don't crush the wings
pairing ➸ luffy x fem!reader
details ➸ tags: modern au! humor & spice! gratuitous use of the f-bomb // cw: no smut, but a little suggestive; drinking. everyone's at least 20 & this doesn't take place in america; reader wears a dress & is called a girl at one point // wc: 2k
a/n ➸ happy halloween! 🎃 muahahaha
“We are gonna get fucked up tonight,” Nami sings into your ear with a sharp giggle. She’s sitting on your lap, turned towards you with a long bottle in her dainty, manicured hand. Fishnets run up her thighs, up, up, up into her short black miniskirt, and the fabric rides up farther as she wiggles in your lap.
“Or just fucked,” you mutter, side-eyeing your friend. You know for a fact that Nami has goals she plans to achieve by the end of the night, and they probably have something to do with a pretty girl whose name starts with ‘V’ and ends with ‘ivi’.
It’s Halloweekend, a Friday night, and you’re pregaming in the shoddy little apartment you share with Nami and Usopp. Nami’s dressed to kill as an alluring vampire vixen, and Usopp’s fiddling with the zipper of his Party City superhero costume. Knowing your friends, you expect for a little mayhem to occur tonight. Especially considering the party you’ll be attending: hosted by none other than the ASL brothers.
If there’s one things you can trust the ASL brothers to do, it’s to wreak havoc on society. If there’s a second thing you can trust the ASL brothers to do, it’s to throw a decent party.
Nami swats your thigh at your remark and thrusts the bottle into your hands. “Drink more,” she orders. “You’re not nearly drunk enough.” You fumble for your Hello Kitty shot glass and pour liquor into your glass.
“Just drink from the bottle,” Nami chides, fingers curling around the hem of your dress. You take this in stride; sink into the spotty old couch Usopp salvaged from a flea market with a sigh. Nami’s a flirty drinker: you know this. Get a couple drinks in her and she’ll get touchy and bossy—or, bossier than she already is. The girl cocks her chin up at you in challenge. “Don’t be a pussy.” She’ll also get mouthy.
You reject her protests with a minute shake of your head. “No way.” Usopp trots over from across the room with a matching Hello Kitty glass, and you tip the bottleneck until vodka pours out, to Nami’s displeasure. “I’m not a fucking heathen.”
“Cheers to that,” Usopp says, then clinks his glass with yours—Hello Kitty to Hello Kitty. He throws his drink back and immediately starts coughing.
You smile at your friend’s pathetic demonstration, raise your glass, and toss the drink to the back of your throat. It goes down a little smoother than your first had, but still lights a fire in your chest, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.
A loud knock has your head swiveling to the front door. “The calvary is here!” Someone from the other side shouts.
You say Usopp’s name, and he rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says and shuffles toward the door, probably resenting the day he signed a six-month lease with two bossy girls. He quickly unlocks the door, swinging it wide open. A boy springs through the entrance with a loud whoop, arms in the air. Behind him struts the moss-headed Zoro, who heads straight for the kitchen, determined to find the booze and drink you out of house and home, you’re sure. Hovering by the entrance lingers Sanji, who towers over Usopp.
“Are you seriously dressed as Batman?” You hear him ask.
Usopp’s pitch raises unnaturally as he defends himself. “The ladies love Batman!”
Sanji snorts. “What do you know about ladies?” He asks, stepping around the Walmart Superhero. Suddenly, he halts, gaze locking on you and Nami like a fucking aim-bot.
“Nami-Swaaaaaaan!~” He croons.
Nami grabs the bottle from your hands and takes a giant swig.
“And you must be an angel,” the blond appears at your side, sighing dreamily. A crown rests atop his head; his hair shines like spun gold. Blegh.
“A fairy, actually.” You reply, jab your thumb at the iridescent wings strapped to your back.
He nods reverently. “Ah, but of course. You’re made of faith and trust, magic and whimsy, my ethereal little pixie.”
You blink once, twice. Wonder if this loon pregamed the pregame, or if he’s just naturally this ridiculous. Nami takes another shot of vodka, and Sanji’s eyes track the curve of Nami’s neck as she gulps and sighs.
Damn it all to hell. You debate stealing the bottle and drinking from it like a heathen. Nami was right. You are most certainly not drunk enough for this.
Nami and Usopp’s friends are… Well. They’re something, alright. You met the duo in college and fell in love with their snarky energy, but their non-college friends? You pan your head from Sanji and Zoro, who are halfway to beating each other’s faces in in the middle of your kitchen, to their springy friend Luffy, who’s quite literally bouncing off the walls. Yeah… You try to avoid them when you can.
But. Tonight’s Halloween. The one day you’re legally required to make bad decisions.
So, more alcohol. You tug the bottle from Nami’s death-grip and take a healthy swig. “What happened to ‘not being a fucking heathen?’” She quotes, mirth bubbling in her voice.
You open your mouth to say something unbelievable witty and dry, but are interrupted. “Who’s fucking heathens?” Someone behind you asks. Both you and Nami turn to face Luffy, who’s leaning over the back of your couch, upside down.
“Nami,” you deadpan, at the same time she intones your name.
Luffy laughs, boyish, but also… Not. His hair’s pulled towards the ground, black curls pulled back to reveal thin brows and half-lidded eyes, and the expression is a little… Sexy. Somehow. Impossibly. Kinda lazy-like, with a shit-eating grin, and it’s...
You clear your throat, feeling a bit warm.
“Shouldn’t you be with your brothers? Y’know. Hosting a party right now?” You ask. Luffy chortles. In your peripherals you can see Nami considering you, undoubtedly smelling blood in the water.
“Nah. Ace n’Sabo threw me out ta stop me from eating all the snacks,” he says. His words aren’t quite slurred, but come out as a drawl, low and intoxicating. You have no idea how this man did a complete 180 in the span of 30 seconds. It’s giving you serious whiplash.
The front door opens once more, and Nami lets out a little squeak. Ah, that’s probably Vivi and co. Hmm. Dimmed lights, a sultry voice warbling over the speakers, intermingling with the occasional drunken shout… This is turning out to be a successful pregame.
Nami jumps off your lap, stealing the bottle from your hands one last time. Her limbs tremble before she inhales deeply, steeling her nerves.
“Have fun,” you say, shooting her a look.
“Oh, bite me,” the vampire snaps, then stalks off to go flirt with Vivi. You silently wish her luck (the amount of times you’ve had to listen to her hopelessly pine is staggering) and turn back to face Luffy again, a twinge of uncertainty in your gut.
He’s dressed like a football player, you realize. It’s a good look on him. His jersey is neon yellow and trimmed in green, but the color’s not as obtrusive as it might be in brighter lighting. And it shows off his lean figure, which is. Nice.
Appreciative as you are of his frame, you’re thinking up exit strategies by the minute. This is uncharted territory. You can count the number of times you’ve had a one-on-one conversation with the man on a single hand, and, don’t really feel like stumbling your way through small talk.
“You’re glowing,” Luffy notes. “S’pretty.”
Never mind. This is cool.
“Thanks,” you say, sheepish. “It’s the body shimmer. I’m a fairy.”
“A pretty one.”
Ah, fuck.
You don’t really feel the alcohol all that much, but there’s a pleasant buzz floating through your body, and it’s making you a little more… susceptible. To simple compliments like that. It has your heart stuttering, but in a good way. You want him to say it again.
“What, that you’re pretty? ‘Cause you are.” He nods. “So pretty,” he concludes; dark eyes sweeping over your frame.
Did you say that aloud?
You blink. Rack your brain for something coy to say. “You’re, um. Yeah. You’re pretty, too.”
Fuck.
Luffy laughs at that, and you’re grateful, because you are totally off your game tonight. But he doesn’t seem to mind, just leans in closer, still upside down, and it gives you an open view of the column of his throat. Golden brown skin, taut and firm until he swallows. You tense and back up a little to see his whole face.
He’s close, incredibly close. You can smell the Corona on his breath as he exhales. And you don’t really kiss random people at hangouts after only like, two compliments, but your brain is starting to consider him the exception.
You pull in your bottom lip reflexively, and his eyes dip to your mouth, tracking the motion. His pupils dilate. He looks, he looks hungry.
Fuck fuck fuck—
The door opens again and more people trickle into the apartment, pulling you out of whatever weird ass trance you were in, and you curse. Is this a pregame or a party of its own? The fuck.
You lean back, hands seeking purchase on the couch cushion to support you, but maybe you’re a little more drunk than you think you are, because you completely overshoot it, body tipping toward the floor. Your head spins as you realize in real-time that you’re about to eat shit, squeezing your eyes shut before impact.
Somehow, quick hands race up your body and flip you so that instead of falling on your back, you’re braced on top of something, cushioning your fall. Your eyes open. Luffy grins from beneath you.
You’re straddling him, you realize. Make to get off him, but his hands tighten on your waist and then loosen. A suggestion.
You stay.
Everyone’s eyes are on you, searing into your skin, but they’re nothing compared to the hot hands sliding down, palming your thighs. You don’t know whether to be mortified or grateful that you chose such a short dress. Luffy hums appreciatively.
Grateful it is.
Time to do some damage control.
“Mind your own business,” you hiss, looking up at the room. Everyone returns to their previous occupations, albeit reluctantly, sneaking glances out of the corner of their eyes.
You turn your gaze back to the man underneath you. “How the hell did you do that?” You accuse. It should be humanly impossible for someone to perform such complicated maneuvers—while inebriated, mind you!
He just shrugs. “Didn’t wanna hurt your fairy wings, did ya?”
That is. Ridiculously sweet.
“Fuck,” you say. It just slips out.
Luffy’s eyes sharpen. “Yeah?”
“What?” Your breath hitches. God, you sound wrecked.
Luffy waits a beat. Runs calloused hands up and down your thighs, and you just barely contain yourself from shuddering in his grasp. But it may be for naught, because you’re melting like putty in his hands.
He yawns, then licks his lips. “Wanna make out?” He asks abruptly.
It’s at this moment that you wonder exactly how you wound up here. What choices did you make in your life to end up like this? Splayed out on your apartment floor, surrounded by tipsy acquaintances, straddling the most bizarre man you’ve ever had the misfortune to come across? Fucking Halloween, man. This might just be the most humiliating thing you’ve ever experienced.
...
You say yes.
In the end, you don’t end up making it to that party.
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What's your opinion on cravings? I'm not sure if this was asked already. Imagine the carrier just has a craving for something, and the group immediately doesn't hesitate to get what they crave for, maybe a little too much. Nothing excessive for food combinations but whatever baby wants baby gets. ^^
I dig cravings. It's a perfect intersection of the things I enjoy.
I'm personally just... such a sucker for a character getting wrapped up in cooking whatever their partner craves. The two of them bonding all the way. Saying "I'll cook for you and our baby as often as I can!" all the way.
There's one idea though that really just sticks in my mind as being... the pinnacle of wholesome.
There's been some kind of home cooked dish that the pregnant character has been craving (let's call them A), but haven't been able to get. Maybe their family lives far away, maybe the person who used to cook it passed away, maybe it has ingredients that are hard to find. Whatever it is they just... cant seem to scratch that itch.
But one day they come home and a rich, familiar smell fills the air. They're exhausted but they find their way to the kitchen where their partner turns to smile at them, telling them to take a seat on a chair set up in the kitchen. "I'm a little behind on dinner tonight," they admit, stirring what they're cooking. A simply blinks at them and asks if it's the dish they think it is. B smiles, "Sit down, you look tired," they insist. As soon as A finally sits down B described how they found the recipe, how they'd been trying to perfect the techniques to make it, how it was their secret project for awhile.
"But... I realized I'd never get it right, because I never tasted it before. Would... you be willing to taste test for me?" B comes over holding up a spoonful, maybe a single bite on a fork. A is stunned, they knew B cared for them but... all this.
They try it and immediately mention it's missing something, they say an ingredient and B can't help but grin. "I knew there was something!"
They fiddle with their recipe and yet again come over to their partner, who's still just watching in awe. "Let's see if I got it right," they hum.
When A gets that bite they immediately are overcome with something, it tastes PERFECT... well... maybe not the exact same but it's so close and their partner did all of this for THEM, the kitchen smells like old family meals and their partner is staring at them in adoration. It's all... it's not perfect... it's better than perfect.
The two share their meal together, and after months of craving this specific meal A finally feels satisfied.
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