.

The marine begins to give his report. Talking about prisoners on a ship you realize that you must be on a fairly large vessel. You’d hadn’t really felt any swaying, and what you had felt you wrote off to being shrunk and tossed in a jar. But it was good to know that you’d have to time your escape to line up with being docked.

Large vessels had lots of personnel, and that meant a lot of mouths to feed and water. Even the most efficient use of food would force it to maintain direct routes. Lots of prisoners on board probably meant you were on the way to Impel Down, and notoof s heading away from it.

Best not to escape the first time you dock.

A second marine arrived with a report before the first was even done. You could tell Oleander was getting irritated - the tension in his body was different. Deciding to “help”, you began to roll your hips again. Holding onto him, grinding your clit into him and clenching down as much as you could.

Oleander’s nails rake, almost gently, against your back. The act is certainly leaving red lines in its wake, but all it does is spur you on to ride him faster.

“Ad-admiral, are you alrigh-.”

“I’m fine, continue.” Credit where it’s due, his voice was almost completely neutral.

Fuck, the idea of him struggling was hot. You almost didn’t care who saw you, if you could get him to crack in front of his subordinates it would be worth it. Maybe.

The faster you went the more the pleasure hazed your mind, the less you cared about getting caught. You wanted to cum, you wanted him to cum. He filled your ass so well the day before it was divine, and the idea of him filling you up was hot.

You hadn’t realized the captains were gone until Oleander pulled you up and off his cock. Whimpering at the loss of it all, your hazy eyes focused on his glasses enough for you to be sure you were pouting at him.

“What was that?”

“Ollie’s’all pent up,” you words slur together a bit, you’d been effectively edging both of you for the last half hour at least. “Jus’ trying tah help.”

“Mm.”

“Put me back in, coach,” you hum, putting your hands on his face, cupping his jaw and smiling. “You know you want my tight little pussy to cum against your cock.”

“For someone who doesn’t want to be watched, you seem to get turned on by the idea of it.” He muses, turning you around before lining you back up. “Let’s make a game of it then, Quill.”

For some reason the sound of your name on his lips made your face flush, and you were grateful you weren’t facing him. You moan warmly as he helps you sink back down onto his cock.

“Whatcha ha-have in mind, doc?” You question as he presses one hand against your belly, the tip of his middle finger idling just above your clit.

“Every time you cum, I’ll remove a bit of the glamour.” Your body tightens in response, but the protest on your lips is cut off when he sticks his index finger into your mouth. “Reports are going to come in for the next two hours. If you only orgasm two or three times, no one will see you, only hear you.

“Anymore than that and they’ll get to look into your eyes while you moan. Then they’ll see your crude, drooling mouth, then your neck, shoulders...”

Oleander removes his finger from your mouth, holding your face so you’re looking at the office door, teasing your clit with his other hand. His voice has been even the entire time, bordering on disinterested, but you were beginning to learn the subtle differences of the vice-admiral.

He was enjoying this.

“The more you orgasm, the more questions I can ask. So I have no incentive to play fair.” His voice is low against your ear. “Good luck.”

A nervous chuckle bubbles up in you, your hands holding onto his wrist as he teases your clit. The pace is steady, wholly unbothered by you trying to pull his hand away. Your effort isn’t exactly 100%.

“Wh-what’s my reward?” You gasp, pleasure already clawing at your thighs from the steady roll of his finger.

“Getting to cum.” He answers curtly, one finger relentless against your clit, his other hand already back to work writing.

It didn’t take long for another marine to arrive with a report, and it didn’t take long for you to cum after that. You had both hands over your mouth, eyes rolled back, body taut as you did everything you could to keep quiet. His cock seemed to be made of metal; it was so impossibly hard buried in you. As you throbbed and creamed against it, it seemed to bully you right back. Oleander was part machine, as far as you were concerned, his finger keeping it’s steady pace against your clit.

He did not stop. There was no reprieve given and your body was sensitive.

“A moment, a moment,” you whimper, whisper and hiss the words, quiet and pleading, hoping that only the vice-admiral would hear you.

“What was that?” Asks the marine.

“One of the specimens, ignore it, continue.” Oleander’s finger stopped moving, but once the marine was gone he resumed.

“Fuck,” you huff, hips rolling into the pleasure.

“You’re not going to last long.” He muses.

“You… you can’t cum in me.”

“You don’t have to fear pregnancy.”

“That’s not it,” you squirm against him, pleasure and desperation making you ride him despite the fact that it’s just going to hurdle you to another orgasm. “I’m gonna lose my mind, fuck. Over fifty-six years, more an’ two life times ago,” your body arches, and you reach up, hands caressing his face as the pleasure builds again. “And now I’m being spoiled by Mister Grumpy-face and his mind-breaking cock.”

“… You’re a reincarnator?”

You nod, sinking down on him with a content sigh. “Bet you have all *sorts* of questions now, eh Doc?”

“Don’t lose count.” The words burn between his teeth.

Oleander covers your mouth, and you swear you hear the sound of a heavy lock click into place before the glamour drops entirely. You can feel magic swirl around you, and something holds you in place as he begins to fuck you.

You have his undivided attention, his fingers and his magic stimulating your body in a dozen different ways. You cling to the steel muscles of his arms, the slick sweat from his constant magical training aren’t enough to deter your grip. Magic licks at your skin, suckling your nipples and teasing the entrance to your ass.

The third orgasm slams into you with such force you’re screaming into his hand, body shaking from the pleasure that knits between your bones. He doesn’t stop, only slowing enough to let you relax and breathe, leaving your body to cradle limply in his arcane grasp.

“Fuck, fuck, please,” you gasp, fingers reaching and clawing into the air. You’re hovering over the desk when a wet tongue licking a long slow stripe up your spine as he pushes back in deeply.

Hands twice the size of yours give each of your smaller ones something to hold onto as he goes back to fucking you. The magic never stops, but the flick and pressure of pleasure is hardly needed with the way his cock ruins you internally. You wouldn’t pledge loyalty to the World Government, but you’d consider that pledge for Oleander.

If you didn’t have something else you wanted to do.

For now, there was nothing but the pleasure. The fourth orgasm bit deep into your flesh, burning your muscles and searing your lungs as much as flooded you with pleasure.

“Die, I’m gonna die,” you rasp, voice dry and hoarse from the whorish, loud groans that were being torn from your lungs. “Please, please.”

“You won’t die.” He says. Oleander’s voice is husky, deeper, lapping at your core and slipping pleasure right into your brain. “I will never let you die.”

He urges you to another orgasm, and you almost sob. You haven’t been working up to this kind of strain. Your muscles ache, your lungs are burning, the pleasure is relentless and inescapable.

“This way you won’t fear the needle.” He sighs, slowing as you near the edge. He knows what he’s doing, rolling his hips in deep and slow, forcing himself in as deep as possible.

“D-don’t drain… drain me dry, doc.” You gasp, raspy voice too weak to reach the hall outside the door. The teasing from his magic has you at the edge again, and you’re certain you’ll pass out when you’re forced to cum again so soon.

“I will never let you die.” He asserts, nearly growling the word into your ear, his teeth against your skin.

Instead of biting you, he thrusts into you with more passion and fervor than you expected from the stoic man. Somewhere in the muck of your pleasure addled haze you think you cried his name, but you weren’t sure since you passed out shortly after.

[quill-and-again]

A Moment - Oleander Folderol

Part 2

Summary: Quill makes a deal with Oleander. They like assisted orgasms more than solo play, and are willing to answer his questions about them in exchange for a good lay. Oleander agrees.

Oleander belongs to @sanjis-all-blue and has been utilized with permission.

CW: Male-Mode Quill, anal sex, size difference - Oleander operates by the letter of the law, and Quill is learning that.

Part 1 -:- Part 2 (YAH!) -:- Part 3

Despite keeping you on his desk, Oleander did mean to give you some manner of privacy. He wasn’t going to watch you bathe or anything like that, you weren’t actually one of the animals in the other jars. The enchantment on the jar would keep things clean, and if you were in there for too long you could both still communicate clearly.

It wouldn’t do for you to be sick or something with him being unable to help.

Corpses were poor study materials.

Especially when what he needed most from you was communication.

Despite all that, here you were, sitting on the small bed in the jar, linen pants down at your ankles, stroking your impressive cock. The night’s rest having changed your body again. Your voice was the same, long white hair cascading down your shoulders, blood rushed into your face as you put on a show. Hot breaths dripped from your lips as your hips bucked into your hands.

“Keep - keep watching, Doc.” You husk, feeling the pleasure starting to knot at the base of your cock.

“For my benefit, or yours?” He questions and you grin.

“Ah, y-you can hear me.”

“The jars would be a poor medium of containment if I couldn’t hear what was going on in them.” He grumbles, eyes still on you.

“Fair, fair, I was gonna ask, haaa, hells, but I figured actions would speak, speak louder, gods be damned this is so inefficient!” You gasp even as the last few pumps of your hands are enough to get you over the edge.

Orgasms always felt divine no matter what body you were in, but the extra tactile input of sperm was always nice. It was a small bonus for needing a moment to recover before you could cum again.

Most of the time at least.

Leaning back on your elbows you leave your throbbing cock uncovered, twitching with eagerness while you caught your breath.

Oleander’s expression is nigh unreadable.

“What were you going to ask?”

“You look pent up, Doc.”

“… Sex doesn’t get my research done.” He says after a moment. Well, at least he doesn’t seem wholly disinterested or averse to the act.

If it’s a matter of efficiency, that’s easy enough to fix.

“What if it did?” You question, slowly stroking yourself.

“… Explain.” You can almost feel his curiosity licking at your skin. Keeping the man’s interest was going to be important.

“Sex is better with a partner.” You prompt. “I deeply enjoy a good orgasm, and I can’t get there on my own.” You let things hang in the air for a second before continuing. “Give me the treats I want, Doc, and I’ll answer your questions - honestly and with clarity.”

The unnerving toothy grin on Oleander’s face sends the sweetest chill up your spine and you nearly cum again.

“One answer per orgasm, I assume.” He prompts and you nod.

“Nice, equal exchange. We both end up sated for the moment.” You state, your eyes moving to the book shelves. Equivalency and fair trade seemed to be the doc’s core principles. You weren’t a fan of the Marines, but this kind of justice was easier to survive than that absolute justice bullshit.

“How can I be sure of your honesty?”

You grin. “I know you’re not doubting me suddenly. But we’ll make it easier - all I have is my body and my word. You can ask the same question as many times as you want, I’m sure you’ve got drugs and truth serums and devil fruits available to verify things.

“Post fuck bliss makes it harder to be duplicitous, so that’ll work in your favor.” Pausing you look up at him. “Assuming you’re skilled enough in sex to actually make someone like me cum.”

Oleander didn’t so much as flinch, but the aura around him bristled.

“Don’t try to bait me.” He says flatly. “Worry less about my experience and more about your size.”

Oleander opens the jar, dumping you onto the desk a little unceremoniously. You’re about to shout that you absolutely are not going to have sex with him while you’re six inches tall, but you’re already returning to your proper size. Even at your full size, Oleander has three feet on you.

He pulls your pants off and tosses them aside, palm on your clavicle and fingers loose around your neck as he holds you against the desk. You don’t fight him, taking a moment to look around the room as he undoes his pants one-handed.

“Door locked?”

“You enjoy being watched.”

“By who I choose, not-!” You look back down toward him and your eyes widen as he sets his half hard cock against your smaller one.

“Don’t worry about the door. Worry about this.” He says, rutting against your sweaty skin until he’s hard and twitching against you.

“Jesus Christ.” You huff, eyes wide, caught between curiosity, desire and fear.

“Who’s that?”

You swallow thickly, squirming beneath his grip despite it all. “M-make me cum, and… and I’ll tell you. But, you… you can’t split me in half.”

He grunts.

“Don’t give me that!” You bark. “I’m only 152 centimeters, thats- .”

“Point four,” he interrupts, letting go of your neck and grabbing your ankles. “One fifty two point four, you’ll be fine.”

“You jackass,” you snarl the word, but there’s a smile on your lips.

Oleander’s magic aura coalesces around the hand he holds up and you watch as something thick and gooey coats his gloved fingers. You can feel his eyes on you as he presses a thick, heavily lubed finger against your ass.

Your lips part as your mouth opens from the intrusion and Oleander looms over you, mouth opening as well. His tongue licks the air between you and the act is lewd and alluring.

Fuck this creepy marine was becoming more interesting to you. That wasn’t part of the plan.

Oleander’s finger works in and out of your ass slowly, the thick digit forcing you to relax, sending warm surges of pleasure into you. When he pushes the second one in the intense stretch forces you to suck in a breath, but when you push against him he pins you to the desk with his free hand again. The rough action rattles the desk’s knickknacks, and knocks the wind out of you enough to make you breathe properly.

“There you go.” His tone is warm, his eyes still watching you intently. “Breathe and you’ll relax.”

You nod, focusing on your breathing and trying to calm your body despite the pleasure he was giving you. Gods save you, you’re not going to doubt someone’s skills until you’re disappointed by them ever again.

“Oh gods.” You grab onto the hand against your neck, legs spreading open as your feet scramble to brace against his desk. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum!”

Oleander shifts enough to put your cock in his mouth and your entire consciousness shatters at the action. The extra stimulation is too much and you cum hard in his mouth. It’s warm and wet and he’s sucking your tip little on top of it, and all you can do is whimper and wiggle until he stops.

Pulling his fingers out of your ass, he releases your cock from his mouth, letting your spend drip off his tongue and onto your stomach.

“Jesus,” you husk, covering your face. It wasn’t that you hadn’t seen something like that before, but you hadn’t expected it from Mr. Repressed.

He grunts, straightening up. With one hand he spreads the earlier lube on his own cock, holding your ankle with his other hand.

“Now that you’ve orgasmed, I get my answer even if I split you in half.” He says casually, turning you onto your stomach, pinning one leg against the desk with a knee, keeping the other in his hand.

“Don’t!” You gasp before his free hand pins you to the desk, face down this time, the large palm and fingers covering your back easily.

His hair cascades down around you, and you can feel the heat of his words by your ear as his massive cock is pressed against your ass.

“Don’t fear, relax.” He pushes against you slowly, giving you time to relax and adjust. “There’s only very specific conditions under which I would find pleasure in your pain.”

“Such aaaaahhhhhh-ssss?” You hiss the last word as he sinks the head of his cock into your ass. His hands were big, his damnable dick is bigger.

“Oh, we didn’t negotiate me answering your questions.” You can feel the grin dripping onto your skin from the tone of his voice. “Relax, it’s important we know how much of me you can take.”

“Stay, stay still,” you huff, wiggling beneath him and riding his girth yourself a few times to help. The point was valid, you’d need to test again when your body changed.

The two of you worked together, slowly inching Oleander’s veiny beast into your ass. The hand that had been holding you down earlier was rubbing circles into your back as you pushed yourself onto him.

By the time your ass rested against his torso, his cock was bullying every sensitive place inside you.

“Took it all.” He nearly hums the words. “Impressive.”

“Please,” you gasp, hanging onto his desk like it’s a life saver. “I’m s’close again.”

Oleander takes an empty jar off his desk, and reaches around your waist, sticking your dick in it.

“Keeping a sample, eh doc?”

“Keeping my desk clean.” He clarifies, shifting his hips.

Oleander pulls out slowly, adding more lube to his shaft before pushing back in. The second stroke is enough for your body and you cum against him and into the jar. He grunts, but keeps moving through your orgasm.

As you’re devolving into swears, drooling onto his desk, Oleander fucks you slowly through two more orgasms before he’s speeding up, snapping his hips into your ass. Something drips off him and onto your back from exertion, and the last few thrusts are gonna leave bruises on your thighs from the desk edge.

The throb of his cock as he fills your ass almost makes you cum again. A mix of exhaustion and satisfaction, however, keep you from it. He thrusts a few more times and cums again, making you whine involuntarily. Overstimulation was going to do you in if this man filled you any further.

“How long, since your last fuck, doc?”

“Eight years.” He huffs, finally pulling out of you.

“You need this agreement more than me, it seems.” You sigh the words, practically melting into the desk. You were going to need a minute before you could walk.

You begin to shrink, but instead of going back into your jar, Oleander puts you in his palm and walks away from the desk.

“You can answer my question while I get you cleaned up.” He states flatly.