𝟒:𝟓𝟏 𝐀𝐌 | 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔.

roronoa zoro x gn!reader

reader gives praise + pet names / slightly steamy / zoros a simp

“missed you today,” you mumble against his mouth.

zoro thinks you’re heaven bottled, straddling his waist, kissing him like you’ve been starved. he sits back, enjoying your undivided attention and flurry of soft, deep kisses. his large hands gently squeeze at your sides, then move to your thighs, kneading the soft, plush skin.

he’s in love with you. zoro is completely and unequivocally in love with you. he’s drunk on your lips, your body, your voice. everything. you fill his senses and bewitch his mind. even the scent of your hair left on his pillow has him burying his nose into the plushness to get more of it. he’s obsessed. he’s so sure of it, and yet it’s so foreign and strange for him.

zoro is no stranger to desire. he knows how it feels to want something so badly you’d kill for it, but never has he felt a desire quite like this one. it’s not a desire to win, or to be the greatest, or to serve. it’s vulnerable and fragile. it’s consuming and overwhelming. it’s more more more.

and that’s all he can think when your lips finally part, your eyes looking down at him like he’s never done a bad thing in his life. like he’s precious. innocent. loved. missed. wanted.

“i love you,” you whisper to him, tracing the sharp edge of his jaw before pressing a gentle kiss there. he pulls you closer, if possible, his strong hands gliding up your t-shirt to rest on your bare back. he presses his lips to your neck, earning a satisfying sigh from you, so he sucks lightly.

“i love you,” he mutters into your skin, goosebumps forming along his defined arms as your nails begin to scratch at his scalp. close just isn’t enough. he buries his face into your shoulder, nuzzling there.

such a big man and yet, for you, he’s melted butter.

“you worked so hard today,” you tell him, kissing the shell of his ear, “you’re so good, baby. so good.”

he relishes in the praise. he wants it so bad. from the moment you joined the crew, he’d been jealous of any praise you gave to anyone else. especially the idiot cook. how he longed to have you tell him he’s done well, that he’s good, that you’re proud.

zoro doesn’t know when he turned into such a melt, but you just have that affect on him. you make him feel like he can be vulnerable in your presence.

“thank you,” he breathes, squeezing you tighter.

“do you want me to rub your shoulders?” you ask him softly, pressing little kisses to the side of his head. he could stay here forever and a day.

“you don’t have to,” he says, voice rough from how tired he is. you chuckle lightly.

“i want to,” you tell him honestly, pushing him off with great difficulty, “let me take of you, ‘ro.”

he’s so thankful to whatever fate bought you to him, shuffling around so he’s sitting between your dangling legs, your hands rubbing gentle but firm circles into his muscles. he groans when you hit a certain spot, so you stay there, every now and then kissing the crown of his head.

he’s just not worthy. he doesn’t understand how he managed to get this hallelujah. how, out of everyone, he’s the one you devote your time to. he’s the one you drunkly confessed to one night after a successful fight, kissing him before pulling yourself away and mumbling how sorry you were and that you understand if he didn’t feel the same.

how ludicrous.

it was his bed you clambered into and never left. it’s his mouth you kiss good morning and kiss goodnight. it’s his hand you squeeze under the table. it’s his face you search for in the crowd.

and he’s so fucking thankful. there’s a God. there must be.

“never leave me,” he finds himself saying out loud, your movements stopping, hands resting against his shoulders. he feels you move, and then your lips against his ear.

“what a silly thing to say,” you speak softly, sending a shiver down his spine as your hands begin working at his tired muscles again, “i’m not going anywhere, ‘ro. please don’t worry about that.”

he closes his eye. trusting you. relaxing back into your embrace. if you’re destined to always be at his side, always sleep beside him, to rub his shoulders and kiss his skin, then he’s sure, more than ever, there’s someone Holy looking down on him. he should be more accommodating to that thought. maybe it’s time he actually thank whoever they are.

hell, he might even start praying.

i do not own one piece or anything associated with it

I’ve Got You

Summary: Reader, terrified of needles, injures themself badly enough to need stitches, and does what they can to avoid getting them. Sanji, however, would never let you suffer so.

Tags: Sanji x gn!reader, established relationship, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, blood, medical needles, open wounds

Word count: 4.4k

I made one for Law ages ago, and thought it’d be fun to write a version for Sanji, (you all should thank @yourboyhack for encouraging me <3 <3 <3)

Several mistakes were made on your part. First, you had let yourself stray from the rest of the group. You weren’t one to get lost easily, and so when you wandered farther than everyone else, it didn’t raise any alarms. You yourself were confident, and there hadn’t been any clear threats. It was an uninhabited island like any other, the forest like any other. But that had been your second mistake. You underestimated the terrain. A cursory glance left you thinking you could venture out without any real equipment. It was a simple walk. But the air held that earthy scent that meant it had just rained, the earth loose beneath your feet. The third was just not taking anyone with you. A second set of eyes would have pointed out the drop, or at least have caught you when you slipped. Instead, you threw your arm out behind you, desperate to grab any sort of branch or root, or even the ledge, but you found purchase in neither.

The drop wasn’t that far. It was the sort of fall that would have merely been embarrassing, only leaving you disgruntled because of the mud in your clothes and your own stupidity, if it weren’t for the rock jutting out. You hit it on the way down, thigh catching and tearing along the jagged edge. The breath left your body as you hit the ground, and you laid there for a moment, completely still, to breathe deep and try to reorientate yourself. You dreaded the bright pain that was building in your leg, not wanting to know the extent of the damage. When you finally brought yourself to do it, a hiss slipped between your clenched teeth. It was difficult to know how deep the gash was with all the blood that had already welled up and began to drip, but you knew it was bad. Your stomach turned at the thought of what it’d take to heal it, your mind touching and recoiling away from the thought of stitches.

You hurried to stand, ready to prove that it was not that bad. Your legs shook as you stood, but less from pain and more from the shock. As you started your search for a way out, you found it difficult to put too much weight on your injured leg, but it was manageable. What kind of Straw Hat were you if you couldn’t? You were fine, you told yourself. You could suck it up and fix it.

The little gap in the earth you had fallen into wasn’t all that deep. You couldn’t even call it a ravine, really. The little hill up and out to leveled ground was close and short. It made it all the more easier on your part, but also more irritating. This, out of all things, was what had caught you unawares? It was not something you were going to be eager to explain.

You hobbled your way back. It took longer than your way in, but at least you knew the path there. You kept a hand pressed to your wound, an effort that wasn’t doing much but making your hand a sticky mess, but you didn’t have much else to do for it. In this one instance, you were relieved to find the ship empty when you made your way back. Carefully, you climbed the gangway and stopped on the deck, listening. There wasn’t a reaction from the crow’s nest, nor one from the upper decks, which meant that whoever must have stayed behind was busy in one of the rooms or below deck. It meant you had to tread carefully.

Usually, you would head straight for Sanji and let him tend to you. It was a ritual at this point. One of you got hurt and offered themselves to the other, relishing the admonitions to be more careful and the skin to skin contact. The trust and love required to allow the other to dirty their hands as they helped them in such a vulnerable state. But this time, you hesitated. You’d never been hurt like this before. And it wasn’t that you didn’t trust Sanji to help you this time. He was more than capable and would be more than willing. His soothing hands and sweet words were all you wanted at that moment.

It’s that you were afraid. The threat of a needle and thread loomed over you. You didn’t know if it was something that Sanji could do, but his skill wasn’t the worry. It was the needle going in and out, slicing through and dragging the thread through your skin, an intrusion that wouldn’t be removed for a while.

You trudged ahead to the bathroom. You could handle this. Sanji was busy anyway, wherever he was; it would have been rude to interrupt and ask him for help over something as simple as a cut. It wasn’t all that deep. Blood had made a fine layer on your leg, but that’s what blood did. Like most wounds, blood made it look worse than it actually was. There was a simple first aid kit that sat in the cupboard of the bathroom, and that was all you would need.

You moved as quietly as possible, as the bathroom was behind the kitchen and getting to it required walking atop it. You hoped that the gentle sounds of water lapping at the hull would mask the creaking of the wood beneath your footsteps. When you made it near the kitchen, you could hear the sounds of Sanji cooking, and cursed your luck that it had been him to stay behind. It made sense, as he would be making lunch for a voracious group of pirates that would be tired from their ventures. You hoped that you could be cleaned and fixed by the time you saw him again. It would make it easier to brush it all away. You kept your steps light as you continued, praying he would not notice. But Sanji had keen senses, and a radar that was attuned specially for you.

Dread became a terrible weight in your stomach at the sound of the voice calling out behind you. You’d reached the door of the library, and quickly shoved yourself behind it in case his head popped up.

“Y/n! Is that you, my love? Lunch is almost ready!” Sanji yelled.

“Yeah! I just need to go to the bathroom real quick. I’ll be right down.” You shut the door and scurried up to the bathroom before he could answer.

It made it more difficult now that he knew you were there. A timer had been set. If you took too long, he was going to come and check.

You stripped down to your underwear, your clothing a dirty mess and now a hindrance. You grabbed the first aid kit and a towel, and settled yourself on the tiled floor, facing the door you’d locked. The trek had left you exhausted and woozy. The task at hand was beginning to feel insurmountable and the sudden feeling of hopelessness washed over you. Sanji’s pampering had left you soft. You wanted his hands on you more than ever, for him to take the weight of responsibility and take complete care of you. But you just couldn’t let him.

First, you used the shower head to rinse all the blood and dirt off, biting hard into your lip as you flushed out the wound. You tried to dry the water off afterward, but it was difficult when the blood wouldn’t stop flowing. You pressed the towel down, waiting for a bit as the blood soaked into the fabric before trying again, but it simply was not working. You had to close it before trying to get any cleaner. Flipping open the kit, you rooted around for butterfly bandages. You were able to apply two before your skin was too slick for the bandages to stick. You grabbed the towel and tried to wipe away the blood with a clean patch, but it smeared it more than anything. Your head was starting to swim and the blood was getting everywhere, all across your thigh, leeching onto your other leg. All over your hands and under your nails. In some spots, it’d dried down and become sticky. The rest left you too slippery. One side of one of the bandages you placed popped up. Your eyes started to burn with frustration.

And then there was a knock at the door.

“Y/n? Is everything all right? You’ve been in there a while,” Sanji asked from the other side.

“I’m fine! Just getting cleaned up.” You hoped you sounded normal, that no strain peeked through.

“Cleaned up? Did something happen?”

“Oh, you know, just the usual grime from hiking.”

“Ah, do you need any help, my dear? I could scrub your back for you.” His voice took on a sultry, flirty tone.

“No!” You said it too fast, too aggressively, and tried to fix it immediately. “It’s just a quick one, no need for help.”

It was wrong. You knew it as you said it. Normally, you would have said yes, ready to take full advantage of an empty ship, or if not, you would have at least flirted back or teased him. But it was hard to think of the right thing to say at the moment.

“Oh.” The dejected tone of his voice sliced right through you, worse than the rock had. “Have I done something wrong?”

Of course he would ask. Of course he would think himself at fault. Why else would you reject someone you loved so dearly, craved so constantly? You didn’t know how much longer this would take. You could send him away, but he’d come right back if you didn’t leave soon after. And the clothes and the towels, what would you do with those? And the wound itself, just how the hell were you supposed to keep that hidden? It would hurt him to know that you didn’t come to him for help.

“No, no, of course not. I just…” You trailed off. The throb of your leg and the tangy scent of blood and the wetness of the floor was making it hard to think. The light was too bright and yet its sharpness didn’t make fixing your wound any easier. You kept moving in a helpless circle of wiping blood and trying to get the butterfly bandages to stick.

Maybe a little truth could help. “I got a little scrape and wanted to handle it myself. I’ll be out soon, I swear.”

“What? Are you alright?” The door handle jiggled. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

Fuck, why did you think that would help? You had just told yourself how it wouldn’t help to tell him. “You were busy. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Sanji knew, though. He always knew. You loved to distract him in the kitchen, doing anything to keep his attention on you. “Let me help you. I’m not busy now.”

He was never going to let up until he got a look at it himself, to at least assuage his own worries. You would want to do the same for him.

“I can’t—“ No, that wasn’t right. “It’s fine.”

“If it’s fine, then let me see it, baby.”

Shit. Shit shit shit. Say no, and it would confirm suspicion. Say yes, and you had to let him in. And you were in no state to find a better way around it. You snatched some gauze, pressing them to the wound, and started wrapping your leg. “Y-yeah. Just a second more.”

“Y/n,” his voice was serious, the closest to stern he could get with you, and dripping with concern. The door handle was jiggling again, now like he was doing something to it.

“Just a moment, I swear.” Lifting your leg to move the wrapping under it hurt and you harshly sucked in a breath, fingers shaking. A few tears snuck their way down your cheeks. Why, why, why was it so damn hard?

The door swung open and all you could do was feel the fear and shame that flooded your body. You were like a child caught doing something naughty, and your mind reeled with how you could defend yourself. The gasp that Sanji let out rang against the tile, and made even louder to your ears by your panic. You looked up, hair hanging in your face.

On Sanji’s end, only one eye poked through that curtain of hair, the rest of your face hidden. It was wide, red-rimmed, and filled with threat. You were a feral animal, back hunched and body tensed, ready to sink your teeth in. Blood was smeared across every available surface, and all over you. Mud still clung to your skin, bits on your shoulders, arms, and ankles where you hadn’t cared to clean yet. If it were anyone else that had stumbled upon you, they would have backed right out from fear. That look in your eye and the redness that surrounded you would have set off alarm bells, the scene making it seem like it was not your own blood you were coated in. And that you weren’t going to stop at one victim.

But it was Sanji, and it was you. You could be crouched over a corpse, soaked to the elbows in another’s blood, an organ pressed to the mess of your mouth, and he would still approach you. Cradle your face and wipe a thumb across your chin and ask if you needed anything else. And so he lept towards you.

“Oh gods, my baby—”

“Don’t!” It was a shrill, ugly noise. You lifted your hand, palm out and fingers spread wide to keep him at bay.

He froze, unable to disobey any command from you. But it pained him to do so, for you to ask that of him. “What happened?”

“I fell. It’s fine, though. It’s not bad. The blood just makes it look bad. But it’s not.” The words came out in a rush.

“Y/n, it looks very, very bad.”

“It’s not! It’s not. I don’t need anything more than bandages.”

Sanji swallowed and slowly crouched down. “Can I look?”

“N-no. Because it’s okay.”

He only looked at you, eyes squinted and eyebrows furrowed, his lips pressed together and the corners tugging down. He looked so worried, so scared. A pain twisted in your chest.

“I don’t need stitches,” you whispered, trying to reassure him.

And then he understood. He understood your sneakiness and your panic and your refusal. It wasn’t exactly him you were rejecting.

“Oh, oh baby,” he said as he reached towards you.

Unconsciously, you flinched away from those hands. The softness of his voice let you know that he knew the root of your fear, that your words had been an admission, which meant he would do what he could to make those stitches more bearable for you. But you didn’t. Need. Them.

“Stop it. I’ve got it,” you snapped.

Hurt flashed across his face, but he stopped reaching for you. Instead, he sat down and rested his elbows on his knees. Softly, he said, “It’ll go faster, smoother, if you let me help you.”

You bit down on your lip and hunched your shoulders. You knew he was right, but you didn’t want him to be. Tears started to well in your eyes again and it made your stomach burn brighter with anger and shame. “I don’t need your fucking help.”

“It’s okay to be afraid,” he continued. “We all do things while scared all the time. And I’ll hold you through this one the whole time. You know I’ve always got you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, wanting to hand yourself over to him so, so badly. But you could see it so clearly, the needle breaking your skin and diving in. Dragging itself so painfully through and out, emerging red with your blood. And the thread that followed, prolonging the pain as it dragged through as well. And the dipping and tugging and pulling that followed, again and again. Your throat felt dangerously tight.

“I don’t want to,” you cried.

“I know. I know, I know, I know.” You felt the slightest brush of skin along the ankle of your uninjured leg, and when you didn’t flinch or pull away, he wrapped his fingers around, rubbing soothing circles. “But you have to. And you can do it. I know you can do it.”

You shook your head, back and forth, back and forth. You tried to tug your leg away but he held firm, and you hadn’t tried all that hard in the first place.

“My baby, my lover, my heart, please?”

His plea broke through it all. Fear could be so tiring. Exhaustion made it harder to fight, to keep your eyes open. Sanji’s words washed over you again and again, always a balm to the worst pains. You wanted him to whisk away all your problems, but this one you had to sit through. However, you’d be in your lover’s embrace, and couldn’t that mean that you could tough it out?

“I’m gonna go get Chopper, yeah?” he asked.

You didn’t answer, instead leaning back and letting your head fall to the side. You sluggishly shrugged one shoulder.

He pressed a kiss to your knee before leaving. In his absence, the fear slowly coiled its way back, the anticipation making it return. You pressed your palms to the tile and tried to push yourself up to run away, but your body was disobeying you. You just couldn’t get your legs beneath you, which meant there was no way they’d hold your weight. Your stomach flipped at the sound of footsteps and hooves clipping.

“Oh no! Oh, Y/n!” Chopper’s little voice exclaimed. You started to curl in on yourself, dragging your injured leg in and away, opening your mouth to snarl, but then Sanji was there, wrapping his arms around you. He pulled you close and you shoved your face into the crook of his neck, a move of pure want and instinct. You inhaled his scent and it left you feeling a little more steady.

He buried his nose in your hair and rubbed your arms as he said, “You’ve got this. You don’t have to look, just sit like this. It’s nice, right?”

“I’ll be able to numb the area, but it does mean I’ll have to inject it with a syringe. You won’t feel any pain from the stitches though!” Chopper explained.

It was nigh impossible to fight back now. Out of all people to snap and bite at, could you really make it Chopper? You would really feel like the villain then. “Okay,” you croaked.

“Okay. I’m gonna start now, first by cleaning up the wound.”

Your blood had gone tacky in the time it took to fetch Chopper, and so the gauze being peeled off your skin left you tensing your muscles. You gripped a handful of Sanji’s shirtfront, tugging it towards you.

“Breathe, my sweet, breathe,” he cooed as he petted your hair.

Both boys inhaled sharply at your fully revealed gash. You didn’t turn to look, quickly frankly sick of looking at the damn thing. Sanji’s hold on you tightened and you felt guilty at all the anxiety you were causing him.

You tried to be as still as possible as Chopper cleaned, but it was difficult not to twitch at every sting. There was a silence when he finished, only interrupted by the sounds of Chopper rifling through his supplies.

“Now for the numbing. Are you ready?” Chopper asked.

“Go ahead,” you said, trying to get your voice to cooperate, to sound steady. It wobbled anyway.

“Lunch is sandwiches, if you’re still hungry after. If… it’s still there, actually. I’d thought you would come out sooner, so I left it in the kitchen with everyone else’s, and you know how Luffy is, that insatiable asshole. Hopefully the others keep it from him, but with him, it’s always a fight.” Sanji’s rambling caught you off guard, and in trying to pay attention to what he was saying, the needle went in and out without bothering you much. Your breath hitched a little at the fluid entering your muscle, but you were too distracted thinking about Luffy stealing your food to give it more thought. You didn’t really have an appetite at the moment, but it was your sandwich that Sanji made for you. And you each had a favorite, one specific to each of you, so Luffy knew better.

“He better not,” you huffed.

“If he did, I’ll kick his ass,” Sanji answered.

You let out a little huff of laughter at that.

“I’m still deciding what dinner is, though. Is there anything you’ve been craving?” he asked.

It was hard to think of what you’d want. “I don’t know. Maybe something with pasta?”

He hummed. “Red or white sauce? Or maybe something different?”

“Um, probably white. Or something more cheesy?”

“Ooo!” Chopper butted in with. “I want something more cheesy.”

The conversation went on just like that. Sanji’s hand roamed, kneading and rubbing at your arms, then your hips, then upper thighs, all in an endless circle. You could feel the stitches, the needle entering and exiting as Chopper worked, but you never felt any pain. It was an odd sensation, like it was more the idea of it than the reality. Sanji’s other hand never left your head, either cupping your cheek and pressing you to his chest, or running his fingers through your hair. Each time you turned your head, wanting to maybe steal a glance, he’d push you right back, knowing that letting you look could send you reeling all over again. His thumb would softly trace your jaw after he did, or his fingertips would ghost over your cheekbones. It was grounding, and safe, to be so engulfed by him.

“All done!” Chopper said after a while.

You pushed off of Sanji’s chest, swatting away the hand that protested it. Your gaze bounced off your thigh, only catching it in your sight for a second before grabbing Chopper and pulling him in for a hug.

“You’re the greatest doctor to have ever existed. Thank you, Chopper,” you told him.

He giggled and wiggled in your grasp. “Aww, you’re just saying that. You can’t flatter me.”

After you put him down, he reached for fresh gauze and bandaging to finish helping you, but Sanji butted in.

“I can do that later, Chopper. For now, they still need a bath.”

“Alright,” he answered. “I’ll be out on the ship then. Make sure to not submerge their wound, though!”

Sanji gave him a thumbs up. “Got it.”

After Chopper left, Sanji slipped out from behind you, slowly and gently as he could so he wouldn’t jostle you. He started up the bath and then turned back to you, kneeling between your legs, so that he could remove the rest of your underwear.

“Think you could lift your hips for me, sweetheart?” he asked.

You were stiff from sitting so long, and now the pain from the other bumps and bruises from your fall were making themselves known. It took you a second, but you were able to do as he asked.

“My poor, poor baby. I’ve got you, though. I’ll take good care of you,” he cooed.

When Sanji lifted you up, you couldn’t help the little whimper that came up and out of your throat. Immediately, he apologized and kissed all over your face as he lowered you into the bath. He started with your injured leg first, beginning with the mud caked to your foot and ankle and then worked his way up, removing the remaining crusts of blood. His fingers barely brushed your skin when he cleaned your injury the best he could, his eyebrows twitching and apology ready at every flinch and hiss. He massaged you as he scrubbed and rinsed, trying to remove the aches and hurts from your body. Every so often, he pressed kisses into your skin, long and loving. You were fully limp by the time he washed your hair, only emitting a satisfied sigh as his fingers worked through your locks. When he finished rinsing, you reached up and pulled his face to yours, and kissed him.

“Thank you, my love. You’re much too good to me,” you said.

He tutted. “I only give you what you deserve, and even I’m not fulfilling that properly; you deserve so much more. You are my everything.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, and that I pushed you away. I’m sorry that I snapped and swore at—”

He cut you off with a kiss, this one more urgent. “You have nothing to apologize for. Ever. I’m the one who should be sorry. I failed you.”

You sat up straighter. “What? How could you have failed me?”

“I should have been there for you, but I stayed behind. I should have made sure you weren’t alone, or been selfish enough to ask you to stay.” He ran his thumb over your cheekbone, his face full of regret.

“No, no. You’ve done more for me than you could ever imagine. You made me feel safe, you always make me feel safe. It was my own stupid mistake, not yours.”

Sanji’s mouth twitched upwards only a little, and you could tell he was still beating himself up, that no matter what you said, a small part of him would always blame himself. He would just never know how truly amazing he was.

You sighed and kissed him softly, on his mouth, his nose, his cheeks and then his mouth again. “Will you lay with me?”

“Of course.”

“For a long, long time?”

“Yes.”

“For however long I want you too?”

“There is not a single demand of yours that I would ever deny.”

You were being needy, taking more and more of Sanji than you should have. But it was impossible not to when he made you feel like heaven. You were ready to let him dress you and coddle you for a lot longer, and looked forward to a cuddle session that lasted hours.

With Sanji around, there wasn’t ever anything to worry about.

I’M WHAT HER FANTASY IS

the jjk men, sorted from soft to hard doms (18+ / mdni)

characters: gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso, mahito, hiromi, sukuna

cw: afab reader, dubcon, breeding kink, size kink, double penetration, monsterfucking, cheating, unprotected sex, creampies, daddy mention, choking, painplay, spitting

tagging: @clean-toes @chosoguapo @avidthirstenjoyer @sk-emmeris @h-shibas @asmos-pet @atsumeii @kujousgf @chososrightpigtails @kittaliapenn @drownedbytears

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Merchandise Guide!

I think, as time Passes And I experience a wave of new items I must address, that I will do so accordingly and place them up for others to see! (I Am very new to this, So Please Bare with me!) But for those inquiring about this, I will address it as follows! Please do NOT BUY or SELL anything with Welcome Home's name attached in any way, NOR any of its characters, (Wally Darling, Frank Frankly, Home, etc!) I presently am not involved with ANYONE in regards to merchandise at this moment in time. I need to organize my side of things at the moment, until then I do not have plans for merchandise! Please respect my copyright and the pace at which I must currently sustain.

If you have found skins for sale on websites such as Roblox or VR, they are unauthorized and I will work on removing them at my own pace. I do not mind if models or skins are made, as long as they are given away freely to others and are not sold.

My Fan Merch policy may change as I actually begin creating Welcome Home, but at this moment in time I ask for you NOT to sell or buy merchandise of Welcome Home on places like Etsy, RedBubble, conventions, etc. I will work on removing them at my own pace. (I am very sorry to do this, but to see folks so quickly move to profit off of my work is very strange.) Even if it is for yourself on larger sticker or shirt websites, please make it yourself and do not have it listed publicly to be sold and bought by others.

Please do not sell images or characters that have Welcome Home attached to their inspiration (I only ask that you remove the title, 'Welcome Home!' I don't mind that they are inspired, but Welcome Home is very important to me, please do not attach it to your work to sell characters!)

Also if you are a company (Similarly to the likes of Hot Topic, you know) You may NOT sell Welcome Home Merchandise of any kind. Again, I am not involved with anyone at the moment in regards to merchandise, please respect the pace at which I handle this newfound workload.

HOWEVER, I think I am fine if you commission One-off pieces from other artist. (Small plushes, tattoo designs, crotchet works, etc!) As long as they are not sold in mass supply or advertised as such! I also don't mind if you make it for yourself or your friends, too! Or even make it for yourself! Thank you all for respecting my restrictions and time!

i'm here for you. [ fushiguro megumi x reader ]

✾ warnings: lowkey existential topics/themes of self doubt, hurt/comfort

✾ synopsis: overwhelmed by everything, you take refuge in fushiguro megumi's room for a while. he knows you, though, and you can't hide from him in his own room.

✾ notes: part of a small series called "comfort" <3 check out the other characters' versions from the links below ! feel free to request a character i haven't done ^^

♡ comfort - a short series of drabbles: itadori yuuji, gojo satoru, okkotsu yuta

❛ ━━･❪ ❁ ❫ ･━━ ❜

"what's up?" fushiguro asks.

it's been a while now, since you decided to sneak into his room and hide under his covers. at first, he thought you were just tired, and came to take a nap away from the noise of everything else.

as the minutes passed, it became evident this was not the case. he could hear you shuffling about; restless, and definitely not asleep.

"mmffh," comes your muffled reply.

fushiguro sighs, and you feel the bed dipping with his weight as he sits down next to you.

"fine. we don't have to talk." he pulls you, wrapped in his duvet like a huge burrito, into his arms and holds you. you wriggle in protest, but his embrace is firm.

soon, you give in and flop against his arms. you then poke your head out and look into fushiguro's deep blue eyes, as if contemplating something.

despite the nearly irresistible urge to kiss you, he waits.

"hi." you decide to say, giving him a small smile. he returns it softly.

"do you feel like talking? i could just hold you for a while if you don't." he offers.

you'd initially thought you were doing a pretty good job of hiding that something was off, but it appears the act wasn't enough to fool fushiguro. you don't know how he does it, but you're silently grateful for his observant nature.

"let's talk." you say. you close your eyes and take a deep breath. "everything happens very fast."

"what do you mean by that?"

"hmmm... exactly what i said, i think." you ponder for a moment. "you could be perfectly okay one day and then the next day, something happens and there are consequences and suddenly, nothing's the same anymore."

"that's just the way life is, bubs." fushiguro caresses your head gently.

"knowing that doesn't make it any easier, though." you counter. "there are just, you know, times where i feel like i'm stuck in a little glass box, watching everything and everyone around me.

and then some days, everyone is moving and everything is going and i'm still trapped in my little box, watching everyone's backs until they become little black dots." you take a shaky breath.

"i'm being left behind."

fushiguro's eyebrows furrow a little at this. nevertheless, he doesn't say anything and hugs you a little closer to him, prompting you to go on.

"i know i have no one to blame but myself, because i probably built that box myself. i... i don't know how to get out without hurting myself." you finish with an exhale.

fushiguro waits a beat before starting. "do you think you could tell me when you feel like that? we could have a little code, or a safe word." he kisses your forehead.

"i don't want you to go through that alone, i'm here if you need me. it's like, if i'm walking a little too fast you could always tug at my sleeve a little to let me know to slow down, you know?

and i will. i'll wait for you. we'll even figure out how to leave that box behind, okay? i'm here for you."

Home is Where the Heart is (That Heart Just Won't Stop Racing)

Pairing: OPLA Sanji x Reader

Rating/Content Warnings: pretty much none/the same as the first one. Has strong d/s themes but in a very soft, entirely sfw way. Mostly just fluff and emotional hurt/comfort.

Summary: unplanned sequel to Too Much (Take Me Home), reader works up the guts to ask for a repeat performance and Sanji takes on the responsibility of fixing a human piece of fine china. Starting with their aversion to compliments.

Disclaimer(s): none that I can really think of? Reader is called 'puppy' again numerous times but again, in a sfw context. Reader is very briefly referred to as a "lady" in reference to Sanji being a fucking simp, but other than that it is very gender neutral. But definitely keep that line in mind if it might trigger any nasty feelings for y'all, stay safe!!! <3

Since that night, things had been rather normal between you two. Eerily normal.

He's sure it's some mix of the genuine bond the two of you have keeping your interactions mostly the same and your awkward embarrassment- which he's happy to say he's getting to see more often nowadays, especially any time the events of that night are alluded to.

The fidgeting hands, the faint blush, the avoiding eye contact and trying to look serious with a "yeah, whatever" completely devoid of any of the intimidation it attempts.

He doesn't mind, though. The return to normalcy gives him time to plan his next move. He knows that this is delicate, something he will have to take strategically. And, okay, yeah. He's been thinking about it. Of course he doesn't actually stop thinking about it, how could he!? Instead, the break gives him time to come up with new ideas, prepare for the next time you eventually ask him for that type of help.

He waits patiently for the next time you seek him out, knowing there would be one at some point.

Even so, the anticipation kills him. He wants desperately to hear what you want from him in your own words. He knows it's something to do with his approval. The more he thinks about it, the more it seems like it's about approval in general. Though a selfish part of him wants to think that his specifically has some particular sway.

It was obvious the first time how hard it was for you to accept his affectionate words and approval even when you wanted to, and he knew that was something it would take a while to work out of you. The righteous self-reliance, the lingering feeling you didn't deserve soft things. Thoughts so deeply embedded for so long would take work to undo.

So when you come to him shyly one night, wordlessly offering up his ring in the palm of your hand as you refuse to meet his eyes, he knows what he wants to try.

He feels that familiar fluttering in his chest when you offer the ring back in silence. He can tell by your expression that there's so much going through your head, and that it has something to do with what happened that night when you asked him to take the responsibility for making you feel small.

"You wanna tell me something, puppy?"

His voice is soft and expression patient, like he's already working to create that warm, safe atmosphere that made you so pliant before.

The subtle use of the pet name tells you he knows exactly what you want, that he remembers that night as vividly at you do. But the gentle, hopeful uncertainty in his voice tells you he needs your words to know this is okay.

Your words are barely a whisper as an embarrassed blush burns up your face.

"I...want to- to be able to-" Your words are barely a whisper as an embarrassed blush burns up your face. "...let me submit to you again. Please."

His heart melts at your words, the way they shift and stutter. You always seem to change your wording when asking for things - "let me" and "can I" instead of "I want" (or god forbid need) - like it's shameful for you to want anything at all.

"Of course, love."

He answers softly, putting down his drink and closing the book that had been resting open in his hand, setting it down on the end table next to the couch. He keeps his legs open enough to give you a space to sit between them in his lap, gesturing his head towards himself in calling.

"C'mere."

You blush and look down, still avoiding his eyes as you nod and slowly pad towards him, nervous, embarrassed energy radiating from you as you drop to your knees at his feet like the last time.

Though the sight is just as gorgeous as it was then, he shakes his head softly with a click of his tongue, having something else in mind. He holds one of his hands out for you to take, the other cupping your cheek and caressing the skin comfortingly with his thumb.

"Not this time, puppy."

He chides lightly, voice soft and without even a hint of chastising for your assumption, pure care and warmth and fondness in his smile as he pats his lap gently.

"Up here."

Your flush darkens at the idea of being that close but you do it anyway - of course you do, perfect, obedient little thing that you are - climbing onto the couch until you're situated in between his legs, studying his tie with an intensity that gives away your shy desire to look anywhere other than his face right now.

He smiles sweetly, his hands resting on your thighs when you sit in his lap. His gaze is soft and sweet, as if looking down on a child. His voice is warm, talking to you like something precious.

"No need to be nervous, love. But I'm gonna have to ask you to look at me this time, okay?"

His gaze stays soft, as if he isn't expecting an answer from you, his hands moving to your cheek as he tilts your head up.

You go willingly, letting him tilt your head up to face him with two fingers under your jaw, his thumb gently pressed to your chin so he can angle your face as he pleases. Your face is pink and you're obviously still having trouble with eye contact, especially in a position as vulnerable as this, but he can see that you're trying.

And that's all he'd ever ask of you anyway.

Now that you're looking at him, all up close and personal like he'd planned, he can start his real plan for the evening- to start rewiring those frustratingly selfless parts of your brain, get you accustomed to praise and love and care and reassurance and the fact that you deserve all of it until he starves that horribly anxious, self-hating part of you out.

"Look at me, puppy."

He can't help but chuckle fondly when you instinctively turn to look away, turning you back to face him. He does it so gently, not scolding you for it whenever you look away, instead turning you back patiently each and every time. You almost want him to get mad at you, but his expression is the same every time he turns you to face him- never-ending patience.

"That's it, good. Just like that."

His fingers stroke against your cheek again soothingly, his gaze holding yours in place.

The lack of any anger or annoyance or exasperation makes your chest feel all fluttery while at the same time burning your face with guilt- this is all too good for you, Sanji is entirely too good for you.

He can practically see the thought process on your face, not that it surprises him. After all, that's what he'd set out to start fixing tonight, planning to slowly work away that reflex each time you give him the gift of letting him put you under like this.

"Listen to me, alright love?" He smiles once more and moves his free hand to your knee to give it a gentle squeeze. "I'll be saying a lot of words, and all I need you to do is listen and keep your eyes on me. D'you think you can do that for me?"

He speaks slowly, softly, so that you can still keep up even if you space out once or twice. His gentle tone is reassuring, as if everything's okay and would continue to be as long as you keep looking into his eyes.

You sigh breathlessly at the pet names and the gentle tone of voice and the way he touches you like you're made of porcelain, fragile and precious and expensive. You swallow before feeling yourself nod, managing to mumble out a quiet, shy-

"...okay."

He grins at your agreement, all warm and fond and proud of himself - proud of you, maybe, you can't tell. It almost makes you nauseous.

"Good. This is gonna be a long talk, alright? I'm gonna tell you a lot of things, and I expect you to remember them. You need to listen, love. Is that understood?"

You nod your head wordlessly in obedience, the slight firmness to his gentle tone and the commands that come with it making it so easy to melt into this. The instruction that he expects you to remember, that you need to listen making your mind go hazy with the bliss of simplicity- no choice, no confusion, no control, simply following instructions for someone you know will always take care of you.

He pats your cheek lightly, his voice soothing and sweet as he begins talking.

"You do everything you can for other people. You do everything you can for me. And it's not that that's bad or even that you don't want to. But you let other people get away with so much more than you'd ever let yourself. You make excuses for us, but for yourself you're harsh and you're critical and you're never satisfied. It's not fair."

When he starts talking, the first few things he says make your brow crease in confusion. He watches a brief flicker of panic spark in your eyes when you realize what he's doing, that he wants you to sit and look at him and listen as he praises you and reassures you and says things far too nice to possibly be true. You feel raw and exposed under the intensity of his words and yet...you stay. You trust him enough, want to be good for him enough that you breathe through the panic, trying to relax into the words that threaten to make you flinch.

His breath hitches in his chest seeing the anxiety in your eyes. Your trust for him is overwhelming, and he feels his heart swell with gratitude.

"So perfect... I'm proud of you for trusting me, sweetheart. I have a lot more I want to tell you, alright? Can you look at me again, so I know you're still listening to me?"

You sniffle lightly and nod, looking back up at him though you feel positively flayed alive by the words "I'm proud of you". When you look back up at him your eyes are glassy, a mix of the glazed-over look of subspace and unshed tears.

He thinks he's never seen anything so precious.

Eventually, he promises himself, whether it takes days or weeks or months of sessions like this, he's going to get you to a point where simple praise like this doesn't leave you trembling and teary-eyed.

But for now, he lets himself enjoy just how stunning you look like this.

He can feel you trembling underneath him, but he doesn't bother to move his hands from your thighs to hold you steady. He figures it isn't needed if he keeps talking slow and steady. His thumb gently brushes away one of your tears, and he pouts at how quickly you're overwhelmed by praise with fond sympathy.

"Oh, precious. You're doing so well for me, love. You're being so patient, and you're doing exactly what I asked you to do. You're so good, sweetheart."

The gentle feeling of his touch - how lovingly he caresses you, the rhythm steady and slow as he brushes his thumb across your cheek - you drag in a breath as well as you can, the air feeling like it rasps through your throat and gets stuck in your lungs. You part your lips as if to say something but the words won't come, only a tiny wounded noise, barely audible even in the unbearable quiet.

Despite yourself you shiver- "doing so well, precious, exactly what I asked, patient, sweetheart, good", the words nothing but sugar when he speaks. For a moment, despite his instructions, you close your eyes. You have to - it's too much, not enough, you can't tell anymore - but to his heart-rending pride, you open them again after a shaky, steadying breath.

He smiles at you, his heart aching at how precious you are in this moment.

"Good job, love. You can do this...you're doing so well. I know it's hard, but there's so much more I want you to hear."

He pauses, and for a moment you think fearfully that he's going to say he loves you. Not that that would be a bad thing.

...shit, you didn't really just think that, did you? That- that it wouldn't be bad? If he-?

In any case, it wouldn't be good for your pride. You know yourself, at least. That's one thing you could say, you were self-aware. And if Sanji ever said anything like that to you, you know you'd cry. Thankfully, that's not what he says. What he says instead is sweet, just not in the way you thought it would be.

"Can you be good and keep your eyes on me, sweetheart? If it's too much, or if you need a break, all you have to is tell me, alright?"

You sniffle quietly and do your best to blink back the tears, nodding your head in a slow affirmation of both of his questions. If you need a break, tell him. Keep your eyes up. You want so desperately - and isn't that another problem in itself, that you want - to tell him that you're trying, you're trying so hard, you want to be good.

You've never been very good with eye-contact, even without the added discomfort of being seen like this, being praised like something special, something entirely too soft and gentle and sweet for a warrior.

His free hand caresses your face, moving back the strands of hair that hang over your eyes. He can see how hard this is for you, in the way you hold your breath in between swallows, the shake of your voice, your trembling hands clasped in your lap. The way you look up at him.

But you're trying. Really, you are. And you don't need to say it - though you try to do that too before discovering that talking is too much right now - he knows. Of course he knows. Sweet, obedient, desperate-to-be-good-puppy, who's never done anything else but try your best for him.

"Puppy...I know you're trying. I know how hard it is for you. But I also know you like it, at least a little bit. Or maybe a lot. Maybe that's why you're still sitting here?"

Your face floods with pink at the words and it's hard to follow his instructions, it's so hard, your immediate reflex to that kind of embarrassment is to look away, pretend you don't notice how his eyes catch on your blush and his lips pull into a smirk.

But you don't.

Somehow, somehow, you keep your eyes trained to his.

That is why you're still here, of course. You do like it - a lot, in fact - though sometimes you desperately wish you didn't. Just like the (ignored) desire to look away, this too is a reflex- the way you bend towards praise and reassurance like flame to a pan or water to the ground.

His smirk falters and his expression softens.

"Oh love, that was so good. Keeping your eyes on me like that when I know it's hard for you...for a moment there I was afraid you'd let me do something you didn't want. I know how good the praise feels to you. Even if you want to pretend you're a warrior who's never wanted something so lovely."

He teases playfully, voice sweet and loving.

It's far too close to the truth when he speaks - you had tried for so long to convince yourself that you didn't want anything this lovely, but then all of a sudden it was here and your heart ached and for the first time you noticed it, because this time Sanji was here.

Here and real and solid and warm and right in front of you.

Sanji who wanted nothing more than to take care of his crew. Sanji who worked and labored tirelessly to keep your little family together. Sanji who had never treated you as anything less than a miracle. Sanji who took care of you.

It was the first time you ever even considered you could have something like this, the hope that you'd tried to smother increasing tenfold when Sanji joined them because it turns out it's so much easier to want something when you can see it right in front of you.

His fingers stroke your jaw gently, voice filled with affection.

"There's so much to want in life, love. Just because you've never wanted them before doesn't mean you can't start. Just because you didn't know what to do with it when you first had it doesn't mean you can never learn what it means to have something."

He tilts your face upwards gently, brushing his fingers against your cheek lovingly. And then, quietly-

"...you have all of us. You have me. And you have the right to want me. And you do, don't you?"

"Please."

Is all you can answer, immediate and breathless and mumbled as your bottom lip trembles. It's hard to explain how you're feeling- it isn't bad, isn't anything you don't enjoy, it's just so much. It's so much to be allowed to want, allowed to be good, to be touched like something gentle rather than a weapon. It makes every muscle in your body seem to shift and relax, everything going loose and pliable even as light shivers wrack through you.

"Good, love. Just be like this for me as long as you want. You're doing so well."

He pats your thigh affectionately, his gaze staying soft as his other hand comes to caress the back of your neck. You can feel his gaze on you, his smile.

For a moment he lets the words sit, giving you time in the silence to absorb them.

"...I think I've managed to say all that I need to say for now. Unless you think there's something else we need to talk about."

When you don't say anything he smiles softly, shaking his head.

"Okay. That was a lot for you for one day, yeah? You can close your eyes now, love, if it helps."

You let go of a sigh of relief you didn't even know was in you when he gives you permission to close your eyes, immediately shutting them as you try to calm down, focus on just his words and his touch.

He has no reservations about playing it safe from here- he knows he's pushed you pretty hard already. So he sticks with basic praises, the ones he knows don't mess with your head so much. The 'such a good puppy' and 'precious little thing, you're so perfect like this' that work to turn your brain off and let you shut down, washing over you in gentle waves as opposed to the overwhelming words he'd been using before.

Your breathing was quick and shallow, and he could feel your heart racing. That doesn't stop his fingers from stroking your face softly, caressing you lovingly.

It hits you that for the first time in a long time, you feel safe. You feel completely safe, don't you? You'd forgotten what that felt like.

Maybe it had been too long.

His hand moves from your head down to the back of your neck, giving it a soft massage.

"We can talk about some more important things tomorrow, yeah? But for now...just let me take care of you."

You nod with a hum when he practically pleads to be allowed to take care of you, letting your eyes stay closed as one of his hands massages your shoulder lightly, the other scratching at the sweet spot behind your ear that he found last time. You'll be good for him, so good for him, sitting there without breaking eye contact while he praises you. He intends to completely spoil you with affection and touch in reward.

Like exposure therapy. Getting you used to hearing things like that through positive reinforcement and slow, gradual steps.

"Can I ask you a question, love? You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

You nods slowly, head already staring to feel heavy. It's quicker slipping into subspace this time, he assumes from immediately coming off of such an overwhelming amount of praise and all of a sudden you're just falling, nothing to tether you to solid ground.

And you're...okay with it.

Just like last time, the easy submissive haze you fall into makes his heart melt.

You're happy after all that just to sink into him, to melt in his lap and let your thoughts go, let someone else take care of you for a change.

"Why do you insist on taking care of everyone? You're the one who takes the worst jobs on the crew, and I know most of it is just so you can spend time with us, but why do you always do it?"

He can feel your body sink into his as your weight leans against him, snuggling into his chest. He keeps his voice gentle and slow to not startle you, his fingers moving to your hair and running through it as if to encourage you to answer.

And, really, who are you to deny him anything?

Even if you know - and you know, of course you do - that the one, honest answer you have won't be the one he wants.

"Wanna be useful. So you'll be proud."

You admit quietly, voice soft and mumbled as your words slur together, sweet and right and perfect despite the way his heart drops to his stomach at the answer.

"...and- 'nd so you guys keep me around."

He draws in a shaky, gasped breath, though he tries for your sake not to make it too obvious.

He knew, he thinks. Even from the beginning. He knew that's what you would say. Even though he hoped - and god, did he hope, a hope beyond hope like nothing he'd ever felt before - that he would be wrong. His voice trembles when he finally convinces himself to speak, trying not to be sick.

"So we keep you around?"

He pauses, his hands slowing to a stop in your hair as he waits for you to respond. He needs to hear it. No matter what you say, no matter how much it kills him, he needs to hear you say it.

"You're just-"

You swallow and look away as your cheeks color in an even deeper pink, not sure why you're getting so choked up about this.

Actually, that's a lie. You know exactly why- because when you keep feelings like this one buried, it's easier to pretend they're not there. But saying it...saying it makes it real.

"...you're all so affectionate. And- and love-y. I just-"

You force yourself to draw in another breath, wishing it weren't so hard to do so. Why is oxygen suddenly so difficult? Why is hot embarrassment burning so shamefully up your face? Why is it hard for you to speak when all he's asking is why you work so hard for your crew?

"I n-need to earn it."

Your words make him wince, his expression darkening when you continue to turn away from him. That was too real, too raw, for him to ignore. He reaches a hand out to cup the side of your face, turning it gently to face him, voice firm and stern when he speaks.

"No, love, you don't. You don't need to "earn" anything. Attention and love are things you are owed. Especially by us. By your family."

Your eyes widen at his words when his voice goes stern. He raises a brow at you in warning.

"...unless, of course, you think you know better and intend to stop me from giving you the treatment you deserve?"

"I-"

The sudden authority in his tone makes you blush and fumble over your words, cutting off what was sure to be a protest about needing to earn affection.

Good, he thinks, because no one is allowed to talk that way about the things that belong to him, not even themselves. It's endearing how the firmer tone makes you stumble over yourself, like it takes hold of some part of your mind and squeezes, your voice a sheepish mumble when you fall in line immediately, response barely a whisper.

"...no sir. Sorry."

"Then I'll say it again: this treatment is not something you "earned." It's what you deserve. It's mine to give, and it's yours to accept. Understood?"

His voice remains stern, a look of warning in his eyes. He isn't sure what words exactly would trigger you like that, wrap themselves around your subconscious and tighten, but he hates to see you talk to yourself like that. You're family and family looks out for each other, and that means he had to look out for you.

"U-understood."

You can't help but shiver and melt into the firmness of his voice, and he makes another note of that, adding to the growing catalogue of you in his head. You like when he's gentle, but you fall in line quite quickly when presented with any semblance of authority, crumbling into obedience with your voice little more than a whisper.

He smiles, his voice taking on a softer tone.

"Good. Don't ever talk badly about what's mine again, yeah? You deserve all the love in the world, and if you try to deny it again I'm going to have to use force to get you to admit how wrong you are. And you know I don't like getting forceful with ladies."

He chuckles, gently stroking your hair.

"Can you open your eyes for me? I want to look at you again, you precious little thing."

You open your eyes obediently when he asks, blinking open glassy eyes with big, blown pupils. All of the things he said seem to swirl around in your head for a moment as you try to process all the wildly varying information- the words "precious little thing" going straight to your cheeks in the form of a blush, "good" and "you deserve all the love in the world" collecting warm in your chest with the rest of his praise, "I'm going to have to use force" feeding into some morbidly curious, possibly masochistic corner of your brain.

The last thing that manages to penetrate your subconscious is, ironically, one of the first things he said: "don't ever talk badly about what's mine".

Mine.

That word rattles around in your skull for a moment and makes you shudder pleasantly, lips parting around a request before you can think.

"Say it again. Please."

"...'Mine'? Sure. Mine."

His voice is soft but his eyes are sharp with intrigue, looking for something that he can't place in your gaze as he acquiesces.

"Why, does it feel good to hear someone say it? Are you wondering if I really mean it, or did you just want to hear it again?

Your blush spreads all the way to your ears at his questions, how immediately he pinpoints exactly what you're feeling ("why, does it feel good to hear someone say it?"). Yes. Of course, yes. To be someone's, belong to someone, the idea floods you with a near unbearable warmth. His.

"...I think I like when you're possesive."

You admit in a shy mumble, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, face hot with blush as you fidget with his shirt buttons sheepishly. Your voice is barely audible, only more evidence to how embarrassed you are by the revelation, but he's pretty sure he's never heard something more adorable.

"Feels...warm."

You watch the smile bloom across his face, slow and warm and blindingly bright and how did he have the right to smile like that? To look like that at all?

"...I think I like it when you ask for things, brave little thing."

The smile on his face is as soft as it can get, his voice gentle and loving. He strokes your hair softly, his tone light and playful as he speaks.

"You like being mine? Being something belonging to me rather than something that belongs to the world?"

You nod against his warmth, the softness of his words hitting you directly in the chest. Something belonging to him rather than the world. Christ, isn't that an idea?

"Will you- will you keep s-saying things like that? Please?"

When you ask, your face is hidden in his shoulder and your voice is muffled. For now, he decides to allow it, knowing how hard it is for you to ask for anything at all, always the type to assume you don't deserve whatever it is without even bringing embarrassment into play.

And oh, does embarrassment come into play.

Even with your face hidden against him, the mortification is obvious in every aspect of your being. It seems to roll off of you in waves at the prospect of even admitting that you like those things, but here you are. Shame seeping from every pore and still, somehow, he brings these things out of you.

He's never been more proud at the fact that you asked him anything at all, even if you're hiding.

"Makes me feel...w-wanted. Belonging to someone."

His lips touch your cheek in the softest kiss, a reward for your bravery, and he can feel every skip and ache in his heart the longer he has you like this.

Power, uncoiled and twitching in his lap like it's harmless.

"Oh, love. Belonging? That's what this is about? Of course you belong. You belong to this crew, to your family. You belong to me. It's a shame you've not felt that more in your life."

His lips move to your ear, and he nuzzles the sensitive skin gently, words whisper-soft.

"You were brave for asking for those things, especially when you're not used to them. Allow me to make up for lost time, lovely. Please."

By the end, his begging seems more for himself than it is for you. Like he'll fall apart if you don't let him cradle your broken pieces, coddle you like you should've been your whole life.

And he will. Of course he will. How could anyone see a thing like you and not - vulnerable and soft and wanting and the most stunningly enchanting thing he's ever seen, breathtaking in a way that has him wondering how in the world anyone could ever miss that you were something to be handled lightly, a delicacy to be protected with careful touches and soft words. He has a whole lifetime to make up for and, if you'll let him, he'll compensate for every single year

Every second, if it's what you want. It's what you deserve, that he's sure of. But he knows that as much as he wants to smother you completely with the weight of his affections, it's something you need to accept. Something you need to be willing to ask for.

Even if you don't think you deserve it, something you'll allow. You don't have to be used to it, it doesn't have to be easy. As long as it's allowed, that would be enough. He could work from there.

"...okay."

Okay.

A/N: Hey lovelies!!! Have some sustenance! Even though it's been a week into winter break I'm only just now getting over finals which is why I haven't been so active. BUT that being said, now that I'm over it and it's break expect WAY more frequent food!!!

so are we just gonna act like milo and morbius didn’t almost make out like 10 times

Sony doesn't realize that the gay romance main plot of venom was what made it successful. Morbius doesn't have that.

It's not enough to just be a villain of Spiderman's.

You must have the pure, sizzling, compelling homoeroticism of being in love with what makes you evil.

What makes you go feral.

Without it, no dice.

SO DAMN CUTE

character/s: jean kirstein x afab!reader

SYNOPSIS: jean shows you just how cute he thinks you are

WARNINGS: 18+/mdni, softdom!jean for the win (y'all i love him), oral (m receiving, talk of f receiving), fingering, dirty talk (mans doesn't stfu), heavy praise kink, female pronouns are used and reader is explicitly called a girl at some point, lemme know if i missed anything

A/N: this started out super fluff and then turned out really smut. :)

"You're gonna laugh at me," you hide your face from him, avoiding the incredulous look on his own. The only other person you had told this too was Sasha, and she was the idiot that convinced you to talk to Jean about it, for whatever goddamn reason. Sure, he was your friend, but he was also a guy, and that made this whole topic so much more embarrassing for some reason.

"When have I ever laughed at your problems?" You give him a look and he opens his mouth, "Ok, let me rephrase that. When have I ever laughed at your serious problems? Wait let me rephrase that-"

"This is why I didn't wanna talk to you about this! See, I told Sasha-"

"You told Sasha and not me? Wow, ok, I see where I rank in terms of friends. Second only to Sasha."

"No, it goes Sasha, Connie-"

"You put Connie before me? I want you out of my house."

"-Eren-"

"Jaeger?! Get fucked."

"That's actually the issue, I can't."

Jean went wide eyed and silent for just a moment. "Wow, what a transition." You shove him back as he chuckles at the embarrassed look on your face.

"Stop, Jean!" But he doesn't. He keeps poking fun at you because it's cute how flustered it makes you to talk about anything even mildly inappropriate. He likes the whiny little voice you have when you tell him to 'stop talking like that.' "You know, I came to you in confidence to share something that makes me really self conscious and you just wanna be a bitch."

"Ok, fine," he smirks, "I'm sorry. What did you wanna share with me?"

You avoid his eyes again and try to work up the courage to share with him what's really bothering you. "You know how I went out with that guy the other week and told you guys I just wasn't feeling it so I stopped talking to him?"

Jean shook his head and barely managed not to roll his eyes. He remembered how glad he was when you stopped talking to that dude. It was some guy from one of the classes you had together and he was honestly shocked you'd even gone for someone like him. Jean didn't wanna admit it, but he was a little peeved that you'd blown off the weekly movie night you, Connie, Sasha, and he always had just to go out with some jock who could barely pass an intro class. And he didn't know why, but it really bugged him when Sasha kept making comments about how jealous she was that you were out getting dicked down and she was stuck with 'you two (derogatory).' He'd chalked it up to just being upset that you blew off your friends for some dude and didn't think much else of it.

"Ok, well, I lied."

"What? You're still talking to that fucking idiot?"

"No!" Your answer made Jean sigh in exasperated relief. "He stopped talking to me."

"Oh..." Jean didn't know exactly what to say to that. Or why you felt the need to tell him the details of what happened. You didn't owe him an explanation or anything. In fact, it really wasn't any of his business. But, hell, if you were offering up the information. "Did he say why?"

"Yeah, um," you pulled your legs up to your chest, "well, we were kissing and stuff and then he kinda put his hand down my pants-"

"Oh my fucking god, I really don't need to know this."

"Jean, you said you would listen!"

"Yeah, I thought it was gonna be something like you were failing calculus. I didn't expect you to explain to me the details of one of my best friend's getting finger fucked in the back of some douchebag's Prius!"

"Bold of you to assume I would ever let a man in a Prius put his finger near my lady parts."

"You did not just say lady parts."

"Jean, be serious!"

"How am I supposed to be serious while talking about your pussy?"

"Ew! Jean!" You hit him square in the chest. You loved Jean, but he was anything but serious when you needed him to be. He stayed quiet, waiting for you to continue. "I didn't expect it to go that far and well I didn't exactly plan my outfit accordingly."

"Plan your outfit accordingly? Meaning?" He just looked at you until it was like a little lightbulb going off in his head and suddenly he was nonstop laughing. "Tell me you wore granny panties!"

You glared at him with the ferocity of a kitten. "I didn't know he was gonna do that! And he laughed when he saw-"

"Wait, he laughed?" Jean stopped. You pointed out that he himself was just laughing at the matter, but he silenced you. "No, I'm allowed to laugh at you because I'm your best friend."

"Sasha is my best friend."

"You can lie to yourself all you want, but there's a single person in this world who knows about that one time you used Connie's toothbrush instead of your own because you didn't want to turn the light on in the bathroom, and it sure as shit isn't Sasha."

"I regret telling you that."

"I digress." Jean narrows his eyes at the idea of some guy laughing at you when he should be counting his blessings for even being in the same room as you. "So, what? He ghosted you because you wore normal looking underwear?"

"No, no, that's not why he stopped talking to me." You took a deep breath, trying not to stress at the idea of talking about it openly. "We stopped after that. And then the rest of the night was just kind of awkward. I thought maybe I was just over thinking things, but when I mentioned a second date he brushed it off. Just said that I wasn't the type of girl he was into and that he didn't wanna get my hopes up."

Jean's face turned sour at the utter stupidity of that statement. You? Not someone's type? Hot? Funny? Single? How was that not someone's type?

"It's not the first time someone's told me that. Apparently, I'm cute. But I'm not very sexy, so..."

"What the fuck did he think wasn't sexy about you? Seriously, I'd like to know so I can make sense of the bullshit he's spewing."

You shrugged. "Like the way I dress and talk. And I don't know, like how I kiss or something."

"How you kiss? Who gets turned off by a cute girl kissing them?"

"I don't know. That's what he said."

"Show me."

You wonder if you heard him correctly. But when you look at him, his face is deadly serious. "Show you?"

"Show me how you kissed him?"

"I'm not gonna kiss you to show you what he meant by that, Jean!"

"Oh, don't be such a baby." He teased. It was to get a rise out of you, to bait you into it, and it was working. "What are you? Scared I'm gonna think you're just too cute."

"You're a jerk."

He leans closer and smirks at you, a stupid little grin you've seen one too many times when he gets overly-flirty. "Then I'm exactly your type." You narrow your eyes at him. "Oh, c'mon. I just wanna know what he meant by your kissing being cute. What's the worst that could happen? It'll be our little secret. Yet another one to add to the list, right under you using Connie's toothbrush-"

It's to get him to shut up. Or at least that's what you tell yourself. Your hands grip his face and drag him closer, pulling his lips down to meet yours. You start off soft and slow, pulling at his bottom lip and running your thumb against his jaw line. A little whine comes from the back of your throat and Jean gets it. It's a sweet kiss. One that draws him in over and over, forcing him to chase your lips every time they slightly break from yours. Jean can feel his head getting fuzzy, like his brain had stopped working at the feel of your sweet little mouth. It's a feeling that flows all the way down into the pit of his stomach, where he it feels like fucking butterflies are reigning hell on his insides, and god he hasn't felt this way since the first time he ever kissed a girl way back in high school, back when he was afraid he was doing it all wrong and his hands would grow sweaty and he'd have to think about the grossest shit just to stop himself from getting a hard- oh, fuck.

You're pulling away all too soon, it's almost pathetic the way that Jean's lips chase after yours, his nose bumping against yours as he leans his forehead against your own.

"Well?" You ask breathlessly and a little worried.

Jean's eyes are half-lidded, his breathing a little ragged, and his eyes dart from your eyes to your lips and back again. Like he's contemplating. "Did-did you not use tongue?"

"No, I mean I did but like just a little,"

"Show me." And his mouth is hot against yours again, his body pushing against you until your back is against his bed. And your tongue drags against his bottom lip and he's so eager to let you in and let you have all of him. No, Jean gets it alright. It's the little sounds you make when his hand moves up your thigh and his mouth trails a path down your neck and towards your chest, and fuck, you're just so cute. He gets it. What he doesn't get is how someone doesn't find it so fucking hot when you squirm and mewl and whimper his name like it's some kind of saving grace. It takes everything in him to exercise the smallest bit of constraint, but he does so as his fingers brush against the line of your underwear. "Gonna sound this cute with my fingers in your pussy?"

You moan at the feel of his breath against your ear and shake your head incessantly.

"Yeah? Such a good girl." His fingers push pass the cotton material where they immediately seek out and circle your clit. He was right, you sound cute as shit, bet you looked like it too. It's that thought that makes his other hand seek out the back of your head, pulling at your hair to make you stare back at him. His thumb keeps a steady pace on your clit as he pushes two fingers deep in your cunt. "Look at me while I make you feel good. Wanna see that cute little face when I make you cum."

He can feel your pussy clench every time he says something you like. "I'll make you cum all over my tongue later. Right now, wanna see your face." Like now, that and the slight hitch in your voice tells him he's doing everything right. That you like his fingers being stuffed inside you while his thumb gives your clit all the attention it deserves. "Like that? Don't worry baby, I'll let you ride my face later until your legs are shaking and I can't fucking breath."

Your legs fall further apart, giving him more room to maneuver. He has to keep himself from grinding against your leg to relieve some of the built up pressure in his cock. He felt like a dog in fucking heat.

"Need you to cum for me, pretty girl, let me see those eyes." You struggle to keep your eyes open and on his as the pressure builds in your lower stomach. "There you go, baby. Make me proud, cum all over my fingers. Give me something to taste."

You grip his arms just to have something to hold onto and desperately try to keep your eyes open as your breathing becomes unstable and your orgasm peaks but Jean doesn't let up. He talks your through it, his words sweeter than his fingers that try and pull another orgasm from you right after the other. "Good fucking girl, did so good for me." Tears start to build as you push his hands away and whimper too much. Only when the tears fall from your eyes does Jean stop, cooing at you. "So proud of you." He brings his fingers up to his mouth and slurps. "Cute little pussy tastes like a dream."

He can't help but kiss you again. This time it's rushed and frantic, like he can't get enough. You push up against him, trying to turn his body so you can climb on top of him, until finally he gets the hint and lets you. "Wanna make you feel good too." You start to pull his sweatpants down and lower your head.

Jean's eyes go wide. He doesn't want to push his luck but you'd both gone this far. And what kind of idiot would he be to say no to you? Yeah, ok, so maybe Jean was starting to realize why he'd been so upset about going out with some other guy. And maybe it wasn't just because you'd blown off your friends, but because you'd technically blown off him. Maybe if you'd done this a long time ago you wouldn't have to worry about that asshat that thought you were too cute to be sexy, because Jean thought it was sexy as fuck how cute you were.

He's brought back to reality when he feels your hand wrap around his cock. His breath catches in his throat. You like the way his eyes squeeze shut and he looks like he's struggling to compose himself. "Can I put you in my mouth?"

"Fuck yes." He really tries not to grab your head and rail his cock into your mouth but it's so hard when your mouth is just so warm and your tongue feels so good against it. His hips move on their own accord, his movements rough but his words so soft. "Gonna make me cum just from that sweet little mouth of yours. Just like that, sweet girl. Love your fucking mouth, love that cute fucking mouth. Taking me so fucking well. Gonna let me cum in it, sweetheart?" You make a little noise that almost sounds like an 'mhmm' the best you can with your mouth wrapped around him. "Good girl, breath through your nose, relax your mouth, and let me just fucking use you. Swallow everything I give you, baby." And suddenly he's holding the sides of your face and chasing his high. You do exactly as he says.

His hand flies out next to him, gripping against the pillow as he struggles to gulp down air, like he's the one being choked on his cock and not you. His vision clears up, and he pulls your mouth back up toward his lips so he can kiss you again, missing the feeling already.

"Did perfect." You're glowing at his praise. Jean lets you burry your head in his chest as he recovers his breathing. "Now lay back and show me how cute you are all split out on my cock."

i would have booped you my brother, my captain, my king

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOML!1!1! 🥺😻😻

ଘ. warnings ⸝⸝ twitter p*rn links. consensual somnophilia. cunnilingus. car/public sex. cock warming. creampie. greedy ‘n needy getō >:| only cause it's his birfday. (17+).

birthday boy!getō.. he's selfish. so, so, so fucking selfish.

birthday boy!getō who wakes up bright and early with a cheesy smile and a hard-on in chastity; fat cock already throbbing with anticipation–already leaking with greed–and ready to make the pitiful excuse to fuck you as just an ‘early birthday gift’ for him; stuffing you full with the fat of his cock as you continue to try and sleep before prepping for his big day today.. link! + link!

birthday boy!getō who can't even keep his selfish and eager hands off of you while you try to cook his favorite breakfast for him.. his greedy hands snake around the soft curve of your hips, the tips of his fingers wisping across your fevered skin and nipping gentle kisses at the curvature of your neck, teasing you, reeling you into giving him the breakfast he actually wants this morning.. link! + link!

birthday boy!getō who whines to you selfishly for more of your special little gifts you promised him, even when you try taking him out for a cute little picnic birthday lunch, having to hear him whine and make the selfish excuses on how it's his birthday and deserves to fuck you on the way there and even at the picnic spot.. link! + link!

birthday boy!getō who makes you sit on his aching cock while he opens his gifts soon as you two arrive back home. he makes you warm up his cock with your pretty little pussy as he smiles and appreciates every gift you've given him; he's so thankful for you and everything you've done for him today, and he sits there with a giddy smile as you tease his sensitive cock till he finally pops a hot and heavy load deep into your soft cunt.. link! + link!

ᥫ᭡ ─ tags! ⸝⸝ @svgarslut , @gabzlovesu , @umiexe </3 , @earlesskitten , @misss-chrisss , @tojiswhoreeee , @ghoejo >.<