#aims

Your breath hitches as his hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider. You don’t even get a chance to respond because his mouth is on you again, lower now, trailing down your stomach. Every kiss feels like it's branded into you, like he is marking his territory, staking his claim. 

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, yanking them down in one motion that makes your head spin. The cool air hits you first, then the unbearable heat of his breath, fanning over your soaked folds. His nose brushes your inner thigh as he nuzzles closer, like he is savoring the anticipation. 

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, more to himself than to you, his fingers spreading you open to expose everything to his curious, hungry eyes. He’s mesmerized, he’s never seen anything like it so close and personal, and now he’s about to worship it in the filthiest way possible. 

“So… do I just…?” he trails off, his voice uncharacteristically unsure, but it doesn't matter because the first swipe of his tongue is anything but hesitant. It's slow, it's testing, and it's enough to make your hips jerk against him. 

A strangled moan slips from your lips, your hands shooting down to tangle in his hair, desperate to pull him closer, to urge him to keep going. He hums against you, the sound vibrating against you as he does it again, this time with more pressure, and more confidence. 

“Fuck, just like that,” you gasp, your voice wrecked and shaky, your thighs trembling in his grasp. “A little higher– oh, fuck,-- right there.”

Your words spur him on, and any hint of hesitation evaporates. Luffy dives back in, his mouth moving against you with chaotic, unpracticed motions. His tongue explores you in wild, unpredictable strokes– sloppy, desperate, and so goddamn eager it makes your toes curl. He’s all over you, licking, sucking, and tasting like he can’t get enough, like he’s been starving for this and only just realized it. 

When your fingers twist in his hair, pulling him up, he responds immediately. His lips close around your clit, sucking experimentally, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves in a way that’s almost too much and not enough all at once. The sharp pull of pleasure wrenches a cry from your throat, your head tipping back as heat pools low in your belly.

“Fuck– you taste so good,” he mutters between messy licks and desperate sucks, his words garbled and dripping with awe. His voice is thick with it, like he’s lost in the act, too consumed by the taste of you to bother with coherence.

His hands tighten on your thighs, his grip bruising as he pulls you closer, dragging your ass halfway off the counter so he can bury himself even deeper. His nose nudges against your clit and applies pressure while his tongue laps greedily at the slick that spills from you. It’s filthy, the wet sounds of his mouth working against you filling the kitchen, but he doesn't care, nor does he even seem aware of anything beyond you. 

He’s clumsy, his inexperience glaring in the way his rhythm sometimes falters, or the way he presses too hard or not hard enough- but each misstep only lasts a moment. Your moans guide him, your hips shifting against his face wordlessly tells him what you need, and he learns fast. Each mistake is corrected with an almost frantic determination, his tongue and lips returning to the spots that make you gasp and tremble. 

He’s drooling, his chin slick with spit and arousal, a messy way of showing how utterly unhinged he is in his desire to consume you. The mess only spurs him on, his face buried so deep between your thighs that you can feel every breath, every groan in your soul. 

The pressure building inside of you is a slow and devastating burn, the tension coiling tighter and tighter with every erratic flick of his tongue. Luffy devours you like it’s his last meal. His lack of finesse, his insatiable hunger, it is all overwhelming, and he can't help but make up for every imperfection with sheer, unrelenting passion. 

You’re trembling under him, gasping for air, the edge rushing toward you like a wave you can’t outrun. And he just keeps going, keeps devouring, keeps pulling you apart with his mouth like he’s determined to ruin you. 

You try to warn him, your voice tumbling out in a fragmented rush. “Luffy, oh shit, I'm gonna–” The words dissolve into a cry as the tension inside of you finally snaps, shattering into shards of blinding ecstasy. 

Your orgasm crashes through you, a white-hot pleasure that steals the very breath from your lungs and leaves you trembling. Every nerve feels like it's been set alight, your body bucking against his mouth as waves of pleasure ripple through you. Luffy groans low against your core, the sound vibrating against your oversensitive flesh and sending aftershocks tearing through you. He doesn’t pull back, his tongue is determined to prolong every second of your unraveling, dragging you deeper into the flames. 

Your body jerks beneath him, overstimulated and desperate as his lips close around your clit again. His tongue flicks against you, not daring to stop even as your hands fly to his hair in a frantic attempt to slow him down. “Luffy! Fuck- wait, I can't-” The words barely leave your mouth, thin and broken, your voice cracking under the intensity. 

He doesn’t listen. Not even a little. 

Lost in his own maddened desire, he seems hell-bent on wringing every last shiver, every last gasp, every last ounce of essence from you. His hands clamp down on your thighs, pinning you in place as his mouth works you over, ruthless in its hunger. Tears prick at the corner of your eyes, your hips jerking involuntarily, hands tugging at his hair in a vain attempt to slow him. You’re spiraling, helpless against his eagerness to please, and it is all too much to even form a single coherent thought. 

It’s only when another broken string of pleas leaves your lips that he finally relents, pulling back with one last lingering kiss that makes your thighs quiver. His face is flushed and glistening, his lips swollen and slick from his efforts, and the pride in his dark, spiraling eyes is undeniable. 

You’re still trying to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling in uneven bursts, when your gaze drops and that's when you see it. The unmistakable bulge in his pants, hard and straining against his shorts, his hand pressed against it in slow, agonizing circles as if he's barely holding himself together. 

“Looks like someone enjoyed himself,” you rasp, the words tumbling out between breaths as you try to piece yourself back together. 

Luffy blinks at you, dazed before a sheepish grin spreads across his lips. “Couldn’t help it,” he murmurs, “you just taste so good.”

A breathless laugh escapes you, your chest still heaving as you weakly gesture toward his hand. “I’d love to help with that, but…” you trail off, laying back against the counter as you try to steady your racing pulse. “You’re going to have to give me a minute. Someone wore me out.”

His grin widens, unrepentant and unbothered as he continues to palm himself. “Okay, take your time, as long as I get to have more later.”