The Things I Wanna Do To Silvers Rayleigh Should Probably Be Considered Crimes Against The Elderly.

A Doctor's Cure

❤︎ trafalgar law x fem reader ❤︎

༉‧₊˚✧ (nsfw, afab!reader, 18+ only) ༉‧₊˚✧

cw: established relationship, doctor-patient dynamics, breast play, oral (f receiving), dom!law, sub!reader, law is a tease, lots of teasing, edging, begging, praise, reassurance, piv sex, exam-room-sex (hehe), use of “doctor”, "good girl", "sweetheart", "tell me what you want", etc.

summary: law and reader have a double-sided relationship: patient and doctor, & lovers. They aim to keep the two partnerships separate, but Law's work has him neglecting reader's needs, making her resort to rather drastic measures to get her partner/doctor's undivided attention. ;)

word count: ~4,000

tagging: @bby-deerling @risenwrites @strawheart-pirate @uchihabbynic @nina-ya @mandiemegatron@shamblespirate@eelnoise@maddddstuff @throwmethroughawindow @mariihzoka @basedbogwizard

A Doctor's Cure

You and Law shared an understanding. 

Work is professional; must always be kept that way, and private life is exactly that:

private.

The two must never intertwine. 

------

The office is cold, frigid, uninviting. 

The room exudes an aura of sterile austerity, its walls painted in a clinical shade of white that seemed to swallow any hint of warmth or comfort. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a harsh, unforgiving glow that accentuated the starkness of the room. The air is heavy with the scent of antiseptic, mingling with the faint tang of ink from the doctor's neatly stacked files.

Against one wall stands a row of cabinets, their metal surfaces gleaming dully in the artificial light. Each drawer is meticulously labeled, a testament to its owner’s penchant for order and precision. A single window, obscured by heavy blinds, offers a glimpse of the outside depths of the sea, but the view is obscured by the grime of neglect.

In the center of the room sits the doctor's desk, a polished slab of dark wood that seems out of place amidst the clinical surroundings. Behind it, a high-backed chair looms, its leather upholstery cracked and worn from years of use. On the desk itself lies an array of instruments - a stethoscope coiled neatly beside a stack of paperwork, a computer monitor flickering silently in the corner.

-----

The doctor is the same; silent, calculated, meticulous. 

He commands the room with a towering presence; his tall, lean frame exuding an aura of quiet strength. Despite his slim build, there’s an unmistakable muscularity to his physique, hinted at by the subtle contours visible beneath his crisp, white coat. 

Dark hair, swept beneath his speckled hat, frames a face weathered by years of dedication. His features are chiseled, a strong jawline, softened only by the hint of a tired smile that plays at the corners of his lips. It’s his eyes that hold the most intrigue – tired grey orbs, rimmed with heavy bags that speak volumes of sleepless nights.

Despite the weariness that etches lines upon his face, there’s an undeniable intensity to his gaze. 

-----

As you pad into the room, the frigid air tickles your spine, climbs up your back, sinks its claws in. It’s not just from the temperature, there’s a palpable aura of detachment that fills the room, too, leaving you uneasy. 

Law sits behind the desk, framed by sterile white walls, his expression inscrutable. His gaze, sharp and penetrating, eyes you up and down, seeming to dissect you even before words left your lips. 

You clear your throat, the nervous noise echohing in the stillness of the room as you take a seat on the exam table. 

You didn’t need to be here. You weren’t sick. Law had simply grown neglectful, consumed by his work. And so, driven by desperation for his attention, you resort to a lie.

"La-,” you begin, but swiftly correct yourself, “Doctor, I've been experiencing these persistent headaches..."

Maintaining a romantic relationship with your doctor requires a delicate balancing-act. In the privacy of your shared moments, away from the sterile confines of the doctor's office, your relationship is beautiful, intense, passionate. But here, you are nothing more than a patient, and for professional reasons, behind these doors, it must be kept that way.

His response is measured, delivered with the precision of a well-practiced routine.

"Describe the nature of your headaches," he says, voice devoid of any warmth.

Your interactions take on a dual nature; each appointment serving as both a professional consultation and an opportunity to revel in the comfort of each other's presence. However, away from this room, the professional barriers dissolve, replaced by an intimacy that transcends the confines of your roles.

“Well, they've been getting worse," you speak softly, glancing at the floor as you anxiously play with your fingers, "It's like a constant pressure behind my eyes, and sometimes it feels like my vision is blurry."

As you recount your symptoms, his eyes never waver from yours, his silence almost suffocating. Each word you utter seem to be met with a calculated pause, as if he were processing every detail, every nuance.

As Law listens to your fabricated symptoms, his brow furrows in concern, his demeanor shifting subtly as he leans forward, attentive to your every word. Despite the guilt gnawing at your conscience, you press on with your deceit,

“It just hurts so badly,” you rasp, “I’m desperate for something, anything, to help me.” 

You weren’t talking about your head. Your skull didn’t hurt. His neglect did. 

He reaches forwards, tattooed fingers rubbing reassuring circles into your kneecap. His touch lingers a moment longer than necessary, a silent reassurance that spoke volumes of the things you shared. Despite its cold, calculating exterior, his gaze offers a of something that transcends the confines of your doctor-patient relationship, understanding, love, devotion. 

The familiar warmth of his fingers seems to seep into your skin, dismissing the chill that had clung to your flesh the moment you entered the office. 

"I know, baby," he murmurs, his gaze dropping to the floor as he speaks. "I'm so sorry."

“Baby?” your throat feels dry, making the word catch in your mouth. “Doctor…” you regift his title, but instead of accepting it, he places a reassuring palm on your thigh. 

"I know I've been busy lately, I've overlooked you," he admits, his voice heavy with regret. "I'm so sorry."

"B-But, we had an agreement," you finally manage to whisper, your voice barely above a breath. “In here,” you glance around the room as you speak, “I’m just your patient.” 

His gaze softens, a flicker of understanding crossing his features. 

"I know," he says gently, his voice tinged with regret. "But sometimes lines blur,” he gulps, “And it's impossible to ignore what's truly important."

You swallow hard, the weight of his words sinking in. For so long, you had clung to the illusion of professionalism, hiding behind the guise of patient and doctor to shield yourself from this very moment of vulnerability.

But now, faced with his unwavering sincerity, you realize that the walls you had built around your heart were no match for the depth of your love for Trafalgar Law. 

“Law,” you say softly, abandoning his professional title, “Just kiss me.” 

And he listens, immediately closing the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss. 

It's a kiss filled with pent-up longing, a culmination of the emotions that have simmered beneath the surface for far too long.

His free hand rests gently on your face as his lips meld with yours, rubbing gentle circles into the apple of your cheek. 

You let out a shaky breath into his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue between your open lips. 

A wave of conflicting emotions washes over you. Relief mingles with lingering hurt, and the weight of his apology hangs heavy in the air. 

But as his tongue dances with yours, the clinical walls of the exam room dissolve into nothingness, and in that moment, you transcend the roles of patient and doctor. The world around you fades into insignificance as you lose yourself in the sensation of his lips against yours. You are no longer merely his patient; you are his lover once more, entwined in an embrace that knows no bounds.

He wastes no time in moving atop you, shrugging his labcoat off his toned, tattooed shoulders, letting the fabric fall to the tile. 

As he advances, you recline against the crisp, white paper that lines the examination table, yielding to his presence. He leans over you, his weight enveloping you, strong arms framing your head as he cages you in.

His inked hands travel up and down your needy body, making you shiver beneath his touch. 

“Law,” you whine weakly, taking his bottom lip between your teeth, tugging gently on the tender flesh, “Doctor,”

The doctor simply groans in response to your desperate plea, a deep blush rushing to his cheeks at your intimate use of his professional title. 

A smirk tugs at his lips,

“Tell me where it hurts,” the doctor rasps, “Tell me what you need, sweetheart.” 

To your surprise, he's fully engaged, playing along with a fervor that electrifies you to your core.

He slides a hand down, carefully spreading your thighs to allow his torso to slot between your legs. You allow you head to fall back, moaning softly at the sensation of his crotch meeting yours. 

His hips immediately get to work, skillfully grinding his throbbing erection against your aching cunt as his hands tangle themselves in your hair. 

Although you’ve only just begun, your face is already flushed and your chest is heaving. Desire pricks at your skin and leaves you trembling for more. 

“Doctor,” you whine.

Your needy state ignites something within your doctor, and he picks up the pace, making you whine and tilt your head upwards to nip at his ear. 

“Please, help me.”

“How do you want me to help you, love?” he teases, tilting back to allow his slender fingers to snake in between your crotches, slowing rubbing tight circles into your clothed clit. 

“F-Fuck,” you softly curse, twitching instinctively at the long-awaited sensation of his hands finally meeting the place you needed them most. 

But to your dismay, he stops, bringing the hand up again to hold your chin, tilting your face to look at him. 

“That doesn’t tell me anything, dear. I can’t cure you if you don’t tell me what’s got you so bothered.” 

You’re losing your composure now, head growing fuzzy frim his relentless teasing. 

“Mm, Lawww,” you whine weakly at the loss, instantly reaching down to grasp his wrist and bring it back to your aching sex, “Please-” 

“Please?” he questions, a smug look decorating his usually-stoic face, “Please what?” he begins kissing down your neck, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. “Oh, and I don’t believe we’re on a first name basis just quite yet, so that’s doctor to you.” 

He nips at your delicate skin as he continues to kiss down the column of your neck, “Let's try that again.”

“P-Please, doctor,” you correct yourself, “Fuck me.”

“Mmm,” the tall man hums, “That’s not a very professional request, but since you asked so nicely, I guess I’ll let it slide.” 

With one arm supporting his weight above you, he begins working on his belt with the other, his gaze fixed upon you with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. The predatory gleam in his eyes makes you feel small, vulnerable, yet oddly exhilarated by the primal desire that courses between you.

Before long, his belt hits the tile floor with a resounding clang, causing you to startle slightly as he looms over you.

He chuckles softly, amused by your vulnerability. 

“Why don’t you do us both a favor and strip?” he mumbles softly, voice tinted with lust, “It’ll allow me to properly cure you.” 

His dedication to this roleplay elicits a soft, playful giggle from you, yet beneath the surface of amusement, there lies a greater sensation; a tingling arousal that spreads through your limbs and makes your head spin.

“Of course, doctor,” you play along, promptly obeying his orders and peeling your clothes from your needy body. 

As you gradually raise your blouse over your head, Law's unwavering gaze remains fixed on you, stripping away any pretense or barrier. Even before your clothes are fully removed, his intense stare leaves you feeling utterly exposed, vulnerable, and entirely at his mercy.

As his eyes travel up and down your naked form, something new dances beneath his steel irises, admiration, completely enthralled by the sight before him. 

His lingering gaze sends a flush of warmth rushing to your cheeks, and you find yourself instinctively turning your head to the side, a shy smile playing at the corners of your lips as a bit of embarrassment washes over you.

He gently tilts your face back towards him, his touch tender yet confident, 

“Beautiful,” he says simply. 

He opts to help you unclasp your bra, making you lean forwards slightly so he can snake his arm around you. 

You let out a shaky breath against his chest, allowing him to strip you. 

The cool air hitting your breasts causes your nipples to harden instantly, earning a pleased groan from Law’s mouth. 

“I suppose I should join you,” he smirks, referring to your nakedness. 

And so he does, inked fingers curling around the hem of his undershirt as he leisurely peels it over his head. Your eyes widen at the sight of his exposed torso; while you've seen it before, of course, the unexpected setting amplifies its allure. Beneath these foreign fluorescent lights, in this room where you never imagined seeing him this way, the contours of his muscles glimmered like something new, forbidden, enticing. 

Once shirtless, he moves atop you again, lips swiftly attaching to the soft flesh of your chest. You let out a moan as his mouth slowly makes its way towards your breast.

You lean yoiur head back, letting a few gaspy moans escape your throat as his hot tongue swirls around your erect nipple. 

“L-La-” you whine, “Doctor-”

He groans against your breast before gently nipping at it, his tongue continuing its efforts as it lazily swirls around the needy bud. 

“Yeah?” he rasps, his other hand coming up to grasp onto your neglected breast, “Tell me, how does that feel? Does it feel good, sweetheart?” 

“M-Mhmm,” you mewl in agreement, reaching down to tug at his strands of dark hair, “B-But I need more-”

“Oh?” the doctor groans, tilting his head to glance up at you, dark grey irises seeming to dissect you as they bore into your face, “What more do you need?”

You pause for a moment, meeting his gaze with a hint of hesitation, torn between yielding to his request and remaining illusive. 

Noticing your hesitation, Law’s gaze darkens, and pinches your nipple between his slender fingers, gently tugging at it, determined to pry the answer from you. 

“If you can’t tell me what you need,” he smirks, “Then I can’t help you feel better.”

Sensing the threat in his tone, you let out a shaky sigh, abandoning all dignity as you open your mouth to speak,

“You,” you whine, reaching down to place a delicate palm on the growing bulge beneath his pants, “I need you inside me, doctor.” 

And with that, Law’s lips are on yours again, pressing his flesh against yours with a newfound passion, his tongue exploring your mouth as if it was oxygen and he was suffocating; his lifeline. 

“Mm-mm!” you whine, instinctively bucking your hips up to reward yourself the euphoric sensation of his crotch rubbing against yours. 

He wastes no time in pulling his pants down, tossing the garmet to the side as he works on peeling his boxers off, too. 

Your breath hitches in your throat as he steadies himself above you, one arm holding himself up, caging you in as he reaches his free hand down to grip his cock. 

The white paper crinkles beneath you as Law begins rubbing is weeping tip along your folds, earning a pleased sigh from your mouth. 

“Are you ready for me?” he leans down to whisper in your ear. 

You take a deep inhale, reaching upwards to grip onto his muscular, tattooed back, grounding yourself. 

“I’m ready, doctor.” 

He begins to push inside you, a low groan rumbling out of his chest as he stretches out your entrance with each forward movement. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he rasps, “Need to stretch you out.” 

You whine weakly as Law continues to push his cock inside you, his impressive length forcing your insides to open up, accepting him greedily. 

“M-mm, sh-shit,” you curse, throwing your head back as Law finally bottoms out, the tip of his cock granting your cervix with a gentle kiss as he’s now fully engulfed within you. 

He gives you time to adjust, peppering reassuring kisses onto your face until you give him the “Okay” to start moving. 

"I've got you," he reassures you, his voice a soothing balm against the pain between your legs. It's a stark contrast to the cold, professional tone he had maintained before, his words now infused with warmth and genuine concern.

Before long, your body relaxes beneath him, around him, and you glance upwards to meet his gaze with a gentle nod,

“Doctor, you can start,” you whine softly. 

And with your permission, Law begins, bringing his hips back to thrust into you slowly, carefully, testing the waters to see how much you can take. 

“Fuck,” you moan, the noise exciting the man above you, causing him to smirk as he glances down at your trembling form. 

“You’re doing so good, y/n,” he praises, groaning as he picks up the pace a bit, “You take me so good-” 

“O-Oh, d-doctor,” you whimper, stumbling over your words, glancing downwards to watch his cock disappear in and out of you over and over again. 

“Yeah?” he groans, “Like what you see, baby?” he grins wolfishly, bringing both hands down to grip your waist so he can pummel his length into your needy cunt. 

“Y-Yes-!” you whine sheepishly, your face flushed red and beading with sweat. 

His newfound roughness ignites something within you; singes your blood with a desperate, euphoric type thing. You rake your nails down the doctor’s back, whimpering and writhing beneath him as the pace of his thrusts never falters. 

His skilled cock is meeting all the right places; battering your sweet spot, making you see stars. But just as you’re approaching your orgasm, he pulls out, raising himself up and stepping off the exam table. 

Your breath catches in your lungs and you’re trembling, propping yourself up on your elbows to look at the man who so devilishly deprived you of reaching your peak. 

“L-La-” you begin to whine, but before you can finish, he’s on his knees in front of the exam table, slotting his head between your legs to grant your aching slit with hot, skillful licks. 

He groans into your cunt, sending vibrations through your body as his steel irises glare up at you from between your trembling thighs. 

You shake beneath him, letting out a trembling vibrato of a moan as you collapse back onto the crisp paper of the exam table, allowing your doctor’s gifted tongue to have its way with you. 

“Mm, fuck,” he groans in between licks, “You taste so fucking good.” 

“A-Ah!” you cry out, back arching off the table as your hand shoots down to tangle itself in Law’s thick scalp of dark hair. 

Law places a palm on your stomach, gently pressing your back down into the table, 

“Stay still, baby,” he rasps, “This will help, I promise.” 

With a few more stripes of his tongue, he latches onto your clit, forcing a loud moan to escape your lips. 

“O-Oh, doctor!” you cry out, eyes screwing shut from pleasure as he sucks greedily on your aching nub. 

“Mmm,” he moans, lazily shaking his head back and forth, his hot tongue dancing skillfully over your needy clit. 

You lace your fingers in his hair, desperately tugging on the strands, eager for release.

Before you can even comprehend it, he’s up again, towering over you as you shake and whimper on the exam table. 

He smirks at he gazes down at you, offering you no remorse, just a simple command, 

“Flip over for me.” 

Knowing better than to disobey your doctor, you do just as you’re told, turning over so your stomach is pressed against the table and your ass is in the air. 

You can’t see his face, but you know he’s smirking as he chuckles darkly, “Good girl,” he praises, completely enthralled by your unwavering obedience. 

In an instant, he’s behind you, palm resting on the small of your back as he lines his cock up with your entrance, teasing you by merely rubbing his tip along your folds. 

“Doctorrr-” you whimper, bucking your hips to earn more stimulation from his throbbing cock.

Although he wants to tease you more, you’re deserate, and he’s no better, so he relinquishes control, immediately grasping your hips and thrusting himself into you fully. 

The intrusion is sudden, but welcomed, making you throw your head back and cry out in both pleasure and a hint of pain. 

Sensing your discomfort, Law uses his fingertips to rub comforting circles into your flesh as he grips your hips, 

“Don’t you worry, I’ll take good care of you, sweetheart,” he reassures you, his hips meeting the flesh of your ass with lewd smacking sounds as he thrusts in and out of you. 

“Fuck-!” you moan loudly, your cunt greedily accepting his length with tight, hot squeezes as he moves in and out. 

He reaches forwards, inked fingers tangling themselves in your hair as he tugs on the strands, forcing your head back to give himself access to your neck. He leans forwards, forcing himself deeper inside you and making you let out a weak whine as he places passionate kisses along your newly-exposed neck. 

“Sh-Shit,” he curses in your ear as he groans, “That pussy’s so fucking good to me.”

Your face flushes at the lewness of his words, letting more moans escape your lips as his twitching cock greets your sweetspot with a euphoric nudge.

Your head starts to spin as Law’s thrusts begin to grow sloppy; he’s close and you’re not far behind. 

He’s gaining momentum but losing his rhythm as he thrusts in and out of you, desperately chasing his orgasm, groaning through gritted teeth. 

“Y/n,” the doctor groans, throwing his head back,  “S-So close," he stumbles on his words, thrusting more feverishly now, making you cry out beneath him. 

“Law-!” you whimper shakily, abandoning his professional title as euphoria washes over you, your white-hot orgasm clouding your vision as it courses through your veins. 

He finishes in time with you, unapologetically painting your insides white as he moans heartily, granting you with a few more weak thrusts before he leans forwards to collapse on your back. 

You're both panting, the echo of your shared climax still lingering in the air, sweat glistening on your skin as you simultaneously come down from your highs. 

As the clouds of pleasure that had circled your brain finally begin to dissipate, you’re met with reality again; Law planting gentle kisses to your face as he whispers sweet praises into your ear. 

But even as you lay here together, only one thing consumes your mind. 

"Law," you begin weakly, stealing a glance at the man behind you.

"Hm?" he responds, his tone curious and attentive. "What is it, love?"

"How did you know I was lying?" you ask, your voice tinged with laughter, still catching your breath. "About being sick?"

He chuckles gently, his lips grazing your nape with a soft kiss before he answers, his voice laced with both amusement and affection.

"I've spent enough time with you to know when something's off," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. "And besides," he adds, his tone playful, "I could never resist the opportunity to give you a little extra treatment.”

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.

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."

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’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!

JJK characters reacting to you squirting for the first time

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ Warnings. AFAB reader, praise, filming mentions, belly bulge in yuji's bc he's hUge, squirting duh, strap on, daddy kink, mommy kink, size kink, fingering, cum eating, overstim, edging, pussy slap and one spank bc geto is a menace, dirty talk, creampie, slight breeding kink in megumi's I think, DNI criteria

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ Characters. Gojo, Yuji, Toji, Nobara, Maki, Megumi, Geto, Sukuna.

♡ Requested. Anon: Headcannon on how the JJK boys would react to you squirting for the first time? 🤭💞 + @festive : Maki and nobara

#Tags. @yuujispinkhair @multistan-247 @zeninade

Reblogs and interactions are appreciated!!

Satoru Gojo

Smug bastard

He's been fucking into you for so long now that you lost track of time. Wet squelches of his cock pushing inside your tight cunt while you squirmed under his huge form, taking his pounding with stifled moans. That is, till you felt the proverbial coil in your lower belly tighten impossibly,"Fuck- baby, baby- if ya' keep squeezin' me s'tight-" Furrowed white brows shoot up when a clear liquid drenches his cock and a portion of his lower abdomen.

"Didn't know you are a squirter, baby." He purrs, blue eyes entrapped on your spasming cunt as you creamed on his cock. Beads of sweat dewed on top of his brow from the intensity of his own orgasm while he fucked you through yours. His huge 6'7 state toppled over yours as he reached for his phone on the nightstand,"Think ya' can do it again f'me?" With his thumb drawing lazily on your wet clit, he turns on his phone camera.

Definitely gonna tease you later abt it😭

"You're an idiot 'toru!"

"Well this idiot can make ya' squirt."

He don't care if you both are in public, he's got NO SHAME.

Yuji Itadori

He's shocked initially but it soon fades into a gleeful grin.

"Y/n, 'm close," Yuji's voice is a strained whisper grunted out aa his palm pressed flush on the outline of his cock under your skin,"Yuji," Your mind only managed to form his name before your eyes rolled into your head and back arched,"This cock is all yours, baby." He felt every thrust under his fingers,"Go on and cream on my cock, please." His whimper along with the spurts of his orgasm right against your sweet spot made your vision go blank as your walls squeezed him tight.

Even through your post orgasmic haze, you could hear his proud mutter,"I did that," You hum in acknowledgement, embarrassment crawling up your spine as you notice the mess you made,"Baby," He takes your face in his palms, thumbs rubbing small circles on the heated contour of your cheeks,"You did great," A sweet kiss meets your lips as Yuji bucks into you softly to ride out his orgasm,"My good girl,"

Expect lots of praises from him.

“Cum as much as you wanna, sweetheart. Just wanna see ya' all fucked out and pretty f'me.”

“Use your words pretty girl, can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you need.”

He tells himself he does it to make you feel better and it's true but mostly it's because Yuji loves the way your pussy clamps down tight around him at the sugary words.

Toji daddy Fushiguro

Greedy mf

He's got you folded in half with your thighs pushed up snug against your bouncing tits,"Need daddy to fill ya' up all nice, hm?" You babble off a slurred response, too drunk on the way his thick cock is rubbing against your walls, hitting all the good spots with each thrust,"Yes, daddy please please please," Toji chuckles at your words,"Then go on and tell me just how desperately you want it, that you need it." Before you can speak, your jaw hangs open in a soundless scream.

A choked groan of surprise rumbles at the back of his throat,"Fuck, that was fuckin' hot." Squishing your thighs, he pounds into you harder,"C'mon, do that again," He spoke over the loud drenched slapping noises as he rut into your sullied hole,"Daddy, too much please," Your toes curl from the intensity of it, moans falling freely from your kiss swollen lips,"Nuh-uh baby,"

He doesn't stop till you squirt again😃

"Be my good girl n' do it for daddy."

"Look s'beautiful like this, so messy for daddy."

Mans got stamina, so rip to your poor pussy because now that he's made up his mind, no matter how much you cry and writhe under him with little daddy slow down! and please toji, he's gonna see it through till you squirt again on his cock.

Nobara Kugisaki

Meanie

Your chest rose and fell in a rapid rhythm while your eyes fluttered shut,"Eyes on me," A quick curl of her fingers had you gasping, staring down at her pretty face in between your thighs,"Look a'me when I make you cum on my tongue, baby." Her lips quirk up in a teasing smirk as she burries her slender fingers knuckles deep in your greedy cunt. Pressing hier tongue to your swollen clit, she hums in delight. With her fingertips nudging at your sweet spot, your head falls back and you cry out.

"Wow," Blinking away the daze, you look down at the way her chin is drenched, tongue peaking out to lick at her lips,"What a disobedient girl you are, y/n." Nobara tuts, pulling her fingers out with a slick pop. Kissing your thigh, she holds her hand up to your mouth,"Go on, clean 'em. It's your mess, baby."

Has you suck on her fingers

"Oh, aren't you a sight for sore eyes, so obedient now."

"Did I make you feel s'good that your pussy just did that?"

Never gonna let you forget it that she, Nobara, made you squirt just by her mouth and fingers like she didn't edge you for countless times before that 🙄

Maki Zenin

Beefy mommy--

"Maki," Your thigh burns from the stretch as she lifts it up on her shoulders,"Can't no more," Palms bracketing your bouncing breasts, she huffs,"You can take it." Sweat made strands of dark hair stick to her forehead as she bit her lip in concentration, the new angle had the strap on going deeper. She could tell by how loud you are,"Cum for me, baby." Her hand slipped up to cup your cheek, thumb gliding over your lower lip,"Cum for mommy, hm?"

Her shoulders flex under your legs, you can feel the toned muscles ripple as she delivers a powerful thrust. Your cry drowns out the terrible squeak of the bed as you follow her command,"God, baby, s'good for mommy." Her eyes follow the way the wet strap on disappears inside your cunt as she fucks you through your orgasm,"My messy little baby."

Why do I get a feeling that this woman is gonna fuck your face next

"Taste that? That's all you."

"Go on, take it all in your mouth like your pussy did."

Maki loves to see the tears running down your face as she ruts into your face, knowing full well that the strap on hits the back of your throat with each thrust.

Megumi Fushiguro

Filthy filthy mouth, wash it with a soap man

“What baby? What’s wrong, what’s got you whining?” His body covers yours as he bends over, chest pressed to your warm back,"You like the way my cock feels inside you?" His hand is cupping your breast, tugging and teasing at the bud standing tall as you buried your face in the crook of your elbow,"Your pussy sure likes it, angel. It's wrapped s'fucking tight 'round my cock, squeezing just perfect,"

You squeal as his tip slips against your rough patch, hitting repeatedly till you're spilling on his cock like a wild stream. He chuckles at the way your cunt struggles with his relentless thrusts,"Looks like your pussy loves my cock, yeah?" His fingers pinch and rub at your clit to prolong your orgasm, just so he could feel your walls tighten around his length for longer.

Just because you came doesn't mean he's gonna stop, he's not gonna let you rest till he has filled you up to the brim.

"Gonna let me cum in this pretty pussy, baby?"

"You look s'beautiful like this, stuffed full with my cum, my little cumdump."

His words make your cunt clench even after he pulls out. Megumi laughs when a drop of his white warmth rolls down your thigh before his fingers scoops it up and smears it on your puffy clit while you whimper.

Suguru Geto

Smug bastard 2.0

The sheets are wet from your drool and tears as he pressed your face down on the mattress, balls leaving a delicious sting on your clit as they slapped against you with each rough thrust from him. A muffled plea soaked the pillow with your moan,"Hm? Speak up darling, can't hear ya' over the pretty noises yer' making f'me." The huge hand pressing between your shoulder blades held you down firmly while the other one smacked your ass before sneaking down to slap at your swollen clit.

You screamed, balling up the sheets in your fists as your stomach knotted, squelching on his cock,"Darlin', fuck- that's amazing," Geto licks his lips at the sight of your pussy fluttering all messy around his shaft. Gripping your squirming hips, he ruts harder into you,"What a pathetic mess you are, y/n." Your whimpers egg him on while he chases his own orgasm, heavy balls dragging along your thighs, now wet with your slick,"Need me to clean ya' up, huh?"

He's gonna bury his face in between your legs right after he pumps you with his seed.

"Hold still f'me. I'm doing this for you, darling."

"Gotta take care of my sweet girl, yeah?"

FILTHY. That's what Geto is, he holds your thighs apart as his tongue swirls around your cunt and then he's crawling up your torso to press slicked lips to your drool glossed ones, letting you taste the mess on his mouth.

Ryomen Sukuna

Oh dear, you think it's the first time you squirt for him? He's the king of curses, he's got you squirting every time he fucks you.

A pair of hands griped your naked waist, ploughing you on his hard cock while the other squeezed at your breasts. With each thrust, his cock pressed snug at the door of your cervix. Loud 'kuna please and wet smacks resonated in the serenity of his magnificent domain, twinned with his proud chuckles and grunts,"What would you do without me, brat?"

Sukuna leans back on his throne, red orbs glistening at the way you trip on slurred words,"Need your king to fuck you till you're dumb, hm?" Your body shuddered as you toppled over the edge of your precipice, your juices ruining his clothes,"Again?" His neck wraps around the back of your neck and he pulls you into a kiss, teeth sinking into your plump lower lip.

Sukuna makes you ride him till he cums, that's the least you can do after he gave you such mind numbing orgasms each time, right?

"Use that tight little cunt to make your king cum, gambare gambare."

"What? Need my help again? What a pathetic little mortal."

He eventually guides your tired, worn out body on his aching cock, using you like a doll for his pleasure till he's leaking thick ropes of hot cum deep inside you.

2021 © all content belongs to druighoney. Do not repost my work anywhere.

pairing: sanji x f!reader tags: crack treated seriously, sanji being sanji, dental student!reader but written from sanji's pov so no medical knowledge needed, fat reader (especially in the belly and tits), suggestive, minors dni, law starring as the resident cockblock word count: 1.8k note: weeks ago I talked about how I parked my tits on the forehead of my patient while doing my first frontal filling years back and immediately got the worst possible idea for a little fic. dedicated to that very same young man. I'm still so sorry dude you were a real one 😶

Sanji feels like his pants are going to explode any moment now. When he got up this morning, he hadn’t expected to have the fingers of a woman down his throat - feeling, massaging and palpating. Admittedly, you’re a little rough with him because you’re untrained but that slight tickle of his gag reflex your fingers evoke is hotter than he thought it could be. He has half a mind not to chase them with his tongue, not wanting to scare you off.

Of course, your intentions are innocent. You’re trying to see something that is entirely beyond his scope but hey, he isn’t the professional here. (Or on the road to be a professional, considering that you’re still a student.) The last time he went to the dentist it had certainly been different - curt, clinical and without much frou-frou - but whatever it is they’re teaching the students nowadays, he finds himself very much agreeing to it. Maybe a bit too much, he thinks and tries to fight the half-chub with thoughts of his old man. 

It’s hard, pun intended. You are a dream in starched white directly in front of him, round face scrunched up in concentration. Clearly, you’re taking your task very seriously but that doesn’t help him much with staying composed when you’re clumsily whipping his head around by his teeth, the touch demanding and a little careless. You don’t seem to be the bossy type but there is something about sitting beneath a beam of cold, white light while getting thoroughly inspected by a soft-cheeked, lovely woman that makes his face traitorously warm. “Alright”, you say and pull your fingers out of his mouth, white nitrile shiny with his spit, your skin peeking through the stretched material.

He briefly wonders how they’d feel wrapped around his-

Shit.

“Mucosa looks healthy, gingiva is inflamed, though”, you say to your assisting student, as you turn away from him again - some skinny dude with a severe expression and a goatee. “Can you write that down?”

The guy just nods behind a paper file and Sanji can see it shake with the pressure of a pen against printed-on lines. There is a name tag clipped to his chest but Sanji is ignoring it on purpose. He doesn’t like him at all - he had given the blond nothing but filthy looks after Sanji had offered you his first name upon introduction, and even interrupted him when he was only trying to make (perfectly harmless) small talk. Something about time being of essence but Sanji is just not buying that.

Asshole.

They had battled it out via eye contact when Sanji had to gurgle that god-awful mouthwash for a solid minute and the only thing he won in those sixty seconds was the knowledge that Goatee has terrible manners.

Just his luck, he figures. The one chance he has to be meticulously pampered by a pair of cute dental students has to be ruined by some pierced killjoy. This situation could only have been worse if (by some miracle) Zoro turned out to be your assistance. But fortunately that man knows as much about teeth as he does about navigation: fuck all.

It had been Nami who had recommended the student program to him when he noticed a pesky, dark spot right between his incisors - and while she was intent on saving him money, he was more taken by the thought of being put into the care of aspiring dentists like you. Sanji had been sold. And he had been even more thrilled when he got that first call from you, your voice promising nothing but prowess, delicate hands in his mouth and a sweet face to stare at. (Okay, maybe your hands aren't so delicate after all - but one smile from behind your mask and all is forgiven.)

Too bad your sweet glory comes with a lanky, pierced guard dog. 

“Have you had any injections in the past?”, you ask and pull him out of his reverie, a syringe already in your dominant hand. “Ever had any troubles with them?”

He shakes his head no and tries to keep his breathing even when you duck down to him, hunched over as you push his upper lip towards his nose in one swift notion. “This is gonna sting a little. And you might feel a little pressure.” Indeed, it does - but it’s so miniscule that he can barely call it a pinch. Your concern for him is incredibly cute, though. Your hand is a little shaky as you press the liquid out of the needle but aside from the feeling of liquid pooling underneath sturdy skin, he feels nothing. He watches as you furrow your brow and let out a sigh of relief when the syringe is empty. You’re clearly nervous and he wants it to be because of him so, so badly but unfortunately, he knows better.

“It’ll be over soon, you’re doing so well”, you say after putting the needle away and take his upper lip between your index finger and thumb and slot the digit right into the fold that his mucosa forms, gently pulling and rubbing at the same time. “Just a little longer, can you do that for me?” Oh, he’d do much more than this for you, he thinks but the only thing that comes out of him is a weak gurgle.

Goatee scoffs next to him. 

“I think you didn't inject enough. You might want to re-apply some.”

“No, I gave him almost two milliliters, that should be enough”, you say and he can tell you’re pouting underneath the mask. Sanji swears the other man grins for a split second. “Bummer.”

“Alright, we’ll just do some prep while the anesthetic kicks in, okay?”, you ask and don’t even wait for an answer. He watches you while you flit around the tiny space, gathering things on the little tray that hovers above him, nods and smiles when you do your best to apply a clunky dental dam and lets you move the chair into the right position. When you’re done, the world is almost upside down, with his head tilted and you right in the center of it all, trying to adjust the light above you.

“Any moment this gets uncomfortable, you tell me immediately, alright?”, you say far above him and he’s grateful that Goatee is doing a great job at using that little saliva tube because he’d be drooling otherwise. 

Framed by a pair of thighs, your warmth just at the tip of his head, your breasts almost a shelf between him and your face. This is how he wants to die, he thinks. Just a whole lot of soft woman surrounding him. But it’s only just about to get better.

You take the drill into your hands and inch closer until he feels something solid, yet soft touching him. He realizes that it’s your belly at the same time your assistance does, because as his eyes go dinner-plate-wide, Goatee hisses your name through clenched teeth. “Posture.” Never has Sanji hated another man more than him in this very moment. “Oh, thanks”, you beam, so genuine it makes him want to cry. Unfair. Life is entirely unfair. He wallows in self-pity while you let the bur whir. It’s astounding that he really doesn’t feel anything but the pressure and the low vibration that makes his bones swing, too bad it’s exponentially less wonderful when he could have marveled at the feeling and that warm softness touching him. “You know”, you start the moment the instrument buries itself into his enamel, talking as if you’re both contemplating life over some wine. “Your gums are really inflamed. I can tell that you smoke a lot.” Not able to really answer because of the thin sheet of latex over his mouth, he simply hums in confirmation. He can tell that it bothers you - adorable, you’re worried for his health - because you had been downright shocked while going through a questionnaire with him earlier, shooting Goatee looks that only could be described as Are you hearing what I’m hearing? when he confessed to smoking a pack a day.

Well, old habits die hard. “You should really consider quitting or at least cutting down-”, you start and continue to list all the terrible consequences his nicotine addiction might bring, all the while you’re swinging around that little diamond bur like it’s a pen. And, still unable to answer, he hums. If he was able to, he’d probably tell you that he’d do anything for you as long as you let him live between your tits, preferably until the day he draws his last breath. Fuck. It’s definitely the wrong line of thought, especially because they’re so close in this position. He swears he can see the color of your bra peek through your scrubs - he’d almost be giving in to the next little daydream if it weren’t for the fact that you seem to hunch over ever so slightly while you work. Too lost in your thoughts, you seem to have forgotten about the warning you received earlier and let your body curl into itself to get a better view at his tooth. Closer, just a little closer, he thinks, almost going cross-eyed as you concentrate more and more on the task at hand and less on sitting straight. Not even Goatee seems to notice, too focused on helping you. God, are you wearing pink? The thought is enough to send a rush of blood back down to his crotch, his hands gripping the seat underneath him like his life depends on it. He’s desperately trying to think of a million unpleasant things at once - he’s not trying to spoil your efforts. You had been so eager on the phone, had told him that frontal fillings are hard to get. It’d be a shame to ruin that opportunity for you but- The very last few ounces leave his head when he can finally feel that heavenly touch of fabric-cupped fat right on his forehead, the slightest kiss of heaven underneath blessed sterile light. Angels are singing somewhere, he’s sure, and if his mouth wasn’t already open, he’d let out the most pained silent scream to ever exist. Your tits are heavy, they’re warm and they were made to rest on his face until he suffocates and by god, you just don’t back off. Sanji is nothing but a pathetic little prey animal caught between your soft belly and your breasts and he can do nothing but play dead in hope that he might come out of this alive, somehow. You shift your weight, probably reach for the tray in front of you, imaginary violins start playing and it’s officially over.

He slacks against your touch before he can even gurgle for attention (and really, does he want to? If he were to die right now, it would be an honor, a befitting end), the world around him growing quiet, a screen of white taking over. Wherever he is going to is warm and cozy and has a magnetic pull on him, so he follows.

The last thing he hears is you calling his name and Goatee barking orders - because of course he has to get the last word in. “I told you to keep your back straight, god fucking dammit-”

And if you learned one thing that day it was to get your milkers out of people’s faces lest they faint 😔

no need to be brutal

||  getou suguru x reader || T || hurt/comfort ||  wc: 4.6k || ao3  ||

There’s no need to be cruel to yourself. Suguru reminds you of this.

minors, antis, and ageless blogs dni

a/n: hurt/comfort with suguru!! AU where everyone lives/nobody dies. no spoilers! just some happy, jujutsu tech moments. student is a student, prolly a third year but its unspecified. 

warnings: unhealthy coping with drugs and alcohol, reader’s body size is referenced (wearing getou’s clothes, being picked up, etc) 

Keep reading

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Take care of yourself and each other. Please stay safe ♡

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!!!