she’d sit in a chair across from you, watch her sweet girl twirl for her and model all the outfits she bought, almost all of them either too short or see through.
and if she made you stand in front of a mirror while she dresses you herself . . hands roaming your body in a way that makes you clench your thighs together, youre so so squirmy but youre not allowed to move because shes working. her hand lightly grazes your nipple while unclasping your bra — she insists it wouldn’t look good if you had one on with this dress. she’d give you instructions in that firm but gentle voice of hers,, arms up, sweetheart, followed by a good girl when you obey.
still behind you, she’d rest her hands on your shoulders, a fond smile on her face as she watches you in the mirror, so pretty, baby.. fits you just right. you like your gift, dont you? …shouldn’t you thank mommy for it?
if you’re wearing a frilly little skirt it wont be long before she has you bent over, head down and ass up on the bed. she’ll have her slender fingers parting your puffy lips, playing with your slick. after shes done she’ll guide you to sit up, drag your panties right back in place over the mess you made and pull your skirt back down, smoothing out any wrinkles left. shes so careful with you, treating you like an actual real doll (because to her, you are ♡)
Being slowly eased into dollification by your partner. You don’t think much of it at first, they’ve always loved spoiling you, so them offering you pay for your outfits isn’t out of the ordinary. They’ll happily do it, only ever asking for pictures of you in them in return. And you don’t find the way they seem to perk up whenever you ask their opinion on what to wear to be out of the ordinary either, they’ve always loved helping you. Though you suppose there’s something to be said in how meticulous they are when they help you dress. Even the simplest tasks like tightening a strap or tying your shoe tend to take them longer, they can’t seem to help but linger, admiring your form, showering you in compliments. So it’s only natural that as time passes you start to crave their assistance, finding yourself wanting them to pick out your look for you. Your clothes, your hair, your shoes, they always do such a good job and you always get such a warm fuzzy feeling whenever they do. It’s almost ritualistic, a quiet moment of intimacy that you alone share. They love it, and you’ve grown to love it too. That’s why you’re as reassured as you are flustered by the calm grin that overtakes their features when you ask them if they’ll pick something out for you to wear to your date tonight.
I just know Megumi’s fav thing is somno but he feels so guilty because he doesn’t know how to bring it up to his new girlfriend who is secretly also a freak and doesn’t know how to bring it up to him but one day she just accidentally blurts it out😭
lowkey i believe in the opposite, i think megumi has a huge corruption kink all of the time and slowly strokes you into the kind of girl who enjoys the same things that he does. maybe he would feel a little guilty but idk if that’s much in his nature … he does things for selfish reasons because he believes that’s what is right … in my head he’s such a soft, maybe a little evil boyfriend. temptation wrapped in a dark cloak. he would never hurt you, in fact you’re much like a little doll to him. something to play with when he fancies and you enjoy it too — you don’t even realise you’re letting him use you all the time, whenever he wants until it’s too late because he always makes you feel good first !!
i do think you would have a conversation about liking it, the way he takes your innocents and smelts it into something dark and beautiful. you’d be shy to tell him all the dirty things on your mind next to all the things you wish he would do outside the bedroom. i think megumi knows what you like before you do, and as you shake — telling him you like the free use and the dollification … all he does is kiss the crown of your head and take you into his arms, reassuring you that he likes it too.
Doodle page of Min and Johann (belongs to @bunnygirllover45)
Min’s Toyhou.se Page
idk why but johann is like... comforting to me so im indulging myself. also i love how the entire time doodling this, i was listening to I Love You, I'm Sorry by Gracie Abrams and its funny to me bc i would've listening to something... less soft than that? but idk maybe bc it was raining and it's when nostglia hits.
also yes, the second doodle page is reference to this (which is my fav to reread)
Day 6 (yes that's right. no. no one missed anything. I'm behind. shh). And I'm cheating a bit because it's also Megumi's birthday
This one is a little new for me, but I hope how i envision Megumi doing this makes some kind of sense. Apparently dollification is a bit niche? nothing is niche to an ao3 veteran though so news to me
cw: dollification, voluntary dissociation, megumi wears a skirt because gender is a construct and he/him using people are allowed to wear what they want, lingerie. this is arousing for him but he ultimately refuses sex for the duration of the piece
I'm really sorry if the pacing is a bit off. Because I have to write at least a little bit each day to even halfway keep up with the event, there's not much time for beta-reading most of the stuff /throws it out and runs away
Megumi blinked, aware for the first time in what felt like hours, but still in a pleasant haze. There was no need to make decisions, no need to feel responsible for anything.
The feeling of your hands on him was more acute, gentle soap rubbed into his skin, thumbs running up the muscles in his neck, nails scratching at the roots of his hair.
His fingers twitched, the ring on his left hand pressing pleasantly against his adjacent fingers. You must have slipped it on him soon after the scene started. You tended to do that if you weren't planning on letting him leave soon.
He would have sighed, but his job right now was to lie still and let you do whatever you wanted to him. The thought of it made him twitch inside, thankfully where you couldn't see.
Still, you noticed enough to slip your hand to his throat and squeeze a little, reminding him to keep breathing, slow and even.
You notice he's wet when you're toweling him off. "I suppose this is at times function of my darling," you murmur to tease him a bit, otherwise, thankfully, ignoring it.
He reminds himself that he does not need to be relieved or think much of anything really, just stand as you've positioned him, let his eyes fall shut when he's more or less prone, resist the urge to tremble when you brush over the bondmark on his shoulder.
He belongs to you very well and you take good care of him, sitting him on a new towel in front of the vanity, rubbing oil up every one of his limbs, shoulder to wrist, ankle to hip, chest and back, patting fragrant cream into his face, blow-drying his hair.
He sits very still as you start to prime his face. Memories of the first time doing this drift across the scrolling scenery of his mind. His intention to question, to shift as soft brushes pass over the incredibly fine planes of his face. Lifting light over his brow, his cheeks, fitting a subtle rouge, for your beautiful doll is not garish or saucy, over the high bone, restoring shadow under the curve of his jaw and lower lip.
You flick a little dab of colored mascera to the tip of one long lash. He sits very still as your breath fans over his face while you decide, tilting his head this way and that with barely the touch of a finger, but never too far to break the illusion.
"Very good."
He fights this hitch in his chest. Being disallowed from moving seems to make it twice as hard not to do so, but he's now had several years of practice.
You flick color sparingly over a few lashes, giving the barest suggestion of blue to make the green of his eyes deepen. He bats his eyelashes slowly when you're done with them, showing off the effect but letting his eyes stay unfocused and dreamy as he largely wanders in the realm of sensation and memories which are allowed to pass painlessly through him
You take him in, brushing powder here and there over his neck, down to his chest before you are satisfied.
He focuses on one sense to the other, the shush of cosmetics and click of their casing as you leave things to set, him obediently watching the far wall rather than your movement out of his periphery. He can scent the odd calm that blankets his own vaguely pervasive arousal, the warm thrum under his skin. Although, as you trail hands over his arms and step back one more time to make sure his makeup is perfect, the complete nakedness feels very comfortable. Existing with you where he is just a body, his person-ness floating somewhere safe and enclosed above his head, or in the shadows behind his eyes, where you take in all of him and adore every single centimeter. It's very comfortable.
You dress him in something that makes him glad for the foundation hiding the blush as cream lace presses around his chest and hips, straps holding it to his shape around his chest and waist.
A soft, loose turtleneck gets tucked into a fawn corset fastened snug around his waist, bracing him straight but not compressing. It hides his breathing more, which gives him room to take deeper breaths as you contemplate a long skirt or a pair of trousers he knows drape over his behind in way that often has you grabbing him if he bends over too long.
There is a delicious wickedness in you as you croon, "Dolly dearest, you look so lovely in everything. I'm having a hard time choosing. Would you tell me which would best suit you on a winter's day?"
He eyes one and then the other as you really ask him whether he would like to be a beautiful silhouette, admired and later appreciated, or accessible to your every whim.
When his slow-blinking gaze lingers a little too long on the long skirt, you lay aside the trousers and oblige him. The corset really is helping keep his breathing in check as he imagines your hands everywhere.
When he is dressed, you set up a place for him to sit on a soft rug with pillows to lean back against, a short table to rest his hands, cushions to keep his bones from pressing against anything hard, and pose him. You turn the mirror so he can see himself.
Skin flawlessly finished, eyes lined just a little bit with a flash of almost invisible color, lips glossed to a sheen, clothes pleated and arranged. The thigh-high stockings under the skirt make his leg where it peaks out look sculpted, toes blurred to just the pointed shape of his foot.
You sit behind him, wrap your arms around him, looking at him in the mirror, inhale the scent of product and the mellow hush of all his emotions gone quiet when he's like this. "Dolly dearest," you purr the words that signal you're letting him reply. "It's nearly lunchtime and I'm getting hungry. Shall we take our tea?"
"Shouldn't it be still be teatime?" he grumbles, hoarse from his silence, but he's allotted few sentences when you play this game. He doesn't feel much like thinking today. The weight of your arms lets him exist without suppression, the cinched spots of his layers of clothing remind him you're with him.
"Right you are." You're laughing at him as he gets propped up at the table for you to set it. The three tiers of the tea stand are actually quite impressive, ordered from a cafe nearby that does such things.
He's not all that eager to move, as this requires some planning, but he obediently sips at his teacup, which you keep full enough he doesn't have to tip it far, and eats sandwiches and tarts and scones with such tiny bites you can hardly tell he is moving his lips all, which is a part of this he came up with soon after it became apparent he would want this more often.
He largely gives up with the soup, which brings with it the benefit of you moving close enough to feed him tiny sips, dabbing at the corners of his mouth to keep it from spilling on his clothes.
He pretends not to notice as your movements shift the skirt higher and higher, exposing the garters holding his stockings in place. All of it you pat back down with a slightly smirky look once the meal is done and he's signaled you that he has had enough to eat.
You snap a few pictures on the polaroid, and end up changing his clothes a few times for it, tilting him this way and that to get a different feel from each thing - a silky shirt tucked into a pair of shorts, a red velvet off-the-shoulder with those trousers in coffee, a cream and green wide-legged combination that mirrors a belted wrap-top, and then back to the original, minus the corset as you finally lay him on the bed, read to put your Dolly Dearest away and bring your Megumi back, bit by bit as he's ready to return to you.
You've reapplied his lipgloss. Smearing that veneer away as you brush your lips to his unresisting mouth starts to pull that sense of self back from the perfectly safe little box it's been in, makes it start to fill his body again as he no longer feels the need to be hidden and kept in a small, protected space.
He inhales deeper as he starts to need air and as you touch the ring on his finger, the one that shows other people when he wears it out that he belongs to you.
As you slide the skirt up and unclip his garters, pulling down his stockings, the air feels colder and he shivers, feels you smile as you tug the covers into a half-wall around the two of you. A decent nester, for an alpha, he things not for the first time, parting his lips to draw your scent across his palate, roasted sweet with the pleasure of being with him, with the heat of your hunger for him.
That makes him kiss you back, pressing into it as you lift his hips to undo the buttons behind his hip and slide the skirt off, away to the end of the bed.
He inhales sharply as your nails scratch the lace - which explained that choice, as though he didn't know where this could go.
There's more lazy kissing, which he profoundly enjoys, each warm press and soft sound drawing him back into himself as though with marionette strings. His hands grip back, squeezing rather than lying limply as his fingers find the spaces in yours, his stomach jumps as you nose at the tender place behind his ear, kissing down the side of his neck. Your hand traces curiously over the lace on his chest, mapping the feel of it against his skin and containing the perked swell of his breast.
"Do you like this one?"
You give him so much time to answer, to let the words filter like syrup to where he can think on them. He'll answer, later. When things speed back up to their normal pace.
It feels nice though, it does. The texture is exceedingly pleasant as he feels himself get a bit wetter than just background arousal as you start to kiss his neck.
"You don't mind the powder?" he murmurs.
"You ready to have it off?"
When he nods, you slip away for a moment to lay the skirt across the back of a chair and to wet a few cotton pads with micellar water. It feels good to have the powder off, lighter. It makes him more eager to get back to kissing, to your hand sliding back up his sweater to press your nail around his nipple.
He's a little more hesitant when your hands trail lower, teasing around his hole, closing his knees and whining softly in a way he wouldn't if he was all back with you. Your hands retreat and he breathes easier. He doesn't want to do anything about it right now, maybe later, when he can fully appreciate the set you have him in and feel sexy about it.
The low simmer in his belly just feels good the way it is, ebbing and flowing as your hands slip around his waist, pulling him close, making your body the new container for his being. "Love you, Megumi," you whisper as you trade another set of slow kisses, the remnants of the gloss sticky between you.
Yes, that's the important bit, he thinks, as his mind starts to settle, personhood slipping back into the cracks of him. He tucks his nose briefly into the sweater, picking up the spice of himself and enjoying the texture.
He knows that you love him very much, that you take care of him when he just needs to not be quite so responsible or present, when he needs to be just a body that is still a little bit Megumi, and entirely part of your omega, your mate.
"Ready to come back to me, Dolly Dearest?" you murmur, the question you ask at the end of every seen, this time as you feel him inhabit his body again, his arms wrapping around your waist in return.
"Yes, alpha." His voice is still a little soft, but his scent is sweet and tangy, no longer the muted mellow. "I'm back."
i think pre getting his hero suit, izuku’s infantilization of you goes crazy. in desperate need of control of something. you in desperate need to be controlled, to move passively through life to save your sanity. so he does your hair each morning, gets really good with picking out the best clips and accessories to match the outfit he laid out on your bed. he cuts your food into small pieces and hand feeds you each bite, even blowing on the soup so it doesn’t scald you. everything is perfect and just how he likes it
hybrid owner sunday x dollification x pussy inspection because he has to make sure that you remain perfect and presentable in all aspects, so won’t you lay back and spread your legs for him so he can make sure?
you’re just a doll to overhaul. he dresses you and does your hair all pretty and puts makeup on you and spritz a pleasent perfume on your neck and when you get too lippy with him he tapes your mouth shut.
