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morallyinept · 1 month

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ADORATION - A Joel Miller x Breast Cancer/Mastectomy F!Reader One Shot

Written as part of my B O D I E S Series 🤎

BODIES MASTERLIST

Summary: After some completely unexpected and devastating news, a long journey of loss and healing, Joel shows you how beautiful he still finds you.

Pairing: No Outbreak Joel Miller x Breast Cancer/Mastectomy F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader in terms of ethnicity, hair colour etc... However, Reader had breasts and hair before treatment. I've imagined Reader to be around a similar age as Joel, who is 56 when writing this, however Reader's age is not mentioned, so you can determine/imagine it's you, if you'd like to, bub.)

Word Count: 8.3k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Triggers & warnings: Mentions of breast cancer/double mastectomy/surgery/grief/loss/depression/body issues/illness & recovery/fear/mentions of death. Established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks)/breast worship/Joel loves on you hard.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: It's important to me that all types of readers are represented in my work, therefore this collection of stories is written for readers with REAL bodies. However, anyone can enjoy them. Whilst this story may not specifically represent your own personal journey, it is my hope that it resonates and offers comfort and enjoyment. The condition/disability mentioned in this story is not 'one size fits all' - everyone's journey is personal and unique, and I have undertaken as much research as I can to write accurately and respectfully. 🤎

MAIN MASTERLIST | JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

You’re whining, keening softly as your nose dusts the crown of greying curls resting just below your chin.

They tickle gently on the inside of your nostrils each time you inhale, smiling into the beam of sunlight that strobes onto the pillow, blinding you into a warm, balmy bliss.

Causing your body to spasm and jerk beneath him; little bursts of electricity soar with static, crackling down your spine. You arch your back, pushing your nipple further into his warm, wet mouth.

The insatiable pull around your nipple draws hisses from behind your teeth, eyes rolling back into the furthest reaches of your skull.

Your fingers press into the back of his cranium, cradling him close; losing yourself to the never-ending swirl of his tongue around that fleshy, hard bud as he tongues it, sucks it, nips it...

Hips grinding in a languid cadence against his crotch, a hard bulge catches on your clit as you grind against his cock; stiff and leaking into his faded, worn-out boxers.

Joel’s a self-confessed breast man. He likes pawing at your ass too on the very regular occasion, but he spends most of his foreplay time - and any time, really - latching onto your breasts like a hungry infant.

He likes to suck your nipples out of the puffy swell of your areolas on warm mornings when you wake nestled around him. Coax that stubborn left one out of it's invert with a probing, flickering tongue.

He loves to pinch the stiff, hardened peaks through your top when you're chilly to make you giggle and squirm against him. Feels closest to you when you sit together watching a rubbish film on Sunday evenings in his lap, and he casually has his hand up your shirt holding onto your breast like he would your hand.

It’s a comfort you both enjoy; a big, reassuring warmth holding onto you. He likes feeling the weight of them as they fill his palms, watching the bounce of them, mesmerized, as you ride on his cock vigorously.

Joel’s all up in your marvellous chest at any chance he can get. Sucking the pebbled teats between his lips, swirling his tongue around and around as you fist through his wavy locks and groan when he brings you to orgasm just by lavishing your breasts with his mouth - he loves how sensitive they are.

Especially the right one, it's almost as sensitive as your clit.

Just a few licks over it on this lazy weekend morning, has you panting and almost tearing the roots from his scalp as he squeezes the left one inside his deft fingers; flicking the nipple with his rough index pad and groping a lavish handful.

He’s rutting into you, on the cusp of just pulling his cock out of his boxers - that have seen better days - and slipping into his beautiful wife writhing underneath him; he can feel you seeping through the thin cotton against him.

Joel squeezes your breast again as he sucks at the other, humming at your moans. You croak out his name; each vowel rolling off your tongue with abject need.

Opening and closing his fist around the mound, grunting in rapture, he brushes his thumb along the underside, when he stops. Shiny nipple popping out of his wet mouth, with that furrowed brow pulling his face into a tight knot.

“Darlin’,” he says, with a pursed mouth; his heavy eyes falling to your breast, and his stubby thumb running under the obvious hardness of a lump. “Ya feel that?” He questions, gently.

You look down at him realising his pause.

“Why are you stopping?” You gasp, your hips still moving, slit making a sticky mess against his cottoned length.

You stop grinding, sitting up as you take your breast from him and squeeze all around it, slightly irritated at the interruption, until you find it for yourself.

You feel an unwelcome visitor nestled within the soft curve under your breast, inviting itself bluntly into yours and Joel’s lovemaking.

“God,” you say, his concerned eyes meeting yours.

A lump, no larger than a pea, yet heavy with the weight of uncertainty, that suddenly makes your blood run icy. Your heart pounds a frantic rhythm against your rib cage.

Fear, cold and unyielding, spreads poisoned rust through your veins as you trace its contours; your fingers lingering over the unfamiliar bobble of its terrain.

“It’s probably nothin’,” he reassures with a nod, with eyes so deep you could fall into them and never see light again.

"Yeah," you nod too, but your own eyes convey your trepidation.

And it’s enough to halt any chance of morning sex with your burly husband in its tracks, as you disappear quickly into the bathroom for a thorough inspection.

Disbelief, a fleeting hope that what your fingers trace is merely a figment of your imagination, or a cyst at best.

All weekend you fret and worry until you can call the doctor's office on Monday morning.

You can't count the number of times you touch it, prod at it. You tell yourself out loud that it’s probably nothing, like Joel suggests.

Yet, as reality sinks its claws into your rational thinking, fear takes root, gnawing away at the fragile threads of your composure.

Yeah. Probably a cyst.

Your breasts change all the time; lumpy and bumpy; they’re not as perky as they once were. Your monthly cycle sees them ache and weight heavy like granite blocks sometimes.

It’ll be fine. Nothing to worry about. You tell your weary reflection, but she has a hard time believing you as she stares back with unblinking eyes.

When Joel doesn't put his hand up your shirt as you nestle into him during your Sunday night film ritual, that's when the tears kick in.

Excusing yourself to the bathroom, you don’t cry in front of Joel, but he’s not so easy to convince that everything's fine, and it’s just allergies making your eyes red, when he knows it’s not allergy season. Or that you have any allergies.

“S’alright to be worried, darlin’. But ya gon’ be okay.” He tells you he’s coming to the doctor with you.

You argue that it’s fine, but he's insistent with his brooding frown and pursed lips like he’s constantly chewing on a wasp. He tells you he loves you no matter what, and you’ll be fine and that’s that, as he squeezes your hand.

He pulls you close as you watch the film together spread out on the sofa. Still no hand up your shirt. You see the colour moving on the screen, hear the dialogue and music, but none of it sinks in. You’re staring at the TV completely blank.

He excels at making you think clearly, challenges your fears and helps you confront them with simple questions and words to get you to think differently. It’s one of the main reasons you married him. He has a level head.

And you don’t realise how tense you are until Joel rubs your back and you melt fully into his chest.

With more soothing words and reassurances, eventually you believe him that you’re probably being irrational and panicking over nothing, because Joel has this knack of waving a magic wand and making everything okay.

But it isn’t okay, not this time.

Within two weeks you have a mammogram and a biopsy after the doctor murmurs hmms and huhs at you.

You’re told not to worry as there’s only a two per cent chance that it’ll be cancer, as you’re stripped bare before the prying eyes of medical professionals and the cold embrace of diagnostic tests.

The loss of control over your own physicality is so fast, leaving you feeling exposed and deprived of the autonomy you'd once taken for granted.

Unfamiliar hands groping and prodding on your breasts replace Joel’s warm, tender ones, and you try to hold it together inside the sterile walls.

You break the moment he has you in his arms outside in the long, lonely corridor of the hospital and asks you how it went.

Joel throws himself into work on the construction site, and you throw yourself into a sinking depression, clouded with worry and worst case scenarios.

You’re sent home with stitches and painkillers after the biopsy, and all you can do is wait.

The invasion of a hostile takeover of your once jaunty mood hovers thickly in the air between you both at home during that time.

You do the one thing you shouldn’t and Google fucking everything. Survival rates, post-op images, types of cancer and all the dread that your eyes can take in until you can take in no more.

You then switch tactics and try to stay occupied and distracted. You play Joel’s old country rock playlist full blast, deciding to turn the house upside down and clean and bleach the shit out of every nook and cranny of it, until Joel comes home, eyes stinging with the fumes, and asks if you’ve lost your damned mind.

You smell bleach on your fingers for days after and it reminds you bleakly of the smell in the hospital corridors.

You lay in bed side-by-side at night, awkwardly staring at the ceiling, recalling how most nights you can hardly get enough of one another. But Joel rolls over and mumbles an exhausted goodnight to you, and you try your hardest not to cry; but the tears slip silently out the creases of your eyes anyway.

You’re called to come in for your biopsy results almost a week later, and the car journey there is deathly silent as Joel and you stare out the windshield and don’t say anything the whole way there.

Joel glances at you and you feel the weight of his ginormous hand on your thigh, squeezing it, and you barely register the sensation at first, turning to him as he squints in the sunlight as he turns the wheel.

There’s no casual flirting, no animated discussions about supper; no singing along to Bennie And The Jets together on Rock FM.

You watch the town pass you by out the window like it’s a stranger, equal parts numb and terrified.

The specialist takes a seat opposite you both, their gaze never wavering as they speak in a soft voice laced delicate with empathy, and you immediately know from the look on their face.

“It’s gon’ be alright, darlin’.” He says.

Although you’re unsure if it’s for your benefit or his, as his eyes remain focused on the road and glaze over in their emptiness somehow.

"I wish there was an easier way to say this, but the results of your biopsy came back, and I'm afraid it's cancer..."

Your breath catches in your throat, your world dangerously spinning out of control as the weight of those words settle over you like a suffocating shroud.

"Cancer? Two per cent…" You whisper, your voice barely audible above the rush of blood in your ears.

The medical speak jumbles your brain. Triple-Negative. Faulty BRCA1. Aggressive…

The words fade out and so do you.

But when you come back, you're looking at Joel; at his profile as he speaks. Mouth moving at the specialist with questions fired behind stunned snarls.

You're not sure where you go, or for how long, it’s just all muffled and quiet. Like being underwater, it fills your ears completely as you sink. Peaceful in a way.

The first time in weeks you’ve had any peace inside the tornado of your mind. It all stills.

He’s so beautiful.

You think it’s odd how a man can be deemed beautiful, like it emasculates him somehow, but it's the right word, you think. Beautiful, with heavy features etched with concern, yet softened by an unwavering love that radiates from his soulful brown eyes.

In the opaque light filtering through the window, you notice the creases at the corners of his eyes, the remnants of countless laughter-filled moments you’ve shared; your mind reliving through all of them in a handmade scrapbook decorated with glitter glue.

You can hear that little breathy snuffle he makes as he chuckles at something you say, whether it’s genuinely funny or moronic. His eyes, once bright with hope and joy, now glisten with unshed tears filling round shiny scleras, reflecting the tumult of emotions churning within him.

He talks, asks all the right questions you can't even form into comprehensible words. And somewhere through the falling, the tumbling, you love him even more for it.

You spend a quiet moment tracing the prominent curve of his nose with your eyes down into the way his lips will quirk upwards in a playful, crooked grin that never fails to warm your heart.

Yet now, they’re drawn down into a thin pout of worry; a silent plea for reassurance amidst the uncertainty that looms over you both.

Joel's a practical man, hands on. He needs to know. He needs to have all the facts and weigh up all the options presented to him like a gloomy spread of cards on the desk before him.

You can’t help yourself, reaching your fingers out and tangling them in the soft tendrils of his hair as you brush them behind his ear.

But you're fixating on his hair, once a riot of chestnut curls that framed his face with youthful exuberance, now bear the distinguished marks of time - strands of silver threaded through the greying curls that fall in gentle waves around his temples.

It’s almost like they’re greying further in front of you as you watch him now.

When was the last time he got a haircut?

Your fingers brush against the fuzzy, silken stubble that adorns his jawline and top lip, a tactile reminder of the physicality of your love, recalling the way he rubs it against your face, your inner thighs...

His jaw clenches slightly, a reflexive response to the weight of your shared anguish, yet his grip on your hand remains steadfast.

Your eyes drop to the calloused knot of thick, squeezing tendons and bone crushing around your own.

The look in his coffee bean eyes as you advanced towards him, stacked chest puffed out; filled with love and pride that you were his. You remember his speech, how he choked around carefully thought out words relishing that he’ll get to spend every waking moment with his best friend.

The gleam of his wedding ring and the feel of the warm metal is no longer perfect in its circumference as you trace your finger over the tarnish of it. It’s flecked with tiny scratches from his work.

You remember how handsome he looked in his snug-fitting tux as he waited for you at the end of the aisle scattered with rose petals.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you picture him looking down into your coffin, wearing the same tux; red eyes and snot falling from his nose as he collapses, wailing your name in haunted howls, and it’s enough to have you fleeing from your chair, with a spine-chilling scrape against the floor, in search of the nearest bathroom as your stomach lurches.

You barely make it, spilling your insides into the toilet bowl uncontrollably.

No. No, no, no…

The harsh fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting eerie shadows against the cold, tiled wall with you pressed up against it; your breaths coming in ragged gasps that echo in the hollow confines of the tiny bathroom.

Tears stream down your cheeks, hot and relentless, as the weight of the diagnosis presses down upon you like a suffocating lead blanket, threatening to engulf you in its darkness.

Panic claws at your chest, its icy fingers tightening with each heartbeat, squeezing the air from your lungs until you feel as though you’ll suffocate beneath its crushing weight.

You can't breathe as you fumble at your buttons on your shirt trying to loosen them.

"I got ya, darlin'. I got ya." He soothes. "It's okay. I got ya. Sssh. Just breathe. I got ya..."

It doesn’t take Joel long to find you at all. All tiny and cowering in the cubicle; sobbing wildly as you reach for him, and he pulls you to him and lets you shatter against his broad shoulders.

His voice is your anchor, pulling you back slowly.

It's not fair. You can’t leave him.

You slur something about fucking it all, you’re going to die anyway, right? Might as well go down swinging, before he takes the bottle from you, muttering fucks of his own, as he prods you back up to bed and wraps band-aids around your bleeding toes.

You don’t remember him picking you up and taking you home, or holding you all night.

You don’t remember him finding you in the kitchen at around two AM, drinking yourself stupid with broken glass around your feet, and his concerned tone asking you what the hell you’re doing.

You eventually fall asleep encased inside of his arms and inhaling the spiced scent of his skin, breathing it in deeply so you don’t forget it.

He makes you breakfast in the morning that you don’t eat, irons clothes for you that you don’t wear.

Buys you brightly coloured flowers, that he knows you love, to cheer you up. But you simply let them wilt and die on the counter top, not bothering to get a vase out for them.

You just sit and watch them die; their velvety petals shrivelling and curling before your eyes over the course of days.

Cancer just doesn't affect you, it affects the people closest to you, too.

That’s what the website says that you’ve been directed to. You realise this when you notice Joel and you haven't had sex since the day he discovered the lump.

You haven’t kissed either, not passionately anyway. Your breasts have been unloved and untouched by him, for what feels like weeks, when the man usually can’t bear to not grope or pinch them playfully when he holds onto you. Or sneaks up behind you when you're washing up the dishes, making you splash bubbles in his face.

In a bout of feverish desperation, you climb into his lap whilst he’s watching a game and nursing a bottle of beer on his day off, kissing him with wanton bites on his neck making him frown, as you push your chest towards his face.

It only kills you further when he shakes his head and tells you not like this, darlin’ before he lifts you off of him.

It creates an argument. You accuse him of not finding you attractive anymore, and he growls at you that you’re being ridiculous, before you yell even louder.

You don’t even know why you’re yelling or how you even got to this point. Nothing makes sense anymore.

And yet now, for the first time, you don’t know what he’s thinking behind that knot of muscles pulling his face taught; what he’s feeling, and it fucking terrifies you as you plead for him to talk to you.

You and Joel never fight like this. You always talk about things that bother you both. You've never heard Joel raise his voice in the whole entire time you've known him.

Honesty and open communication has always driven your relationship and come naturally between you both.

But instead, he leaves to let you cool off. You don’t know that he doesn’t go far at all. He just drives his truck round the corner and sits there in it, sobbing helplessly into his thick palms until it gets dark and he goes to a bar in town to drown his sorrows further.

You don't know that it kills him not being able to touch you; he wants to. Fuck, he wants nothing more than to ravish you, but he’s terrified he’ll hurt you, or will do something dumb that only his own mounting panic convinces him he’ll do.

For the first time in his life, Joel feels completely helpless.

It’s not fair. He can’t lose you.

“Let me see,” you prompt, and he drops the ice-pack to reveal a nasty black eye in the early stages of birth.

You find him in the kitchen late when he eventually comes back home, and making no effort to hide the fact he’s had a heavy drink.

He looks up at you, holding an ice-pack to his face and waiting for the tirade from you.

Red grazes orbit around his fist too, knuckle skin missing, you note. His eye is almost sealed shut with the swelling that’s a mix between blue and purple, in stark contrast to his golden face. Broken blood vessels litter the area, and he sniffs deeply before he speaks again.

“Ya should see the other guy,” Joel assures with a tight mouth.

He has a large dimple on the left side of his face when he smiles; an almost perfect, crescent like the moon in its waxing phase. But it’s hard to coax a smile out of him for it to be fully revealed these days; his mouth constantly twitches into a downward arch most of the time.

As you look at him, there’s an old man somewhere inside of his face; a burdened man, exhausted and on the verge of giving up entirely.

Cancer just doesn't affect you, it affects the people closest to you, too.

“What happened?” You query, tentatively as you dab at his knuckles.

“I lost my shit.” He replies stoically, as you tend and fuss over him whilst sighing.

You look up at him and as much as you want to be mad with him, you can’t - he’s hurting too.

Comprehension is a difficult task to begin to tackle. You ask so many whys - why me? Why is this happening? But fail to find an answer to any them.

Everything has been spun one-eighty and you’re still dizzy from the shock of your diagnosis.

Hours and soon days disappear from your life, like sand falling in an hourglass, as you try to fully understand what’s happening around you.

You feel as though meandering through a blur, your body robotically doing the things you're supposed to, but your mind not being fully coherent. Get up, eat, work, go to bed and so on. It ticks continuously whilst your limbs belong to that of a zombie.

Questions, thoughts and images... all blinking through you trying to piece it all together whilst you move stagnantly. But eventually the anxiety begins to chip into your mentality and inserts thoughts that you daren’t venture down.

The exact truth is staring you in the face, but try as you might to refute it, it’s plainly obvious and it begins to terrify you in ways that are new.

You have cancer.

It invades your dreams and deprives you of sleep. Tears make themselves acknowledged, at the most inconvenient of times too, like shopping in the grocery store, or typing at your computer at your desk at work, and trying to hide them from the prying world is a task in itself.

And you don’t realise it at the time, but Joel’s going through the same. Questioning, worrying, just as paranoid and stressed as you are.

And you both need to talk about it, you know you do, but yet neither of you can quite summon the courage to do so.

“M’sorry,” he says into your hair, as he pulls you in for a crushing cuddle against him.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, as quiet tears absorb into the plaid flannel pulled tight over his chest from your eyes.

But it's not okay. You have cancer.

Over the course of your discussions with the doctors, specialists and oncologists - and other medical professionals, whose names, faces and titles get lost in the swampy fog of your brain - the words ‘bilateral mastectomy’ are tossed around.

It’s clear the risks aren’t worth you keeping both of your breasts when they tell you you’re at high risk of it potentially coming back. To add another punch to the blow, they suggest removing your ovaries too, mumbling the words just in case.

Just in case…

You look at Joel, devastated. You’d both agreed that children were something you weren't both keen on having years ago, but it still feels like that choice of having an open dialogue about it is ripped from you.

When you agree it’s the best way forward, and he agrees too with a face that looks like he’s just had a lobotomy and doesn’t know where he is, a date is put in the diary for the surgeries and treatments, and it’s sooner than you think it will be.

There’s hardly any time to breathe and take it all in.

A day before the surgery and you’re sitting at the kitchen table with a face on as Joel comes in from work, sawdust caked in his hair and boots.

Your voice cracks as you explain that perhaps you should just call it time. Let him find someone else. You won’t be upset, you want him to be happy as you mutter incoherently about death and divorce, and death again, until he shakes his head defiantly and huffs loudly.

He reaches into the fridge for a cool beer and offers you one, but you don’t reply. He looks down at your face.

At the face that Joel affectionately calls butt face.

The beer fizzes over the top in a foamy eruption as he slams it down on the counter top.

“Ya really are an idiot, ain’t ya?” He says, slumping down heavily into the chair beside you.

“But,” you begin and he makes the butt face at you, with pushed out lips and squinted eyes. “You won’t want me anymore.” You whisper.

His face pulls serious as he drags your hand into his blistered ones. “I ain’t fuckin’ goin’ anywhere.” He grits. “And neither are you.”

“But-”

“Quit with the butt face, darlin’. In sickness and in health. Ain’t that what we promised?”

“Yeah, but-”

He shakes his head again, his stubby fingers finding their home on your face, catching renegade tears in the whorls of his fingerprints.

“What, ya think m’gonna not love ya anymore because ya ain’t gonna have any breasts, is that it?”

That’s exactly it, hit the nail on the head, and although you don’t say it, he knows. Damn it, he knows.

“Ya really think m’that shallow?” He clicks his tongue around his teeth.

“No, of course I don’t,” you shake your head. “I’m just… I’m scared, Joel. I'm really fucking scared.” You gulp.

“I know.” He says, pulling you into his lap and wrapping those big, strong arms around you. “M’gonna be right there, when ya wake up, okay? M’gonna bring ya home and we’ll get through this, together. You n’ me. One day at a time. Okay, butt face?”

It’s the first time in weeks you smile and the first time in weeks you kiss; a soft, but tentative peck against your lips, that still holds back somewhat.

Pushing your foreheads together you sigh out, unable to think about anything else.

Two operations, four and a half months of chemotherapy and three weeks of radiotherapy, and it takes months for your hair to grow back.

You remember recoiling in horror as it fell out in clumps a few weeks after the chemo started, until you decided to just be done with it, and had Joel shave it off for you.

He offered to do his own in solidarity with you, until you snatched the clippers from him.

“Don’t you dare!” You almost shrieked as you ran your fingers through his tufty curls, smiling. “You’re never getting a haircut ever again.” And he smirked at that.

“Yes, ma’am.” He'd said as he put them away.

You had woken, groggy and aching, to Joel's face smiling at you and pushing a water beaker to your lips. You looked down to see your chest covered in bandages and drains under your hospital issue nightgown.

It was an odd feeling, you didn't feel much of a difference in those first few, post-op days; weighted down by the drains and dressings, and in and out with the pain meds.

They shifted you out of hospital the next day to recover at home, and Joel took up the role of carer, doctor and home cook as he fussed and got you comfy on the couch in a suffocating fort of pillows and blankets.

After the ovarian surgery, you started taking aromatase inhibitors, which were an added nightmare as these treatments bring on an almost immediate menopause with your ovaries now gone.

No gradual decline - a full push over the fucking cliff, face first. You can’t bear for Joel to touch you when you’re burning up and sweating; soaking the sheets through completely that you fear you’ve wet the bed.

When you’re sick from the radiotherapy, he feels useless hearing you heave behind a locked door. All you can do is lay in bed for days, struggling to keep food down and sleep it off.

You're too weak and exhausted to climb the stairs sometimes, so Joel carries you in his arms up them, even though it kills his knees and makes him groan silently when it pulls on his back. But he still does it anyway.

There are more discussions as the treatments carry on. More options, more pills, more chemicals. More time spent feeling like sludge.

Your bandages and dressings finally come off and you see yourself for the first time in front of a mirror, and there are a few moments when you can’t feel anything. Like there’s no water left in your body to cry anymore.

You just stare at your reflection with the nurse hovering by your side.

They warned you you’d be left with scarring. The scars from the mastectomy extend across the skin of your chest either side and into your armpits where you had lymph nodes removed too. They’ll fade over time, but will never completely disappear.

They warned you they’ll also feel permanently numb. And they’re right, as you touch your mutilated body with shaky fingers, you feel… nothing.

It’s another loss to mourn, the loss of your femininity, of yourself.

And that’s the worst feeling of all as you stare at the mess of your chest that was once curved and bouncy and shapely like a woman ought to be.

Now you’re flat as a board and there’s nothing remotely feminine about your body now, you think.

You can feel the sensation of touch to some degree, but it’s nothing like before. No sensitivity, no prickly feeling that creates goosebumps, just completely numbed out.

And over the course of some weeks, you can feel odd sensations arise, like you’ll touch your chest and you’ll feel it under your armpit. Your body feels all out of sorts as it slowly heals.

You have options; you can have more surgery to build you a pair of breasts if you'd like, but that comes with more pain and recovery and you decide you’re done with that.

You can wear a padded or filled out bra, you can have a tattoo which you briefly consider to cover the scarring.

But you settle on remaining as you are for now. Overwhelmed by the options out there, when you truly believed there was nothing that could make you feel even remotely feminine again.

Maybe something pretty, like flowers…

And Joel nods at all of them as you ask for his input, but ultimately he just wants what you want.

You cover the scars up with layers. You sleep with long sleeved tops and no longer undress in front of Joel. You can't bear him to see you like this, not yet.

Each day you think will be the day when you garner enough bravery to show him, but don't.

It feels weird, like some days they’re still there, akin to a phantom limb. You find yourself checking your chest as you feel the familiar bounce of them as you run down the stairs, or go to grope them with the suds to clean in the shower and the loss devastates you all over again.

He reassures you, telling you that you're beautiful with sincere eyes, and there's nothing that you need to worry about. But it still niggles away.

That lone, renegade thought that he might not be attracted to you anymore when he sees them, suddenly becomes the loudest of all.

They say time is a healer. Patience, understanding. And Joel has been all these things and more.

He’s carried you above the surface of the muddy water when all you’ve wanted to do is drown at times. He’s the one who nudges you awake each morning with a nose in your cheek and reminds you to take your pills.

He’s the one who brought you a beautiful coloured scarf to wear on your head when you lost your hair. A gorgeous floral print that you admired with a smile at the intricate pattern of petals as you ran your fingers over the silk of it.

He’s the one who, despite working all the hours God sends, still comes home and makes you something to eat because he knows you might not have any energy to cook.

He’s the one who still tells you he loves you, no matter what’s going on under your tops and sweaters that swamp you in their bagginess.

It isn’t time that does it at all, it’s him.

You wake one morning, months after, as the sun pools in the bedroom, and look at Joel on his back, asleep and snoring gently.

Joel’s seen you at your absolute worst; your most vulnerable, and he’s still here. Resilient, strong. A man who puts others to shame.

A man that you still desire, and you want him to desire you, even if you’re not whole anymore.

You reach out and touch him, hand brushing over the swell of his golden belly to convince yourself he’s real. Soft, downy hairs around his belly button tickle your palm gently.

He stirs at your stroking, sleepy eyes looking down at you as he blinks, adjusting to the light.

“Ya alright?” Joel asks, and you nod with a smile.

“I love you.” You say to him and he blushes, like he always does at that. Pink capillaries coming to life in his cheeks.

“I love you, darlin’.” He confirms, clutching your hand and kissing across the knuckles gently.

His hair is a tousled mess, the greys on his chest seem more plentiful and it stirs something within you; something the intense and gruelling treatments haven't fully killed off.

You straddle him and lean over, kissing him, much to his surprise. Your hands roam over his soft belly, squeezing gently as he smirks around your lips, and yelps a little when you pinch a ticklish spot.

“Hey now,” he warns, as your tongue licks over his lips.

He hums out as his hands sweep up your back, cupping the back of your head as he slips his tongue inside your mouth.

To taste him again is divine as your body instantly relaxes onto him. He nips gently on your lip and you groan out as you feel how hard he gets underneath you.

You can’t help but subtly grind on him as he groans into your mouth.

You break the kiss to sit upright, heart thrumming in your chest as he looks up at you with those dark, molten eyes.

"I'm ready to show you." You say and he straightens up.

"Okay," he nods, thumbs stroking over your thighs gently.

Without hesitation, you lift up your top revealing the flat, scarred wasteland that is your chest now, that you haven’t had the courage to let him fully see.

For a moment, his face is completely unreadable and you consider reaching for your top to cover up again.

You hold your breath as his eyes wander over the puckered welts; you feel his fingers twitch against your hips.

He sits up on his elbows, eyes locked onto yours, licking over his lips slowly as his peepers follow the lines back and forth.

His eyes dip further down to the two, little dimpled scars from where your ovaries were removed, either side of your tummy.

“Don’t ya dare,” he says, as if able to read your mind.

And you realise that he can, in his own way. He’s always been able to see you even though you try to hide sometimes. He just has the patience to wait until you're ready.

He never pushes, he just waits, because he knows that eventually, you’ll crawl out from whatever hole you need to hide in for a while to deal, to process - whatever it is you need to do. Then you’ll come back to him.

And he’ll always be there aith open arms when you do.

Joel takes you in his arms, twists you so you’re laying on your back and he kisses you there without hesitation. Kisses gently where your breasts once were in the same way that he used to.

Runs his mouth delicately over the numbed skin, dragging lips and leaving wet tracks with open mouthed kisses.

You gasp out as your eyes fill with water, your fingers finding their rightful place, raking through his curls as he glides his tongue over every creased line of your scars.

“Joel,” you whimper, cradling him as you feel his hardness press up against your centre.

You can feel a tingle of the warmth from his lips on your skin kissing gently as your eyes pool. He looks up to see you crying.

“Baby, baby. Does it hurt?” He asks, worried.

You shake your head. “No. No, I can feel you.” You gasp, shaking. “It’s weird, but I can.”

“Where?” He asks.

“There, kind of,” you say, as he brushes his lips over the spot where your right nipple used to be.

He kisses you there and runs his tongue gently over the area making you shudder, and you feel the tingles again, strangely in your armpit.

It makes you giggle at how your nerves have patched themselves up all wonky, and he smiles at you, chuckling as he licks and tests all places that might have an ebb of feeling, with little kisses and watching your reaction to each one.

All the tension leaves your body, muscles relaxing beneath his gentle ministrations; breath steadying as you surrender to the intimacy of this moment.

Reaching down, you cup his swollen cock over his boxers, with the fraying elastic tickling your wrist.

“We really need to get you some new underwear,” you titter at the state of them.

He simply shrugs with a smirk. “I could just simply take ‘em off.”

You nod eagerly and he pushes them down over his hips as you stroke him; your palm sticky with him as he leaks undeniably into it.

“Ya sure?” He queries gently as you swipe him against your folds.

"Mmm, Joel." You groan at the feel of him as you pump him. "God, I want you."

It feels so good to have him touching you, so close. The weight of his body pressed into yours, crushing you again. How warm he feels against your skin.

“I fucking want you, Joel.” You plead, as you clutch his face in your other hand. His warm breath breathes life into your tired bones. “I don’t want you to be gentle either. I need you to fuck me, hard.”

“Ya so fuckin’ beautiful, darlin’,” he grunts as he pushes his thick cock head against your drenched hole.

You both groan out as he fills you, stretching you wide around him and pumping into you gently as you acclimatise to his girth - it's been a while.

You wrap your legs around his waist as he mouths at your neck; tongue trailing down to your chest and finding that spot again.

“Snug as a bug in a rug... damn.” Joel quips, his tongue running over his teeth and then shaking his hips from side-to-side, making you feel all those little movements as he furrows up so tightly in there.

He flexes his groin and begins moving back and forth inside of you, pressing on that sweetly, pinchy spot deep inside; slightly uncomfy and yet incredibly good at the same time.

“Fuck me, Joel,” you plead, gripping onto his arm skin, “fuck me hard, please…” You whine as he sets to ploughing you like you command and demand of him.

You’re so wet that the sounds coming out of your pussy are almost farcical, making you giggle and him grunt as they squeak and soak him. He slips out a few times trying to gain his momentum - it’s like a damn slip n’ slide.

Joel presses down on your knee, bearing his weight on it so you can’t shut your legs. Making you endure it - to ride that full gigantic wave smashing into your pussy and rising up through your body.

“Ya so fuckin’ wet, ya drenched.” He’s panting, beside himself with the state you're in. “Gushing for me already, huh, darlin’?”

Your eyes roll back into your head and he smirks as he fucks hard into you like you want.

“Like this? This how ya want it?”

“Yeah, Joel. Don’t stop!” You wail.

“Ain’t gon’ stop til’ ya come for me, baby.”

He only slows to lean in and kiss you as he pistons in deeper, winding those hips of his into you further.

“Joel…” you drone. It feels so good as he grinds, so deep.

“Darlin’ ya feel too good. Fuck, m’not gon’ last like this…” he whines with a panting smirk.

“Slow it down,” you moan as he grips a hold of your thighs and brings you back onto him slower, deeper.

He licks over your mouth clumsily, tongue swiping across your nostrils, grunting out loud as your pussy clenches around him as you shudder underneath him.

He watches with a smile, lighting up the contours of his heavy set brow as you come around him.

And it’s like staring at the sun for too long; his smile brands itself into the back of your eyelids - a permanent scorch that you never want to forget.

And you feel every inch of him like this. He fucks into you slowly; your breaths hitching and falling from your chest quicker as you both work to build you up again.

“Joel!”

He reaches forward, stroking his thick fingers over the marred scars; feeling the smoothness of healing skin juxtaposed with the slight roughness of the scar tissue.

He strokes up to your neck, pulling you upright gently as you cry out when his cock hits so deep.

“Like that, darlin’...” he croons, as he winds further into you. “Mmm, fuck!”

You tremble and shake uncontrollably as he brings you to another orgasm.

“There ya are, baby. There ya are…” Joel smiles, kissing over your nose and cheeks. "So fuckin' beautiful, ain't ya?"

And he’s right there with you, head pressed into yours, watching; feeling as you squeeze and contract. Feeling you tremble and shake.

Watching as your eyes water and you gasp; your hands squeeze around his biceps, nails digging in.

You claw at him. Pulling him closer as he whimpers. A ragged cry escapes from his throat as he drives his hips deeper and struggles to contain himself.

You feel his teeth on your shoulder, grazing and desperate to bite down through the flesh. Your nails rake through his scalp, twisting and pulling as you pant and groan.

He watches in awe at you shaking on the end of his thick cock, rattling about as he turns you out and finally has his way with his gorgeous wife again.

His eyes fall over your chest and he looks at you adoringly, tongue weaving across the scars again without hesitation. Planting kisses and mouthing over the scars.

“Oh God! Oh Fuck!” You holler.

Making you feel every thick, beastly inch of him, as he pounds up into your insides like a boxer taking his fury out on the bag.

Joel pulls you by the hips upright, as he rolls onto his back, so you’re now on top of him. Everything’s fluid, swift and in a blur.

He anchors you down by your waist, making you sit on him; making you unable to escape him.

“Holy shit, oh shit-shit! Joel!” You exclaim as you gasp and struggle to swallow as the frantic intakes of breath choke you. “Oh my God!”

“Ya can take it… ya can do it, that’s it. Ride it.” Joel encourages. “So fuckin’ beautiful when ya take my cock like this, darlin’. God damn."

He just keeps coming at you; powering and thundering through you, without any hesitation in letting up anytime soon. He’s a powerhouse of sweat and grunts, breathing like he’s dying; small, quick rasps and wheezes gurgle in the back of his throat.

You find your pace, pressing palms into his broad chest and letting your hips bounce, and it feels so damn good as the curve of his cock rubs in all the sweet spots deep inside.

You reach down and stroke your clit, groaning at the feel of it tingling wildly under your fingertips.

“Stroke that pretty clit for me,” Joel croons, hammering up into you.

You stroke and rub the sticky nub, and then bring your digits up towards your mouth, sucking and teasing your lips with your fingers, and he watches enthralled.

“Suck those fingers, darlin’.” Joel hisses. “Tell me how good ya taste.”

“So good,” you smirk. You push your fingers to his lips, and he sucks them too.

"Yeah, ya do. Taste so fuckin' good."

You feel his thumb circle over your clit bringing you closer and closer with each swish of his pad against it.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes. YES!” You pant, as he grips around your waist tighter.

“Ya want me to fill ya up, hmm?”

“I want all of you, Joel.” You whine, desperate for him.

“That’s it, grind on my cock. Just like that.” He coos; his lip caught between his teeth as he cranks you around, holding onto your hips.

Your head flops onto his shoulder, your hand gripping onto the other as your lower half powers through.

“Mmm, Joel... please!” You groan, feeling your body tighten and clench again.

“Ya close again, baby?” He wheezes in your ear. "Gonna come for me?"

“Mhm… so close.”

“Come all over my cock.” He encourages. “Soak it, I want it all.”

“Oh God!” You whine.

“So damn good, fuck,” he grunts as you move around and around, your back tensing. He rubs it fondly with his big hands. “Right there, that’s it. Oh fuck, that’s so sweet, darlin’.” He groans. “M’gonna come so deep inside of ya.”

You cry out; your body shuddering and trembling on top of him, and you feel him tense and grunt out on a long, satisfied sigh.

You come, your head expanding and your body floating; your cunt clenching around him as you milk him completely dry. Tingles flood your body, your back arches and you can see the sun burning behind your eyes again.

Unable to think or say anything, Joel kisses you; silencing you before you have the chance to ruin this moment by shrinking back or wrapping yourself back up and hiding your body away from him.

For one millisecond, he’s weak; just a sweaty mess of bewildered man meat beneath you. Joel loses himself inside the holistic spiral of your irises for a moment, unable to get out or find his way through the maze of them.

And part of him wants to stay lost in them forever.

He trembles as he rocks slowly, feeling himself empty and deflate with a final grunt of your name, and his shoulders sag in unison into the mattress.

You wrap your arms around him and finally collapse upon him and lay there for a few minutes, listening to nothing but his heartbeat thrumming in your ears, eventually slowing its pace back to its normal rhythm.

Joel looks down at you as you run your fingers across his scalp and it makes him shiver; goosebumps travelling down his spine at breakneck speeds.

You stop winding the curls, shifting and resting your head up against his as you catch your breath.

He holds you, kissing you gently over your eyelashes and cheeks.

“Ya more fuckin’ beautiful to me than you’ve ever been, ya know that?” He murmurs into your face.

"They made 'em neater than I thought they'd be." He says.

You feel his knuckles sweep over your chest gently, unafraid to touch you at all, and you feel like a weight as been lifted as he does it.

You watch as he traces the ridge of the scars delicately.

"Yeah." You nod. You lift your arm up so he can see them run into your pit.

"Do ya feel much pain still? I didn't hurt ya, did I?"

You smile and shake your head. "No. It's just mostly numb. Just feels different. I'm really happy that I could feel something when you kissed me. Even if it was in my armpit," you chuckle.

"Ya still fuckin' beautiful," he smiles, and kisses inside your armpit.

You smile bashfully, headbutting his chin gently as you try not to let the tears water your eyes.

“Look at me, darlin’.” His fingers tip your chin up to him. Thumbs smearing away any tears. “I mean it. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known. Fuckin’ balls on ya are bigger than mine.”

“I don’t know about that,” you say, reaching down to cup and stroke the soft swell of his between your fingers.

He groans, biting on his lip before his mouth finds yours again. "Ya tryin' to kill me?" He slips his tongue inside and tastes you all over again, his hands slipping down your back and groping your ass. “Ya so fuckin' sexy."

"You think so?" You smile.

"Oh, I know so. Ya always have been. Don't hide from me anymore, okay?"

"Okay." You breathe.

"Want ya sleepin' naked next to me again." He thinks for a moment. "Why don't I take ya out to dinner tonight? Anywhere ya want. If ya feelin' up for it?"

"You taking me out on a date, hmm?"

"Yeah. I am. Maybe put one of them nice dresses ya got on. I'll put on that shirt ya like. The green plaid one. Spruce myself up for ya."

"That's my favourite." You agree.

"Ya deserve to feel good, darlin'. Wanna take ya out. Show the world how fuckin' lucky I am."

You smile into his face. "What did I do to deserve you, Mr Miller?"

He kisses you again. Soft lips brushing against yours. "M’gonna keep loving ya. You n’ ya stupid butt face. Ya hear me, Mrs Miller?”

You nod, chuckling, safe in his arms; a place where you can feel safe and heal, and begin to feel like yourself again.

“I hear you.” You smile, as he pelts your face with swamping kisses in the warm sunlit bedroom. "I love you."

He smiles and he's never looked more beautiful.

“I love ya too, butt face.” Joel hums, as he crushes you to his chest and never lets you go.

I really hope you enjoyed reading this story with Joel, and welcome your comments/thoughts. I'd appreciate a re-blog if you liked it so others can find it on their dash to read and enjoy too - thank you very much! 🖤

BODIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST

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celestie0 · 2 months

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MASSIVE gojo x reader fanfic rec (no spoilers)

ok i know a lot of my followers are gojo girlies and i just need to put yall onto this fucking fanfiction because i just read the latest release for it and i’m genuinely tweaking rn🧍🏻‍♀️

@lostfracturess ‘s amazing work called “symptoms & causes” - a medical au

[image pulled from her masterlist]

let me just…let me just try to even gather the reasons why you need to add this to your tbr lists (weekend is comin up too so perfect time)

characterization of gojo satoru.

gojo in this fic is characterized so fucking well, from chapter one. there are so many distinctive ways miss lostfractures goes about building his aura (word of mouth/reputation, dialogue, expository, primary interactions, secondary interactions, etc.) it reminds me of the show where gojo just has this energy to him that you can't tear yourself away from i picture him in this fic to be unrelenting, unforgiving, morally grey, with an undertone of softness yet still feral through it all,, basically gojo during shibuya arc LOL. i looove reading cute silly boy gojo fics sm (he’s so baby) but THIS fic explores the borderline wicked side of him that is so thrilling, unique, and rare to find i think in this fandom’s collection of works. it’s just so fucking good.

forbidden romance.

UGGHH i love stories w forbidden romance. in this one, it’s med student reader x professor gojo (additional power dynamics in that he’s a senior surgeon in her field and also a research mentor in her study of interest…TRIPLE THREAT DAMN). i love how miss lostfractures doesn’t shy away from reminding the reader that it’s wrong, and that they shouldn’t be doing this. that’s my fave part of forbidden romances like yesss remind me again why this is all so wrong but let’s still do it anyways LOL <333

reader’s voice.

i’ve LOVED reader since the beginning, so relatable, emotionally mature, all her flaws are so believable & her strengths are shown seamlessly. it’s just so much fun to read because i’ll literally have a thought like “hmm…that (something a character said/did) doesn’t sound very convincing” and then the next line will be something like “he didn’t sound very convincing” like!!! me and s&c reader?? we’re locked in like this fr🤞🏼 like gojo’s domain expansion fingers

escapism.

everything in this story feels so damn real it’s insane. the pacing is stunning, love the utilization of stacks of scenes that are sort of short but so concise, enough to be a smooth read but still descriptive enough to entirely transport you into the world that’s being built. cannot praise the writing in this story enough. also the variety of ways that scenarios are made that pull characters closer to one another?? so creative. as someone who works in a research lab, studied bio in college (some of the fkn biochem stuff that comes up in this fic gives me heart attacks lmfaooo pls im traumatized), and has worked in clinics/hospitals it just itches my brain so damn good. you’ll be convinced you’re a brilliant med student while you read this fic.

writing.

the writing is just. so. good. it’s so good. better than most PUBLISHED works i’ve read. i really can't say much other than that, you just have to go see for yourself.

—

if any of these reasons speak to you, i highly recommend you check the fic out. just a note tho it does have some dark themes but you can find all the tags/warnings on her page!

OK BYE

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turtletaubwrites · 2 months

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Bend Until You Break ~ Part 1

Thank you for this request from the lovely @anemptypuddingcup for a Yandere!Law that the Reader goes to for help with a serious health condition, only for Law to take a liking to her... I swear I will write sweet Law one of these days, but for now please enjoy Yandere!Law. This contains !!DARK CONTENT!! so please check the warnings, and skip this one if it may be triggering or uncomfortable for you. This one's for us hypermobile baddies out there. 🥄

Pairings: YANDERE!Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader

Bend Until You Break ~ Masterlist

Word Count: 2679

Ao3 Link

Summary: You have struggled with mystery pains and injuries for most of your life, and had resigned yourself to suffer after every doctor told you there was nothing wrong. But when a world renowned doctor/pirate comes to town to offer aid in exchange for supplies, you decide to give hope one more chance. Maybe you'll finally find a doctor you can trust.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, DARK CONTENT, DUBCON, Dubious Consent, Swearing, Eventual Smut, Yandere, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Hypermobility, Medical Examination, Medical Trauma, Medical Conditions, Chronic Pain, Injury, Physical Disability, Physical Therapy, Doctor/Patient, Abuse of Authority, Kidnapping, Possessive Behavior, Other Additional Tags to be Added, (Reader is described as having hair "above her shoulders" that she can brush)

A/N: This chapter is SFW, but I'm adding in many tags to start out with since this mini series will contain heavy/dark content. PLEASE heed the tags, and do not read this fic if you aren't comfortable with these topics. Some of these medical issues may or may not have come from personal experience 🙃

Extra A/N: I am not a doctor, and this is not meant to be educational, or to contain any health advice. Please seek a health professional. Hopefully you'll have better luck than Reader 🙄

I should just leave. He’ll just tell me the same things. It’s a waste of time.

You were close to convincing yourself to walk away, especially as the discomfort and pain of standing in one place for so long started radiating up your body.

The line got shorter, and you stretched and bounced, trying to hang onto a sliver of hope.

“Hello, how’s your day going?”

A talking polar bear in an orange jumpsuit waved at you from behind a small table, handing you a clipboard.

“I-I’m well thanks. How…”

“Good! It’s always nice when the captain can help people. He’s the best! Just fill that out, and he’ll be with you soon.”

Looking at the form brought you out of the shock of speaking to a bear. Instead, it filled you with intense frustration, until you were practically boiling in your skin.

‘Rate your pain from 1-10.’

How the fuck am I supposed to rate all the different types of pain I’m in on any given day?

‘Circle the parts of the body where you are experiencing pain.’

I could put circles over so many things. Might as well circle the whole fucking chart, and have them call me a liar.

‘List your diagnoses, and family medical history.’

I don’t have one, doctors never find anything. Mom has some similar symptoms, but they're so mild that she's never tried to get a diagnosis. You’re the one who’s supposed to figure this out!

You resisted the urge to vent your anger onto the page, bullshitting your way through instead. You tried to write in the most convincing way to get this new doctor to take you seriously.

This new doctor. “The Surgeon of Death.” A fucking pirate.

But he was supposed to be the best, and he was here on your shitty little island for a couple of weeks, trading medical treatment for the town's supplies. You had already heard reports of “miracles,” that he could perform surgeries in an instant, that he could fix anyone.

Please fix me.

This was it. You couldn’t take anymore trying after this. Just trying to get a doctor to listen to or believe you was almost worse than the daily pain. Almost.

“Miss Y/N? The captain is ready for you now. My name is Bepo, by the way,” the bear grinned as he took the clipboard from your clammy hands. At least you hoped it was a grin.

He handed the form back to you as he led you through the dimly lit hallways of this strange submarine. It felt like you’d entered some other realm, an underworld, on your way to strike a deal with a demon.

As long as he can fix me…

“Here you are,” Bepo motioned as he opened a large metal door. “You’re in great hands.”

Hands.

Hands were the first things you noticed as you entered the examination room.

Those hands were tensed over the back of a rolling chair, gripping the thin padding as if waiting for you so he could sit down.

Long fingers mesmerized you, tattoos etched along the back of each hand. And as you stepped into the well lit room, you saw the word “death,” spelled out across both sets of those fingers.

The sound of his throat clearing snapped your eyes to his, your skin flushing as you realized he’d been speaking to you.

As you realized how fucking gorgeous he was. His black hair looked a bit mussed, but it only added to the effect, along with his goatee, and his dark, pretty eyes.

Already more useful than my other doctors. Easy on the eyes.

“May I look at your form, miss?”

‘Oh, of course,'' you stuttered, thrusting the paper toward him. “I’m Y/N.”

“Dr. Trafalgar. You can take a seat.”

Well, his bedside manner seems pretty standard, you thought with a small sigh, sitting down on the familiar crinkly paper covering the exam table.

He circled behind you to close the door, and what sounded like a lock clicking into place had your heart rate spiking.

“Stand up, please,” he said firmly, your form still unseen in his hand.

“Oh, sorry. I thought you said–”

“Walk to the corner, and sit back down, please.”

His voice was unreal. You would have jumped through hoops for him anyway, praying that any doctor would listen.

But his command seemed to curl into your brain, and you followed it immediately.

“Why are you favoring that hip?”

“Oh, it…”

Here’s where your credibility would fall apart. Your nails dug into your palms as you willed him to believe you.

“Sometimes if I stand too quickly, it feels loose. Sometimes it pops, and is so painful that I can’t put any weight on it.”

He stared at you for a moment, and you fought not to recite a list of excuses, to try to explain why it hurts when you’d never been injured before.

“And your right knee?”

“Oh, it’s not bad right now. It used to swell sometimes, and was really painful. But it’s not as bad as it used to be.”

“Did you sustain any injuries?”

“N-No. None that I can recall.”

His lips quirked a bit before he reviewed your chart.

Believe me. Believe me. Believe me.

“You’ve reported your shoulders as being your most pressing concern. Why is that?”

His eyes were almost painfully sharp as he scanned you, focusing on your face as you answered him. He’d sat backwards on the rolling chair, his arms folded across the back with his legs spread wide to either side.

“They’ve been acting up recently. They often feel… loose. That’s how it feels to me. Sometimes if I move a certain way it almost feels like they pop out of place. But I can still move them after, it’s just incredibly painful. And then it’s weak, and I can barely hold anything.”

“What are some of the activities that have caused this to happen?”

He was impossible to read. But you couldn’t lie. He wouldn’t be able to help you if you lied.

“Um, brushing my hair. Taking off a jacket. P-Putting a sports bra on.”

“Did you used to have longer hair?”

“What?”

“Do you keep your hair above your shoulders to prevent shoulder pain? Or does brushing it still cause issues at this length?”

“Oh. Yes, actually. I used to have much longer hair.”

“I imagine you’ve adjusted many aspects of your life to cope with this pain.”

Warmth flowed into that deep voice, and you shivered as you watched him steeple his fingers against his lips for a moment.

“If you are comfortable, I would like to run through a few simple movements to check your flexibility. Many of which you can do on your own, but I will check in again if you are comfortable with me touching you for the others. You can always let me know if you would like to stop.”

“Okay.”

The doctor dug through a drawer to pull out a clear measuring device, almost like two rulers connected at one end. He adjusted it, creating an angle before setting it aside.

He never picked up the device again, and you fought not to shake. He looked at your elbows, your knees, your thumbs, your pinkies, frowning slightly as you followed his instructions.

“Now, please bend over, and try to touch your toes. Just go as far as you– hm.”

Your palms were flat on the ground, just as they’d always been able to go. You could even put the back of your hands down, and stretch them along the ground behind you if you wanted to.

“Doctor?”

“You can take a seat.”

Wincing as you sat, you shook out your legs, feeling his eyes as he watched your every movement.

He stood, towering over you as he came close.

“For this next part of the examination, I will be touching you with my hands, and in some cases leaning or holding parts of your body against mine so that I can check the range of motion in your joints. I may also massage certain tight muscles to help you relax as we move through the problem areas. You have quite the list for us to get through, but if at any time you wish for us to stop, just let me know. Do you understand?”

“I do,” you breathed, your face angled up to meet his.

“Do you consent to me touching you?”

His voice came out softer once again, and you couldn’t hold in a shiver as you consented.

Those fingers…

His long fingers were so gentle as they crept across your body, testing, pushing, pulling. You fought to listen to his commands, pushing against or holding your body how he told you.

“I imagine that seeking treatment has been challenging for you,” he rasped as he leaned over your face, his fingers gently massaging your shoulders.

The pain and pleasure of his hands testing you had brought up a strangely emotional pressure, almost like tears in your throat.

“It has.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. It must be incredibly difficult to suffer so much pain, and not be believed.”

You started to nod to keep your voice from cracking, but he pressed his fingers into your skin just a bit.

“Can you keep still for me,” he whispered, and it sounded so close that you opened your eyes.

“Just relax,” the doctor soothed as he stepped away, pulling a few tissues out to press against your cheeks and temples, catching the tears that had spilled when you’d opened your burning eyes.

“I’m sorry, doc–”

“No need to be sorry, Y/N. You have been suffering, been living with pain for years. It’s all those doctors that left you like this that should feel ashamed.”

His fingers had returned to your body, still relaxing, and testing.

“Thank you, doctor.”

“Please, call me Law.”

He was pressing gently along your collarbones as his name rolled over you, a small sound escaping your throat as you melted beneath him.

“Do you have a good support system? People in your life that can help you with this?”

“I mean, my mom and my boyfriend help me. They’re supportive.”

He took those fingers away, and you mourned them, wishing you could feel that soothing touch forever.

“I’m going to test your hips now, Y/N. Please tell me if you experience any pain.”

“Okay,” you agreed, feeling self conscious of your breathy voice. His words just kept pouring over you, his voice so relaxing, so good.

“How does that feel, Y/N?”

“Fine.”

He had your leg stretched along his torso, your foot dangling over his shoulder. You clamped your eyes shut. The sight of him between your spread legs, pushing your leg toward you, had you biting your lip, trying not to make any more embarrassing noises.

“How’s this?”

“Fine.”

He hadn’t gotten close to your limit, but he went agonizingly slow. You could feel his firm abs warming your thigh through your clothes, his thin shirt not doing much to keep the press of him at bay.

“You said that your mom and your boyfriend support you. How do they do that?”

“Oh, uh,” you shook your head, trying to focus on the question, and not the gentle rocking motion he’d started as he pushed you even further.

“They help me when… They help me when I’m having bad days. They listen. They both do little different things when things are bad.”

“How’s this?”

“Still fine.”

“You can go further?”

“Yeah, I can–,” you had reached for your thigh, planning to pull it toward your chest to show him, but his eyes above you stopped you before his voice did.

“I’ll get you there, Y/N. You can hurt yourself if you rush. Can you take it slow for me?”

“Perfect,” he praised when you nodded, still gently rocking your body forward and back as he pushed, finally reaching the limit.

“That is quite the range of motion,” he noted, carefully laying that leg down to move to the other side. “May I?”

He set himself up again, moving slow as he used his body to stretch you.

“You said that they help you on bad days, is that right?”

Meeting his sharp eyes, you took a minute to understand.

“Yes, they do.”

His face tilted a bit as he pressed closer. He started that gentle rocking motion, almost thrusting against you to help your body relax.

“But Y/N, from what I’ve seen today, it seems like all of your days are bad. Aren’t they?”

“I…”

“All these years with no one to believe you. It must be hard to believe yourself sometimes. Do you think they really believe you, Y/N? Do they believe how much pain you’re in as you struggle through each day? As you stand up too fast, or brush your hair? Do you think they understand?”

He’d pushed closer, looming over you as he held your thigh against him.

“Why are you–”

“I need to make sure that my patients have the support systems they need.”

His voice had smoothed back now, from almost heated to cool and detached.

He’s the only person that’s ever seemed like they understand. He must believe me. Of course he would be passionate about it, he’s a doctor. A doctor that believes me.

Closer and closer, his eyes watching yours.

“Do they believe you?”

“I think,” you started, eyes wide as you fought more tears, “I think they try to believe me. They just… They don’t know what it’s like. They don’t understand.”

“How’s this?”

“It’s fine.”

“Alright, last push.”

Your thigh was pressed between your bodies, and he stayed there.

“Does this hurt, Y/N,” he rasped, his breath warming your face.

“No.”

He helped you stretch your leg out on the table, sitting backwards in the rolling chair before he told you to sit up.

“I believe I understand the cause of your pain, and why you’ve had a difficult time obtaining a diagnosis.”

“Can you fix it?”

Your thrill of excitement got caught in your throat at the look in his eyes, his palm up to halt your questions.

“I believe it may be a connective tissue disorder, which would explain your hypermobility, as well as the complications you’ve had with many parts of your body. You've already met the criteria for one type based on our examination today. I would like you to come back tomorrow so that we can review more of your symptoms to be sure, and to discuss treatments.”

“You can do surgery, right? Can you fix it?”

You had gestured to him, your body panicking with failing hope. A gasp left your throat as those tattooed fingers caught your hand, his thumb rubbing over your skin as his voice went low.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. This is not a condition that can be cured,” he confessed, squeezing your hand as your body slumped. “Connective tissues run throughout our entire body, and if I am correct, yours may be weaker than most. 'Loose,' as you said. Unfortunately, there is no known way to repair or replace those tissues.”

A weight fell over you, and you found yourself not quite in your body. Your body that you’d fought so hard to fix.

That can never be fixed.

The doctor pressed your hand between his, smoothing over and warming your fingers until you were present enough to meet his eyes.

“It may not be curable, Y/N, but it can be managed. You don’t need to suffer alone in such pain like you have been. I’ll do everything I can to ensure that things are better for you. Do you trust me?”

There was something so intense about his face. The way he looked at you felt heavy, like he really did see the weight you’d carried all these years. You sank into those gray eyes, and realized you did.

“I trust you, Doctor.”

“Please. Y/N,” he hummed, releasing your hand, “call me, Law.”

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Welcome to my frustration with the health care system 😅

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @jadeddangel

Part 2

#cw dark content #cw yandere #cw doctors #trafalgar law smut #eventual smut #trafalgar law x reader #one piece smut #reader insert #fem!reader #x reader #turtletaub fics #one piece x reader #trafalgar law fanfiction #fic requests #use of y/n #cw chronic pain #cw medical #smut

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jar-of-something-else · 1 year

Text

sleeping w/ the mercs [IT IS LIKE THAT]

these are so badddddd bro literally ignore this i just need practice and the mercs are my victims pinky promise i'll get better

yeah the title is the exact same as the tf2 headcanons from my main SO WHAT

if ur under 16 please don't interact 👍🏻

afab reader i’m sorry guys :( gender is totally neutral though

obviously this is under a cut

warnings/includes: MENTIONS OF SYRINGES/NEEDLES, SCALPELS, AND MEDICAL STUFF IN MEDIC'S SECTION!!!!!! AND KNIVES AND BLOOD IN SNIPER'S!!!! these are so bad, pyro is insane, medic is also insane, sniper is depraved, actually everybody's depraved, i'm depraved and also so so sorry

mostly what they're into/how they behave, nothing super reader specific in these ones

Scout:

-he’s got enough experience but he isn’t as good as he says he is, he’s got the spirit though and that’s what matters

-really good with his fingers but he can't find the clit half the time so help him out a bit

-absolutely an ass man but isn’t into anal

-scout usually likes positions where he can easily see/touch your ass (doggy, reverse cowgirl, etc)

-definitely says cringe shit in the bedroom, 100% refers to himself as daddy (which is canon i think?? i remember him having a voice line where he does that, could be wrong tho)

-has tried (and failed) to call you kitten on the regular but reverted back to the usual (still cringy) nicknames he calls you after demo made fun of him

-he never shuts up so the dirty talk is CRAZYYYY

-calls you stuff like doll, baby, babe, and uses pretty girl/boy/baby and babygirl/boy/doll when he's close

-even though he’s a little clumsy with it, he really does like giving oral, just give him a little direction; BUT likes receiving oral even more, sorry abt ur knees babe 💔

-definitely into semi-public sex, he won’t do anything in front of people but you bet your ass he’s finding some alleyway or storage closet to get freaky in

-does get jealous pretty easy and even though he’s usually not too rough with you he is not above manhandling when he sees fit

-the dog tags stay on, do with that what you will

Soldier:

-good GAWD

-literally so mean but mean in a hot way so that makes it okay

-absolutely nickname crazy; most of them aren't very cute or sexy (i.e. cadet, maggot, etc) but cupcake always makes an appearance

-very much into verbal degradation because of course he is, is also very into manhandling and just kinda tossing you around but he doesn't wanna hurt you too bad

-rarely ever fucks on an actual bed, usually it's the nearest wall/table/chair/couch, any surface you could lay/sit on really

-no the helmet is not coming off but that adds to it

-the honey IS going on though, maybe not his full body but it will make an appearance (he’s def into foodplay)

-tiny bit of a size kink, i think soldier is one of the taller, bulkier mercs so there's a very good chance he's much bigger than you in one way or another

-would absolutely be interested in a threesome with demo let's get real here

-very attracted to body hair bc i say so

-likes positions where he's very obviously the one in control/with the power; very into restraint either with some device (handcuffs, rope, etc) or with his own hands

-VERY loud, so good luck with that lmao

Pyro:

-man,,,,

-obviously into temperature and wax play

-the mask and suit do not come off, but pyro has a plethora of toys to use on you instead 😊

-gets off on the idea that he's some faceless person you can't really understand that has complete control over you and your body

-does occasionally lift the mask up just above his nostrils to kiss you, though, scarred lips be damned

-does babble a lot, even though it's all muffled; the nicknames he uses are surprisingly cute, he'll call you stuff like sugarplum, marshmallow, firefly, sugar cube, and other sickly-sweet names

-doesn't like showing you his bare skin/body because of their burn scars, but pyro does enjoy grinding if you wanna help him out that bad

-derives most of his pleasure from making you feel good, though, so he isn't really looking for any type of physical release on his end

-pyro's are kinda short i just can't think of any more rn i apologize 💔

Demo:

-WHAT A MAN 😍😍😍

-#1 lover out of all the mercs get fucked spy

-i think his build is very similar to soldiers, maybe an inch or two taller, so he definitely has the same lowkey size kink

-is also open to a threesome with soldier

-absolutely a service dom but he teases so much

-FAKE SYMPATHY!!!! FAKE SYMPATHY!!!!!!!

-likes when you call him by his name more than any of the cheesy titles dudes usually want their significant other to call them but he is always referring to you by any nickname he can think of; the most popular ones are lamb, sweetheart, lass/lad, my girl/boy/baby and "poor, sweet thing"

-loves talking to you and making you talk back to him even when you're literally on a different planet; makes you tell him what you want him to do even though he knows exactly what you're gonna say

-also slightly into dumbification (not to the extent medic or engineer are, though, he just thinks it's hot)

-very much into face and thigh riding

-foreplay alone could last as long as an hour if he's feeling "mean" at that particular time

-THIGH MAN!!!!!! LET'S GO!!!!!!!!!!

-makes you hold eye contact with him, sometimes the eyepatch comes off 🥴

-likes giving a whole lot more than receiving but he isn't about to turn down a blowjob if you offer

-waking you up with oral, it's his version of breakfast in bed

Heavy:

-and you thought demo was a service dom 🙄

-literally will do whatever you ask him to he does not care, as long as you feel good he's content

-very obvious size kink and it's very easy to exploit, but heavy doesn't take too kindly to teasing (he isn't about to stop you, though)

-speaks mostly in russian so unless you're fluent you can't really understand him but you get the gist of what he's saying by the tone in his voice

-outside of whatever russian bullshit he's spouting out, he calls you his "leetle bunny"

-tries to be gentle with you because of how big he is, but if he's provoked he can and will get wild

-as stated above, he can and will get wild, which includes his dirty talk; russian praise will turn into demeaning english muttered in your ear

-BREEDING KINK !!!!!!!!!!

-doesn't tease you on purpose, but he goes slow enough to where you think he's fucking with you (no pun intended)

-begging is never necessary but it is a guilty pleasure of his

-doesn't ask to receive oral often but watching you struggle with it does kinda turn him on even more

-face sitting extraordinaire, yes he does make the stupid eating sounds like in the game and yes he does it on purpose to try to make you laugh

-LET HEAVY FUCK NASTY GOD DAMN IT!!!

Engineer:

-WHAT A MIGHTY GOOD MAN 😍😍😍

-much stronger than you'd think he is and he does use that to his advantage

-slight temperature play when the gunslinger is involved, it's just a little colder than room temperature but it's a very stark contrast

-loves conflicting his speech with his actions; he'll sweet talk and praise you while he's railing you into next week

-speaking of, he'll call you anything but your name. honeybee, honey, darlin', sweet girl/boy/baby, baby girl/boy/doll, any nickname that sounds hot in a southern accent he's callin you

-he absolutely has a daddy kink but won't tell you unless you have one too and approach him first, chances are you're younger than he is and he doesn't wanna make you think he's a weirdo

-all in all, the dirty talk is INSANEEEEEEEE

-absolutely into dumbification, he knows he's smart and he gets off on the power imbalance when you're babbling about nothing and he's still perfectly present

-also slightly into dacryphilia? it's not attractive when you're crying from pain, sadness, frustration, etc but he likes making you feel so good you're overwhelmed and all you can do is cry for him

-might forget to take the helmet and goggles off, but if you want him to keep them on then by all means he will

-would absolutely abide by the cowboy hat rule (if you don't know what that is, basically if a cowboy puts his hat on your head y'all are fuckin' later on)

-very much into bigger people, the extra chub around the thighs, chest, cheek, and stomach areas are a weakness of his

MEDIC!

-the moment we've all been waiting for

-kinda like soldier in the fact that he's mean in a hot way, but it's less bully-mean and more absolutely deranged mean

-of course he's into degradation and medical play, definitely dacryphilia and dumbification (for similar reasons engineer is), another merc with a slight size kink cause medic is big as hell

-likes to get you on the operation table and trace a syringe or scalpel (or both if he's feeling patient [haha get it]) along your body purely for the fear it evokes from you

-wants to get you scared/vulnerable and that's how he starts his foreplay; totally into the whole predator/prey thing but not in the same way sniper is, medic is more into metaphorical or psychological hunting rather than the actual thing

-FAKE SYMPATHY!!!!!! FAKE SYMPATHY!!!!! FAKE SYMPATHY!!!

-teases, edges, and overstimulates you to the point of tears and gets this stupid smug look on his face while cooing at you

-calls you demeaning names, like pet, but he's got some cute ones he uses too; täubchen, maus, schatz, and liebling (dove, mouse, sweetheart, and darling) are very prevalent in and outside of the bedroom

-if you're okay with it, medic does like to use you as a bit of stress relief when everybody else is getting on his nerves

-is 100% down for a doctor/nurse or doctor/patient roleplay let's get real here

-also into semi-public sex, sometimes he'll leave the medbay door unlocked and slightly ajar purpose just to mess with you

-though he is very rough with you most of the time, he likes to save his more tender moments for when the two of you are in an actual bedroom and not his workspace

Sniper:

-wild. like genuinely doesn't know what to do with himself when he's horny he just goes fucking crazy.

-even though he gets crazy insane, he doesn’t really know what all to do and it frustrates him; he doesn't have much experience when it comes to sexual acts with another person involved so please give him some pointers

-absolutely into knife play come on

-if you have a period, he'd also be down for period sex he does not care about blood in the slightest

-isn't all that nickname-heavy like some of the other mercs here, but he does sprinkle them into his dirty talk. it's usually the same things he calls you outside of the bedroom, like 'roo, darl', and love

-into body worship, giving or receiving. he likes making you feel beautiful and he likes feeling good about himself too

-would definitely want you to suck him off while he does target practice and i know this is such a popular headcanon but come on guys

-another popular headcanon is sniper being into predator/prey dynamics which like,,,come on. it's literally perfect. you're telling me this nutcase dude wouldn't be into scaring the shit out of you by physically hunting you down. it's basically canon idc

-likes biting and leaving marks on your neck/shoulders in very visible areas because he's kind of a possessive guy ngl

-as much as he likes people seeing the aftermath of what he does to you, sniper is a very private person so he really wouldn't be all that into sneaky sex. the closest you'll get is his sniper nest while he does target practice on cease-fire days

Spy:

-despite being an asshole on the regular, he's a very attentive lover

-into body worship but only giving, he already knows he's fine and he wants to make sure you're never insecure about yourself

-bilingual babe 😍 speaks in french so much you can't really understand what he's talking about but he's more than happy to give you a translation

-also has a daddy kink let's get real here

-KNIFE PLAY!!!!!!!!!!

-heavily into power play as well, similar to pyro because he'll keep his clothes (including the mask and gloves) on while you're completely bare to him

-likes buying you lingerie

-likes getting and giving head the same amount, he has no real preference cause it's gonna end in sex every time anyway 🤷‍♀️

-french nicknames ONLY!!!! mon cher (my dear), ma chérie/mon chéri (my darling), amour/mon amour (love/my love), gentille fille/garçon/bébé (sweet girl/boy/baby), mon ange (my angel) [currently using my basic understanding of the french language for evil]

-semi-public and public sex spy does not give a fuck he has a cloaking device for a reason 🙄🙄

-if you don't already have one he will give you an accent kink

#i'm so SORRYYYYY #tf2 fans please don't beat me over the head #i just need practice </3 #yeah i included some salt n peppa references too i couldn't help myself #tf2 headcanons #tf2 x reader #tf2 smut #scout x reader #soldier x reader #pyro x reader #demoman x reader #heavy x reader #engineer x reader #medic x reader #sniper x reader #spy x reader #smut headcanons #god i am so sorry

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mrsvalentinefucker1 · 17 days

Text

Support class dick hc, kinks + How they fuck

Cw: knives, rough sex, blood

Sniper

•Dick: I’d say about 6, 6 1/2 inches if I’m being generous here. Definitely not thin, it’s got some girth to it that’s for sure. He never ever clean shaves he thinks it looks weird (he’s not wrong) so he’ll definitely just trim up a little or maybe not at all. Wild man moment. Plus, he kinda loves the scruffy look he has going on. I know everyone says he’s uncircumcised and i definitely agree with that. Tip is not red but definitely a deep pink, it’s cute. Two visible veins, one on the top of his shaft and one underneath it. So he’s very very sensitive.

•How he fucks: Rough. He likes to be fucked hard and to fuck hard. His favorite position to see you in is definitely mating press or doggy style (with a knife to your throat) he loves to see your face contort with pleasure and fear. He’s very vocal i mean haven’t you heard his voice lines. Come on. He loves telling you how great of a fuck toy you can be when you aren’t being a cunt or a teasing slut. He doesn’t have a favorite place to cum really.. Whenever he gets his rocks off is where it stays so.

•Kinks

Praise: definitely, but backhanded praise “look at you, good little slut.” Stuff like that you know?

Predator vs prey play: I know this is so basic but oh my goodness he LOVE LOVE LOVEEEESSS to chase you down and just fuck your brains out if your skull. Like I said, he likes it rough. (Me next)

Knife play: Ofc this is one of them. That mf is a literal animal. He just likes the power trip tbh. Having your life in his very hands, though he’d never do anything to ever hurt it.. it’s hot to watch your fearful eyes and if you enjoy it just as much as he does, you’re in for a ride of dirty talk and rough hard sex.

Public sex: touching you while in public. Something about it. Maybe it’s bc he likes to tease and see how long you can last without gripping his arm while shaking and begging to cum or maybe it’s because nobody around you can (probably) tell how good he’s pleasing you, and how they’ll never get a chance to touch a wonderful lady like you the way he does. Who knows

BREEDING: Though he is scared to have kids and will take every procedure to make sure you won’t get pregnant, he still loves to just cum inside of you all day, everyday. (Same sniper.)

Stepping: he probably likes to be stepped on. He’ll buy you beautiful, expensive heels just so you can step on him or press against his hard cock. (Meow.)

Spy

•Dick: solid 5 1/2, it’s not too thin but not exactly thick.. it stretches you very very nicely that is for sure. He trims it constantly. He is never out of order, he takes too much pride in himself to let it grow out like that wretched bushman. Uncircumcised, his dick skin is like.. oddly soft and velvety. One small vein on the side of his cock, it’s nice. Tip, I’d say, is a light cute pink.

•How he fucks: He either makes love for a long time or he plows you hard. Usually both. He rides the fine line very well. While he goes at it soft and caring, he teases you a lot. Vibrators, toys, his finger, his mouth. He just likes to tease you a lot.. but once he slips in, its game over for him. He can’t help it. He has to fuck you like an animal in heat.

•Kinks

Lingerie for sure. He loves to either buy them for you to give you his card to buy yourself some and then surprise him with it! (Will probably write a fic based off this)

Spanking or brat taming: He will absolutely wreck your ass if you talk back to flirt with ANYONE. He will spank you so hard you’ll become a babbling mess.

Body worship: Giving or receiving, he loves to tease you by kissing down your gorgeous body and leave small bites all over you. Nipping, kissing, nipping, kissing. You know. Backhanded kisses

Medic

•Dick: He’s German and from my experience, they’re packing serious heat. 7 inches hard. Argue with the wall because I will not listen. Tummy bulge will happen so be prepared. Much like spy he keeps himself in check, trims every couple of days. Circumcised, dark pink with a red hue tip. It’s sensitive as hell. No visible veins until he gets to fucking, then they all start popping out. Thick. Hard stretch that’s for sure.

•How he fucks: They all fuck hard but him.. dear lord. Pray and buckle up because he will bruise your cervix. He pounds. He doesn’t even fuck, HE SLAMS. bed? broken, operating table? broken, desk? Broken twice. He loves to just fuck you into a mindless mess. That’s all

•Kinks

Roleplay: He loves to roleplay anything really. Nurse and doctor, doctor and patient, boss and intern, things like that.

Knife play: scalpels are going to be pressed against your skin.. which leads me to my next kink hc

Blood kink: Licks the blood off of your wounds or the small cuts he marks your body with. If you have a period, best believe he will be begging to fuck you on it

“Meine Liebe! It feels so much better when you’re on your period, it also relieves cramps too!”

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rabbittf2x · 10 months

Note

Mercs reactions to accidentally overhearing reader touching herself?👀👀 (AFAB reader please)

Warning: NSFW

Mercs overhear Fem!Reader

Includes: Scout, Demoman and Medic

Scout💖

Scout’s face turned bright red at the sounds coming from your room. He couldn’t bring himself to walk away from the door. He was captivated by the pretty moans that left your lips. He was dying to know what you looked like

Scout had a… problem erecting down below. He couldn’t listen to you anymore. He had to get a taste of you for himself. He knocked softly, and you went silent. Before you could respond, he pushed the door open

You were relieved to see it was just Scout, but still hid yourself under the covers. He swaggered over to you, trying to act sly but his red face said it all

“You want me to help?” You asked softly

You were quick to spot the issue forming under Scout’s pants. You slipped your bare legs from under the covers, showing yourself off with a smirk

“Uhhh…” Scout stammered, eyes glued to your body. His brain stopped working when you pulled your shirt off too. “Yes, uh… yeah, please.” He sputtered

You unclasped your bra and dumped it to the floor, beckoning him over to bed. Scout sat next to you and you quickly crawled onto his lap. He slammed his lips onto yours in a needy kiss, sliding his hands down your bare curves

“Mmm, I’m so glad you’re here.” You moaned against Scout’s lips. You felt him harden even more below your bare, wet self. “I was thinking about you the entire time…”

Demoman💖

Demoman staggered back to your room after a big night of drinking. He was about to burst through the door, but froze up at the moans coming from inside. If he was horny before, he was now wild from the sound of your desperate mewls of pleasure

Demoman tore the door open without even knocking, clumsily stumbling in. You gasped, shooting up from bed and pulling your hand away from your sex

“Demo?!” You sputtered, a deep blush forming on your cheeks

“Yer having fun without me?” Demoman slurred teasingly

Your face felt like it was on fire as you fiddled shyly with your hands. Demo crept over, sitting next to you on your bed. Before you could say anything, he wrapped his arms around your naked body and yanked you onto his lap

“Oh, lass.” Demoman moaned, attacking your neck in slobbery kisses. “Yer so pretty.”

You moaned back, pulling off his beanie and running your fingers through his hair. “Help me finish, Tavi.” You gasped, grinding against his clothed hardness. “Give it to me hard.”

Demoman stuck his tongue in your mouth and kissed you roughly. The squeals and gasps you made drove the drunk insane. He kept kissing you for a few more moments, but then pushed you down onto the bed

Medic💖

Medic came to visit you after spending all day in his lab. He was about to knock on your bedroom door, but froze when he heard something. The sound of your soft moans coming from inside was music to his ears

Medic thought of coming back later, but desperately wanted to see you. He knocked softly on the door, hearing you go quiet. He was too impatient to await your answer and swung the door open

“Darling?”

You squealed at the sound of Medic’s voice, sitting up and lifting the blanket over your stomach. “Medic…!” You stuttered

Medic looked as embarrassed as you. You both stared wide eyed at each other with flustered expressions

“Um, I was just…” you trailed, fumbling for an excuse

The doctor laughed, waving off your embarrassment. “It’s alright, dear. It’s completely healthy! In fact, I encourage it!” He beamed

You chuckled softly too, shaking your head. “Well, I’m not gonna keep going.” You said. Medic tilted his head in confusion. “I want you instead.” You purred

Your boyfriend tried to hide his excited grin, speeding over to join you in bed. After a long day, you were all he needed. You already riled him up quite a bit with your sweet sounds. Medic was more than happy to help with the rest

You kissed him passionately, gliding your hands up his vest and around his neck. Medic’s bare hands met your waist, slowing sliding down lower…

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prettyboypistol · 2 months

Note

How mercs would react after having a wet dream

TF2 Mercs' Wet Dreams! ||TF2 x M!Reader|| +18 obviously

Scout

He imagines you shirtless and on his bed all cheesy porno style, you coax him over and pull him to the bed, kissing over his chest and murmuring about just how badly you need him.

He loves dreaming about you riding him and sucking him off, especially when you suffocate him in your chest and hold him close.

He has a recurring dream of you breathing heavily, panting out "Scout, Scout! Scout!" as you jerk yourself off as you ride.

Cums in his sleep and jerks off in the morning, sneaking away to wash the sheets early that morning.

Soldier

Solly is inspecting your dress code and orders you to attention for the formal inspection.

"Private! Will you do anything for your country?" "Sir, Yessir!" "No matter the cost, will you defend this base?!" "Sir, Yessir!" His voice a little quieter, yet slightly commanding as he leans into you. "Then show your major just how much you need his lead."

God, he loves imagining you in formal military dress as you kneel before him, praising his battle tactics and mouth full of dick.

Doesn't cum in his sleep, but it's a 70-30 shot that he'll grunt your name into his pillow as he ruts against his mattress.

Pyro

They imagine you as an angel, dawned in gloarious robes and with a halo and wings. Pyro isn't worthy- not a monster like them that can barely stay sane- yet you invite them forward and kiss their mask's forehead as you hike up your robe to expose yourself. "It's alright darling, you can touch me."

Secretly, Pyro wants to deflower you. They know you're probably not a virgin, but the idea of spoiling your virginity is so hot to them. The first one to touch your body, the first one to ruin you.

Pyro kneels and nuzzles your thighs in reverence as they touch you the way they desire. Their touches leave purple-black marks wherever they touch, actually staining you with sin. They feel so guilty about ruining an angel like you, but you're allowing them to!

Pyro does cum in their sleep, whimpering and writhing against their suit.

Demoman

Tavish's wet dreams start out like normal dreams- in a bar, drinking his heart out back in Scotland with his friends. Then he sees you from across the room. You give him a look that invites him over as you bite your bottom lip.

"Hey there sexy, you look like you could use some company." You flirt, petting Demoman's bicep. Tavish laughs and escorts you to the back of the bar, magically turned into a nicer bedroom as he lays you down.

It's a bit of a haze, but Tavish remembers thrusting into you and imagining how tight you mush be, he dreams about fingering you open with the hilt of eyelander if he's feeling a little fantasy-based rather than in the year of the lord 1971.

Sometimes he dreams of you fucking him, and those are the dreams that wake him up to stained sheets.

Heavy

In the cold russian nights, you knock on the door asking for a place to stay. Mikhail ushers you in and offers you a warm bath, which you graciously accept. Little do you know that there is a little hole in the wooden walls, where Heavy keeps an eye on you.

Mikhail touches himself to the sight of your naked back, as you seen to have the same idea in the bath, reveling in the now warm touches of your hands against your skin.

He hears you moan out his name as you masturbate, and that only fuels his fire more. He usually climaxes to a particularly loud and desperate begging from your lips.

Wakes up with a raging boner that he mostly will ignore, but will rarely take care of himself to the thought of you.

Engineer

You're kidnapped, tied up by the enemy- but you're naked and begging for someone to touch you! Engie is there to rescue you, but you look so handsome all vulnerable like that- you understand, don't you, darlin'?

Dell fucks you as you're tied up in the chair and mutters dirty things that make his sleeping body blush as he promises to fuck you in every way he can as he fucks you like a desperate man.

The feeling of your tightening around him and begging to let you cum, please don't call him daddy, he'll stain his sheets!

Is massively ashamed to touch himself when he's awake to thr thought of his coworker

Medic

You. On his operating table. Bound by the belts and struggling to escape as your dick is hard and tied with a little bow at the base. "To Medic" the gift tag says. Wouldn't it be rude to not use a gift?

He imagines you drunk on lust as he injects both you and himself with an aphrodesiac. Hazily, you two fuck on base instincts for hours as he shoves his cock deep into you over and over again, orgasm after orgasm until he was thoroughly used.

But you break your restraints, pin him against the table and fuck him from behind. It's your turn to use him like the cocksleeve he knows he is. Use him like a fleshlight, just as rough as you always imagine!

Doesn't cum in his sleep but jerks off into a test tube for research purposes later.

Spy

You and Spy are making out in his smoking room before you lay him down onto the couch, unbuttoning his suit and kissing all the skin you can reach as you undress him.

You finger him lazily with one hand, pouring him a glass of wine with the other. The glass is left on the side table as you suck hickeys into his thighs before you thrust into him.

It starts off slow- as it always does, you're always gentle at first- then you pick up the pace, drilling into him with reckless abandon as you chase your pleasure.

Spy sleepily jerks himself off from over his pyjama pants, more asleep than awake as he dreams of you absolutely wrecking him.

Sniper

He imagines you fucking yourself with your fingers in his Sniper Nest, holding his shirt close to you. You fuck yourself stupid as you moan out "Mundy, oh god, Mick- please fuck me!"

Mick loves watching, just like the creep he is. He loves the shame of watching someone through a sniper scope, even if he's not watching intimate moments like that. During missions, he likes to rub one out as he watches people do mundane things.

He fucks his fist in his sleep to the sight of you seducing him- the idea of you wanting him just as much as he wants you drives him insane.

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n3on-graveston3s-calling · 6 months

Text

No Plan [ The Still of Your Hand ]

Characters: Shanks, Benn Beckman ( Briefly ), Reader Rating: E Word Count: 4,874 Warnings / Tags: Medical trauma (brief), phantom limb syndrome, medical talk, Reader is the ship's doctor, Dom!Reader (surprise), Shanks needs a break Author's Note: This is 13 pages of smut with some plot. I hope you enjoy. Also, my requests are open if y'all want anything... Specific. MDNI: THIS IS 18+ CONTENT.

Part II of the Think I Need Someone Older series [ Part I: Mihawk ] ─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Sweetheart, give me a hand, yeah?” Shanks called out, drawing your attention away from the journal you’d been writing in- tracking your progress in logs as you sailed with the infamous Red Hair Pirates. You weren’t necessarily a permanent part of the crew- moreso, they were a means to your end. You abandoned your journal for the time being, rising from your seat on the deck of the ship to cross over to the captain. Restocking from the last port you’d docked at; he’d opened up a box of medical supplies.

Another reason you were here- to play temporary doctor while their own was laid up.

“Sure, sure. Make me do all the hard work,” you teased, grabbing hold of the box of rubbing alcohol- ten glass bottles. He’d paid a pretty price for these supplies, you noted. “‘S like you got a mini hospital runnin’ on this ship.”

“I like to be prepared, love.” He shrugged, lips curving into a wide grin. It’s not a big surprise, really; after what he’d gone through over the years, of course he’d want to be prepared. You never know when a Neptunian is going to rise out of the water and take a bite out of you.

You turned, shuffling your way into the small room that was used as a med bay as he followed after, a box tucked against his side. You could hear Roux laughing through the wall; the kitchen was on the other side. No doubt, he was bothering Benn while cooking up the crew’s dinner for the evening. You’d never tasted better cooking than what Lucky Roux could make. “Are we expecting to be overrun?” You couldn’t help but joke, drawing a laugh out of the other. “I mean, granted- your supplies were low when I joined you.”

“We’re not the best at keeping up with supplies-”

“-that aren’t liquor? Yeah, I’ve noticed.” A roll of the eyes as you lean over at the waist, sliding the remaining bottles into a cabinet.

Shanks paused, hand raised, sterile cloth clutched in hand as he watched you. He couldn’t deny the lust that coursed through him when he thought of you; the way you’d bite back at the comments from the crew with no hesitation. How you’d stood up to Benn when he’d questioned your decision regarding the treatment of Yasopp’s latest injury. How you hadn’t minced your words when talking to himself. You had a spine of steel and a bite to match. And by the Gods, he liked that. Not to mention the view you were giving right now. His gaze traced over the dip in your spine, the way you stretched forward, how your thighs spread-

You rose.

His gaze averted quickly, placing the sterilized cloth in a container. “We like to drink.” He mumbled, a feeling of almost shame washing over him. It was broken though by a phantom pain racing through where his left arm would have been. A gasp spills free from between clenched teeth, his brows drawing inward as he drops the box, grasping at the stub that remained. He could swear he could feel his hand in that moment- or what it would feel like, clenched into a tight fist.

“Shanks-” You murmured, reaching out to settle a hand on his remaining arm, brows raised in alarm and worry. “Shanks, sit down- you’re pale.”

“‘M fine,” he tried to argue, yet allowed you to lead him to sit on the edge of the cot. It took your hand against his chest for him to lay back, drawing shallow breaths in. This was… Not normal, necessarily. Sure, he’d gotten phantom pains on occasion, but it had been months since the last occurrence. “I’m fine. I promise.”

“I know. But it’s also time to change out those bandages, right?” You offered a small, disarming smile. The bandages prevented the skin from growing agitated and raw due to the salt in the air- and the water. “C’mon, old man. Let me see.”

“Old man?” He scoffed, shaking his head as he let the coat fall from his shoulders. “I’m not that much older than you… Am I?” His lips pursed into a frown as he considered his age. He’d only just turned thirty-eight, he wasn’t that old. Hell, by the standards of the men on his ship- and the men and women he’d sailed with in the past- he was still young!

“You’ve got a good few years on me,” you hummed, winking playfully as you turned your attention to the tied sleeve. Without thinking, you reached forward, gripping the edges of his shirt- only to have his hand reach out quickly, grasping your wrist. You looked up, meeting a playful crimson gaze and a slowly growing smirk.

“Now, if ye wanted me out of my clothes that badly, all ye needed to do was ask.” Shanks teased, a soft edge of a growl to his voice that had your heart skipping a beat. Oh. Oh, you totally understood how men and women alike fell under him with ease.

“That’s not-” You argued, only to huff and tug his shirt up- and over his head, covering his face. “Smother.”

“Oy, oy!” He laughed loudly, reaching up to tug the shirt the rest of the way over his head. Torso revealed, he leaned back against the inclined bed casually, grin spread across his lips. “Happy, Doc?”

“You’re insufferable.” You rolled your eyes before setting to removing the old bandages. You’d heard the story about how he had lost the arm, but it was still riveting to think of. A Neptunian- and he survived. Whoever had handled the care when it occurred had done a damn good job. “Are you still having the phantom pain now?”

“No.” Shanks sighed, looking over to study your hands. “Not now that I can-... Well, see.”

“Right.” You hummed, careful with your touches. “You’re staring.”

“Can’t help it.”

“Why’s that?”

“... Anyone ever tell you that you have beautiful eyes?”

“Yep. Tons.” You grinned cheekily as you began to rewrap the amputated appendage. “Though, I’ll gladly hear it from you more often, if you’d be so kind.”

“Did you paint your nails?” His question caught you off guard.

You tied off the knot before pulling your hands back to study. You had painted them the night before, a vivid shade of ruby. You showed your hands to your Captain, who watched your every movement like a hawk. How… Curious. “I did. Do you like them?”

He reached up, grasping one to draw it closer- before he leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles. “I think the color is… Very flattering.” He spoke against your knuckles, the rasp of his voice stirring the coals of want. Your voice felt stuck in your throat as his stubble scraped gently against your fingers. “Such beautiful hands…”

The sound of footsteps broke you both apart, Shanks not dropping your hand but sitting upright. You, however, pulled your hand back as Benn appeared, a brow raised as he studied you. “Logs?”

“Ah, shite.” Shanks sighed, grabbing hold of his shirt to tug back on, followed by the coat. “Fine, fine. I dunno what I’d do without you, Benn.”

“Be in trouble.” Benn commented with a knowing smirk, meeting your gaze over Shanks’ head. “Yasopp also wants to know where the box is with his ammo.”

“It’s a box. Marked ammunition.” You grumbled, tossing the scraps of bandage into the trash, hiding the way your cheeks had flushed at being caught. But nothing had happened. Nothing- except for Shanks holding your hand to his lips, except for the needy rasp in his voice, except for the way he’d looked at you as if he wanted to devour you on the spot.

Your captain wanted you.

You wanted him.

What a dangerous game.

You ducked out after Benn, crossing over to the forecastle deck, retrieving your journal and inkwell from the box you’d set them in- to save them from sliding about deck. You couldn’t remember what you had been writing, too flustered over what had just occurred. Swallowing roughly, you focused instead on the horizon- on the gathering clouds. A storm? The wind had shifted, rain cooled. It would be a rough night, it seemed, unless the ship was able to skirt the storm.

It was a storm. A nasty one that had all hands on deck. You yelled over to Yasopp, only for your voice to be drowned out in the sound of waves crashing onto the deck. You cursed as you grabbed onto the railing. Even on the edges of it, the sea had turned against you for the night. Shanks stood at the wheel, shouting commands as he steered the ship into the angered waves. Roux grabbed your arm and dragged you below deck; there was only so much you yourself could do in this situation. It was better to stay below and wait it out with a few others of the crew.

You felt the bow rise high, watched as barrels rolled and boxes slid or fully toppled over, before the bow crashed and the stern rose. Into the waves, Shanks had said. That was the safest way to ride this out. If they went with the waves, the keel would break, and everyone would drown.

You weren’t sure how long it was until the ocean settled. Long enough that you had managed to find a space where you wouldn’t fall over with each rock of the ship. You rose to your feet, stretching with a grimace as you wandered from your hiding spot. Something was tugging at the back of your mind, leading you through the ship. You found your destination in the form of the Captain’s Quarters. A glance behind you showed that the sun hadn’t risen yet; the moon was still in the sky, though steadily falling towards the horizon. But light spilled from beneath the door, signifying that Shanks was still awake. You knocked, waiting-

“Enter!” He called, voice muffled by the heavy wood.

You opened the door, stepping in before closing it behind yourself. “You’re still awake.”

“Unfortunately.” He offered a weary smile; the shadows beneath his gaze showing just how exhausted he was. He sighed, leaning back in his seat. “Wanted to make sure we’d be clear of the storm.”

“It’s to our southeast now,” you made your way over, leaning your hip against the desk. “You need to rest, Cap.”

“Too wound up, now.” A vague gesture about; you understood that. Adrenaline in the system weaned away, leaving nothing but anxiety and muscles tensed too tightly to relax.

Your fingers tapped upon the wood, drawing his attention once more. You didn’t notice at first, until he didn’t say anything else. No followup quip. Head tilting, you studied Shanks as he watched your hand, enraptured by the movement of your fingers. An idea came to mind, one wicked enough to prompt blood to rush to the surface of your cheeks, to have your thighs squeezing together at the mere thought.

“Let me help you.”

“Pardon?” He pulled his gaze away, watching as you moved around the edge of the desk, stepping closer to him. He pushed his seat back, gaze roving over your form, drinking in how you looked in the golden light of the oil lamp. Hair slightly mused from the little sleep you’d gotten, bottom lip swollen from you biting it. “How?”

“You need to… Relax, yes?” You didn’t settle on his lap like he’d been expecting- but rather, you stood behind him, hands resting upon his shoulders. “Let me help you relax. Take away some of this awful tension you’ve been keeping.” Your fingers dug into the muscle beneath, drawing out a pleased groan as his head dropped forward. “Gods, Shanks- you’ve got more knots than the ratlines.”

A humored chuckle escaped, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he straightened up a touch, leaning into your touch more as your thumbs dug into his shoulders, drifting closer to his neck. He exhaled slowly, the subtle rumble of a groan coloring the sound. The sound drew a shudder across your skin; this was dangerous. But you couldn’t stop, even as one of your hands settled around his throat, the other under his chin, prompting his head to tilt back. Auburn tresses shifted back with the movement, baring the scars that laid across his eye- and the hunger within his gaze, pupils blown. You squeezed against his throat for a moment, pressing in at the sides rather down against the windpipe-

He moaned.

Eyes falling shut, mouth dropping open, the sound spilling forth like music to your ears.

“I can reach better in bed.” Your voice was barely above a murmur as you retracted your hands, watching as his gaze snapped open at the loss of touch. “If you want more.”

“Please.” He breathed, rising slowly to turn towards you. Shanks was a tall man, towering over your form. He reached out, cupping your cheek as he leaned down. His lips met yours in a slow, languid kiss; no rush to it, but the heat had your knees buckling, reaching up to take hold of his shoulders. “Please,” he repeated into the kiss, backing you against the window frames, pressing into you. He hungered for you, you realized: his kiss was full of the same kind of greed a man starved would harbor. You pulled back, only to graze his lower lip with your teeth.

“Go,” you whispered, watching the way he grinned, turning away to saunter into his room. His shirt was tugged off and tossed to the side carelessly. You didn’t undress, not yet- though, you did unlace your boots and kick them aside before following. You had a plan for this- a plan to help your beloved captain relax.

To release the tension that ate at him.

“On the bed.” You ordered, watching as he paused. “Did I stutter?”

“No.” He answered quickly, shaking his head as he made his way to the bed. It was certainly fit for a captain- large enough to fit four, with bedsheets that you were certain cost more than you had on your person. Shanks grinned as he climbed onto the bed, settling on his knees in the center. “Aren’t you going to undress?”

“Not yet,” you smiled sweetly as you approached, steps slow- measured. He was already nearly bursting at the seams- quite literally, you noticed by the way his trousers strained at the front. “I have an idea. You’ll let me take care of you, won’t you?” Your lip fell into a subtle pout as you reached out, cupping his cheeks as he shuffled closer, leaning into your touch as it trailed from his cheeks, to his jaw, to the base of his throat. “You’ll let me ease your worries, yes?”

“Yes,” he breathed, lips parting as your hands smoothed over his chest, taking a moment to massage his pecs. His lips titled up in a smile.

“You’ll let me,” you began, hands settling on his hips, offering a gentle yet firm squeeze before one hand drifted forward, drifting across the bulge that sat prettily for you. He shuddered, eyes falling shut at your touch. “Take away your stress?”

“Yes, please. Please,” oh, he nearly whined as you undid the button of his trousers before tugging them down. You weren’t shocked to see a lack of underwear. Of course not. “Gods, you’re perfect.”

“That’s my boy. Look at you- already hard just from a massage and a kiss. You poor thing!” Cooing, your fingers traced along the prominent vein that sat upon the underside of his cock. Shanks shuddered at the light touch, his eyes falling shut as he shuddered. You couldn’t resist, leaning into pepper kisses along his jawline as you continued your featherlight touches, feeling the way he twitched at the teasing feeling.

His hand reached out almost hesitantly, grasping at the front of your shirt, pulling hard enough on accident to send you both toppling onto the bed. A bark of laughter escaped as he sprawled on his back with you atop him. ��Not what I planned, but I like this, too,” he grinned up at you as you pushed yourself up to hover over him. With his red hair splayed out about the sheets, your breath caught in your chest.

Shanks was a remarkable sight. Skin tanned to a warm tone, gaze bright despite the lust that clung to him, the faint smattering of freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, unable to hold yourself back. An appreciative sigh spilled from Shanks as he reached up, cupping the back of your head, holding you closer to deepen the kiss. Teeth nipped at your bottom lip, stirring the heat that had already begun to spread through you.

No- no, he wouldn’t get the upper hand here. You returned the nip in a harsher manner, pulling free a startled gasp from your lover as you pulled back, licking at your kiss bruised lips. “Be a good boy- take off your shirt,” as you spoke, you moved, turning to face the headboard. You adjusted the pillows, stacking them to offer your back respite as you settled down with a sigh. Better, much better.

Shanks rushed as he pulled his shirt off, tossing it to Gods know where before turning to face you. His cheeks flushed, a breathless smile curving his lips as he sat upon his knees proudly.

“Pants, too.”

“Bossy,” he muttered as he took a moment to wiggle out of his trousers, letting them slide off the side of the bed to the floor below. They’ll be fine down there, you decided as you beckoned him closer. His smile turned dangerous as he shuffled closer-

“No, no. Not like that, sweetheart,” you shook your head, watching in amusement as he paused, visibly confused. “Come, lay back against my chest.”

“Lay- oh. Oh!” Realization dawned as he understood your plan, coming to settle his back against your chest, his head resting on your right shoulder. “What about you?” He asked, turning his head to press lingering kisses along your throat. “When do I get a taste of you?”

“Later. This is about you, Captain,” your hand smoothed down his side, nails digging into tanned skin, drawing forth soft red lines along his pelvis. His hips jerked at the pain, a hiss of breath sucked in between clenched teeth. A living work of art, you thought to yourself as your hand smoothed upwards, pausing to tweak a nipple. Another hiss, another shift of his hips into open air. “How often do you get treated like this?”

“Not… Often,” came the soft admittance as he busied himself with sucking bruises into your throat, bound and determined to try to get you as worked up as he was. “Usually, I’m the one in charge.”

A soft moan slipped past your lips at the feeling of his teeth sinking in; that would certainly leave a pretty bruise come morning. “What a shame. I know that must get so tiring for you, yes?” Your fingers settled on his jaw, tilting his head away from your neck. You shifted slightly, adjusting to get a better view as you tapped your fingers against his lips. “Open for me, darling.” Not a request.

Shanks obeyed. His lips parted, allowing your fingers entry before he closed his lips around the digits, eyes falling shut in tandem as his tongue laved at your fingers. You could imagine- rather vividly- what else that sinful mouth could do with the way his cheeks hollowed out, how his tongue curved around your fingers, coating them liberally. Sure, you could have been crude and spat in your palm- but this was better, far better than you could have ever imagined.

Especially as your free hand settled on his chest, massaging his pec slowly, squeezing the sensitive muscle. Fingers traced his nipple, watching as it hardened beneath your touch, as goosebumps broke across his skin. It was almost cute, you thought to yourself- how sensitive, how receptive Shanks was to your touch. You withdrew your fingers, though he wasn’t satisfied yet- reaching up to grasp your wrist, tongue laving along your palm.

You squeaked.

“That should do it, eh, treasure?” Shanks rasped, grinning up at you as you shook your head in disbelief. He knew your plan, the bastard. He reached over to the bedside table, tugging the drawer open to pull out a small glass vial. “Though, this might work a touch better.”

“Said the man who was just giving my fingers essential fellatio.” You quipped, cheeks flushed as he laughed, watching you wipe your fingers clean. “Give it.”

“Here,” he settled it in your palm, though took your momentary distraction to sweep in, stealing another kiss from you. You gripped the bottle in one hand while the other swept upwards, cupping his cheek. The angle was a tad awkward, but that didn’t matter- not with the way Shanks seemed bound and determined to get a reaction out of you from a kiss alone.

And a reaction, he got, as his hand settled on your waist, smoothed down to palm between your thighs. You gasped raggedly into the kiss, pulling back from him to frown. “You’re an ass- now lay back, for Gods’ sakes.”

“Can’t help it. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted you- wanted this. To touch you,” his back settled against your chest once more. Your arms wound around his middle as you worked the cork out of the bottle, using the lube to slick up your fingers and palm. “How many nights I’ve spent in this bed, thinking of what it’d be like to have you here.”

“That so?” You hummed, listening to the hitch in his breath as your hand settled around him, dragging upwards slowly- base to tip, back down again. “What did you picture? Tell me your fantasies, Shanks,” your free hand settled at the base of his throat once more as his head tilted back, brows drawn inwards. “Did you picture me under you? Begging for your touch?”

“Fuck,” he hissed, hips shifting to slowly grind into your touch, thighs tensing at the subtle scrape of your nails along the sensitive skin of his cock. “Yes- yes, of that. Of how your mouth would feel around my cock. How- oh- how I’d love to watch you take every inch of me.”

“Every inch?” He twitched in your grasp as you circled the head. Curiosity got the better of you as your palm smoothed over the tip- and oh, what a reaction that garnered! His hips stuttered upwards, his words failed as he moaned loudly, hand flying up to grab at your wrist.

“Shit!” He gasped out a laugh, eyes hazy as he shook his head. “How- yer a little minx,” his accent had grown thicker as he fell beneath the waves of arousal that crashed over him. “Don’t stop.”

“Keep your hand to yourself, and I won’t.” It was interesting- to be in control of this situation. Shanks huffed, but reached up, taking hold of your free hand to lace your fingers together. Such an intimate gesture… You smiled to yourself before regaining your pace. Faster, now- eagerly jerking him off as he continued to moan and writhe beneath your touch. How precum leaked from his tip, aiding in the glide of your palm. You broke your pattern, reaching down to fondle his balls, offering the barest hint of a squeeze.

Shanks nearly sobbed out at the feeling. “Close- close, dear Gods I’m so close, don’t stop!” He pleaded with you, turning his head to tuck in against your throat.

Your fingers circled his base- and squeezed.

“Oh, you BASTARD.” He gasped, panting against your throat as you staved off his impending orgasm.

“Did you really think I’d let you cum that easily?” You grinned as you began to touch lightly once more- as you did in the beginning. “I told you I’d be taking care of you, didn’t I, Captain?”

“I didn’t think it’d be… Oh- ha- like this,” he mumbled against you, his hips twitching up into your touch. You hummed, your grip tightening and holding still, letting Shanks rut up into the warm squeeze. “Oh, my treasure- please, please-”

“Please what? Don’t tell me you’re close again already!”

“Can’t help- can’t help it!” He whined- and oh, how that was music to your ears as he fucked in earnest into your grip. “Please!”

“No.” You drew your hand away completely, listening to the frustrated groan that escaped Shanks. “You can wait a little longer, yes?”

“You’re evil.”

“But, baby,” you murmured, tilting his chin up to meet his gaze. Hazy- hard for him to focus. He wasn’t one who dabbled in edging often, you noted; he truly wouldn’t last beyond one more round, not unless you wished to deal with consequences. That was a boundary yet to be discussed. “Tell me it doesn’t feel good. Tell me you don’t feel like pure lightning right now.” Shanks sighed, drawing in a calming breath. “Good boy, just like that. I promise I’ll let you cum this time-”

“Oh, thank Gods-”

“If you beg.”

“Beg?” He blinked, the haze clearing from his gaze for a moment. Beg? That’s all he had to do? Oh, he could beg. His grin sharpened as he settled back down, your hand pressing against his chest, pulling him down. “Beg for ye?”

“Beg for me to let you cum.”

“I don’t beg.”

“Then suffer.” You grinned, palm smoothing over the head of his cock, fingers curving down as you rotated your wrist, stimulating the glands in ways he didn’t know was possible.

He jolted against your hold, a hoarse cry escaping his lips. “Sweet Eros!” He sobbed to the God of Pleasure, stomach tensing up as your hand began to stroke in earnest.

You leaned your head down, your lips caressing his ear. “I’ll be nice- you don’t need to beg this time. Next time, you will, but this time? I want you to cum, Shanks. I want you to cum for me. I wanna hear you cry for me. Can you do that? Can you be a good boy and cry for me? Let everyone know who’s gotten you to this point?”

Your words, the way your hand was twisting, it was all too much for the Captain. His head fell back against your shoulder as he moaned out your name- long, loud, repeating it like a mantra as he spilled over your hand, onto his stomach, making a mess. You pressed kiss after kiss his temple as he shuddered through it until his hand gently pushed at your wrist; the overstimulation too much for him.

Your- now dirtied- hand settled to the side while your clean hand smoothed over his chest, feeling the way his breathing gradually evened out over the next few minutes. “You did so good,” you murmured, pressing another kiss to his temple as he sighed, stretching. “I expected no less from my Captain.”

“You must be a siren,” he decided as he sat up, looking at you over his shoulder. “Here, I’ll get a-”

“Nope.” You had already clambered out of the bed and made your way to his private bathroom. “Stay. I’m grabbing a towel!” You called back, though you took a moment to study the marks he’d left on your throat. Five of them. Five. On one side. And one was certainly a visible bite mark, the dog. You returned with a warmed wash cloth to see Shanks lazing on the bed, arm behind his head, his gaze tracking your movements like a cat of prey.

This was far from over, you thought distantly.

“How do you feel?” You asked as you wiped his stomach clean, taking a moment to teasing lick a spot clean just to hear the way he’d hissed.

“Relaxed,” came the admittance as he reached out, taking your hand to pull you in. You tossed the rag aside, climbing into bed beside him. His arm wrapped around you, holding you in against his side. “You didn’t-”

“Wasn’t about me.”

“... Do you want to?”

You turned your head, pressing gentle kisses along his jawline. “Later, you can make it up to me. For now, you should rest. That was a lot- more than what you’re normally used to, right?”

“Mm. Normally the one edging others, not being edged.”

“Exactly.” You grabbed the blankets- blessedly unsoiled- and tugged them up, covering your legs. “Get a few hours of sleep. Ben can handle the morning, can’t he?”

Shanks didn’t argue, shuffling down beneath the blankets. He sighed deeply as you settled against his side, arm tossed over his stomach, leg over his hip. “Could get used to this, yeknow,” he mumbled, sleep already starting to drag him under.

“So could I,” you whispered, listening to the pleased hum that rumbled in his chest. You smiled to yourself as Shanks fell asleep, your own eyes closing. A few hours of sleep could do you both good.

You’d need it, for what he had planned in retaliation.

#one piece #shanks smut #shanks x reader #one piece smut #shanks x you #one piece imagines #think i need someone older #kanon's writings #TW: medical trauma #TW: phantom limb syndrome #yeah that's all I can think of enjoy

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meiliarotten · 9 months

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Could I request medic, engineer, sniper, and soldier headcanons for fucking in public?

Public Sex Headcanons (Soldier, Engineer, Medic, Sniper)

🔞Minors DNI🔞

The Masterlist

🦅 Soldier 🦅

This guy literally fought naked alongside Zhanna (who was also naked) in the comics, so it’s safe to assume he’s not shy about this kind of thing

I feel like he could carry on a whole ass conversation with a third party mid-fuck

It would probably be something really mundane too, like discussing the weather or what’s for dinner that particular night

He would definitely consider it a power move, a way of letting everyone know that you’re his.

Soldier likes showing you off, and this is the perfect way to do it.

That said, I think he is still quite protective

If anyone happens to stare at your little display for too long, he’ll be quick to chew them out for ogling his S/O

🔧 Engineer 🔧

Out of these four, I feel like Engineer would take the most convincing

You’ll definitely have to work him up to it, starting with low risk things first

For example, you may just be able to convince him to fuck you up against an open window above a somewhat busy street for anyone to look up and see

Not exactly “public” yet, but getting there.

Next would be some outdoor sex, still secluded, but adding a bit more of a risk factor than the window scenario.

Basically, you would be the one taking the lead here, but once you get going, he’ll come around.

Ultimately making you feel good makes him feel good

🏥 Medic 🏥

Medic would be fond of public sex, but I don’t think he would initiate it

Instead, he would try to tease you into getting things started.

He’ll try to get you to break for him, tempting you all day, getting you worked up until you jump him at the first opportunity, usually somewhere other than the bedroom

Usually it would be the infirmary

And of course, Medic would just so happen to “forget” to lock door

If you two were to get walked in on, he probably wouldn’t even pause, simply demanding that the intruder leave while chuckling at the sight of your reddening face

Similarly to Soldier, he wants people to know that you’re his, and public sex is a pretty effective way to do that

🦘 Sniper 🦘

Sniper’s a big fan of risky situations (risk of getting caught, that is)

He’ll be willing to finger you in an abandoned hallway or in the dark corners of a crowded bar, whispering for you to keep quiet lest you alert anyone

He can be mean too, paying special attention to spots that he knows would usually get a very vocal reaction out of you

Watching you squirm and struggle to keep quiet would get him hard real quick, but he’s much better at hiding his arousal.

That said, eventually he will get impatient and drag you off to the nearest semi-secluded area to fuck you senseless

He hasn’t been able to convince you to do this yet but one of his biggest fantasies is to have you bouncing on his cock during battle while hidden away in his sniper nest.

#tf2 x reader #merc x reader #minors dni #smut #tf2 smut #team fortress 2 #fanfic #fanfiction #tf2 #soldier x reader #engineer x reader #medic x reader #sniper x reader #headcanon #rotten asks

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medic-simp · 4 months

Text

No Hands - Smut

Rating: Explicit || Word Count: 518 Content Warnings: gn!reader, oral sex (m. receiving), power dynamics, silco being a smug little bastard, but he's also totally going to return the favor so it's fine lolol

Masterlist || AO3 Link

Beta reader: @silcoitus

Art by: @ivyunleashed

“Don’t use your hands.”

You look up at Silco, looking for something that would suggest he’s kidding. He’s certainly not. His smirk is a tell-tale sign of how pleased he is of this particular command, taking pride in making you get a little more creative with your routine.

You have to admit though, the idea is enticing, and you quickly find yourself locking your hands behind your back. You hug your wrists together, fingers tangling at the base of your spine and pulling your shoulders back. Silco’s smirk widens and he follows you with his eyes as you lean forward and bring your teeth over one of the buttons of his pants.

You manage to unclip two of the four buttons, keeping your eyes glued to Silco’s with every surprisingly nimble maneuver of your teeth and lips. He eventually undoes the last two for you, watching you move the flap of his pants out of the way and drag his boxers down with your teeth.

His cock springs free and he pushes his pants further down to reveal heavy balls that beg for your tongue’s lavish attention. You lick a long stripe up from his sack to the tip of him, relishing the quivering sigh that escapes him as you do.

“Good girl,” Silco hums, tangling one set of fingers into your hair. He doesn’t push you, only following your lead and praising you all the while. His other arm is still languidly laid out over the back of the sofa, his head following suit and tipping backwards as you take him into your mouth.

Your head bobs a patient rhythm and Silco is undeniably content with it, sighing and grunting your name like a dirty-sweet prayer. His fingers tangle harder, pulling slightly, and you brace yourself as his hips begin to rut up into your mouth.

The tip of him slides smooth over your tongue and your fingers wring together behind your back, itching to relieve the ache between your legs.

“Doing so well for me,” Silco grunts, his ragged voice making that ache worse as you feel the wetness growing. You moan around Silco’s cock and he looks down at you, pupils blown wide and hair hanging in his face. What was parted lips becomes a shit-eating grin as Silco approaches his orgasm.

“Hands still behind your back?” he hums, voice breathless but not missing that sinister growl, “I’ll repay you very kindly for this, sweetheart.”

You think your core might explode with every needy throb you feel, begging for some kind of stimulation, but you steel yourself and instead focus on the hollow of your cheeks, the work of your tongue, and the hum of your muffled whimpers around his cock.

Silco’s chest swells with a sudden breath, your only warning before he’s coming down your throat, throbbing and groaning with every wave of his orgasm.

Fingers loosen their grip on your hair, letting you pull off of him and swallow each drop of his release.

Silco watches you, panting, a coy promise painted clear on his face.

“Come here and let me taste you.”

#silco #arcane #arcane silco #silco arcane #silco x reader #silco x you #smut #mdni #lilith writes #medic-simp

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turtletaubwrites · 2 months

Text

Bend Until You Break ~ Part 3

Thank you so much for this request from the lovely @anemptypuddingcup !!🖤

Pairings: YANDERE!Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader

Bend Until You Break ~ Masterlist

Word Count: 3208

Ao3 Link

Summary: Law gives you the choice to go against your doctor's recommendations as you begin your recovery. Are you clear headed enough to make the right choice?

A/N: I hate hospitals 😩 But for Law I might make an exception... Some of these medical issues may or may not have come from personal experience 🙃

Extra A/N: I am not a doctor, and this is not meant to be educational, or to contain any health advice. Please seek a health professional.

Beeping.

What is that sound? There’s another sound.

That soun–

Fuck!

A strangled cry left your throat, pain tearing through you.

Tight, fuck it’s so tight, can’t–

Your eyes were still too droopy to open as your hands scrambled at your neck. A sharp pinch twisted against your right wrist, and you felt the pull of wires restricting its movement.

That beeping noise was louder now.

“Y/N, you’re okay, it’s okay. I’m right here.”

Law’s deep voice pulled you out, giving you a reason to open your eyes. He pulled your hands away from scratching at the neck brace, and you slumped with relief at his touch.

Only to let out a choked scream at the pain.

“Shh, I’ve got you. Can you stay still for me? I know you can, you’re so strong.”

“I don’t want to be strong anymore.”

Your confession slipped quietly from your trembling lips as you tried to acclimate to the pain, tried to be still for him.

His brow creased as he looked down at you, and you felt pathetic. You wanted to take it back.

Law brought those cool, tattooed fingers to your face, leaving featherlight touches along your temple and cheek. Your eyes fluttered closed, burning tears starting again.

“You’re right,” he rasped, brushing your tears away with his fingers, leaving the tissues in their box this time.

“You’ve been strong for so long, haven’t you? You shouldn’t have to fight so hard every day.”

Gentle sobs left your throat, interrupted by a small gasp.

His hand still traced your face in soothing lines, until he brushed his tear soaked thumb across your lips.

Your eyelids were still heavy, but you held them open to melt into the storm gray eyes above you.

“You don’t need to be strong with me, Y/N,” he breathed, close enough to leave the warmth of his words on your face. “I’ll save you.”

Beeping.

I’m with Law. I’m okay.

Foggy dreams of Law’s hands on your face made your skin flush before you opened your eyes.

That beeping got louder as you fought off the embarrassing thoughts you were having about your doctor’s hands, but the slight shift you made in the bed had you forgetting it all, groaning in pain.

“Nice and slow, Y/N. You’re safe, just take some deep breaths.”

Your doctor stepped into view, his eyes scanning your body before gifting you with a gentle smile.

Attempting a small stretch of your arms was a bad choice, but it brought your attention to the rest of your body.

The bed was still angled so that your upper body was lifted. Lying flat had been excruciating. But even with your raised position, it was difficult to look down at yourself over the neck brace.

“Where are my clothes,” you muttered, looming horror growing at the feeling of a hospital gown against your skin.

“I apologize, Y/N,” Law admitted gently, tilting his head toward the beeping machine. “I needed to monitor your vitals to ensure your safety since we used that medication to help you sleep. I’m afraid I had to cut through your top to avoid injuring your neck further. I was able to save your bra, and I have scrubs you can wear once your neck is healed enough for you to pull the clothes on by yourself.”

He just said a whole bunch of words.

Your brain decided the best way to handle all of the emotions flying through your head was to ignore them.

“Why do I have an IV?” You changed the subject, lifting your wrist, and tugging all the tubes with it.

“Again, since you hadn't had that drug before, I took this as a safety precaution. I assumed you would prefer a single needle versus the potential of many if I needed to administer more medication,” he explained as he disconnected you from the tubes, but left the placement on your wrist. “You’ve also been receiving fluids, which is essential after the traumatic night you had.”

A nod made you wince, so you thanked him softly, feeling warmth move through your chest as another hint of a smile touched his lips.

“Do you have the energy to move, Y/N? I’d like to show you the room, and do another physical exam to see if you’ve improved since last night.”

The thought of moving hit you with the sudden realization that you needed to fucking pee.

“Is there a bathroom,” you asked, holding your breath from embarrassment.

“Of course, it’s right here. Let me help you.”

After many whimpers, and groans, and heavy breaths, you were on your feet. Shaking with pain as he led you to the door, you knew that nothing else could have motivated you to walk right now.

“Do you need help sit–”

“I’ll be fine,” you blurted out, closing the door.

He’s my doctor. This is fine. He’s helping me because I’m injured, and he’s my doctor.

Those thoughts did not diminish your embarrassment, especially when you did struggle to fucking sit down.

Gritting your teeth, and clinging to the safety bar, you managed to keep at least some sliver of your dignity by not yelling for him to help you.

Shame rocked through you as you washed your hands, avoiding looking in the mirror. You didn’t want to know how wrecked you looked.

But you looked anyway.

You wanted to splash some water on your face, but couldn’t bend down to do it.

“Y/N, are you doing alright in there?”

“I’m fine,” you called out as you fought with the ties of the gown.

Oh my gods, he took all of my fucking clothes off.

That knowledge kicked in again as you tried to make sure every inch of your ass was covered.

“Can you put me to sleep again,” you half joked, taking his hand as he helped you through the door.

“We don’t want to overdo it,” he said in that serious tone he’s so good at, leading you slowly toward the center of the room.

He sat backwards in that rolling chair.

But his chair isn’t that color…

“Is this the same room,” you interrupted him, looking around by turning your body instead of your head. You couldn’t tell if the weird sounds you were hearing were real, or if you were just getting a headache from moving around.

“No,” he hummed, nodding slowly at you. “I’m impressed you were able to notice that in this state.”

You followed the line of his arm as his tattooed finger pointed to a large door.

“Those are my quarters. I had you moved to an adjacent room so that I can be close if you are in pain, or become injured again. That vent is open so I’ll be able to hear if you need me.”

“O-Oh…”

He shifted his hand again, and you turned to follow it, your eyes a bit wide.

“You already know where your bathroom is. The third door leads out into the corridors of the Polar Tang, but Y/N,” he said, his voice taking on more force, “I request that you refrain from leaving these quarters until you are steadier on your feet. I would hate for you to become injured under my care.”

“But how–”

“Y/N,” he rasped, that low voice pulling you in, “let’s complete the exam before you tire yourself out, alright?”

“Okay.”

“There you go,” he purred, “I love seeing you take care of yourself. Do you consent to me touching you?”

Your ‘yes’ was barely audible as you tried not to let his words, and the way his words sounded with that dangerous voice, make you fall over.

Feeling his fingers on you might be your favorite thing in the world. Even as you whimpered in pain while he checked along your shoulders and spine.

“This seems to be the problem area,” he noted, tracing lightly over your left shoulder down between your shoulder blade and spine, rubbing along a few of the vertebrae.

“But my neck?”

“Everything’s connected, Y/N,” he breathed over your ear, making you shiver and wince. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you learn how your body works.”

Fuck, his voice.

There was no way, no fucking way that you could be dripping wet in a hospital gown while your body was stiff with pain. No way that tight coil of pressure could be building in your core over the only doctor that had ever helped you, ever believed you.

I can’t fuck this up.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Mhm,” you lied, catching yourself before you nodded this time.

“Let’s have you sit down. We need to take the brace off, so I can examine your neck again. It is going to be painful. Are you ready, or would you like to take a break first?”

“Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck.”

“You are doing so well for me,” Law praised, gently removing the brace to press against your neck, asking you questions while you tried not to move.

How can I like his fingers touching me like this? What is wrong with me?

“Look at you. I’m so proud of how you’re handling this,” he rasped, soothing your whimpers as he secured the brace again.

“When will I be able to go home?”

Law’s jaw shifted a bit as he sat back, and it felt like the air in the room got heavy.

“As your doctor, I had to make the call to protect your health. We left your island, and my recommendation is that you remain with me for the time being. I think we both realized that one more week of treatment would not be enough support for your chronic condition. This incident with your neck further proves your need to receive continued treatment.”

“Left the– We’re underwater,” you said in a small voice, realizing what the strange clanking sounds in the background must be.

“You took me away,” you asked softly as your boyfriend’s warnings about Law started playing in your mind.

Fear ran through you then, and the metal room grew smaller, your oxygen growing harder to find. Panic hit your lungs, fast, shallow, useless breaths spiking your neck with pain.

“Y/N,” he drawled, that voice almost frightening now.

“But you were going to be there another week. Why did you take me? Why–”

“Y/N, I will take you back right now if that's what you want,” he soothed, voice warm and inviting. “Please let me explain why I had to make that choice. You weren’t able to make decisions for your own health and safety at the time. As your doctor, I had to do what I believed was best for your wellbeing.”

You stilled, your breath slowing, but staying shallow. That fuzzy distance started to take over, but you dug your nails into your palms to try to focus on what your doctor was saying.

“Your boyfriend came to the ship in the morning, demanding to take you home.”

The image in your mind built up. That fight. The keys you left in the open door.

You jolted a bit as Law laid his hand on your clenched fist.

“He refused to listen when I explained your condition, and that it would be dangerous to move you so soon. He…” Law took in a heavy breath, looking to the ground as he shook his head. When he met your eyes again, his were deep and sad, but etched with kindness.

“Y/N, your boyfriend accused me of taking advantage of your ‘obsession with being sick.”

Those words were thick like the nausea rising in your throat.

He did say little things sometimes. Things that made it seem like he didn’t believe me.

Law’s thumb stroked the back of your fist until you relaxed your hand. He took it in his before continuing with a gentle voice.

“He threatened to return with a group to take you by force. You are my patient, Y/N. I could not in good conscience release you in this current state. I had to make the call since couldn’t.”

That inner distance was coming again, all the sounds feeling washed out. Until he squeezed your hand, leaning in close.

He smells good.

“As your doctor, I must always do what is in your best interests. I believe that you should remain here under my care, at least until we have time to make progress with physical therapy. Until you feel safer in your own body.”

Your eyes had to close. It was all too much.

“However, it will always be your decision, Y/N,” he comforted. His voice was smooth, and thick, like some rich dessert. “If you choose to go against my recommendations, I will turn around right now. If you want to go back home, I will take you. All you have to do is tell me what you want.”

A trembling mouth opened, but you had no words to speak.

“Y/N, I need you to really think about this. Think about what’s best for you.”

Law massaged your hand as he spoke in that liquid voice, a shiver breaking you out of the fog.

“Where was he, Y/N,” he asked, not pausing for an answer. “You walked all the way here on your own, didn’t you? The amount of pain you were in was frightening, yet you chose to suffer alone. Why didn’t you ask for his help?”

He caught your rush of tears with a tissue, his voice raspy as he came closer to dry your face.

“Do you want to go back to a place where all the doctors treat you like you’re crazy?”

Years of frustration, anger, and pain fell on you, but you tried to stay present, tried to think straight.

“Do you want to go back to a family that doesn’t believe you? To a partner that believes you’re pretending, that thinks you want to be sick?”

No. You didn’t.

But you tried to let it go, tried to think without emotions. You wanted to shake your head, to move, to fling some of these sickening feelings off of you.

But you couldn’t move. You were in too much pain.

And Law is the only person who cares.

“You know, Y/N, I understand exactly how lonely and angry you must feel.”

He trapped you in the stone wall of his eyes again, and you’d never seen this look on his face before.

“When I was a child, myself and everyone I knew got sick. They all died.”

“I—“

“Even though I wasn’t contagious, even though I was just a child, every single doctor treated me like I was trash.”

The hand that was holding yours was squeezing tighter while you were frozen by his barely contained rage.

“There was only one person in the world who cared about me,” he muttered, the tension in his shoulders easing a bit.

“He did everything he could to save me. Even when I fought him. Even when I hurt him... He never stopped.”

The overwhelming closeness you’d felt in that metal room was easing, and the heat of tears building in your throat wasn’t for yourself this time.

Law rested his palm against your cheek, and that foggy dream floated through your mind.

“I’m not like all those doctors that abandoned us, that left us to suffer all alone,” he rasped, the twitching of his creasing brows giving you more emotion than you’d seen from him before.

“I will never abandon you, Y/N.”

His promise filled the air, as if this metal room were a ringing bell, the vibrations wracking through your body.

I feel like I should be scared. But why? He’s helping me. No one has ever helped me before. He’s just intense because he knows.

He knows this pain even more than I do.

Of course he’d do all of this to help me. He’s just helping me.

Law kept his hand on your cheek while he waited for you to think. He didn’t push, just gave you time. You heard the heart rate monitor starting to slow as you breathed with him.

He had taught you to follow his breathing during exercises, and now it felt natural, soothing.

“I want to stay with you. If you want to help me.”

“Of course I want to help you,” he purred, brushing a few strands from your forehead before stroking his fingers through your mussed up hair.

“I’m your doctor. You can trust me.”

“Law?”

“Are you alright,” he answered as he charged through the connecting door.

“I’m fine. Well, the same,” you reported, trying to shift your body up the bed.

It was getting difficult for you to tell the passage of time underwater, but you knew it had been at least a week.

Your pain was reducing, and your range of motion was improving, but you were still on bed rest unless Law was with you to guide your movements.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” you said, a sheepish grin pulling at your lips. “I’m just… I’m so bored, Law. And if I listen to Bepo’s Uta tone dial one more time, I’m going to go insane.”

That crooked smile made your skin flush as he walked toward you. He started piling pillows onto your lap, gently moving your arms out of the way before propping them up.

“I believe you’ve healed enough to read a book with some support,” he rasped as he brought his fingers to your skin. He pressed lightly against your shoulders, your jaw, and around the edges of the brace. You only winced a little when he stuck his fingers in to check the tightness.

“Although, you’ll need to make sure you’re not straining yourself, so we’ll have to start with short periods of time. Can you do that for me, Y/N?”

“Yes,” you agreed with a smile. It felt like your birthday, finally getting to open and enjoy your presents.

“You like mysteries, right,” he asked as he walked toward the door.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Your smile wilted just a bit as you tried to recall telling him that.

You hated being so loopy all the time. It felt like you were missing out on parts of your life.

“This is one of my favorites,” you almost squealed, catching yourself before you wiggled in your hospital gown.

“Really,” he teased as he took it back, flipping through the pages. “I’ll go find you something you haven’t read then.”

“No, please. I love it, thank you.”

“Show me how you’ll be holding it, Y/N.”

Law’s hands on your arms made you crave his massages more than seemed healthy. With your neck as it had been, he wouldn’t risk hurting you.

You still couldn’t lie flat anyway.

But I’m getting better. Then we can start. He can teach me how to take care of my body. He can touch me again.

Your own thoughts sent blood rushing to your face as you dove in, getting lost in one of your favorite mysteries.

Even though you knew who the villain was, you always loved the thrill of the chase.

And you still weren’t sure who you were rooting for.

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: I'm having so much fun 😈

Part 4

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