OBEDIENCE TRAINING
— minors dni, bully! satoru, dubcon, oral [ m. receiving ], nicknames (puppy, dog), hair pulling, body worship
“kiss it.”
your eyes meet gojo’s, daring blues that just crave your defiance. there’s a light burning in your scalp; he keeps pulling your hair harder every time you hesitate. it’s not worth it.
gojo watches, hissing as you lean forward to press cherry-flavored lips to the head of his cock. it throbs at the affection, spilling drops of precum through the part in your lips to leave a salty taste in your mouth.
“good dog.”, gojo praises, patting your head and giving you a patronizing grin. “do it again.”
another kiss, slightly longer this time. another head pat, another ‘good dog’ to remind you of your place.
“i don’t think i should have to tell you to keep going.”, gojo spits, and you cringe as his fist tightens in your hair again. “kiss it again. make me feel good. i want you to worship me like you mean it.”
there’s no room for bluffs or lies in his expression. gojo means what he says, and you know if you make even a single error, he’ll be doing more than pulling your hair next time.
a blissful sigh escapes through his glossy, pink lips, upturned into a menacing smirk as he watches you shower his length in kiss after kiss. you wrap a tentative hand along it—slowly in case gojo chooses to scold you again for whatever reason—and run your tongue along the underside of his cock. he lets out a low moan as you cross over that sensitive vein, before pressing another firm kiss to the head.
dipping lower, a harsh twitch runs throughout gojo’s body as you lap at his heavy balls. he curses, ‘o—oh, fuck—!’, tossing his head back and bucking up into your touch, where you continue stroking him. ‘jus—just like th—at, shit!’, gojo stutters between bites of his lip.
it takes no time before his chest is heaving, and you can tell he’s on the verge of climax. you study him, partly because he told you not to dare look away, and partly because he is actually quite pretty, though that’s a shock to no one.
“may i, satoru?”, you ask sweetly, politely in that tone just as he instructed you, batting those long lashes at satoru because he just loves when you do that.
gojo’s brows furrow and his jaw goes slack, before he moans out his permission. “yeah, yeah, go ahead, puppy.”
you press one more kiss to his cock, and then suck him down as far as he’ll go. it’s the last push he needs before he’s cumming in your mouth, releasing thick spurts of white deep in your throat, hips bucking and the choked gags you can’t hold back are just the cherry on top.
a few minutes pass as gojo goes limp. he rubs a gentle thumb over your head as he catches his breath, legs still twitching as you layer delicate kisses over his softening cock.
“now,” he rasps out a final question, smiling down at you, “what do we say?”
“thank you, satoru.”
🐾: @anthoosies @teddybeartoji @higurumapet @starlightanyaaa @hehehehesthings @rosso-seta @paradiseoflosers @sbgg @krraayy @astral-hydromancy @lcvelina @lynettess @savethegoddamturtles @apatauaia @sataraxia @starsharkz @h-4-bib @idkluvv @b-b-b-my-b-f-f @sugu-love @xinfvl @mikeysflag @ichikanu @marichat0n @gyaruismind @sugojosgf @xocherishxo @sukunastarr-69 @glmpsfs @anxie-tiddies @euphoriagrae @astrasworldsblog @lovesickliyue @deepenthevoid @bubblez-blop @luvvmae @risuola
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Okay okay hear me out Rain: reader watching Sanji cook, just sitting, waiting, maybe reading a book but catching glances at him every so often and he knows they're looking at him and just smiles....sorry I love that man
accidentally in love
opla!sanji; 2,569 words; fluff, banter so much banter, flirting, flustered!sanji, whipped!sanji, no "y/n", confessions, "sweetheart", fem!reader, straw hat"!reader
summary: in which sanji is trying to cook dinner but you're very, very distracting. or, sanji finally meets his match.
a/n: i know i said i might not write for anyone other than zoro but i lied. i guess i'm a sanji bitch now too. fuck.
Sanji’s always liked to say that he can cook anywhere, anytime, given that he’s got something that resembles heat and a smattering of ingredients — like any great artist, he knows how to make do. But, he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t enjoy this — the quiet of a ship’s kitchen, the gentle sway of the ocean, the simmer and pop of fat on a pan, the soft bubbling of boiling water — and you.
You, perched on the counter with your legs hanging off the side, hair piled up and pinned with a chopstick, a book in your hands or on your lap, the early afternoon sun spilling in to caress your skin like so many loving fingers. Sometimes, he’ll glance over while chopping onions or mincing garlic to catch a glimpse of you, and he’d find himself stilling, his fingers slowing, his breath suspended in his chest, caught like an insect in amber: held weightless and perfect.
“You’re staring,” you say, flipping a page without looking up, a smile twitching at your lips.
“Yeah, I know. I’ve found that admiring beautiful things helps me in my creative process,” he says, his grin going lopsided as he lowers his eyes to the ingredients on the cutting board — tiny, plump cherry tomatoes ripe to bursting. He resumes slicing each in half with swift, decisive cuts and relishes in the sound of your laughter.
“Careful with that mouth of yours — someone might accidentally fall in love with you,” you flip another page.
Sanji slides the cut tomatoes into a bowl and wipes a hand on the towel slung over his shoulder.
“Accidentally? C’mon, you gotta gimme some more credit. But if anyone’s fallin’ in love, it’s gonna be with you.”
Another page. Sanji plucks a few zucchini from a large bag and starts to julienne them into thin strips.
“What are you making?” you ask, finally setting the book down in favor of peering at all the ingredients he’s got laid out. He quirks an eyebrow, glancing up.
“What, finished with that book already?”
“Nope — just found something more interesting to look at, that’s all.”
Sanji blushes.
Let it never be said that Vinsmoke Sanji can’t take as good as he gives but by all the gods and monsters and sea kings — you’re a damn good flirt. Almost as good as he is, he used to think. Now, as he covers up his rapidly darkening cheeks with a chuckle, turning away to grab a potato for skinning, he wonders if you might just be better.
“You never answered my question, y’know.”
He looks up again, his tongue feeling strangely swollen and uncoordinated in his mouth. You’re grinning at him, your legs still swinging, but in the few seconds he’d looked away, you’ve inched closer, your outer thigh now almost pressing against the edge of his cutting board.
The first time he’d found you perched up on his long work table with a book in your lap, he’d blinked, crossed his arms, and debated on asking what on earth you thought you were doing. Chefs generally do not take kindly to their prep spaces being treated like free real estate for sitting, but he’d never been able to say no to a beautiful woman, now has he? And least of all you.
“Thought you could use the company,” was your answer to his then-unasked question. He’d laughed, nodded, and gotten on with his breakfast prep. But that was months ago and since then, it’s become something of a habit; a ritual, almost.
“What question was that? I was —” he asks, clearing his throat, his fingers almost slipping on the freshly peeled potato, “distracted by your —”
“What are you making?”
“Oh —” Sanji returns his gaze to the cutting board, now acutely aware of the smell of your skin, creamy and warm. He swallows, trying to focus on slicing the potato.
“Just a cherry tomato and zucchini noodle pasta — not often that we get such fresh produce. But Luffy’d asked if I can make chips from scratch the other day so that’s what this bad boy’s for,” he says, holding up half the potato.
“You sure one potato’s gonna be enough?” you shift your leg to cross one above the other, and Sanji has to swallow passed the thickness building up in the back of his throat at the sight of your soft, smooth thighs.
“Good point,” he says, laughing as he bends down to grab a few more.
You fall into a companionable silence, the quiet only punctuated by the tack-tack-tack of his knife on the cutting board and the occasionally shunk-thump of ingredients being swept into a metal prep bowl.
“You’re staring,” he says. And this time, it’s Sanji who grins, keeping his eyes fixed on the remainder of the herb mix he’s chopping up.
“Yeah, I know. I’m making a habit of admiring beautiful things. I’ve heard that it’s good for me.”
Heat bursts in Sanji’s chest as if he’d swallowed a shot of whiskey or gin or perhaps something even more potent. His head spins, but he steadies himself before letting out a soft, low whistle. He fights the urge to look up just to check if you’re as affected as he is.
“Keep talkin’ like that and falling in love with you’s not gonna be an accident.”
When he finally looks up to shoot you a flirty smile, he finds himself faltering as he meets your eyes.
“Who said I wanted it to be an accident?”
The knife in Sanji’s hand slips and he swears as it knicks the skin of his forefinger.
“Ah, shit —”
“Oops.” You have the decency to look sheepish as he shoots you a mildly reproachful look. But you shift your legs and tug open a drawer that had been tucked beneath where your knee had been, pulling out a small bandage.
“Come here,” you offer, reaching out as he stares at you for a second before moving forward to give you his hand. You gently wipe away the blood before pressing the bandage to the small cut, running a thumb over the edges to make sure it’s sealed.
The air hangs between you like dust motes trapped in sunlight, like first snow caught in the silvery breaths of awestruck children.
“There,” you say, the word no more than a whisper. Your hands linger over his, his skin burning where you’d touched him. Shivers skitter down the length of his spine as he gulps in a breath of air that tastes faintly of fairytale endings and happily-ever-afters.
“Thanks.”
He doesn't pull away. Neither do you.
Like this, he can count every single lash that frames your doe-wide eyes. Like this, he can feel the static thrum of electricity threatening to jump from his body to yours, and all at once, he understands why lightning always tries to reach for the closest thing to its storm-ridden skies.
Perhaps it, too, yearns for closeness — for that infinitesimal moment of connection.
He wants to reach for you.
Your lips hover a kiss’s-breadth away.
An alarm goes off.
“Oh fuck —”
He jerks away from you, the world clanging rudely back into focus as he reaches for the lid of a large pot, his heart hammering something fierce inside his ribcage. He nearly burns himself on the thick fog of steam rising from inside the pot to reveal six flat-face crabs, freshly caught that morning.
Behind him, he hears the distinct sounds of you slipping from the long work table.
“Leaving already?” he asks as he turns back around with a stab at his usual light-hearted cheek.
You lick your lips, grinning, “I feel like I’ve caused enough damage for one dinner service. If I keep hanging around, you might lose a finger next.”
“Small price to pay for the company of a beautiful woman,” but there’s a gravel and grit to his voice that wasn’t there before, and he looks away first when this time your eyes catch. He tries to busy himself with prepping the pan sauce for the crabs.
“I’ll let Nami know that the next time she wants to peek in on you cooking.”
“Hey —”
You pause at the sound of his voice just as you reach the door. You turn.
Sanji’s expression flickers between caution and anticipation as he opens his mouth, his eyes somehow sharper and darker than they usually are.
“We’re not done talking about this.”
You cock your head, “About what?”
But there’s a smile teasing at the corner of your lips and Sanji lets out a good-humored sigh.
“Alright, go. Or else I might lose more than a finger.”
Like a heart, he thinks as you close the door behind you with a soft click.
Dinner is an appetizer of cold zucchini pasta followed by a warm, tangy tomato veloute. Then come the crabs — freshly steamed over a bed of risotto and served with a lemon and rosemary pan sauce so delicious it has even Zoro sighing with satisfaction.
“Wow, special occasion?” Nami asks, looking up as Sanji comes around with a tray full of cocktails, complete with blood orange slices garnishing the lip of each glass.
“Ain’t every day a special one with this crew?” he asks, winking at Nami as she takes her drink.
Everyone laughs, but as he sets down your drink, you notice a tiny note tucked beneath the base of your glass.
You take a sip of your drink, glancing down at the note. It has three simple words written in Sanji’s unmistakable, slanted handwriting:
Kitchen — after dinner.
You tuck the note away in your pocket with a secret grin, taking another long sip of the cold, refreshing drink.
The final course is a heaping pile of home-made potato chips with garlic and cheese dip, and Luffy wastes no time in shoveling half the batch into his mouth, crunching loudly over a series of vague, animalistic hums and grunts that all seem to denote happiness.
You finish your drink and slip away under the guise of going for another.
When you get to the kitchen, it's to find Sanji already cleaning up.
“Need a hand?” you ask, setting your empty glass on the counter before lightly hoisting yourself up onto it.
Sanji shakes his head, turning off the water and wiping down his hands. He pours you another drink from a large pitcher before setting it down and pursing his lips.
“This afternoon —”
“I meant what I said —” you say, cutting him off as you look away, eyes fixed on your knees as you swing your feet away from the table’s edge, “if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Oh, yeah,” Sanji clears his throat, reaching into his pocket to grab a cigarette and a lighter, if only to keep his hands busy. The thing in his chest that he’d been so convinced was his heart for most of his life now feels very much like a ticking time bomb. Or perhaps a hand grenade, with the pin held precariously between your teeth.
One word from you and —
“So? What about you?” you ask.
Sanji sucks in a long breath of smoke, holding it in his lungs before letting it out. The familiar sting grounds him as he looks at you and wonders if you know all the things he’d do for you. All the things he’s already done.
“Me?” he asks.
“Yeah — did you mean it?” And for the first time since he’s known you, you sound uncertain, “All… all those things you said? All the things you’ve been saying?”
He takes a few steps forward, finally allowing himself to breach the delicate circle of your personal space, his free hand coming to rest on the counter next to your thigh, his palm pressing flat to keep himself from going too far, too fast.
“Three guesses,” he says, letting his eyes flicker down to your lips and linger there, “You guess right… and there might be a prize involved, hm?”
A small, knowing grin spreads across your lips even as you quirk an eyebrow.
“Three guesses to a yes or no question? C’mon, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re losing your touch.”
Sanji leans in and you can almost taste the smoke on your tongue.
“But you do know better, don’t you, sweetheart?”
You suck in a breath, reaching up to tug the cigarette from his lips.
“Yes.”
You catch a flash of his smile a second before his lips find yours. He tastes of salt and tobacco and lemon-rosemary sauce.
“That’s one,” he says as the pair of you break apart. The cigarette lies forgotten on the counter.
Somehow, his hands have found their way to the bend of your waist, settling there as naturally as the tide might settle against its favorite stretch of forgotten beach.
You smile as you reach up to tug him closer, “Yes.”
Another kiss.
Sanji notes with a satisfied grin that your cheeks are just as flushed as his feels when he pulls away this time. He nods, trailing long fingers up your side, one hand reaching up to cup your cheek, the other pressing at the small of your back.
“That’s two.”
You nudge his nose with yours and he feels his hand-grenade heart leap into his throat.
“And…” you hum, letting your head lilt to one side as you ghost your lips over his, “Hm, lemme think about this one…”
Sanji rolls his eyes, tugging you forward by the back of your neck, crushing your mouth to his. It’s more insistent this time — the kiss, the breath, his fingers, your hands — more desperate and fumbling, fueled by the ever-growing heat bubbling at the base of his spine.
“Yes —” you hiss, panting as the pair of you pull apart, your pupils blown wide and dark in the dim kitchen light.
“And that’s all three,” he says, his smile going wide with warmth, “See? You’ve got it. Knew you’d get there.”
“Did you ever doubt?”
Sanji shrugs, taking half a step back to admire the sight of you, with kiss-swollen lips and heat-flushed skin. Perfect might not be strong enough a word.
“There was a moment here or there,” he says, to which you respond with a light shove to his shoulder as you hop off the table.
“Oh, I meant to ask you — what’s for dessert?”
Sanji laughs, “What? Did my garlic-cheddar chips not satisfy?”
“Really? Chips for dessert? And here I was hoping for something sweet.”
You make to leave the kitchen but Sanji reaches forward, pulling you back all too easily, spinning you around and pinning you against the door. His eyes are soft with mirth but as he leans down, you can’t help but shiver at the promise of something more lingering beneath the smoke of his breath.
“Well then, sweetheart, I think I’ve got my dessert picked out already now, don’t I?”
recs r technically closed, but... if you have an opla!sanji one... send it here.
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Alastor X Reader Headcanons
✅️Romantic
❌️Platonic
TW: Extreme Fluff!! Sweet Intimacy!!! A little canon cannibalism
Description: Different ways Alastor likes to be pampered by Wifey!Reader
When it comes to his wifey...Alastor is super spoiled and he knows it, craves it like nothing ever before
He's a glutton for your attention and everyone knows it
Every little act of kindness, every drop of affection and loving gaze just melts over his (shriveled black)heart like a sugary glaze
Mmmmmm glazed hearts
Great now he's hungry
ANYWAYS-
Even the normal everyday things make him feel warm and fuzzy inside
Like when you bring him his favorite tea in the mornings, giving him a soft kiss on the side of his face as you drape your arms around him
"Mm...good morning my dear..."
Or when you smooth over an unruly hair for him or fix his bow tie before he leaves the hotel
You can't have your snookums going out looking like some scruffy strawberry clown
You always make sure his staff is clean and polished, suit flawless and pressed, shoes shiny before he has an overlord meeting
You're NOT going to let your pookie bear hang around the other overlords with smudged shoes
Just. No.
Loves the days that you drag him off to the bathroom to coax him into a hot bath
"You've been so tense lately... let me take care of you..."
How can he say no to you?
He just relaxes and closes his eyes, letting your gentle fingers massage his scalp as you lather shampoo in his hair
The candles and bubbles 🫧 were a good touch too 👌
He almost always falls asleep by the time you're done massaging and cleaning him up, once you start scrubbing under his nails then he's OUT LIKE A LIGHT
Not that you mind, he's so attractive when he's sleeping
WAIT HUSBAND DON'T DROWN
Wakes up to an empty bathtub and a warm towel being wrapped around him by his delicious boo
You're so good to him how did you know he needed this
Always finds himself in a better mood after that, like his problems have all been washed and scrubbed away by your gentle pampering
He secretly loves it when you come by his radio tower with a fresh lunch, interrupting his set just because he needs to eat
Though he pretends it's a big hassle
He savors the food you bring him either way, walking you to the door afterwards and thanking you for thinking of him
Bby boy that's all you do is think about him
He locks the door on your way out tho
Alastor loves the way you convince him to come to bed with you, knowing he needs to sleep but also armed with the knowledge that he'll fight bedtime like a child
You leaning on the doorway already in your sleep attire, giving him a soft pout as he tries to continue his work and ignore you
"Alastor..."
Not his ears flicking up at the sound of your voice
When whining doesn't work, then you slink your way over to him, cupping his cheek and forcing him to look at you
He's trying so hard not to though, the moment he looks at your face then he knows he's done for
"Look at me, darling~"
Okay maybe just a quick glance-
Alastor you are a strong man, you are cruel and sadistic and you are an overlord with very important business!! You can handle telling your wife no-
Ffffffffuck.
Not the gooey goo goo doe eyes
Immediately leans into your touch, savoring the feeling of your fingers stroking his cheek
Not his tail fluttering
"Come to bed already~ I can't sleep without you, you know..."
And that's how you convince him to get to sleep every single night, a full 8 hours or whatever is recommended in Hell
Getting out of bed is hard for him because you look so delectable asleep and curled into him
Maybe he should take more time to pamper you too
But he's a selfish, greedy man who likes being spoiled by his wife so that thought is gone as fast as it came
He gets out of bed just to watch you whine and blindly reach out for him, so adorably pathetic
Okay just five more minutes of snuggles then I gotta go-
If he's cranky then you manage to convince him to nap, patting your lap and stroking his hair once he lays his head down
Your soft singing lulls him into a light sleep as you scratch and rub the ends of his ears
Wakes up drooling
Wakes up with his face buried in your stomach, arms locked around your waist as he sleepily breathes in your scent
How is he supposed to get any work done with you around????
Alastor loves all those things but his favorite way that you spoil him?? His number one fave?? That he would never admit to anyone??
When you give him your special smile, the one that's always been his to see and his alone
The smile that conveys enough warmth and love to make all of Hell seem like Heaven, at least for him anyways
The same smile that he first saw when you told him that you loved him, the same smile that tells him you still love him
You spoil him
Alastor thinking of his wife:
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