yes hello, hi, I would like to request the naga character! love me some snake friends!!
already made the guy, here's the post with the finished character! As for you, though you get a special gift for engaging with me specifically to ask about it, So have these doodles of him talking about snake anatomy while struggling not to sneeze teehee :))
sorry that it's just a really fast sketch compilation Trying to avoid burning out--
Hey guess what… I have another commission done! Thank you so so much to @opposedsnz for commissioning me! I have no idea who this character is except his name but I like him! DM me if you’d like to commission! Thank you so much you guys. More to come soon ..;)
Okay okay I can explain!! A few different people wanted Law stuff and I got a little excited, so here's an assortment of misery.
1. Dude absolutely snzes in multiples and usually covers properly. Prone to fits when he's worn out/sick. His crew loves to tease him about it but they really care for him.
2. No excuse for this one... Feverish. Chest out. Tattoos showing. Yes.
3. As you can see I'm a little obsessed with the Hea//rt Pira/tes being sweet to their grumpy captain, so naturally Be/po showed up with a cup of tea. I just wanted to draw him :)
Sorry for the questionable fashion choices. Anyways I spent an embarrasingly long number of hours on these so I hope you enjoy!
DO NOT REBLOG TO NON-KINK BLOGS!
Alternate design under the cut with minor Dress//rosa spoilers!
I love when people draw Law with scars/vitiligo from his amber lead syndrome <3
Got inspired to write from this post, so please take about 1300 words of getting sneezed on while eating out a wretched doctor
The desk is cleared off hurriedly, your eagerness apparent as you clear away stacks of paperwork and name plaques and all other manner of trinkets and baubles designed to make one's work more efficient and productive. The work you intend to put him through is not of the strictly business variety, and though you know he intends to close the deal at the end of things, that doesn't mean that you can't enjoy the "pleasure" end of "business-pleasure".
He sniffs sharply as he sits up on the desk, watching as you start unbuttoning his jacket and waistcoat, kissing along his sharp jawline as he tilts his head aside to allow you access to his throat. The jacket and waistcoat hit the floor, joined soon by his suspenders and trousers, the kissing growing more passionate with each article of clothing that lands on the tiles. By the time your hands are on the hem of his drawers, he looks less like a professional and more like a model for a Delineator advert.
Despite the positioning, it's abundantly clear in the way he looks at you with half a sneer that he is the one in control of this situation. The instant his drawers are off, the toe of a wingtip rests on your shoulder, shoving you roughly down to your knees in front of him. Holding the tie hung loosely around his neck might be sufficient to drag him close enough for a kiss, but this isn't the time. You have more pressing matters to attend to. He leans back, resting his heels over your shoulders to allow you to perform your duty like the little tool you are.
Kisses trail up from one knee to his thigh, one hand gripping at his hip to keep a grip as you nuzzle in. His breath hitches, but when you raise your eyes for his approval, you're met instead with the sight of his head tipped back, nostrils flared as he gasps and--"Hh'HRRESSHH'UE!"--he sneezes openly towards his lap--and you. It's undignified, unlike a man of his profession. Not that you mind in the slightest.
"Did I tell you to stop? You haven't even begun." He recovers with a sharp sniffle, softened at the edges by a liquid sound, and you're quite reminded of your place in this.
Your lips connect with his thigh once again, before moving in for the main course. You take the opportunity to stroke at him with your tongue, earning an approving shiver as he inches slightly closer to your mouth. You need no further encouragement. Slipping your tongue inside of him, you begin lapping at him in earnest, exploring and gauging his responses with each probing movement. You know you're beginning to truly make headway when one particular stroke sees him grabbing at your hair tightly and pushing closer to your mouth.
His movements begin to match yours in timing, and once again, an insistent gasp draws your eyes up enough to watch his face. His nostrils quiver as he hitches once, twice, and is suddenly dragged in against you by his tie. His dripping nose is tucked into the crook of your neck as he gives in. "HRRUUH'SHYUE!" The first sneeze tears its way through him, and he buries his nose further into your neck as he gasps for the second. The sound is little more than that of a damp explosion, the moisture glistening on your skin as he pulls away blearily and snuffles. Reddened nostrils flare widely as he wrinkles his nose, the itch clearly still very much a present issue, but it's obvious that it hasn't dampened his enthusiasm any.
He grabs you by the chin, fingers digging into your cheeks in his firm grip. "When did I say," he sniffles wetly again, "that you could make the decisions here?" You don't need any help getting back to your knees as he settles back into the position he was in, legs spread and knees rested on either side of your shoulders.
You return to your task with hunger, with the taste of him in your mouth as your tongue finds that familiar spot that has his back arching with a weak gasp. "There." Is all he manages to growl out, gripping the edges of the desk tightly enough that his knuckles whiten. You switch from the long strokes with the flat of your tongue to using just the tip, and he bucks in approval, accompanied by another more urgent gasp. His eyes are closed tightly, mouth pressed into a thin line as he focuses on the purpose you serve.
When the flustered gasps become those of something else, you're prepared to take advantage of it. "Hh-!" Almost... "Hah-!" Almost... "Hh'HRRIISSHH'HYUE!"
You can feel the mist settling across your skin, raising goosebumps across you. You time a particularly deep pass at him to meet him when his body jolts with the release. He moans, dropping back onto his elbows for support, and he nudges closer. "Again."
You rub in circular motions over his clit, pausing your oral ministrations to free you up to watch him in this state. Even undone as he is, hair out of place and flush across his cheeks, he is in charge. His commands do not go unheeded. You can see his nose, strong and statuesque, drips freely now, scrunching and wrinkling as whatever has settled in continues to toy with and tease him like you do. The blooming cold has done something to you, turned this session into something that will be etched into your mind eternally. The longer he holds back, you know, the worse it will be for him when he is finally overwhelmed. Just as you submit to him, he will have to submit to his body.
Perhaps he knows this. Perhaps it's the reason he fights so valiantly to keep it at bay. Perhaps it's simply because he's trying to enjoy the feeling of your tongue inside of him uninterrupted. Whatever the reason, you're ravenous in the way you eat him. Flustered gasps and low moans are interspersed with instructions of "there!" and "faster!"
By the time the frequent, wet sniffs have ceased to be of any use at all, you're acutely aware that he is close. The growled directions have given way to unsteady hitching and moans, the both of you moving in sync to the other's timing. When you see him on the verge of giving into the inevitable fit, you know this is going to be it.
"Hh'RRRSCHUUEe! HRESSHH'Yue! Hah--DDJZZHH'Uue!"
The spray coats you, wetting you in more ways than one. When you meet him on the final sneeze, the pressure and the way he's bucked into you is enough to put him over the edge.
He arches his back and falls against the desk as the orgasm washes over him, leaving him a panting, shivering mess. You continue lapping at him despite this, and in his heightened sensitivity he finds your tongue meeting the sensitive spot nearly unbearable. He plants a dress shoe squarely on your chest and shoves you away from him until he can recover some semblance of his faculties, until he's come down from the afterglow.
It's some time later when he finds himself once again mostly dressed, hands trembling as he buttons his jacket and straightens his tie. His cheeks and nose are still flushed, a few strands hair still out of place despite the attempts at combing it back into propriety, and the beads of sweat from the exertion are now replaced with those of a fever. "Sign on the dotted line."
A touch to his forehead all but confirms your suspicions: tomorrow will be a sick day, whether he admits it or not.
