.

Katakuri

His sweet tooth is his doom. No future sight can help him if his gluttony overpowers the common sense. Pocky aren't donuts, but hell if he could say no.

Realizes his mistake way too late, scarf already unwrapped and leaning down. How does he fall for that every single time?

Does.Not.Move. Holds his end so carefully as if it was made of glass. Lets you do all the job. Doesn't want to ruin your fun and break the pocky too early. Or graze you with teeth. God help him.

He can't even close his eyes, getting the redder the closer you get. He gets so flustered whenever you are like that it's so embarassing. He's too old to blush like a virgin, goddammit.

Loses miserably. And doesn't have any power left to complain during the comforting kiss.

Zoro

What a stupid game. He's not playing. He doesn't even like sweet stuff, why do you sit here and poke him with that chocolate-covered thing?

Once you mention you're going to play with Sanji instead, you're pulled back, right into his lap, your face turned so fast you almost stab him right into the last eye he has.

Easier said, than done. He has to watch you to match the pace, and having to watch you from so close... Why his cheeks feel so hot, all of sudden? Whoops, he drops the pocky-

Loses the first edition. And second. Demands so many next turns until his count of wins overpowers yours. Ends the last edition with a triumphant, cocky kiss.

Gets sick after so many candies. Oh, so that's why he doesn't like sweet things, poor thing...

Luffy

Do you think you stand a chance for even starting once he spots a snack in your hand?

The first pocky disappears even before you can fully pull it out of the box, move faster than you can spot and feeling weirder than a horse taking an apple from your hand.

Scolded, he lets you take another one. But as soon as you hold it in teeth, he springs forward and swallows it whole. Almost chokes and wreaks havoc, as if it was your fault...

Tries again and again, until the whole box is gone. Chokes and hits you with teeth and once even nips your tongue when you try to repeat his trick and swallow the treat immediately.

You can just groan, frustrated, but he breaks into wide smile and rolls on top of you, peppering you with kisses and brushing your bad mood away. "Shishishi, sorry Y/N, I'll kiss you like the usual, okay?"

Smoker

"What are you, Y/N, twelve?"

Grumbles, rolls his eyes and crosses arms on chest. Just no. He's too old for that. Gives up when he realizes letting you do as you please means less turmoil than fighting against whatever demon that took over you.

He hates losing as much as he hates this silly, cheesy stuff, so in the end he shows more dedication that you suspected he ever would. Moves carefully, slowly, judging every bite you take. Does his best to intimidate you with a glare.

You meet exactly in the middle, lips pressed tight, but the last, little piece of pocky stuck between your teeth, neither of you wanting to break the status quo.

He can't help a triumphant chuckle when you finally give up, strong hands pulling you closer for an earnest kiss. And now shoo, you impossible thing, he's busy.

Sabo

You don't like this innocent smile. You don't like it at all.

He tilts head back when you approach, the smile only growing when you show him the pocky box. He takes his hat off and ruffles hair, ready far before you're ready.

Doesn't change the weird position, looking at you upside down and licking lips when you hold his end close to his mouth. But before you can bent, he starts eating, pocky disappearing in no time.

He doesn't stop either, teeth playfully nibbling the tips of your fingers, tongue wrapping around them, finally letting you slide your fingers into his mouth and sucking, until you give up and groan or laugh.

"Does it count as a win? Can I have that kiss as my reward?"

Killer

When you tell him for what you're asking him to take the mask off, he almost laughs, even if he promised himself he's not gonna ever do it again. You truly have the gall.

No, he can't keep the mask on despite the holes. That'd be cheating!

He tilts mask as much as he can to reveal only lips and leans towards you, evening the levels. And, somehow, trapping you between his massive body and closest obsticle. Is this still a game, if he cuts all your avenues of escape?

He's so damned fast you barely have chance to take a single bite. Well, what did you expect from a man who's learnt how to eat spaghetti through the mask holes...

Your face looks so disappointed with his easy win that he lets out a small, barely audible chuckle, eats the rest right from your lips and pressing his to them for a short while. And leaving you breathless with simplicity.

Ace

He's the one who approaches you. And truly, at this time you should know better. Can you do something against his charm? Not really.

He puts the end of pocky into his mouth and moves it upside down, as if inviting you to hurry up. Teases you relentlessly, shoving it away from you before you can grab your end. Doesn't stop until you smack him at least a few times.

You feel pulled into a trap, lured with every move. If you think of moving fast, he stares into your eyes and you know he will move faster, if you try. If you start slowly, he won't move, piercing you with gaze, ready to strike and read any plan you have.

How a pocky fun can turn into a psychological game? Hands crossed behind his back, like a good student, he tests your patience, keeping your tense until your neck feels stiff and eyes water.

"Ride me."

It slips past Nanami's lips almost unwittingly, like a voice speaking straight from the depths of his subconsciousness. The rhythm breaks: the both of you are utterly confused in the best, most excited way possible, almost frozen in place for a few, heavy seconds. 

He releases your wrists, suddenly realizing he held them so hard there will be bruises shaped like his fingers, then shifts his body to the side, pulling yours with himself. You squeeze thighs around his hips for leverage and balance, and he can't help letting out a little, breathy groan of appreciation. He loves the softness, the rolls forming on them flush to his body, the yet tentative moves as you're looking for the most comfortable position for your knees. It's just the beginning and he's already entranced by the feel and views.

From comfortably nestled in pillows, your legs wide open to fit his wide body in between, you're above him now, in your wonderful glory, in power and control over him. As you ease into the new situation, your weight gradually presses close to his hips until you settle on the angle you like. Nanami clenches teeth, an inch away from successfully catching a moan; he's much deeper in your now, squeezed tight by your slick, hot walls, and sentenced to obediently awaiting your moves. 

The fear of accidentally hurting you, prior stirred by your wrists, fades now. He grabs your hips with all he's got for your—not to hurry you up nor to pull you closer, but to feel you, to sink his fingers into your softness and to feed his eyes with the dip of your silhouette around them. 

You shift on him for the last time, balance grabbed and checked, and lean slightly to the back, your eyes closed as you sink into the sensation. You start slowly, almost too slow for the both of you, either shy or testing the new waters. Nanami holds his breath back, irrationally worried a draft of air might interrupt you; his nails scratch deep at your skin, vertical lines right next to your stretch marks. He's going to kiss them with care later, insatiably sipping on your warmth, but now nothing can peel his attention away from desiring you. He's addicted to the sway of your hips, to the bouncing rhythm you soon pick up, to the flow of your body on top of him. 

Nanami can't possibly grow tired of the sight of you in your naked glory. Since the day he's been graced with it for the first time he only grows more and more hungry. He loves every inch of it, whether you love it yourself or not, and usually doesn't shy from praising and adoring it—but now, with you bouncing on his cock, something keeps his words in check. Everything he feels like saying seems inappropriate, too simple and too vulgar. All he can do is to stare, eyes wide open in wonder, lips heavy of breath, and hands full of your curves. He lets them wander at times, to knead your ass or to support you at the waist, but every time the sensation grows too strong to handle, and he returns to your hips in hurry. It can't end like this, not now, when he's still starved, when he knows you can still show him more. 

A rumble of your name follows an especially bold move of yours, and Nanami claws at your thighs with desperation. You've caught him off-guard this time, with his hands out of control when you suddenly clenched hard on him, squeezing him deep in your hot slick. He has to close eyes, to spare himself at least the delicious views, but the feeling is right there—your tight cunt, your big and soft ass, your thighs tensing under his fingertips and pressing flush to his sides.

"Fuck—" He desperately tries to keep his hips in check, fights with each desperate attempt to jerk up, fails. "Holy shit—"

He's ready to beg you to slow down and show him mercy, equally ashamed of himself and turned on by the thought alone. You coo something about him squirming and twitching but he can't quite tell words from the stream of your voice. Blindly, he reaches up, hands stopping before they can reach your middle and pawing at your soft tummy. Again, you speak to him, but he's deaf in his pleasure, maybe if he opened his eyes—

He can't open them. If he does, it's the end. If he sees you, messy, disheveled, tired and so beautiful, he won't be able to last any longer. If he takes one more peek of your body bouncing on top of him, of you using him to your pleasure—

"Kento—" You beg him first, your voice drenched with ecstasy and breaking.

Nanami can't resist such a melody. He snaps his eyes open as if under a spell.

Your name dies between slurred whimpers when his hold tightens, clawing its way into your skin, and Nanami, early, way too early, caves in to pleasure. Eyes plastered to your bouncing tum and his hands sinking in it, now determined to not miss anything if it's bound to happen anyway, he joins the stuttering rhythm of your hips, just on time to push you into orgasm. A few thrusts later, stirred by the tight spasming of your cunt, he follows suit with a loud, the loudest this night, groan. 

For a moment, reality around slurs too, and when he regains control over his senses, Nanami finds you in his arms, nestled on top of him, sweaty and breathing heavy. He runs hand up and down your back, smiling at the feel of rolls and softness underneath. 

Your body presses his tight—and yet again Nanami reasserts himself his life truly wouldn't be the same if cruel fate ever took this blessed feeling away from him.