Zawizardd - Online With No Consequences

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Pain Management || Trafalgar Law x f!reader || NSFW [minors DNI]

|| A chaptered One Piece fic ||

Previous Chapter || Series Masterlist [please read for overall CW] || AO3 Link || Playlist

Chapter 9: Long-Term Side Effects, Pt. II

Chapter Summary: The walls that separate you from Law are finally coming tumbling down, and the aching, yearning, and wanting that has kept you both utterly possessed by each other reaches a fever pitch. But what comes after when there is both nothing left to say, and so much that is left unsaid?

Chapter CW: afab reader, no pronouns used; gendered pet names (ex. "good girl"); angst; oral sex (f receiving); vaginal intercourse; creampie

WC: 4.7k

“I need you, Law” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear as you spoke, before leaving a trail of soft kisses down his jaw.

“Good.” He shivered under your touch, his voice now a low and hungry growl. “I need you, too.”

“Then don’t make me leave.”

One hand slid up your spine to grip the back of your neck, holding you still, and he placed a careful kiss on your lips, smiling as he pulled away. “As if I could.”

You moved your hands to the sides of Law’s face, palms settling in the hollows of his cheeks, thumbs gently caressing the contours of his cheekbones, trying to commit the topography of his peaks and valleys to memory. The tip of his nose was pressed to yours, his soft lips grazing you with feather-light touches, every trace of a kiss feeling like it was both the first and the last. Your eyes drifted shut as you savored every lingering sensation, just in case he changed his mind, just in case you lost the nerve to pursue what you both knew you wanted, just in case you were somehow pulled apart and set adrift from each other once more.

Law sucked and bit at your lower lip, taking it between his teeth, then soothing it with his tongue before he plunged it inside your mouth. Every kiss grew more urgent, more possessive, like he needed to claim every part of you as his, starting in earnest with your swollen lips. His longing for you felt like it would eclipse your own as his hands lowered, strong fingers digging into the soft plush of your hips through your sweats; he pressed you down against his pelvis, and you felt a growing hardness beneath you, straining against the thick fabric of his jeans. You would have gladly continued to grind against him if that’s what he demanded, seeking release in the comfort of his lap, held down by a bruising grip. But you both needed more, needed to find that connection that you’d chased after again and again, the one that was always just out of reach, hidden behind the barriers that walled him in.

“Let’s go to bed, needy girl,” Law cooed in that honey-sweet tone as he nipped at your lower lip. “I think you want something else from me.”

Moving was torture, every nerve and muscle shouting at you to stay joined to him, to stay spread out across his steely thighs. Everything felt so tenuous, as though if you let each other go, even for a moment, even just long enough to move to the mattress so you could take what you needed from each other, that it would all fade away into nothing, leaving you yearning and empty again. You lowered yourself to the bed and he followed, kneeling down on the floor in front of you, slotting himself between your parted thighs to feed from the sweetness of your mouth again.

Your shirt was quickly discarded, his hands now free to caress the soft outlines of your form, palms exploring the expanse of your body, muttered words falling from his lips—how perfect you felt, how beautiful you were, how you were more than he ever dreamed. His mouth drifted across your neck as he cupped your breasts in his hands, lightly kneading and squeezing, his thumbs making gentle movements over your nipples until he earned a quiet moan from you, then another, and another.

“I know what you need,” he whispered into your collarbone as you huffed a sigh; his hands lowered to your waist, and he tugged at the waistband of your sweatpants. “Lift.”

You raised your hips just enough for him to slide them down your lower body, yanking them off and tossing them to the side. Law groaned softly at the sight before him, the thin strip of cotton between your legs barely covering anything, your pubic hair visible on either side, and a darkened, damp spot forming in the middle. He leaned down and nosed at your clothed slit, the heat of his breath penetrating the fabric.

“So, this is all mine now, huh?” he asked as he inhaled you, his eyes closing, his tattooed fingers gripping your thighs every time you filled his lungs.

“All yours,” you sighed, leaning back on your palms to watch how intoxicated he was becoming off your scent, looking like a man posessed. He pressed the tip of his tongue down on the thin cotton that covered your clit, and you covered your mouth to keep the sordid noise that crept up your throat from spilling into the room.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he moaned into you, his teeth tugging at your underwear, nipping at your clothed flesh. “I just want to fucking ruin you.”

You already have, a million times over, you think while you run your fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face so you could watch as he licked and kissed you through your soaked panties. “You don’t have to get me off again.”

“And what if I want to?” he smirked, pulling aside your underwear and slipping one, then two fingers inside you, softly stroking your pulsing walls. “You said this was all mine, so that means I can make you cum whenever I want now, right?”

You groaned. “I did say it was yours, didn’t I?”

“All mine.” Law greedily lapped at your clit, while his fingers thrust deep, plunging all the way to the knuckle. It wasn’t even an ache that you felt for him now—it was hysterical, painful craving. You needed him to fuck you with his fingers like he was so adept at doing, needed him to make you cum like he had so many times, needed to let him break you into pieces and put you back together until you were one the brink of shattering for good.

You gripped at the sheets, and his hair, and his sturdy forearm that draped over your thigh—whatever you could hold onto as your core tensed and your legs quaked. He’d studied you so thoroughly every time that he knew exactly how to bring you to the edge quickly, wasting no time at all—it was as though he knew he would taste you again and again, that there was no need to savor you right now if he could have you whenever he desired. It was all too much—his tongue moving over your sensitive clit, his strong fingers pistoning in and out of you, the way he glanced up at you now and again, looking almost crazed by having you in his mouth. Your eyes clenched shut and you came with a wordless gasp, pulling his fingers in deeper with every shattering spasm. Delicious praise rang in your ears, whispered hymns of “good girl” gratifying whatever perverse part of your psyche demanded it.

“Feel better now?” Law asked as he pulled the hem of his shirt up to his mouth, wiping away the deluge of saliva and your juices that coated his goatee.

“I want more.” You must have looked depraved, hungover from your climax, your wobbly thighs still pressed tightly to his midsection, but you didn’t care—he already knew what type of deviant you were, like he could smell the obsession on you from the moment you walked onto his ship.

“More? Already?” A low laugh rumbled in his chest and he grasped your face in his hands, squishing your cheeks. “What do you want, hm? Want me to make you cum again?”

It hurt too much to not say it—it burned, it threatened to engulf you. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Is that right?” A salacious grin stretched across his lips.  “You want my cock inside you, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. It sounded so perfect the way he said it, at once sincere and condescending, loving and patronizing. You nodded with a whimper, not even knowing how to answer him without sounding utterly depraved.

“God, of course I’ll fuck you, it’s all I’ve wanted,” Law said through a shuddering breath, and he kissed you, hard and fast, his tongue pushing past your lips and thrusting into you as if to fuck your mouth before he’d deign to fuck you with his cock. He stood and stripped his shirt off, the low light above the bed casting shadows on the hard muscles of his chest, the tightness of his abdomen. He smirked as he saw you staring, a dusting of blush forming across his cheeks, and he took his time unzipping his jeans, pulling them down his lean hips bit by bit, until you finally saw glimpse of his shaft, surrounded by his dark pubic hair.

“Law, come on, don’t tease me,” you said in a petulant whine, a pout on your lips.

“Fine.” He tugged his pants down the rest of the way, sliding them past his muscled thighs, stepping out of them as you watched his hardened cock bob as he moved. He slowly ran his palm along the shaft, then gripped himself until he throbbed, the tip turning flush, just to make you squirm. “But if you want it so bad, beg for it.”

“Really?”

“What’s the problem?” he grinned as he slowly stroked himself. “If you’re so needy for me, then beg.”

“Please, Law?” It sounded pathetic coming out of you, just the way he wanted it to—he wanted you to earn it, no matter how eager he was to give you everything you ever wanted without question. “I want you so bad—won’t you fuck me? Please?”

“Yeah?” Law ran his thumb over the head over his reddened and swollen tip, collected the sticky pre-cum that glistened in the low light, and spread it over his length. “Let me ask you—is this what you think about when you’re supposed to get yourself off between sessions? You think about what I’d feel like inside you?”

You pulled your panties down your legs and kicked them aside, spreading yourself open so he could see the mess he’d made of you. Your hand drifted between your thighs and you idly ran a finger up and down your spit-soaked slit—if he was going to torture you as he kept what you wanted just out of reach, you could easily do the same. “That’s all I could think about some nights.”

“Me too.” He let out a shivering sigh and you watched him pulse again and again in his hand. “After you’d leave my office, I’d think about how I should have just taken you right there on my desk, while you were still nice and sensitive for me.”

“Law, please, I need you,” you quietly keened as you watched him start to fuck his fist, and you could almost feel how it would fill you, remembering how he’d felt wrapped in your palm, how he’d throbbed in your mouth and coated your tongue with his spend.

“Need you too,” he rasped while he moved towards you, his palm wrapped around the base, and he dragged the sticky tip across your cheek, brushing it against your lips. “Why don’t you get it nice and wet?”

Law hissed a low, “Good girl,” as you took him in your mouth, and he pushed into you, one hand on the back of your head, stopping you just short of choking on him as he thrust his hips. His grey eyes flickered with desire, as you coated his length in your spit, watching as it ran down the corners of your mouth.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough or I won’t want you to stop,” he said after a few moments, leaning down to wipe the drool from your chin before he joined you on the bed. He settled back against his pillows, hands behind his head, muscled thighs spread; it was almost smug the way he laid there smiling in the shadows, presenting his cock to you like a reward. You moved up the bed and straddled his hips, slowly sliding your slick cunt along the length of him, coating him in the mix of his saliva and your arousal, his swollen tip catching against your clit and pulling little gasps from you each time.

“Is this all you want?” he teased, breaking through the haze of arousal that had settled around you while you moved over him. “Thought you wanted me to fuck you—did you change your mind?”

“Of course not.”

His hands moved up to your thighs, gripping at your plushness. You’d never tell him that if this was all he offered, if this was all you were allowed, you would have gladly taken it, chased your pleasure grinding in him like this, would have let him see you lose yourself without ever even getting to feel him inside you.

“Let me help you,” he growled as he reached down and positioned himself against you, the head of his cock slipping past your puffy lips and pressing against your entrance; a strangled gasp left you as you felt him swell. “You need this, don’t you?”

“Need it so bad,” you mumbled, and you kept your eyes fixed to his as you eased yourself onto him, watching how his mouth fell open and his eyebrows knitted with every inch of him that slid inside your velvety cunt. The way he sighed, the way his hands now moved up your body to grip your waist—it was clear he wanted you with the same eagerness as you did him, wanted to shove your hips and push you down until you enveloped him completely. But Law was patient for you, patient as enduring preoccupations and shameful fantasies and unspoken desires became real, and his trembling hands tightened their grip as you reached the limit of what you could take.

You braced yourself with palms flat on his chest, and you felt how his heart thudded under your hands, beating only for you, as you started to roll your hips—slow and shallow movements, just enough to feel him gliding against your sensitive walls, just enough to finally have that closeness he denied you for so long. You wanted to close your eyes, to shut out every other sensation but him, let him be all their was and commit the way he stretched you and pulsed inside you to memory—yet you couldn’t bear to move your gaze away from his. Quiet groans reverberated under your hands, and his hips gently rocked up into you, burying deep into your desperate, needy warmth with every motion.

“God you’re so fucking wet,” he said through a sigh, the lewd sounds of your drenched cunt meeting his skin again and again starting to fill the room. It mixed with your hushed mewls and his gasping breaths, all of it barely concealed by the ever-present groaning of the ship as it carried you through the depths.

You leaned down and greedily kissed him, tasting sweat on his lips, messily swirling your tongue with his, long strands of saliva still connecting you as you pulled away. “Just for you, Law—so wet just for you.”

Law’s hands moved up from your waist and he wrapped his long arms around your back, pulling you down towards his chest, your pebbled nipples brushing against his warm skin, sending little shocks of pleasure down your limbs as you picked up your pace. “Fuck, you feel so good, never should have waited so long to fuck you.”

“Wish you hadn’t,” you panted as you mindlessly rocked your hips faster, chasing a warmth that was beginning to spread through your core as you gave him your confession. “Needed you for so fucking long, ever since I saw you the first time.”

“I know.” A shaky moan puffed out of him, and his grip tightened around you, pressing you into him until you would swear you could feel every tendon and muscle that contorted under his skin; you slid your arms underneath him, fingers digging into his back, and he sucked in a sharp inhale through his teeth at the sensation. You would have let him break you if he wanted, let him crush you into nothing if it meant you could be any closer to him than you were at that moment.

Law’s patience and inhibitions seemed to be wearing thin now, his own voracious hunger overtaking him, and he dug his heels into the mattress, suddenly fucking up into you with a heated urgency. His biceps flexed while he kept you pressed against him, so tight you could almost feel the creak of your ribs, holding you still so he could ruin you at his pace. You nestled your face in the crook of his neck, keening into his shoulder as quietly as you could while you clenched around him; he smelled faintly of spiced cologne and sweat and traces of antiseptic, and you wanted to breathe him in forever.

“Say it—say you need me again,” he whimpered into your ear, his tone desperate and wanting, his breath coming in punctuated gasps. “I wanna hear you say it for me.”

“Need you, Law,” you gasped, “need you more than anything.”

“That’s my good girl.” A blissful groan left his lips, every inhalation becoming more labored, more erratic. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum for you so soon.”

“Cum inside me.” You weren’t sure if you meant it to be a request or a demand, but the way he throbbed as the words tumbled out of you told you it didn’t matter either way.

“Yeah? You sure?”

“Please?”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart, I’ll give you what you want.” He turned his head to push his mouth against your neck and kiss you, his tongue dragging up to meet your ear, and the rough scratch of his facial hair against sensitive skin sent little pinpricks traveling down the column of your spine.

Law chased his own pleasure greedily, wantonly, a reward he’d earned after having sated yours with perverse diligence night after night in the cold quiet of the exam room and the illicit dark of his office. He’d given you everything, after all, given you blissful, intoxicating relief with the ministrations of his skilled hands—it was only fair that once, just once, the release was his to take from you.

Tears started to sting the corners of your eyes with his every desperate upward thrust, and he roughly knocked against something inside you, making every inch of you started to burn with an uncontrollable fire. The soft round curves of your ass slapped against the front of his thighs, and he bucked up into you frantically, losing his rhythm, needing to feel himself spasm inside you with such urgency that he lost all sense of control.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” Law whimpered into your shoulder, and with a low stuttering groan and a muttered prayer of your name, his body shuddered, and you felt every muscle thrumming as he spilled himself inside you. His breaths were shallow and fast, warm against your sweat-slicked body, as he trembled through his orgasm; he languidly continued to thrust with gentle lifts of his hips, fucking his cum back up into you as it leaked down his shaft.

He held you there even after his legs relaxed, even after the throbbing ceased and that deep and painful ache subsided; he held you there against his chest like you’d disappear if he let you go, like you’d fade from his sight if his arms weren’t wrapped around you, one hand cradling the back of your head. You started to move, to pry yourself away from him even though everything in you screamed not to, but he was stronger than you, held you firmly with shaking arms, and he hastily uttered a broken plea: ”Stay. Stay with me.”

“I won’t go anywhere, Law,” you whispered as you relaxed and let your body melt into him. “I won’t.”

You laid there together in the quiet, breathing each other in. The words were there, always dancing on the tip of your tongue—how he’d ruined you, how he’d broken you, how he’d encouraged the kindling of your obsession to grow and grow until it was a wildfire, how you’d become so tangled with him that it felt oppressive, like you’d never be able to detach. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if you told him, because the closer he kept you pressed to him, the more he let himself indulge in this silent intimacy, the way he softly kissed every exposed bit of skin that he could reach like he wanted to devour you, it became clearer and clearer that he already knew. He had already studied you from over to cover, and he knew what he’d done, and he had intentionally let that fire spread and consume him, too.

“You should stay here tonight,” he said, hesitation balancing on every word, as he released his iron grip on you at last. “I mean, if you want to.”

“You sure?” You pushed yourself up, carefully wresting yourself from the sticky dampness of his lap, and collapsed on the bed beside him, slotting yourself under his arm and curling yourself against him.

“I’m sure.”

“Then yeah, I’ll stay.” You closed your eyes, breathing in deeply before adding, “I don’t think I want to be alone right now.” He turned and kissed the top of your head, inhaling you deeply. “It’s okay. I don’t think I do either.”

Your fingers skimmed over his chest, following the pattern of the ink on his skin, tracing your name in the empty spaces, tattoos only you would ever see.

“You know,” Law said, his thumb making soft circles on your upper arm, “I was thinking—do you wanna maybe keep reading?”

You didn’t need to glance up at him to see the smile forming on his lips—you could hear the anticipation laced in his tone. “I don’t think there’s anything else I’d rather do.”

*****

It was still dark when you opened your eyes, as it nearly always was no matter when you awakened. Law had fallen asleep curled around you, his arm around your waist, one leg slung over your hip, pinning you against him and keeping you from vanishing into the ether as he slept. You squinted at the clock on his desk—it was early, too early, but your clandestine trysts only worked if you slipped away in the quiet hours of the morning, when the only ones awake were the fish that pirouetted in front of the porthole window.

It was tempting to stay there with him, to wait until he awoke on his own and told you in a doleful whisper that it was time to go, or until someone else pounded at his door, needing something, always needing something. But you knew the longer you remained, the harder it would become to wrest yourself away from him when it was time, the harder it would become if he told you he only meant for you to stay the night, not stay forever, like you started to convince yourself he would. You carefully extracted yourself from his grasp and sat on the edge of the bed, groping the floor for your clothes, when you felt long fingers wrap around your wrist.

“Where are you going?” Law asked, his voice thick with sleep. “Come back to me.”

“I can’t,” you whispered, turning to look at him. “I have to go before everyone else wakes up.”

He blinked at you slowly, his tired eyes even more sunken in, the corners crinkled as he offered you a drowsy smile. There was something charming about him like this—his movements slowed like he was moving through sand, long limbs splayed out as he rolled onto his back, black hair a disheveled mess with errant strands clinging to his temples. You wanted to always keep him in your mind just like this, remember him exactly as he was right then—not your captain, or your doctor, or a pirate, but just Law, free of his masks and his walls and his pretense of professionalism.

“I suppose you’re right,” he finally said as his hand pulled away and he set it on his torso.

You pulled your shirt over your head and flopped backwards onto him, your head resting on his stomach. “I could stay a little longer, I guess. Just a few more minutes.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re the captain, you tell me—are you gonna be mad if I’m late to my post?”

He clucked his tongue at you and laughed softly. “I can let it slide, just this once.”

You shivered and sighed as he reached for your hand and pulled it up onto his chest, his fingers making gentle patterns in your palm. Doubt wrapped itself around your spine as you laid together in the darkness, and it felt too good, too real—you’d wake up any moment now and it would all have been some fever dream concocted by a sleep-deprived brain, and you’d be back on the Sunny, doubled over in pain and feeling useless and burdensome. But not here, not with him—with Law, you felt relief, you felt desire, you felt affection and warmth and something deeper, something that you still couldn’t bring yourself to put a name to.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” His voice cut through the silence with a quiet melancholy.

“Of course it is.”

“Look, it’s not like you can’t change your mind, but I can’t guarantee I can get you back easily if this—if we don’t”—he sighed, searching for words that seemed to elude him—“if things change—listen, people don’t just move from crew to crew all the time—“

“Law, stop.” You sat up and knelt next to him on the bed, placing a hand on his cheek. “Do you want me here or not? You’re acting like you want me to leave again.”

“I’m not saying you have to leave,” he sighed. “I’m just trying to explain that—that’s there’s a risk.”

“I know there is.” You laid down beside him, draping your arm over his chest. “But we all have something to lose, don’t we?”

He scoffed. “You don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand.” You’d never known what it was that weighed him down so heavily, what he carried with him every day that seemed to tug and pull at him, what sat on his chest at night and kept him awake, leaving him sitting at his desk deep into the night, occupying himself with books and papers and planning for futures that would never manifest. You’d never known, and you’d never asked—it would come in time, when he was ready, when he felt like you were worthy of his trust.

“Maybe one day.” He rolled onto his side, placed his hand on the side of your neck, fingertips reaching around to graze your nape until you goosebumps covered your skin. “Not yet though.”

You laid your palm on his forearm, inhaling deeply, letting the silence blanket you again. It was almost enough—it wasn’t a promise, it wasn’t a declaration of his intent, it wasn’t a confession, but it was almost enough.

“So, you’re not changing your mind?” You knew how you must sound—like some needy, desperate thing. But it was, in truth, still how he liked you best.

“Even if I could,” Law purred, kissing your forehead, “I’m getting the impression you wouldn’t let me.”

You hooked your leg over his and pulled yourself against him, feeling the twitch of his cock against your thigh, tempting him into finding a more definitive way to keep you in bed a little longer. An amused groan reverberated in his chest, and he captured your trembling lips with his, giving you long, deliberate kisses that made time seem to slow and everything cease to exist around you.

“So,” you sighed as his hand lowered between your legs, palm pressed against your wet heat, “can I come by again tonight? If I’m careful?”

“Of course you can.” He traced his tongue along your lips before he let out a chuckle. “How else are we gonna finish Sora?”

I this this was just a messed up way of touching the tittie

how to flirt with a girl 

Hi sweetie, I hope this request doesn't bother you/isn't boring! I read favorite t-shirt and loved it so I wanted to ask for something similar but with Sanemi instead? I do imagine a first time and something like, reader was assigned to a mission in which she had to pretend to be her good friend Tomioka's partner so Sanemi flipped tf out, but you're welcome to set a modern au or anything else! Thank you so much if you decide to proceed ❤️

Hii OHMYGOSH it's ~4:30am (not to mention, over a month since you submitted your request oops 🤭), bUT I FINALLY FINISHED WRITING IT, AND I'M SOOO EXCIIITED AHHHHH. 😭🥳

Author’s Note: welp, this is officially my 2nd longest fanfic !!

deserve you

Shinazugawa Sanemi x Reader

Word Count: ~3,500

CW: 18+NSFW, creampie, explicit language, Fem!Reader

Song Inspo: Deserve You by Justin Bieber

~faqs, image~

Sanemi doesn’t really understand how he ended up here, but he’s grateful nonetheless. Even though he can hardly breathe—tilted upside down, his heart in his toes, fingers clutching subconsciously at the sheet pulled lazily over his and your legs—as he listens to you ramble about your favorite artist’s upcoming album. Truthfully, he’s not entirely focused on your passionate analysis of their newest single, because he’s distracted. By the sepia glow of the bedside lamp nestling into the dips of your collarbones; the proximity of your shoulder to his, your back leaning comfortably against the headboard; how utterly content, in place, just right you look, occupying half of the bed — half of his bed.

“Sanemi,” you grumble good naturedly, mindlessly pinching his thigh, oblivious to how his throat tightens at your innocent gesture, “What did I just say?”

“Something about a particular lyric making you ugly cry in your car?” he makes an educated guess, smirking faintly.

You pout (partly because you know he wasn’t listening to you, and partly because, regardless, he somehow guessed correctly), poking his shoulder, marveling at how strong and unyielding it is, still oblivious to how his eyes widen — to how deeply, remarkably, your casual touches affect him.

“Which lyric?” you huff.

“I don’t know,” he sounds uncharacteristically apologetic, subtly readjusting his thighs.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” you wink playfully, squeezing his knee, “If you’re ignoring me, then it must be pretty special.”

Sanemi gulps, unable to retort with an intelligible quip, because he’s the opposite of ignoring you. The opposite of ignoring the fierce heat lingering where you pinched his thigh — where you squeezed his knee. Fixated on the bright glimmer in your eyes, tempered by the anticipation in the moments between your breaths: they stretch infinitely, fleetingly — like catching a snowflake on one’s fingertip, or a raindrop on one’s tongue.

“Sanemi?” shyness seeps into your tone, your hands withdrawing into your lap as you finally notice his fidgeting, embarrassed by the palpable tang flickering in his stare, mirroring his nerves as you begin picking at the sheet as well, “I’m sorry,” suddenly aware of the four walls enclosing, entrapping, taunting your position beside him, “Maybe I should go? I know m’a bother when I-”

“You’re not a bother,” he interjects firmly, “I wasn’t listening to you, and you’re apologizing?” he inhales loudly, steadying himself, before smiling wryly, “I must be a shitty host.”

“Wha-”

“You’re practically begging to leave,” he raises a teasing eyebrow—So why don’t you?—hoping his fear isn’t apparent.

Fear that you’ll heed his rash words, shooting him a pitying glance as you dissipate into the night; tugging off his favorite sweatshirt, throwing it carelessly at the end of the bed; hurriedly lacing your shoes; grabbing your oversized bag Hush Sanemi, it’s convenient and versatile that he always offers to carry; removing any and every trace of yourself, a sentence in the novel of his loneliness; haunched slightly as darkness twists its cool tendrils around your bare, unprepared calves and forearms; pondering your departure, the already blurring outline of his face; deleting his contact from your phone as you wait for your Uber; shrugging to yourself, probably envisioning your next first date, opening the App Store to redownload whichever dating app you’d met him on.

“Sanemi,” your sharpness jolts him, plucking him from his self deprecating spiral, like lifting a wool sweater from a bucket of water — limp and heavy.

“[y/n]?” he’s tentative.

“Should I leave?”

Sanemi blinks. Blinks again. Tries to choke out the desperation churning in his stomach; knows he needs, wants, to reassure you; the reality, potential, of losing you rapidly—too rapidly—expanding his ribcage. You should stay is all he has to confess, but such an admittance is equivalent to shucking the bittersweet husk of his fragile, overwhelming, undeniable adoration. Unintentional affection. An I miss you when you’re gone that crept up on him. He hadn’t planned on falling in love.

You’re in your third month of dating each other. Exclusively. And Sanemi’s yet to see you naked. Hasn’t ventured beyond the flutter of your shirt in the wind; the under curve of your breasts as you stretch in a cropped top, the perkiness of your nipples showing through thinner fabrics on rare occasions. In privacy, he slaps your ass, playfully, appreciative: when you’re cooking dinner, dancing in the living room, while you’re brushing your teeth. And he’s pretty sure you slap his harder — always with a giggle, squealing as you run away, knowing he’ll chase you until he slaps yours back, a perpetual game of slap-dat-ass, alternatively: tag for adults. But he’s awkward, flustering—almost stammers—whenever you hook your fingers into his belt loops, your tongue warm and sensual as it follows the path of his clavicle. Your ability to coax goosebumps as you graze your fingernails up and down the tension in his arms should be criminal: how sweetly you rub your cheek against his chest an especially dangerous tactic. You’d been upfront with him about Could we take things slowly? and he’d agreed, because he hadn’t expected you—you and him—to amount to anything in the long run Sure, you set the pace. He hadn’t realized slowly was synonymous with torturous, and he definitely hadn’t assumed he’d be the one wishing for a fast forward button.

Rule #1: Sanemi doesn’t kiss on the first date.

Rule #2: Sanemi doesn’t do second dates.

Rule #3: Sanemi doesn’t do romance — he only does first dates because ~sometimes they’re amusing, and he knows socializing’s “good for you”.

Rule #4: Sanemi, contrary to popular belief, likes people — he just doesn’t like the intricacies and formalities of romantic partnerships. He doesn’t like giving someone the keys, knowing they could very easily and abruptly drive off without him. Strand him. Desolate him.

You’re no exception to Rule #1. But the rest of his rules? In shambles, because how else is he supposed to memorize the height of your laughter? How else is he going to taste the sheen on your lips? He doesn’t kiss on the first, so the second is the obvious solution. But he doesn’t do second dates? Fuck. Not to mention, he needs more time—more than the first date—to thoughtfully consider and answer your plethora of questions: Which soda do you associate the most positive memories with? and If you could burn down one thing, then what would you choose? and What’s a quality you admire in others, because you feel you lack it? Normally, personal questions piss Sanemi off, but you radiate an alluring sincerity. You aren’t prying for your own entertainment, or belittling him for your own gain. You’re just. Curious. Invested. Serious. Reeling him into the dewy threads of your commitment. “doesn’t do second dates” turns into “doesn’t do third dates”; “fifth date” turns into “tenth date”; and “I kind of like myself when I’m holding—kissing—you” turns into “how would I feel loving—making love to—you?”

“Why would you leave?”

Sanemi knows he’s not quite asking, telling, you to stay. He also knows that he can’t. If he doesn’t ask, then you can’t decline — if he doesn’t ever tell, then you can’t ever hurt him.

“Because you look uncomfortable?”

Your observation isn’t cruel, but it’s certainly… Impatient?

“Aren’t we taking things slowly?” he blurts, the tips of his ears an uncommon red.

  “Is that what you want?” you ask quietly.

Sanemi is defenseless against the envy that loiters in his marrow. Envy that resents how asking seems so simple, so fearless, to you; envy that detests how vulnerability rolls off your tongue so purely; envy that craves your approval, green light, declaration.

“You wanted to take things slowly!” he scoffs, harshly stripping the bedroom of its previous air of familiarity.

“For you, Sanemi,” you’re just as harsh, “Because you clearly can’t recognize, let alone handle, intimacy,” anger pricking at the corners of your eyes as you glare at him — at his blank, stubborn expression, “Yeah, I don’t rush into relationships. But three months of timid kisses? Clothed cuddling? I literally have a drawer at yours, and you at mine. So why haven’t we had sex yet?” your glare’s morphed to daggers, stoic tears escaping, one by one, “Why don’t I feel desired, shiny, wanted? I desire you Sanemi Shinazugawa. You shine. I wake up, and it isn’t the sun that makes me smile — it’s your goddamn face. Your face is so shiny and so pretty and I want you. We are in your bed. Together. And I am clenching my thighs just imagining your pretty face between them, your cocky tongue on my clit, and your hands. Shit. Your hands gripping my ass,” you scowl, “But it doesn’t matter. Does it, Sanemi? Because you don’t fucking notice. Because you don’t fucking desire me. Because I’m not shiny enough. Because I just want to be wanted by you, and you don’t even wa-”

“Stay,” Sanemi interrupts you, his voice lowered, painful edge audible.

His cock half hard in his briefs, your bluntness on repeat in his head.

Your pretty face between them.

Your cocky tongue on my clit.

Your hands gripping my ass.

I just want to be wanted by you.

“I want you to stay,” he whispers, “I want you, you idiot.”

And then he touches you.

He touches, grips, your jaw, his cool, clammy fingers digging into your hot, tearstained skin. Idiot he growls inwardly Of course I want you. Moving jerkily, endearingly, he grasps at your thigh, his cock twitching at how plush, solid, close you feel.

“On my lap,” he groans, “Please?”

It’s his Please—the sliver of his soul he’d sworn to never bare—that cracks you.

“Promise?” you rasp, reaching for the hem of his shirt.

“Promise.”

You straddle him in an instant; hands slipping smoothly under his shirt; fingertips greedily discovering the muscular contours of his stomach; urgency flooding your core as the thickness of his bulge brushes against your panties.

“Already hard for me?” you murmur delightedly.

Sanemi doesn’t respond—too busy shutting you up with a gentle, explorative kiss—the tip of his tongue eagerly tracing your bottom lip as his hands cling to you, kneading just below your breasts, his thumbs outlining their shape through your thin nightshirt. 

Grabbing his hands, you curl his fingertips, guiding him through the art of removing your flimsy nightshirt, your mouth pulling away slightly—his breathy moan of dismay prompting you to grind down wantonly—as he tugs it up, over, and off. Sanemi registers your nudity in the same heartbeat that you place his warm, calloused palms on your nipples, a satisfied sigh echoing from you to him as he instinctively cups their weight.

“My lips miss you.” I miss you.

“But m’right here,” you tease, grazing your nose against his chin, reveling in how his hands stutter, squeezing at your breasts as if to ground himself, eliciting another frantic undulation of your hips.

“I know, I know, I know.”

And Sanemi does know. He knows you’re here. Feels you rocking rhythmically onto his straining, leaking cock; trembles as your fingertips map the entirety of his scarred, fluttering chest with a protective, earnest pressure; shivers when you start lifting his shirt, helping you in your endeavor as he hastily removes it; a delicious noise vibrating in his throat as you immediately lick at his taut shoulder. And still, his lips miss you: torn between wanting your tongue to claim every fragment of his body, and needing your mouth to return to his.

“Tell me you love me,” you gasp into his neck, your tongue wet and mesmerizing as it slides to the crook of his armpit, “Show me you love me,” trapping his hands as you press your breasts softly, delectably, against him.

Who is Sanemi, if not in love with you?

Before you can even blink, you find yourself on your back, breathless from the swift, cushioned impact of pillows cradling your shoulder blades, Sanemi’s silhouette flickering on the wall above your head—a guardian shadow—as he hovers achingly over your supple form. Your eyes meet for a fleeting second, his knees firm against your thighs as he bends toward the adoring glint in your gaze, and then he’s kissing you. Tender kisses trailing from your forehead to your cheek; across your eyebrows, the bridge of your nose, to your other cheek; following the curve of your jaw to your chin, dipping to the hollow of your throat; smiling fondly as you whine, swallowing your protest as he fulfills your request; his lips unbearably light and sweet as he kisses your mouth.

Sanemi devours you. I want to feel you. Tucks graceful fingers into your baggy shorts. Helps you wiggle out of them as he leaves your mouth to suck delicate, dainty bruises into the beckoning flush of your neck, the elegance of your clavicle. Your quiet mewls envelop his ego as he glides his tongue flat along your sternum, traversing the valley between your breasts as you pull weakly at his pants’ waistband — he somehow manages to tug them off without ever distancing his tongue from the heat of your skin. Here. Slips a gentle hand into your panties as he laps languidly at your sensitive nipples, entranced by the sultry, trusting daze in your eyes. Your eyelashes gleam and glitter when he bites carefully, a fascinating shudder rippling through you as you slip a hand into your panties as well, leading his steady, patient fingers to your dripping, silky folds. Feel that, ‘Nemi? 

He feels it. Feels how slick and messy and honest your pussy is. Honest about how badly it wants to be touched—filled—responding shamelessly, beautifully, to just the tip of one of his fingers, gushing at the slightest intrusion. ‘Nemi. As you paw at his briefs, wrenching a mangled groan from him when you squeeze the head of his cock; your essence drenching his fingers as his precum stains his briefs; your grip faltering when he sinks an entire finger into your pussy in one, fluid movement, his thumb squelching filthily as it searches for your clit. You feel so perfect. Your pussy clenches at the cliche. Your pussy’s so creamy. Fuck. You’re so fucking gorgeous. He coos as you quiver, soaking in his praise, his thumb suddenly resting on your clit, your eyes widening—then begging—as his single finger continues to stroke teasingly, effortlessly, at your gummy walls. I want to see you.

Efficient as ever, Sanemi pauses his ministrations, your panties and his briefs flung indiscriminately, an awestruck silence scintillating from your puffy, glistening sex to his throbbing, drooling cock. Told you. He inserts two fingers now, finally able to watch—to see—as they disappear into your pretty, needy pussy; his thumb on your clit again, no longer resting, rubbing circles of varying intensity, gauging your pleasure by the tightening of your pussy, eventually settling on a building, thorough pace. Told you. You’re so fucking stunning. He barely wavers as you trace the prominent vein spanning the underside of his cock, involuntary rutting of his hips the only giveaway that he could unravel—that he is unraveling—just as easily from your touch as you are from his. Don’t stop, ‘Nemi, don’t-

Sanemi doesn’t stop. Doesn’t stop as you clutch at the sheet under you, desperate and strong as your back arches; lips parting wordlessly, eyes rolling backwards; unspoken mantra of Yesyesyes shaking your thighs as blissful tension curls hotter, hotter, hot. Relentless as SANEMI spills loudly from your panting lungs; inevitable current of tantalizing, blinding warmth carrying you from one peak to the next; your pussy coating his fingers as you Come for me. I want to taste you. That’s it. That’s it. You’re so. Damn. You’re so fucking breathtaking. He indulgently smears his fingers across your mouth, smitten by how debauched you look as you willingly lick at the mess, mirroring your choice as he sucks on his fingers — you taste faintly sweet, addictively tart. All clean. He grins proudly, readjusting your position, precum dribbling onto your stomach as you moan softly. 

“‘Nemi?” he hums in acknowledgement, “You’re so pretty.”

Part of him immediately denies you; shriveling into his former cage of self loathing; flinching from your blatant oversight.

“I feel so pretty too, when m’with you,” you smile gently, so gently that Sanemi forgets what he’s—what you’re—doing, “Feel so loved.”

And he’s shocked to discover that: he feels pretty too. Not just here, in his bedroom, on his bed, with you spread before him. But out there. In the grocery store, trying to remember the one thing you both neglected to add to the shopping list. On the way to work, your G’morning Sanemi <3 sticky note in his wallet. As he stands outside your front door, wondering what outfit you’ve chosen for the day, knowing he’ll lose his train of thought regardless, the moment he sees you.

“Good,” he smiles, caressing your cheek with a definitive weight, still—always—scared, but irrevocably, “Because I love you.”

The tip of his cock presses into your fluttering pussy, and he melts. Shallow thrusts gradually, overwhelmingly, stretch your pussy; your fingers wrapping around his biceps, his forehead sweaty and reassuring against yours; a grunt escaping from Sanemi’s mouth into yours as his cock slides in further, your eyes glassy and content.

“So full, ‘Nemi,” you exhale raggedly as he thrusts in another inch, his throat constricting at how tight and lush your pussy feels, hardly even halfway sheathed.

“Do y’think,” he chokes out, “I could-”

“Wanna feel all of you,” you nod, “Wanna feel your balls against my ass,” you whimper, “Wanna feel you in my tummy.”

Sanemi snarls, thrusts deepening in response Ahh!, control a slimming consideration as he begins bullying the rest of his cock into your suffocating heat So big ‘Nemi, drunk on how you fervently claw at his shoulders Gonna ruin my pussy ‘Nemi. He swears he might not fit, your slick collecting in a ring toward the base of his cock as he gets closer, closer, closer; his thrusts jostling you as you sob dryly, your fingers reaching for, rubbing at, your clit; teetering on the precipice of second orgasm.

When his balls finally—incredibly—brush against your ass, you come with a muted cry. Sanemi feels as wrecked as you sound, your pussy a wet, heavenly vice around his cock as you writhe under him, nonsensically rambling, delicious tremors pulsating through your clit long after the initial free fall.

“G-gonna come soon,” he confesses, struggling to resist the milking clenches of your pussy.

“S’okay ‘Nemi,” you smile sweetly, spreading your creamy folds, “Look at how dirty you made me,” Sanemi obediently glances downward, cursing at the lewd, irresistible view, “Can watch yourself fucking in and out of my pussy,” your fingertips reach further, sticky and teasing against his cock, savoring the drag of his thrusts, “Come in me, yeah?”

Yeah Sanemi fails to respond, towering climax spurring ferocity as he bucks into you; eyes narrowed, balls slapping heavily against your ass as the tip of his cock grazes your cervix; bordering on painful in a seductive, thrilling manner.

He comes with soft noise, spurting ribbon after ribbon of cum into your swollen, greedy pussy; slowly pulling out with an overstimulated shudder, spilling onto your clit, your thighs; hissing as he squeezes the few remaining droplets onto your stomach. Despite his fatigue, Sanemi touches his thumb to your sloppy clit, his other hand keeping your hips in place as he rubs without warning, determined to make you come once more. You can’t—don’t want to—deny him, a dizzying, lighter orgasm convulsing through you in what feels like seconds, relishing in the filth of his cum leaking from your spasming pussy. Satisfied, Sanemi collapses beside you, slinging a lazy arm across you, chuckling roughly as he notes your exhausted expression.

“I think we should shower,” he kisses your shoulder, “Before we pass out.”

“Mhm,” you giggle, “You’re so pretty.”

“I know,” he snorts, “And you’re dirty.”

“S’your fault,” you yawn abruptly, cuddling Sanemi’s hand into your breast, “M’tired.”

…

…

You feel like you’re floating, levitating, bedroom spinning; warm walls fading to darker panels to bright tile; something sturdy, familiar, safe dancing with you as it begins to rain — a hot, soothing deluge peeling away a flaking layer reminiscent of pleasure. Scents of lavender and oatmeal tickle your skin; time ceasing as the rain dwindles, dissolves; the sensation of dampness being pat, pat, patted into extinction; and then you’re floating, levitating, again. Bright merges to dark merges to warm, almost stirring to comprehension as you topple to what seems like… horizontal? That same sturdy, familiar safety embraces—engulfs—you, and you lose sight of… of…

Meanwhile, Sanemi thinks about how he needs to wash his sheets, and how pretty he feels, getting to fall asleep with you curled into him.

About how even as he holds you, he knows that, really, you’re holding him.

About how he’s right where he belongs.

Allowing, wanting, needing himself to believe that wherever you go, you’ll ask him to follow.

Ask him to stay.

What’s my anime type?

Mentally tormented older brothers.

Can we please start a “Portgas D. Ace is my favourite character in one piece” support group?

I cry about this fictional man and his fictional brothers at least once every 2 days.