#Athletic store near me

[grannyandgrandpascreations]

Be You Do You For You motivational T Shirt

Shop this custom, personalized, motivational, comfortable, causal, personalized "Be You Do You For You” T-Shirt. Perfect shirt to wear every day! This t-shirt will become one of your favorites quickly!

Just your everyday comfy t-shirt. Get comfortable with our 100% cotton crew neck t-shirts. Made of 100% soft cotton for a smooth, breathable fit. Pre-shrunk cotton tees are perfect for layering or wearing alone. Lightweight fabric keeps you cool and dry so you can look great and feel great all day.

The perfect tee shirt for a modern casual look. Not too long so you can wear these untucked with a pair of jeans or chinos. Looks great under a casual blazer and jeans for a relaxed Friday style. Stylish and versatile everyday crew neck tees are a wardrobe staple.

Care instructions: Turn item inside out, machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Tumble dry low.

Due to different light settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

All items are created or designed by Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations. We also print and heat press our items using our professional, commercial grade heat press! Each design is made with High Quality, Heat Transfer Vinyl.

After a package leaves my hands with the post office, Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations is not held responsible. Current Turnaround Time due to upcoming Holidays - 1-5 Business Days. While we always use priority shipping options, once shipped we cannot guarantee delivery due to the backlog current being experienced USPS/UPS/FedEx. If you have a strict deadline, please message me when ordering so that I can note any rush requests. Ownership of packages turned over to USPS transfers to the Buyer. We are not responsible for lost, held, damaged packages or delayed packages, once your package(s) leaves our Shop it is completely out of our control. Thank you for understanding!

Thank you so much for supporting our "small Granny & Grandpa's Shop", we truly appreciate YOU!

Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com/shop to view more of our creations!

LET’S GET SOCIAL & BE FRIENDS! Like, Tag & Follow us for Our new Creations, Inspiration & Giveaways!

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#grannygrandpascustomcreations

#motivationalshirt #motivational

Shop this custom, personalized, motivational, comfortable, causal, personalized "Be You Do You For You” T-Shirt. Perfect shirt to wear every day! This t-shirt will become one of your favorites quickly!

Just your everyday comfy t-shirt. Get comfortable with our 100% cotton crew neck t-shirts. Made of 100% soft cotton for a smooth, breathable fit. Pre-shrunk cotton tees are perfect for layering or wearing alone. Lightweight fabric keeps you cool and dry so you can look great and feel great all day.

The perfect tee shirt for a modern casual look. Not too long so you can wear these untucked with a pair of jeans or chinos. Looks great under a casual blazer and jeans for a relaxed Friday style. Stylish and versatile everyday crew neck tees are a wardrobe staple.

Care instructions: Turn item inside out, machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Tumble dry low.

Due to different light settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

All items are created or designed by Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations. We also print and heat press our items using our professional, commercial grade heat press! Each design is made with High Quality, Heat Transfer Vinyl.

After a package leaves my hands with the post office, Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations is not held responsible. Current Turnaround Time due to upcoming Holidays - 1-5 Business Days. While we always use priority shipping options, once shipped we cannot guarantee delivery due to the backlog current being experienced USPS/UPS/FedEx. If you have a strict deadline, please message me when ordering so that I can note any rush requests. Ownership of packages turned over to USPS transfers to the Buyer. We are not responsible for lost, held, damaged packages or delayed packages, once your package(s) leaves our Shop it is completely out of our control. Thank you for understanding!

Thank you so much for supporting our "small Granny & Grandpa's Shop", we truly appreciate YOU!

Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com/shop to view more of our creations!

LET’S GET SOCIAL & BE FRIENDS! Like, Tag & Follow us for Our new Creations, Inspiration & Giveaways!

website/ www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com/shop

facebook.com/ https://www.facebook.com/GrandpaHandmadecreations/

instagram.com/ https://www.instagram.com/grannyandgrandpacustomcreation/

pinterest.com/https://www.pinterest.com/grannyscustomcreations

#grannygrandpascustomcreations

#motivationalshirt #motivational

[sundazs]

Dive into Style: Exploring the World of Swimwear

Sundaze Surf presents an exceptional range of swimsuits tailored for every beach enthusiast. Our collection caters to every style and activity from high-performance rash guards for avid surfers to stylish bikinis and one-pieces for lounging in the sun. Dive into comfort, quality, and versatility with our premium swimwear selection.

[heich0e]

iwaizumi got a lower back tattoo on his 21st birthday.

if you showed one hundred people in the street a photo of 30-year-old hajime, and then surveyed them as to whether or not they think he has a lower back tattoo, it's unlikely more than one of them would say yes—and even the one who did probably just misheard the question. it's as unbelievable a thought as any, and still somehow it's true.

he was 21, legally drunk for the first time in america, and hanamaki and matsukawa had finally come to california to visit him to mark the occasion. it was kind of a stupid trip, they realized afterwards, because issei and hiro were still only 20 and couldn't even go out to the bars near UC irvine that all of iwa's college friends were inviting him out to for the first time.

but he didn't mind.

he bought them beer and sugary canned cocktails from the convenience store near campus using the birthday money his nanay sent him, silently repenting in his mind as the store clerk in the polyester vest rang the expensive purchase through. then they all got drunk in iwa's tiny student apartment while they played video games, called oikawa, and eventually wandered out into the warm california night in search of food.

the details beyond that are fuzzy, but the lines inked into the little space at the bottom of hajime's spine are not—even after nine whole years.

most people have no idea about the tattoo—and hajime has gone to great lengths to keep it that way. he wears a compression t-shirt at the gym so there's no risk of it riding up and accidentally revealing it. he orders patches to conceal it on the rare occasion he goes to onsens. he never showers with the athletes at work, always either opting to shower at home, shower after the team, or use the staff facilities when available.

but in spite of all of that, he's not embarrassed of it.

he doesn't even really regret it.

it's just not anybody else's business.

the ink on his skin is a secret kept between him, matsukawa, hanamaki, the guy who tattooed him, and oikawa who was screaming on facetime in the background while it happened.

and now you, too.

your hand snakes up the back of hajime's sweatshirt as he stands at the stove preparing breakfast, cool fingertips tracing the curls of ink even without seeing them—having long mapped them to memory. hajime suppresses a shiver, not expecting the contact, as you crowd yourself closer to his back and lean your weight against him.

"i was trying not to wake you," he says quietly, the hand not holding the chopsticks he's flipping his omelette with reaching behind him in search of you.

"you didn't," you murmur into his back, catching his seeking hand in yours and twining your fingers together. "smelled food."

hajime laughs to himself, his eyes crinkling. he squeezes your fingers tightly as his heart thuds in his chest.

underneath his sweatshirt, your nails rake lightly against his skin.

"shouldn't i be making your breakfast?"

hajime transfers his omelette to the plate waiting beside the stove, flicking off the burner and then turning to face you. he wraps his arms around you and holds you properly now, your face burrowing into the collar of his hoodie the way you always do, his nose brushing your temple.

"wanted to let you sleep a bit longer," hajime grunts out, his cheeks burning a bit hot—still shy, sometimes, even after so much time has passed. "thought you might be tired after..."

you snort, your head popping up to look at him. "after you fucked me within an inch of my life into the wee hours of the morning?"

the fire burning under hajime's skin grows even hotter. he splutters a little, and struggles to meet your gaze.

"i'm not tired," you whisper, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. the incorrigible one he fell in love with. "we were celebrating, after all."

hajime's eyes are burning a little bit, to complement the stinging in his cheeks. you lift your hand up to his face so you can feel the heat of his skin, and he rests his own hand—larger, more calloused than your own—to rest overtop of it. he looks at you, and sees happiness reflected back at him in your gaze. so fathomless he thinks he could drown in it.

hajime turns his face into your touch, and his eyes flutter closed as he noses against your palm.

he presses a kiss there. soft. adoring.

then another, just slightly higher, to the ring he put on your finger the night before.

he peeks at you again, that same heat in his cheeks, though not nearly as unbearable.

he's got another secret he doesn't regret now, one just as permanent as the ink in his skin, but this one won't stay hidden long. eventually he'll call his parents, and his nanay will probably get teary. then he'll tell his friends, who will put his mother's tears to shame. he'll leave the tattoo artist out of it this time, though—wherever that guy is now.

"happy birthday, hajime," you whisper to him with a smile he can't help but return.

he might keep this secret between the two of you today, though. just for a little while longer.

it'll be his gift to himself.

[litfiction]

oneshot one four three ❤️‍🩹

pairing — paige bueckers x fem!reader

content & warnings — "four years of heavy hearts and unspoken words meet in the gampel pavilion parking lot, rehashing old wounds" , uhm just poorly written angst sorry...

word count: 1.9k , notes @ the end (i'm sorry for this)

[PRESENT DAY, 30 SECONDS AGO]

“I just wanted you to know.”

It’s been four years. Four years of pain you thought you numbed. You thought you numbed. Because now that wound in your heart you had tried so hard to ignore felt fresh all over again.

[4 YEARS AGO]

Maybe you should’ve seen it coming. Maybe you did see it coming. Doesn’t make reality hurt any less. That’s just the harsh truth. Paige’s life was changing, her future having so much in store for her. A future that you aren’t in.

She left for Connecticut two hours ago. Her last message to you was five minutes ago.

paige :) 9:13PM

Boarding now

I’m sorry

You blocked her number after staring at the message for another five. Childish, sure, but so was your hoping things would work out for you. Hoping long distance would work out. But Paige was barely out of state and look where you were now. A sick game it is, love. Not fit for childish hopes.

[PRESENT DAY, 2.5 HOURS AGO]

“Please! It’ll be fun I swear!” Your best friend begged. She’s been begging you to go with her to a UConn basketball game. You would but you got off a plane not even two hours ago and entry to the game venue was in less than one. But your best friend is nothing if not persistent and you relent to her continuous pleas.

Within 45 minutes you’ve showered, picked out an appropriate outfit, and done minimal makeup. You wanted to look at least a little more presentable.

Your best friend, Elsie, rushes you out to her car to drive you to the UConn campus from her apartment. She hops out of the car excitedly, telling you all about the friends that let her know about this game. You nod to the sound of her voice but you don’t pay attention to the words she’s saying.

This is a women’s basketball game. You don’t realize you’ve said that out loud until Elsie looks at you and says, “Duh,” with a weird expression on her face.

You don’t say anything but silently, you dread every step closer you take to the arena, knowing what (or who) you’ll probably be facing in a matter of minutes.

Elsie spots her UConn friends near the entrance to Gampel Pavilion and runs excitedly up to them, waving you over quickly when she notices you didn’t follow her. You walk behind the small group of girls quietly, having said minimal introductions. The place is already packed and buzzing with energy as soon as you step inside.

You follow the way to a registry table and then to your seats. It’ll still be a few minutes until the athletes come out so you take that precious time to calm your nerves. Elsie notices you breathing heavily and shaking your leg and sends you a concerned look. It snaps you back into a more normal state. You were probably worrying for nothing.

Except when the UConn Women’s Basketball team, or more specifically, a certain blonde on the team, emerges from the tunnels, the stands erupting in cheers, people clapping loudly next to you, it feels like the world stops to lend you that moment of time to feel everything again.

[4 YEARS AGO]

“You could’ve told me sooner.” Your voice was eerily quiet. It unsettled Paige only because she thought you’d be yelling at her. You wanted to, you wanted nothing more than to scream and yell at her but you couldn’t. The only display of emotion coming from your otherwise stoic face were the quiet falls of tears coming from your tired eyes.

“I know, and I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“You let me hope, Paige. You let me hope like an idiot in love that you would choose to stay. Or at the very least, be willing to keep me in your life!” The last sentence rising in volume as you finally felt the anger take over.

She was committed to the University of Connecticut, a thousand miles away from where you currently were in Minnesota. That wasn’t the part that made you angry. You were angry that she had waited until months after she told you where she committed that she couldn’t do long distance.

Your chest burned and your throat constricted with all feelings of grief and anger. Bile rose faster than the words you wanted to scream at her, leaving you speechless.

Paige was quiet herself, too ashamed to say anything further. “I hope everything goes well for you in Connecticut.”

And then you walked out of her house, a red tinge in your eyes and an ugly feeling in your heart.

[PRESENT DAY, 2 HOURS AGO]

Paige ran out with that buzzed feeling running through her. It felt like her veins were electric currents. The crowds cheered loudly upon seeing her and she loved playing into it too much, her teammates smirking at her.

They announced the starting lineups and within a matter of minutes the first quarter to the game had begun with the tip-off.

The game felt good. Paige felt in her element and the the crowds felt energized. It was shaping up to be a great game for the Huskies. For Paige especially. She sank a good number of her three attempts, getting her teammates some assists, making most of her free throws.

By the fourth and final quarter, UConn was up by 11. Their momentum hadn’t slowed down and every player that got to play got a decent amount of points by the end making a decisive victory with the Huskies up by 18 points in the end.

Paige was on a high even after almost everyone had cleared out. She felt amazing, like she could do anything.

Fate has a funny way of testing her.

[PRESENT DAY, 30 MINUTES AGO]

The game ended well. You did enjoy watching (if you count out all the times your eyes drifted to Paige, which in your defense, is hard since she is kind of their star player, which was a lot of times so maybe you didn’t enjoy watching as much you thought) and maybe you’d watch another one (if even thinking about basketball didn’t bring back painful memories).

One of Elsie’s friends was still inside the venue talking with some other people and you were waiting outside for her since she needed a ride home. Elsie was just recapping all the moments she loved from the game and you did your best to agree and respond as enthusiastically. If she noticed you were forcing it, she didn’t say anything.

A door opens and you instinctively turn to where the sound came from. At first, you don’t register who walks out properly because of the canopy of darkness from the night sky.

Then your eyes meet hers and you both freeze. One could argue it’s from the chilly breeze but anyone with two, even one, functioning eyes would be able to tell something was off.

You turn back around quickly, trying to push Paige out of your mind which was much harder now that she was standing the closest she has to you in years. Your attempts are completely futile when you feel a presence behind you and Elsie is making a face at you to turn around.

Reluctantly, you do. And you think you can hear your heart crack like porcelain.

She looks good even in her tracksuit. She still has the same blonde hair and dark roots. The same piercing blue eyes. She still makes you feel the same things she did four years ago. Although now there are more painful undertones as you take her in.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, not accusatory, just in genuine question. It takes you a second to reply back, kind of in shock that she was talking to you again.

“I’m- I’m visiting my friend,” you point over your shoulder to Elsie who waves before turning to walk away, pretending to be on her phone. You’ve told her bits and pieces of your history with Paige but she’s never gotten the whole picture. Whether it was because “it wasn’t that serious” or it hurt too bad (it’s the latter), you’re sure Elsie’s probably figured out the answer herself by now

Paige nods. Neither of you say another word for a solid minute, just standing there quietly, looking at each other. Wondering if this is real life.

Paige isn’t even sure why or how she ended up here, she only vaguely remembers her feet carrying her over like there aren't four years and paragraphs of unspoken words between you two.

You don’t even realize you’re crying until Paige’s hand instinctively reaches out to wipe the droplets away before stopping herself, knowing that that’s probably inappropriate to do now. Every fiber of your being wishes she didn’t because you’d have let. You’d have let her do whatever, no matter how reckless.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. It’s so faint you have to strain to hear it. “Why are you apologizing again?”

“Because I still don’t think I’ve said it enough. I really am sorry.”

You only sigh but add a nod along with it. “It’s okay.” Except it really isn’t. Somehow the pain is worse than the first time she said it. All you want at this moment is for the pain to stop. For Paige to not say anything further for fear it’ll only make it worse.

But she has a knack for doing the opposite of what you want.

“I’m not sure I should even be saying this, or even be here really, but I regret doing what I did to you. I regret it so much.”

“So why did you do it? Why’d you let me believe we could work it out? That you’d let me be there for you? I was willing, Paige.” Quiet sobs wracked your body, threatening to get louder as she stays silent again.

She’s crying now too. Paige contemplates what to say next, trying to gather her thoughts but that’s the thing about you, she’s never been able to think properly around you. So she blurts whatever response her brain conjures up.

“I was scared.”

“Scared? Scared of what?”

“Of the possibilities.” She’s quiet. You’re quiet. Dead silence falls between you two.

“You think I wasn’t too? I was so terrified of all the things that could go wrong. But I loved you enough to not care, even when you chose the possibility I was the most scared of.” Anger flooded your body again. This was so unfair.

“Everyday I wish it wasn’t the one I chose. But I got in my head and didn’t want to lose you while we were thousands of miles apart.” The “so I lost you while we were three feet apart” hangs in the air.

Nothing else comes out of your mouth. You’re too tired for this conversation.

[PRESENT DAY, 1 MINUTE AGO]

You thought when you walked away that day four years ago would be the worst pain you’ve ever felt. That turned out to be a lie as thirteen words fell from Paige’s lips.

She didn’t say anything else but as the final blow to your already worn out heart, she lets herself hold you in her arms, giving a light kiss to your temple before walking away to her car.

You sobbed dryly as she drove off, the last words she said to you ringing in your ears.

“I still love you. I never stopped. I just wanted you to know.”

🔖 — day two! chose a pretty vague prompt and went angsty with it. idk how to feel about this honestly i hope my angsty writing improves... lmk how you liked it! thank you sm for reading 🤍

[shimishimii]

six degrees of separation [first part]

Kuroo Tetsurou x gn reader

⎯ [wc: 2.5k] fluff to angst, has proper closure, but it’s part 1 of a mini six-part series, taglist is open, have a lovely day thanks for reading!

⎯ exes to enemies to lovers

| main masterlist | ♡ | next |

“who made your first love experience tragic, and you almost tear up every time you remember it?” your friend asks, you glance at the folded polaroid behind your phone case.

Kuroo Tetsurou did. But you shake his name away from your head, “just someone who likes this ice cream.”

As the summer breeze warms your cheeks and melts your ice cream, you felt you were back to when it started.

Classes were cancelled that day due to the high heat index and walking home under that sun would be brutal. Or maybe you are just making excuses when you see a raven-haired guy, a popular face among sophomores and freshmen. You notice he often stops by at the convenience store near your university. Maybe it sells some amazing snacks, you thought.

You began to like this specific popsicle the convenience store sells. It has cute designs, some based off on cartoon characters. But what you like about it the most was the short message engraved in the popsicle stick.

Days after, next thing you knew, you were always stopping by at the same convenience store, buying the same ice cream, sitting at the same corner, looking at the same guy.

His eyes were hazel from afar, and you wonder if you would see hints of gold and honey if you could just see him closer. His eyes are often narrowed and piercing, reminds you of a cunning feline's gaze that when he catches you sometime staring at him, it’s as if he has every answer for the questions you have yet to ask.

He’s definitely the athletic type. He could reach the tall shelves in the store and would sometimes help out the staff. He holds out the doors for women and elderly, greeting them when they walk in. He tells the little kids which snacks they should pick, helping them compute the total amount before paying. You also tried out his food recommendations and oh boy, he does not fail. He dances to some convenience store songs, sometimes he does it awkwardly, but most of the time he is actually talented.

You like seeing him smile, that soft genuine smile that appears not so often, but you could only look at him for a few seconds, because god you get weak when he smiles like that. You start to observe the things that makes him smile. His friends, eating, some science jokes you overhear, but so far no relationship partner. That was what you remembered. It was a relief.

You prepared a few conversation starters, but only your gaze tracing his silhouette could pass on the words left unsaid.

You bought the same popsicle you always like, hoping the message engraved on it would be different this time. You got the word unlucky marked on the popsicle stick yesterday, and also the other day, and some days before that.

Today may be the day your streak of misfortune ends before you could even see the message on the popsicle stick. Seems like luck is on your side this time because the guy you find cute takes the seat beside you. That’s new, you think. He was always with his friends. On the opposite table, near the counter, that was their spot. Today, he is alone.

Your hand felt sticky. The popsicle was dripping.

He points at your long-gone ice cream. “I really like that flavor” He smiles. “And that design too.”

You smile at him. I know. You always pick them at the bottom most part of the fridge. You compare their sizes even if they look controversially the same.

You look away after a few seconds, processing the features of his face like how he does have specks of gold in his eyes and that he smiled back. That damn smile. The dripping syrup slowly becomes a hazard to your fresh from laundry white pants. It did not catch your attention. But fortunately, it caught Kuroo’s.

“Excuse me, but your ice cream's got a mind of its own, it seems,” he says. “and you would not want that on white pants.”

“oh no,” Too late. You panic scooping out the falling liquid, still, a few drops painted your pants. “but I just washed this” you say, frowning.

He chuckles lightly, offering a tissue, “here, use this, ice cream stains can be hard to remove,” he hands you the tissue. “I just know”

I know that too. You once bought an ice cream sandwich, bit and kept it at your mouth as you played some games, and forgot you were eating an ice cream. Your white shirt was a disaster after.

“thanks” you took the tissue, cleaning your hand. You tried to remove the stain on your pants after. “that probably looked embarrassing” you kept scrubbing, smiling apologetically.

Kuroo places his hand at the back of his head. “Not really, it happened to me once or twice too”, he looks away, muttering softly, “…and you still look pretty.”

some imaginary audience cheers at the back of his mind, and other side of audience were gripping tightly, unsure if the smile on your face meant ‘that was cringe’ or ‘thanks’

He can’t believe he brags about his natural way with people but took weeks before having the courage to start a conversation with you. His friends would definitely ask him why. He was simply glad you like that ice cream flavor too and he has spare tissues.

you may have traded off a piece of your health from consuming ice cream every day before this conversation happened, but you still thank your past self for that sacrifice.

You remember the first time you met whenever you look back at those two popsicles sticks with engraved messages framed on your wall.

“you know, we could have known each other from jogging in the morning or at a gym” Kuroo looks at you with a raised brow, “but no, we both just have to be unhealthy.”

Kuroo replies with a soft smile, “we had an unhealthy first meet that’s because I was meant to take care of you”.

It started good. Because the feelings that bloomed in your heart may be the same to what Kuroo feels. The evidence of love and affection was written all over the year of your relationship. In each polaroid photo displayed across the wall of your room, you know cupid did his job well.

The first photo, marked on the first month you met, when Kuroo lets you lean on his shoulders while he plays whatever game he just discovered.

Second photo, on the fourth month, there was barely any context, it’s simply a photo of you together smiling. Because when Kuroo smiles, that smile you always love, you know that meant he was happy to see you, how he feels light and at ease with you.

Third photo, the seventh month, you are in Kuroo’s arms, his embrace gave warmth on that day he first saw you cry.

Fourth photo, the ninth month, in an expensive dinner date where you laughed with him because of his clip-on tie. Kuroo was too nervous that he felt his necktie choking him, and changed it minutes before you go out. That clip-on tie had pink paw prints design.

You hold the polaroid. In that photo, you both have wine glasses on your hand with him kissing your cheek. And you remember how he casually thinks of compliments that would make you blush, your hair, your clothes, and even noticing the new lip gloss you tried.

It was love, as you believed. This feeling. Because what else could it be? It was a conclusion you made up without prior knowledge to what love actually is.

You trusted the love Kuroo gave, never asked anything more than it, never questioned it.

Even if everything started to feel like it was not really romantic love. That it was just a thoughtful smile, a concerned hug, his natural way of words, and the love that was from just a friend who happened to like you a lot.

Yes, he was friendly, caring, charming, and thoughtful. You have no right to list a job description for a boyfriend, shouldn't you?

And they say great couples are simply best friends in love.

Looking back at most memories, it felt like you were really just a best friend, who happened to have the privilege of kissing him.

Someone he likes to be with, not someone he falls in love with.

It never was supposed to be a big deal. But people would often mistake you as ‘just another friend’. He was the same with everyone and you don’t want to dictate him to change.

But if he treats everyone the same, then it means what he does for you was not actually that special. It's just his natural way of being towards everyone. You started to think, maybe you were not a priority, just another friend amongst many.

You stay awake past midnight, with your thoughts loud, when you sink into the realization that there might not be really anything special at all. Because everything he did for you, warm hugs, compliments, leaning on his shoulders, those were just the perks of being Kuroo’s friend.

So, who are you in his life?

You know you are more than his friend.

Until less people stopped believing you were lovers, and maybe you stopped believing as well.

“So you’re close with him?” someone asks even if it was obvious you are Kuroo’s special someone. Maybe it did not look like that. Kuroo simply agrees that you two are close. Same likes, agrees with almost anything, vibes a lot. Typical best friend qualities. Of course you wanted to feel it was more than that.

“That’s Kuroo’s special friend” and that might be the worst introduction you have ever received. The word special, losing the meaning it once held.

At least you were someone to him, that still meant something right?

Sure, it was your own demons. How you started to feel like crouching when he stands beside you. His tall figure shining in daylight as you walk down the street during your dates, but as hours pass by and the sun changes position, you notice you have become just a shadow.

Worse, you started to feel like you were not enough when you're with him.

You appreciate who Kuroo is.

Dating him was a gamble against your own insecurities. You know what you were getting into, you know the hole you might fall into. But you haven't learned yet how to get up. As each monthsary gets celebrated, you were falling further and deeper into the abyss of your inferiority. And Kuroo did not even notice you were no longer beside him during parties, or at some special events. He forgot what ice cream flavor you like. He no longer corrects people mistaking you as just his friend.

On your first anniversary, the wine on your glass was gone a few minutes ago, you needed the courage.

Kuroo reaches out for your hand, you held it for a second, squeezing it slightly, and slowly letting it go. He clicks his tongue, noticing your avoidance for weeks. You used to hold hands everywhere you went, but now you avoid touching altogether.

“Can you at least look at me?” he asks.

You shift your gaze from his hands to his face.

"Why won't you look at me?" his voice was firm, almost disappointed.

"Because every time I do, I see what we've become."

It was his turn to look away.

"Do you remember when we first met?" you ask.

"I try not to."

You don’t know what he meant by that.

The silence between you grows louder with each passing day, until it's suffocating. Kuroo is not wearing a clip-on tie, you noticed. He tugs his necktie, adjusting it every now and then.

You try to salvage what's left of your relationship, maybe this anniversary date should do it. But it's like trying to hold onto sand slipping through your fingers.

You pour another batch of wine on your glass before speaking, "You know how you always used to say, 'The grass is greener where you water.' Remember?"

"Yeah, I still stand by that. It's about perspective."

"Perspective? How about the perspective of feeling invisible in a relationship?” Kuroo does not like where you’re going, where this is going. “Do you—do you even still see me?"

"Of course not” He tries to hold your hand again and you hold onto him. “of course I see you.”

Kuroo speaks again. “But sometimes, what you think doesn't really matter.”

You scoff.

“But those are my feelings” your voice is getting higher, you adjusted your seat, you feel like sinking in the chair. "So my feelings don't matter to you?"

"No, that's not what I meant.” he sighs before continuing, “I just think you're overthinking these things."

"Overthinking? Maybe I'm just realizing I deserve better. Maybe, just maybe, I deserve to be seen and valued." you try to catch your breath. It sounded almost like a plea.

His lips stay pressed on a thin line. He was no longer holding your hand. You were looking at his direction. He is looking down, holding his fork, tapping his plate.

You know staying in this relationship could mean getting invisible day by day. Not until he could no longer see you, worse, until you could no longer see yourself.

Sucks to end it that way, you could almost laugh bitterly at this situation, cliche even.

He looks at you, for the last time that he could, then mumbles. "I never wanted it to come to this."

You slowly look away, your eyes betraying a mixture of hurt and determination. "Let’s just leave this memory as a good one” you hold his hand, for the last time that you could, “I don’t want to end things ugly and start hating you.”

Because you know you never could. You wanted things to end while he was still someone you love.

Kuroo was not looking at you anymore. He felt a shiver, realizing the absence of warmth from your hand.

“Isn’t it enough that I see and value you?”

“Do you really see me? Or am I just another name on your close friends list?”

He sighs again, longer than the previous, as if he was afraid of speaking more, "Well, if that's how you feel, I’m sorry"

"Is that all you have to say?"

“You know, I—” Kuroo can’t understand why he can’t say those words. It takes three words for him to fix this. He stayed silent. And it took just a fraction of his silence for you to realize there was no use to trying to fix this.

taglist (open):

[roosterbruiser]

A blurb about Jake with an introverted SO who surprises him with lingerie. Jake teases her, but is super feral!

𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐤-𝐮𝐩 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤

𝐚 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞

Jake has always been more outgoing than you. It's part of the reason you're together: you were the shy girl at The Hard Deck just trying to survive a night of socialization with her friends and he was the life of the party that was beating everyone in darts. And for some reason, as soon as he saw you meekly standing in the corner nursing a lukewarm beer, he decided to set his sights on you.

It happened easier than you thought it would, honestly. He charmed you from the get-go, seemingly understanding right away that what you wanted was a breather. That night, after buying you and your friends drinks (a swoon-worthy Southern gentleman) and indulging in some friendly games of darts, Jake had asked if you wanted to take a walk down the shoreline.

He was enamored with you from the get-go. Even just the way your cheeks flooded with warmth when he asked and that little pathetic excuse for a nod made his heart race. And once he got you comfortable enough to have a conversation--ones where you laughed that big, throaty laugh and ranted about the importance of the Oxford comma--he knew he was done for.

Honestly, when you first saw Jake, you were certain that he was not the settling down type. And honestly, he didn't think he was either. But then he felt himself yearning for your touch first thing in the morning, before he even opened his eyes. He was thinking about you all day--Hell, he sent you so many songs and instagram memes that you'd have eons of notifications to check. He'd always just say reminded me of you or simply you lol.

Things were just easy between the two of you. Three (perfect) dates in and you were officially a couple. After a year together, he asked you to move in with him. A year after that, the two of you adopted the most pitiful pug in the pound. And now you have settled into a most ardent domesticity.

You're sitting on the kitchen counter now, waiting for him to come back from the gym. It should be any minute now, really, and you hope so because with every passing second that you sit on this marble countertop in this piece of clothing that hardly passes as clothing at all--you're losing your nerve. You've never worn lingerie for anyone before, but Jake isn't just anyone. He's your Jake. He's the only man in the world that could sway you to slip yourself into a mess of strap and lace.

Honestly, you're not even sure you have it on right. There were so many straps and moving parts and you didn't know how much was too much and the lady at the store wasn't here earlier to help adjust you. But when you looked in the mirror, when you saw all the hills and valleys of your body, you were taken back slightly. You looked good--not even just good. Sexy. You looked sexy.

But you're losing your nerve because you're worried he'll be too tired when he gets back from the gym. That and he'll want to take a shower. Maybe he'll even be hungry and you're sitting your almost-bare ass on the counter and, really, he makes sandwiches here so maybe he's gonna be pissed--

"Well, well, well," Jake's voice is suddenly echoing in the kitchen. "And what do we have here? If it ain't my little angel herself."

It startles you enough to jump and clutch your near-naked chest. He's standing in the doorway, dressed in athletic shorts and his running shoes, and he's positively dripping sweat. It's matting his hair and casting a sheen across his smooth skin. His chest is still heaving--probably because he likes to run on the treadmill to cool down, the fucking weirdo--and there is something wild in his eyes.

"Shit," you whispered sheepishly, straightening your spine and awkwardly poking your cleavage out towards him. "Didn't hear you come in."

Jake is all grins, eyes not-so-subtly raking across your seated form. He nods to your pug, who's resting stupidly peacefully on his dog bed without a care in the world.

"Maybe we need a better guard dog," Jake laughs.

You pout, shoulders deflating as your cheeks flood. You cross your arms over your chest, blowing a piece of teased hair from your eyes with a humph.

"I was supposed to be waiting for you. I had a line and everything."

There's a teasing dazzle in his eye when he quips back at you. "Want me to walk in again, angel?"

You shake your head, frowning.

"Won't be the same," you breathe.

He's taking a few steps closer to you, eyes lingering on the sinful line of cleavage that's just begging for his tongue to outline. But you're being sore about the whole ordeal, your vision of sexiness and allure shattered by being so lost in your own thoughts that you missed your cue.

"C'mon," Jake tries. "Tell me the line."

You're embarrassed now.

He stands between your legs, eyelashes fluttering slightly when he catches a whiff of that perfume you've doused yourself in; he bought it for you on your second anniversary and you wear it on special (and sexy) occasions. Nonetheless, he lets his hands come to rest on your thighs--they're soft and warm beneath his calloused hands. But dammit if you don't grow wet at just the feel of those fingers, at just the closeness between the two of you right now. He smells like he's been working hard--not outwardly bad, but odorous. You love it, frankly, and it's something he chides you for. And right now, as his thumbs rub little circles in the meat of your thighs, you're downright dizzy from being in such close proximity to him.

"Well--well, I was gonna be waiting in the kitchen, right?"

His hands are inching up, up, up your thighs. Delicately, he swipes his index fingers along the flowered edge of your lace. You shiver--God, does he know how to tease you.

"Accomplished," he teases, a bead of sweat rolling off his forehead and onto your knee as he leans forward to press a careful kiss to your nose. "Go on."

Now he's holding the bend of your hips, kissing a sweet line down your throat and trying not to moan at just the feeling of your skin beneath his lips. He hasn't shaved today, so his face is scratching you just right--it's tingling your fingers and toes, drawing heat to your core.

After another moment, as he's kissing your shoulders and carefully nipping at the complicated strap situation there, you swallow hard and push forward.

"Don't make me say it," you breathe, wrapping your arms around his neck and curling your fingers in the damp hair at the base of his neck. "It's stupid, baby."

Jake laughs softly, sucking a bruise on your collarbone, digging his thumbs into your hips.

"You can do it, baby," he whispers, hot breath fanning out over your goosed skin. "Do it for me--say it."

You're overwhelmed, so turned on that your mind is practically swimming in a pool of something thick and viscous. He's consuming you already and he's hardly even touched you.

"Iwasgonnaaskifyou'reintofitnessandthensayfitnesspussyinyourmouth," you usher out before you lose your nerve.

He freezes, processing everything you just said. His hands were just beginning to rise to the swell of your breasts, he was just beginning to grind his hard cock against the countertop in a desperate grab for friction, but now he's laughing.

And if anyone else were to laugh at you, you'd have been mortified. Hell, you'd be gone before they could even tone it down and wipe the tears from their cheeks. But it's Jake--he loves you. Hell, he adores you. And you get the distinct sense that he's not so much laughing at you than at your line interpretation.

His grinning face is pressed into your cleavage as he laughs and before you know it, laughter is bubbling up from your throat too.

"Oh, fuck, angel," he grins, pressing open-mouth kisses to your breasts. "I love you so much. You're my fuckin' dream girl."

You grin--entirely dithered.

"Is that why my legs are so tired?" You ask, biting your lip hard.

He raises his eyebrow at you, searching your face. The realization of what's coming next dawns on him and he shakes his head, eyes widening.

"Don't--!"

"--Cause I've been running through your dreams all night?"

He wrinkles his nose at you, but you're already doing a little victory dance, kissing his parted lips as he looks down at you in something between shock and utter surprise.

"Did you Google, like, the shittiest pickup lines and just run with it?"

You laugh again, shrugging.

"More or less," you say.

He sighs in content, nipping at your collarbone again. You gasp and he keens, coming up to just ghost his fingers over your hardened nipples.

Fuck--you love this softness. The way you two are able to seamlessly go between fits of laughter and raunchy sex is something you've never even come close to with anyone else.

"Want another?" You ask breathlessly.

He nods fervently against you, grinning into your sloppy kisses ad you hold his cheeks.

"So bad, angel," he moans.

You moan outwardly when he slips his fingers beneath the lace and pulls it down far enough to take your nipple in his warm mouth, carelessly stretching the lace as he wedges his hand into the other cup to pinch softly.

"I hope you're into yoga," you start breathlessly as he continues his ruthless assault on your sensitive buds, "cause--ah, baby--you're gonna get a good stretch tonight."

"That doesn't even make sense," he mutters against you, nipple still in his mouth as you thread your fingers through his locks and pull softly. "I'm the guy."

"Fuck, I don't know," you whimper, moving your hips towards him and settling your fingers in the waistband of his shorts. "Too wet to think straight."

"Then let's slide 'n' slide to the bedroom," he says.

You two promptly break out in laughter--tears streaming down your flushed cheeks, mouths wide open, chests aching. But then it resumes right after that, like it always does, when his hands come down over your ass to pull you to him.

here is my tag list!!

𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧, 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬! 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲, 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐨𝐛!

if you liked this, consider checking out my Jake x You story!

[eddies-ashtray]

SCARS ♡ Eddie Munson x GN!Reader 

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Main Masterlist ♡ Blurb Masterlist

Synopsis: About three months after the demo-bat attack on Eddie, the scars left on his body by the bats remain a source of great insecurity for him. You try to convince him of his beauty in any way you can. 

WC: 3.0K

Category: Hurt/comfort & fluff + a dash of smut (18+, MINORS DNI).

Content: Established relationship, mentions and light description of Eddie’s scars, discussion of Eddie being insecure about his scars, reader comforts Eddie, body worship, praise, lots of kisses, teasing.

A/N: This is an AU in which they’ve succeeded in killing Vecna, Eddie still got attacked by the demo-bats, but lived and his trailer is also still intact. Happy reading! 

♡*♡*♡

Eddie was like a furnace all year round. In the winter months you’d snuggle up next to him on the couch while you watched movies, often tucking your cold feet underneath his warm thighs, you’d stay tucked under his arm soaking up his warmth as you walked into school together. And when arriving at his trailer and escaping from the chilly December bite, you’d rush straight into his arms, spending a minimum of two minutes making him warm you up. 

The point is, the boy ran hot. And while this was an advantage for the both of you when the temperatures dropped (though mostly you–since it gave you an excuse to glom onto him like a koala to a tree), the summer months were hell for him. To compensate, he frequently wore his frizzy hair up and sported short athletic shorts and tank tops, cut off t-shirts, and often no shirt at all if he could help it. Much like his warmth in cooler temperatures, this was also a benefit to you–albeit in a very different way. 

Although he took the appropriate measures to ensure that he stayed as cool as possible throughout the summer, this did not spare you of his complaining. He really tried to resist, but when there were 90 degree days you’d spend in your friends backyards or strolling around the zoo or riding bikes to the corner store for slushies, he’d slip into the habit. 

But this summer something changed. The complaining suddenly stopped. There was no dramatic sighing or fanning himself with homemade paper fans. No begging to find someplace with air conditioning, or at least a place to sit in the shade. No theatrical comments about how he was about to die any second from dehydration. Nothing. 

And while you were glad of the reprieve from his complaining—which, in all honesty, didn’t bother you that much anyway—, you knew something was up. Especially since the absence of his complaints was also accompanied by an abandonment of his usual summer attire. 

He traded in tank tops for long-sleeves and those tiny, red athletic shorts (that you thought made his ass look spectacular) for sweatpants or jeans. Like the weather had no effect on him anymore. But you knew it did; you could see how flushed his face would become and the beads of sweat forming on his brow even while seated in front of a fan in his trailer. 

You suspected you knew what was going on, but you weren’t sure how to broach the subject.

So near the end of June, 1986 as you and Eddie are spending a lazy afternoon on his porch—Eddie reading a book on the porch couch and you making friendship bracelets at his feet—you ask him:

“Hey, where are those red shorts you have? You know, the ones that when you wear them I always make you walk in front of me.” You waggle your brows at him suggestively. 

You’d tipped your head back so it rested on the sofa cushion right next to his left thigh so you could look up at him, and almost absentmindedly, Eddie’s hand had begun to stroke your cheekbone lovingly. But he didn’t catch your eyes, instead his remain glued to the page. He doesn’t react to your borderline salacious comment (just another action that’s out of character for him), but simply turns the page of his book. 

“In one of my drawers…Or maybe in the closet, I don’t know,” he responds. He’s wearing a black long sleeve with tour dates on the back and a Dio logo on the front with light-coloured jeans. It was 88 degrees today and humid with absolutely no breeze, the kind of sticky heat that can make you feel like you’re suffocating if you’re outside for too long. 

You frown and try again. “What about your cropped shirts? I miss those.” It’s then he stops stroking your cheek. 

Eddie huffs, annoyed, and drops his folded paperback into his lap before finally looking at you. “Why are you asking me about my clothes? Worry about your own.” 

Eddie rarely gets so defensive or lashes out (which is probably too harsh a phrase for what he’s done just now, but he’s clearly irritated) at you unless there’s something deeper going on. He tries to hide things if he’s ashamed or embarrassed of them, but his feelings end up coming to the surface to manifest in other ways. 

A child with pigtails on a faded blue tricycle coasts by then, ringing the silver bell affixed to the handlebars, and a woman (who you presume to be her mother) strolls not more than three paces behind. 

It’s then that you stand from the wood floor, abandoning your half-finished bracelet with the loose threads hanging off the end on the couch beside Eddie. 

He looks up at you just as you grab his hand, and pull him inside, continuing to pull him along the hall to his bedroom where you get him to sit on the end of his bed. 

Eddie has a guilty look on his face, brows knit together and eyes soft. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He drags a hand down his face, now frustrated with himself. 

You tilt your head at him then and gently grab his wrist, pulling his hand away from his face. He’s warm. His eyes are apologetic and tired as they stare into yours. 

“It’s okay. I think I know what’s going on.” You sit down on the bed next to him, holding his slightly sweaty hand in yours. “But I want you to tell me.” 

You’re looking at him, but much like earlier he avoids your gaze. He’s focusing on a small dark spot on the carpet, likely from sometime when he’d dropped a cigarette on the floor. 

He looks defeated. It makes your chest ache. You squeeze his hand. 

“They’re just…they’re everywhere,” He says quietly, shamefully, and he still can’t look at you as he says it. Like it’s a dirty confession. Like you hadn’t known. Like you hadn’t seen them, hadn’t seen how he got them. 

The scars, barely three months old, touch everywhere from the sensitive skin of his belly and thighs, to the muscle of his biceps and crawl down his forearm. He’s even got some hiding just beneath his collar, that creep up around his shoulders where they stop before they reach his back. 

You’re formulating a response to his statement, but before you can speak, Eddie continues: “I was already so easy to pick apart. Y’know. The hair, the clothes. And I was mostly fine with it. But this-this just gives them another reason to stare, another reason to point and say, ‘hey, there’s the freak.’” He utters the insult with such venom you flinch. 

With your free hand, you tenderly guide his face to look up from the carpet and at you, and your hand drops to his knee. You don’t even have to think of what to say. 

“You know what I think when I see them?” You ask, and Eddie shakes his head. “I think about the fact that you survived. They’re a reminder that you still have a body that can scar…that you’re alive.” 

Eddie scoffs lightly, disbelieving, and looks away again. “You can’t mean that-you-” But you cut him off, forcing him to look at you again. Your other hand moves from his knee, to cover the top of his hand that’s holding your right one. 

“I would rather you be covered head to toe in scars than not be here at all,” You tell him fiercely, making sure to hold his gaze as you say it. 

Something changes in his eyes then; they go glassy and tender. You’ve begun to break through, if only by a small amount. At least, he believes that you believe what you’ve said, even if he doesn’t believe it himself yet. 

Still, he screws his face up slightly at the image, but then lays his head on your shoulder. 

He sniffles. “Thank you.” 

You wish he could see himself now how you see him, think about himself what you think about him. You try a different route. 

“They’re metal,” You say, bringing the hand that was once grasping his, up his back to lightly scratch at his scalp. “Ozzy would be jealous.” 

At this, Eddie gives a weak laugh, and you can feel his shoulders shaking with it. 

You’re not sure how else you can convince him of his beauty. You’re not sure if that’s possible. Maybe all you can do is show him in your own way, in every way you can, that you love him, scars and all. Maybe then, over time, he’ll come to feel at least neutral about them. To not speak of them with such hatred, to simply be content that they are there and come to peace with the fact that they will never go away. 

With that thought, you stand from the bed, and Eddie looks up at you, eyes shining with unshed tears. From there, you reach down and slowly begin to pull at the hem of his shirt, a question. Is this okay? 

When he raises his arms, you proceed, and tug his long sleeve over his head, letting it fall to the carpet. This reveals the pale expanse of his chest and stomach, marked by rippled scars pressed into his flesh. They’re more pink than red now since they’ve mostly healed, but they take up as much space as they had the day the demo-bats sunk their teeth into him.

Then, you gently press against his chest until he gets the memo and lays back, legs hanging off the end of the bed with his feet still planted on the floor. 

Climbing on top of him to straddle his hips, you lean down, hands pressed lightly against his chest and softly place your first kiss to the small-ish scar (at least in comparison to the others– which can be about the size of large dinner plates) by his collarbone. 

“What’re doing?” Eddie asks the ceiling, voice cracking. 

Pressing yourself up from his chest so you’re eye-to-eye, you brush his hair behind his ear lovingly and stroke the soft skin of his cheek. His hands find your hips. 

“I’m kissing all your beautiful spots,” You inform him simply. Like it was obvious once you laid down the first kiss that the beautiful spots on his body are all the places marked by scars.

For a moment, Eddie’s large eyes–which are so expressive you think you could read his mind sometimes–sparkle with longing and something more sweet. A fondness. 

But then, a nearly nonexistent smirk creeps its way onto his face as if he’s just thought of something ridiculous to say.

“How are you going to kiss my personality and my character?” He quips, tone thick with false authenticity. 

You laugh with a short breathy sound. If he’s found the will to be his regular, annoying–yet charming–self, his heart must feel a little lighter. 

It’s then you kiss him square on the mouth, allowing your tongue to indulge in the taste of his, like cigarettes and watermelon. Taken by surprise, Eddie makes a hmph sound before melting into you, his hands travelling from your hips to your back, pulling you closer. 

Though his mouth was most definitely one of his most beautiful spots, you don’t linger–despite the fact that you want to–as this was not your initial intention. 

When you pull away Eddie groans unhappily so you award him with one final, quick kiss before sliding down his body again. 

With his shirt off and because you’re pressed close to his skin you can smell him so clearly; his lavender-scented body wash, sweat, and vaguely, his cologne. You delight in the closeness, in all it awards you.

It had taken him weeks to get used to you seeing him like this, let alone allowing you to touch him like this. But you think this is more than that as you softly kiss across the scars on his shoulders. No, you think, this is more than touch. This is worship. 

Trailing your hands down his torso ever so lightly, Eddie shivers involuntarily at the ticklish, but pleasing sensation. You smile up at him, satisfied with his reaction, then place a gentle kiss on his sternum. He sighs contentedly. 

Then, teasingly, you trail your mouth to the right, and up just slightly. You graze his nipple with your teeth and this is precisely when his chest begins to rise and fall rapidly, his breaths coming quicker. 

He lets you tenderly kiss the scars on his pecs, allows you to trail kisses down the length of his arm, ending with a sweet kiss at his wrist. He watches with hooded eyes as you do, pupils blown so wide now they nearly swallow up the dark brown of his irises. 

Eddie sighs and moans as you kiss down his belly and leave a path of spit. 

He helps you wiggle off his jeans. Once they are off, you allow yourself to indulge in a sudden desire to lick a thick stripe from the waistband of his boxers where his happy trail begins, all the way up to his navel. Eddie’s hips twitch and lift off the bed just slightly as he huffs impatiently. He wants this, he wants you to touch him, to kiss him everywhere available. 

You must lay down hundreds of kisses. With each one you are saying I love you, you are saying this to him, you are saying this to each and every scar. You are telling him, I love this one and this one and this one and this one. They are all my favourites. They are all your beautiful spots. 

You scratch lightly along his waist, just above his waistband, tugging at the elastic where you let your fingers sneak beneath the fabric. But you don’t tug his boxers down just yet. You haven’t even reached his thighs yet. How could you forget his thighs? What a great act of neglect it would be to forget about his thighs. 

Slowly, you slide off his body and onto the floor, now kneeling on the carpet between his legs, which he parted for you ever so willingly. He’s pliable, putty in your hands. You could move him wherever and however you wanted and he would let you. 

You decide that you enjoy this angle; seeing him laid out, wriggling around restlessly, sighing as you drag your hands up and down his thighs. He must be half-hard in his boxers. But you ignore this for now in favour of paying attention to his gloriously thick thighs.

Pushing the fabric of his boxers up so you can get to the highest place on his legs where the scars reach without taking them off, you place a kiss there, at the very top of his left thigh. 

“Sweetheart, please.” He sounds breathy and desperate. 

“But I haven’t kissed everywhere yet,” You tease before placing a sweet kiss to the meat of his thigh. 

This makes him whine, high and drawn out. 

You rarely get him like this. You love him like this. 

So you continue kissing his pinkish scarred flesh; the tops of his thighs, around his knees, his calves, then a painstakingly slow trail back up. He’s almost jittery by the time you’ve reached his thighs again. You must kiss every inch of his flesh broken by the scars. Because they’re a part of him and how could you not love every part of him?

Finally, you reach the apex of the inside of his thighs. He’s extra sensitive there. The scars are fewer and further between there. But still, you kiss each one of them, gently, softly, then tease him by licking up the inside of his thigh, feeling the ridges and bumps of the scars on the flat of your tongue. Another kiss. 

“God,” Eddie groans. And then he says something else as you continue your ascent, fingers itching to grasp his waistband and pull his boxers down. You aren’t sure what he’s said at first, until he repeats himself. And then he repeats himself again, and again. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” 

“Eddie, you’re so pretty,” You whisper into his thigh before pressing another kiss to another scar, one just below his waistband which you’ve only just begun to tug down. He hears your praise, lolls his head to the side to look down at you. His eyes are glassy and pleading, lust-drunk, love-drunk. Then he reaches his hand down, and you reach up to meet him in the middle where he laces your fingers together. 

It’s then you place a kiss over his boxers, kissing the very tip of him where his dick curves up towards his right hip, pressed right beneath the elastic waistband. The spot is damp and you can taste the saltiness of him on your tongue already. 

You’re glad you were watching him when you did it, because his eyes rolled into the back of his head before they shut and he moaned and his hips twitched again, searching for more, more, more. 

When his eyes slowly open again, he catches you watching him. Teasingly tracing your index finger over his skin, brushing over his scars, causing his stomach to tense, so riled up.

“What?” He drawls lazily. 

“Feelin’ good?” You ask, though you know the answer. 

“Mmh,” Eddie replies affirmatively, hips shifting again. You smile softly. 

If you can give him these moments as often as possible, make him feel loved and worshipped, press all your love into him through your lips on his skin, then maybe he will start to feel it for himself. It will sink into his skin, fight its way beneath the scars and into his heart. 

So you continue making him feel good. You finally pull down his boxers, allowing him to spring free. His leaking tip reaches his belly button, dark pink, clearly aching. You press your lips to the tip, once again kissing him. 

You ease the ache. 

♡*♡*♡

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it & if you did, please consider reblogging, it really helps!

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[annerbhp]

So who remembers the Four Seasons Landscaping press conference debacle of November 7th, 2020? You know, the one held across the street from the sex shop. And the endless memes after of “imagine your OTP: who owns the landscaping company and who owns the sex shop”?

Well, yeah, I wrote this thing for it a long while back. And yes, of course I made Harry work at the sex shop and Ginny at the landscaping company. Decided I should just schedule it to post on the next November 7th. Enjoy!

Come Again (Harry/Ginny, meet-cute, Harry works at a sex shop, bad flirting, Ginny’s into it anyway, non-magic world, Teen, no content warnings. Other than, you know, sex shop inventory!)

Harry glances up from his magazine at the sound of the shop door opening. He cursorily looks over the customer—young woman, mid-twenties, red hair, short, athletic build—before returning his attention to the magazine. He’s noticed most customers don’t particularly like the feeling of being watched. Some people flee immediately upon catching him watching them. Especially women.

Sure enough, out of the corner of his eye, he can see her slip down the aisle furthest from the cashier counter, the one full of costumes and larger objects far too difficult for anyone to steal.

“Harry?”

He looks over at Tara near the breakroom at the back where she’s pulling on her coat. “Are you off?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says, swinging her purse over her shoulder. “Are you sure it’s okay if I take Tuesday morning off?” She’s biting at her lower lip, as thinking his offer was somehow a trap. He wonders what kind of shit she had to put up with at her last job. Or it could just be him. Maybe she’s still trying to get used to him as their manager or something.

“Yes,” he says, forcing his voice patient. “Go get your tooth looked at. I’ll cover the shift, no problem.”

“Thank you,” she says in a rush. She glances over, catching sight of the ginger. “Want me to cover this one before I go?”

“I’ve got it,” he says, and it occurs to him that maybe she’s more nervous about leaving him to do the shift on his own than she is that he’s going to get mad at her for taking the time off.

He’d be offended by that if he hadn’t spent the last three weeks completely in over his head. But he’s starting to get the hang of it now.

Tara waves and leaves out the back.

“So you’re the owner then? You don’t look like a Luna.”

He turns to find the customer standing in front of him. He glances at the big sign out front declaring this store as Luna’s sex toys and more store.

“What? Oh,” he says. “No. I’m just filling in for her for a few months. She’s out on maternity leave. Twins.”

“Ah, so you’re just the understudy,” she says.

“Something like that.”

Pull yourself together, Potter.

“Then you’re…” She waves a finger around in a circle, encompassing the whole store. “In the business?”

He laughs. “No.” He realizes a moment too late how bad that sounded, and rushes on. “She was going to have to shut the shop down or cut her time home, but I’m between careers at the moment, so I figured I could cover for her.” He has no idea why he is spilling his life story out at her, and he considers that maybe Tara had seen what he hadn’t when she’d been so reluctant to leave him on his own. “It’s been a bit of a learning curve, I admit. Though mostly it seems to be about putting customers in categories and treating them accordingly.”

Her eyes narrow, as if sensing an insult towards the kind of people who might come to a shop like this. “Meaning what, exactly?”

“No,” he says, desperately trying to backpedal. “It’s just… Look. It’s like setting expectations? There’s people who come for joke gifts, the people who pretend they are here for joke gifts because they are too embarrassed to want to buy something, the people who know exactly what they want and get right to it, and the people who are here because of rebounds. Each kind of person would prefer to be treated differently: ignored, helped, given stern looks. So it’s just about figuring out which kind of customer they are, so I can make this easiest for them.”

The customer is now frowning at him. “You know that still sounds kind of creepy, even if it makes sense.”

“Studying people is kind of my thing.”

She only looks more alarmed.

“Not in a creepy stalker way! Or in a ‘I want to draw your picture’ way. I was a profiler. You know, criminals?”

“Ah, so now the customers are criminals.”

He would think he just can’t win with this maniacal customer, but she was smiling now, clearly teasing him. “Only if you try to walk off with Gary shoved down your shirt,” he gamely replies.

She turns to follow his gesture, letting out a low laugh at the sight of an enormous oversized novelty cock with a face on the tip. It’s not a ‘I’m nervous and about to break down into a fit of giggles’ laugh either, so Harry is pretty sure this is a customer who won’t mind being offered help.

“So is there anything in particular I can help you find?” he asks.

“You tell me.”

Said in any other tone, that might sound like a come on, but it was more challenging than coy. “Excuse me?” he asks.

“Am I here for a joke gift? Profile me.”

He looks her over, eyes lingering on the details. A new sweater (he could see the strip where the sticker had been removed very recently). Her hair looked freshly cut, the way she touched it said it was not the length she was used to, maybe having cut it off recently. There was the slightest indentation on her ring finger, a faint tan line.

“You’ve recently broken off a long-term relationship, either started when you were both very young, with someone who likes vanilla sex that you found boring, or with someone who was offended by the idea of you using any toys because it felt like cheating and made you get rid of them.”

She stares back at him, eyes wide.

He said it all without thinking, really, just speaking as it came to him, these thoughts about who she was that he might come up with about a case.

“Sorry,” he says, certain he’s just cost Luna a customer. “I’m sure I’m way off.”

“No,” she says, “you’re annoyingly on-point.”

He winces, realizing that’s probably even worse.

Definitely time to try to make a tactful retreat, if at all possible. But before he can back away, she’s speaking again.

“I used to have a Shibari before he made me toss it. Any thoughts on what might be like that? Only better. And bigger. Longer battery life.”

“Uh,” he says, floundering for a moment. Then he walks over to a shelf, pointing at a slim lavender-colored wand vibrator. “I can tell you the mini halo is really popular. But Luna always says it depends on what you’re looking for, not what other people want.”

Her eyebrow lifts, and it occurs to him that he has basically just asked for detail about her sex life. Yup. It’s possible he’s out of his element. He ends up texting Luna, for some reason not wanting to lead this particular customer astray. Not just because she seems pretty great. She deserves to get what she wants after all! Everyone does!

Getting tired of the back and forth, the customer eventually just grabs his phone and texts Luna directly, debating the finer points of the Soul Sucker. The woman’s smile—stupidly lovely, really—No, not appropriate, Harry!—is wider and wider as she gets into a really long exchange with Luna. Ending with a gasp of adoration when Luna apparently texts a picture of her sons.

The text exchange eventually dies down, the customer giving Harry a bald, assessing look.

“What?” he asks, refusing to shift back and forth on his feet, reminding himself of his long career as a criminal investigator—which would mean more if he hadn’t burned out and left with no real plans for anything else he’s going to do instead. Other than manage a sex toy store, apparently.

“She wants to know how you’re doing,” the woman asks. Her eyes narrow as she studies him a bit longer, and, shit, she should consider a career as an interrogator. She nods her head, like coming to a decision and then starts typing away again, this time narrating as she does.  “Approachable, only slightly creepy, blushes at a minimum, non-judgmental, but needs an education.”

He lets out a startled laugh, not offended in the least. Actually a better rating than he’d expect. “Trust me, every day in this shop is an education.”

Her eyebrow lifts. “I can only imagine.” She hands his phone back and sweeps up the Soul Sucker and the mini halo too.

Harry helpfully points out the displays of various lubes, letting her head over there by herself as he steps back behind the counter.

A guy comes in then, picking up a pre-order which is thankfully much more straight forward, a package already put together by Tara before she left.

By the time he’s done ringing him up, the woman has made her final selections, putting them down on the counter. He scans each one, slipping them into a bag without looking at them. Not his business!

“And with the five percent break up discount, that comes to….”

“Discount?” she asks. “I don’t need your pity.”

“What?” he asks, feeling like he’s messed up yet another thing. “No, seriously. It’s a thing.” He flips the card with five different set barcodes on it, handing it over to her.

You’re better off without them! – 5% Never too late to figure out what you like! – 5% Congrats on embracing your sexual identity! – 5% You’re a few bucks short, but still deserve joy – 5%

She looks at him in surprise.

He shrugs. “Luna.”

She seems to relax then. “Which one am I getting?”

“Does it matter?” he asks.

She lets out a huff. “Guess not.” She hands over a credit card and he really does his best not to look at her name or anything, but it is sort of a part of credit safety? Or something?

Ginny Weasley. Is her name. It sounds vaguely familiar, though he can’t quite place it.

She signs the receipt, and he passes over the bag. “Have a nice day,” he says, almost automatically.

“Oh, I’d better,” she says, lifting the bag.

He really tries not to blush. He really does. Professional, Potter. Real professional.

Only then she’s giving him a wink and walking towards the door. “Let me know if you ever need help with landscaping,” she says, “so I can return the favor.” 

Harry pauses at the strange words, frowning, resisting the urge to look down at his body.

She’s definitely laughing at him now. “The landscaping company next door? Weasley’s Landscaping? It’s where I work. The family business.”

“Oh,” Harry says with a sudden rush of understanding. She works right next door. Where he will likely see her. Again. Quite often. “Right. I definitely will.” 

“Great. See you around.”

He can’t help grinning. “Come again!” he calls out after her.

He can hear her laughter as the door shuts behind her.

It takes Harry a while to realize he’s humming as he starts taking stock of the strap-ons inventory.

Just another lovely day in Luna’s shop.

[thelamb1429]

Eyeless Jack Headcanons

Alright I’ve put these off for long enough so here’s some of my headcanons (like always, if yall wanna request anything just let me know, i’ll have more time to get things done this week <3)

Appearance Headcanons —-}

Jack was around 5’10 before he was turned into a demon, but afterwards be ended up growing to 6’11

Because of this, finding clothes to fit him is very difficult with his newfound height

Not only that, but his legs have become digitigrade legs. So normal pants don’t exactly work for him. So he tears off his pants a little below the knees and unfortunately has to walk around barefoot due to his animalistic feet

Speaking of animalistic? He has both a long tail with a tuft of fur at the end and long, furry ears on the side of his head.

His skin is a darker grey, and he has his hair in a protective style when possible (due to his claws he struggles a bit, but if he asks Nina or Jane they usually help him) (also i deeply apologize if the terminology is wrong, let me know and i’ll be sure to change it)

Having his hair up helps with his… activities

Sure, he can’t see, but he’s much more sensitive to texture and can’t focus on hunting down his prey his job if his hair or clothes are in the way of his work

Similar to many others, i headcanon him as having three long, black tongues which can each move separately.

I like to think he got a tongue piercing in college, so one of the tongues is still pierced

I headcanon him as being pretty thin and lanky in addition to his insane height. He probably was a bit on the thinner side in college (because nobody in college can find enough time to eat more than a microwave dinner). I imagine his current diet doesn’t let him pack on a ton of weight either, but he’s fairly athletic regardless

His voice is probably a bit distorted, like a few different voices layered together. Some people think it’s cool, but normally to others it’s off putting

Diet and Behavior —-}

He does not eat kidneys in my headcanons. Biggest reason why is that not only are they a generally unhealthy area to eat from (because they hold waste), they wouldn’t be nutritious for the exact same reason. Instead, he probably eats other organs in the abdominal section

He probably could store his meal and have enough for about five days at a time (if he rations properly). The longest he can safely go without eating is only two weeks, but he’s responsible enough to make sure nobody ever has to deal with that insatiable hunger

Now for behavior/personality!

I think that by becoming a demon he gained many feline traits. Not just the physical ones in terms of appearance, but others too

For example, i think he purrs when he thinks nobody else can hear it. At least whenever he’s purring for a good reason. Cats also purr when stressed, so he probably wouldn’t be able to control that near as much as he can control his happy purring

When he’s cold, his left ear twitches pretty much uncontrollably and it annoys the living hell out of the poor guy

His overall personality is probably still similar to the one he had before the incident. I feel like he’d be reasonably talkative, but i dont think he’s overly social. Just kind of average social battery

He’s definitely more of a thinker than a feeler, and i see him as someone who always has to see to believe

He’s probably very sarcastic, and i feel like his sense of humor is a bit jokingly nihilistic. Like that one “nothing matters!” Pic with the dolphin and the kid giving a thumbs up

General Headcanons —-}

He knows how to play the piano because his mom made him do piano lessons when he was younger. Of course, he can’t see now, so he adapted and learned to play by ear

He navigates the world around him by sensing heat. In a way, he can see in the way you can use a thermal camera. He also prefers to be by people he senses are warmer because he’s naturally cold as hell

He used to wear glasses before the incident. Even though he can’t see now he’ll sometimes put them on out of force of habit. It just feels weird to him to not feel the frames on the bridge of his nose

When he gets startled, his tail fluffs up like a cat’s does

Just for fun let’s say he makes biscuits on his pillows when he goes to bed

—————

Yeah some of these are super half baked and probably seem odd but hey if i come up with any more i’ll share them (i have so many headcanons for so many characters and too little time :/ )

[grannyandgrandpascreations]

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Care instructions: Turn item inside out, machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Tumble dry low.

Due to different light settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

All items are created or designed by Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations. We also print and heat press our items using our professional, commercial grade heat press! Each design is made with High Quality, Heat Transfer Vinyl.

After a package leaves my hands with the post office, Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations is not held responsible. Current Turnaround Time due to upcoming Holidays - 1-5 Business Days. While we always use priority shipping options, once shipped we cannot guarantee delivery due to the backlog current being experienced USPS/UPS/FedEx. If you have a strict deadline, please message me when ordering so that I can note any rush requests. Ownership of packages turned over to USPS transfers to the Buyer. We are not responsible for lost, held, damaged packages or delayed packages, once your package(s) leaves our Shop it is completely out of our control. Thank you for understanding!

Thank you so much for supporting our "small Granny & Grandpa's Shop", we truly appreciate YOU!

Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com/shop to view more of our creations!

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The perfect tee shirt for a modern casual look. Not too long so you can wear these untucked with a pair of jeans or chinos. Looks great under a casual blazer and jeans for a relaxed Friday style. Stylish and versatile everyday crew neck tees are a wardrobe staple.

Care instructions: Turn item inside out, machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Tumble dry low.

Due to different light settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

All items are created or designed by Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations. We also print and heat press our items using our professional, commercial grade heat press! Each design is made with High Quality, Heat Transfer Vinyl.

After a package leaves my hands with the post office, Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations is not held responsible. Current Turnaround Time due to upcoming Holidays - 1-5 Business Days. While we always use priority shipping options, once shipped we cannot guarantee delivery due to the backlog current being experienced USPS/UPS/FedEx. If you have a strict deadline, please message me when ordering so that I can note any rush requests. Ownership of packages turned over to USPS transfers to the Buyer. We are not responsible for lost, held, damaged packages or delayed packages, once your package(s) leaves our Shop it is completely out of our control. Thank you for understanding!

Thank you so much for supporting our "small Granny & Grandpa's Shop", we truly appreciate YOU!

Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com/shop to view more of our creations!

LET’S GET SOCIAL & BE FRIENDS! Like, Tag & Follow us for Our new Creations, Inspiration & Giveaways!

website/ www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com/shop

facebook.com/ https://www.facebook.com/GrandpaHandmadecreations/

instagram.com/ https://www.instagram.com/grannyandgrandpacustomcreation/

pinterest.com/https://www.pinterest.com/grannyscustomcreations

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[nouearth]

SHIT 😭😭😭 i have way too much chris evans in my mind rn im just gonna vomit everything i've been thinking

1960's/1970's!steve rogers

him getting into the counterculture movement, getting the typical long hippie haircut, going on pride parades and shit even when he and reader are well into their 50's 💀 (or even 60's idk i forgot when this man was born)

college professor!chris

you guys meet at a random talk, convention or public assembly thingy, he tries to be all professional and just let it be platonic but reader's ass leaving him every time just gets him up in his feels

football player!chris

he might be the star athlete of the world's greatest team but he makes reader feel like the real star, he's a hotshot but never EVER leaves his baby in second place

(sorry for taking over ive just been reading some enchanted evenings over and over bc of how perfect it is and i can't stop thinking of scenarios with this GOD-MARBLED MAN!!!)

💌 : wait wait this is perfect, let me join in because this makes me so soft but also so horny. (also i'm very happy you like some enchanted evenings! :^) i'm in that era where i feel like my works suck SOOOOO, THANK YOU!)

neighbor!chris he's not one to mingle much on his free days, he does enough of that at work. but when chris notices the attractive man moving into the house across from him, he figures turning over a new leaf could do him some good, and that starts with giving your sweaty body a much needed relief.

ceo!chris high-strung and a ticking time bomb, your douche-bag of a boss has been on your ass every second of the day since his divorce. protein shakes aren't green enough, window blinds aren't dusted enough, your dress shirt isn't ironed enough. as his assistant, it was exhausting being demanded from one place to another more than usual. and as his assistant, you knew chris more than you knew yourself, from his allergies to his kinks, and you knew exactly what can finally get him off your back (or rather... on your back?)

overworked husband!chris / detective!chris it hasn't been a great couple of months for chris. the murder case he's been assigned to was showing no signs of slowing with another family violently slaughtered within near vicinity, taunting him with the serial killer's nihilistic symbol. the image of mangled bodies haunts him in his sleep, a mother's lament keeps him awake, and the relief of coming home to you and the kids, tucked in and safely sleeping in one bed fortifies his sanity for a little longer.

and i'm also cackling because i feel like we sound like tyra banks when she was interviewing beyonce. 😭

BUY-YONCÉ, when was the last you bought anything from a store? SEANCE-CÉ, if you could communicate with anybody that has passed away-BRIE-ONCÉ, what's your favorite type of cheese?

[vecnawrites]

A Slimy Perversion, Chapter 2: Harriet's Possession

Harriet Bree was out and about, and unfortunately, she managed to catch the attention of a certain slime...

Harriet Bree was steaming. She hated her job at times, working for the Schnee Family. Okay, the mother and two daughters weren’t too bad, but the father and son...the less said, the better, to be honest.

That didn’t mean it was all sunshine and rainbows, though, since Weiss, the middle child of the Schnee family, had asked her to go and pick up something that she had neglected to earlier in the day, and it was too late for her to be out.

Leaving Harriet walking in a rage. Sure, she wasn’t at any risk of being attacked with her training, but that didn’t mean that she wanted to be going around and fucking about in this part of town at this time of night!

“I don’t know why the hell do I have to come out to this part of town, at this hour, simply because little miss full of herself can’t be bothered to do it herself or, I don’t know, ask someone to go earlier in the day!?” she growled out in a rage as she headed for the small little bookshop that the girl had ordered some risque novels from.

She wasn’t shaming the girl, she had a vibrator and several web pages secretly bookmarked on her scroll for her own enjoyment, but Harriet did not appreciate being made to come out near nine at night to go and pick up porn novels for a repressed white haired heiress!

As she stalked down the street, she was so angry that she failed to notice the figure peeking out of the alleyway next to her, looking at her, their form radiating interest.

~

Neo followed her new prey, seeing how stuck up and no nonsense the woman seemed to be, making her perfect for her next meal~

Creeping along behind her, she found her target walking into a bookstore, making her pause, knowing that her newest vessel would be coming out soon enough. She knew that the stores would be closing soon enough. So she settled into wait.

It wasn’t long before the mocha skinned woman came out, still scowling as she held a wrapped package underneath her arm as she walked down the street, leaving her to follow slowly and carefully behind her.

~

After some time, she watched as her prey stop at a health food store and pull buy one of those disgustingly healthy shakes that athletes and health nuts drank, bringing it out and sitting down, cracking it open and taking a deep drink.

Neo smirked. Perfect. Now she just needed her distracted for a few moments…

Brrrrriiiinnnnggg!

As though the very world itself was on her side, the woman’s scroll rang, making her set her drink down with an agitated look as she pulled it out, her face pinching in anger as she opened it.

“Hello?” she asked, her voice tense, meaning that it was Neo’s time to shine. She crept forwards, hearing faint chatter through the scroll, hearing the woman growl as she collapsed her form and slipped closer, moving up and slipping up and into her half empty drink, compressing herself as she absorbed the liquid and allowed herself to meld with it, going completely invisible to the naked eye.

~

Harriet sighed angrily, rubbing her nose and pinching it between her fingers. “Yes, princess, I picked up your raunchy books on time. I’m on my way back now.” she half listened to the sputtered excuses, before she sighed. “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be back and you can read these and rub yourself silly as you go to sleep. Be back soon.” huffing, Harriet closed her scroll, knowing that she’d likely get ‘threatened’ when she saw the heiress next, though she knew that it wouldn’t be serious.

Sighing, she knew that she better hurry, so she grabbed her protein shake and knocked it back, throat bobbing as she swallowed the thick mixture, a small part of her thinking that it seemed thicker than normal, but passed it off as stress.

Standing, she tossed the empty container into the trash next to her and grabbed the package of books before she started making her way back to the Schnee family manor, completely unaware of what now rested in her belly...what was slowly working it’s way through her stomach lining and into the rest of her body.

~

After getting a cute ‘threat’ from a flustered and highly embarrassed Weiss, one that Harriet was highly amused by, the mocha skinned woman made her way back to her room and started changing for an early night. She was feeling rather hot for some reason, and forwent her pajamas, standing in her room in only her cotton panties, showing off her lithe, slim body to the nonexistent eyes in her room.

Falling back onto her bed, Harriet smirked a bit as her tits jiggled lightly, wondering why she felt so warm.

She debated getting under her blanket, but the mere thought of being underneath it made her cringe as she lay back, closing her eyes and doing her best to fall asleep. Everyone knew better than to come into her bedroom unannounced, so it wasn’t like she was going to give anyone a show.

~

Harriet Bree’s nearly nude body tossed and turned on her bed, her brow furrowed as she sweat profusely, her body shining with sweat under the dim light of the moon.

As the clock struck midnight, Harriet’s eyes opened, her eyes having changed, one of the a lighter shade of pink than normal, the other a chocolate brown, her lips pulling up in a wicked smirk as she hopped up off the bed, amused at the lack of jiggle her body had.

Strutting over to the mirror that was placed by the closet, Neo looked over her newest vessel with a critical eye, frowning at how small her tits were, how flat and muscled her ass was. And the less said about her style of undergarments, the better! Gray cotton? Outrageous!

But her looks could easily be rectified with a little help from her. Focusing, she started using her powers, breaking muscle fibers back down into fat and starting to move it around to help the body become something that people would lose their cool over!

Slowly, her vessel’s ass went from firm and toned to soft, plump, and jiggly, the panties that had been modestly cupped to it now visibly straining to hold the new bulk contained within, even being somewhat visible from the front.

Pushing her vessel’s chest out, possessed lips pulled into a smirk as her breasts began to swell, the small mounds ballooning outwards, getting fatter and more plump, growing several cup sizes in mere minutes, the mass filling them taken from her previously toned abdominal muscles and the excess fat attached to her sides, giving her body a noticeable hourglass figure.

A final touch was her lips plumping out, becoming much more prominent, kissable...cock sucking worthy.

Taking a new look over her vessel’s body, Neo smirked as she groped the woman’s brand new fat tits, smiling as she shuddered at the sensitivity, before glancing further down between her legs.

Seeing the unflattering panties stretched tightly against her mound, her face scrunched up in distaste as she reached down and ripped them clean off her body, tossing the offending garment away, giving her plump bare pussy an appraising look before turning around and sticking her new ass towards the mirror, giving it a wiggle and a shake, before popping her hips, smirking as the fat cheeks clapped against one another with the sound of a gunshot in the small bedroom.

Standing, she nodded to herself; her new vessel was to her satisfaction. But now? Her lips twisted into a devious smirk. Now it was time for her vessel to make a name for herself~

Opening her closet, she was annoyed that the woman had very little in what amounted to ‘sexy’ wear. Multiple versions of the outfit she had been wearing when she had gotten into her were hanging up in the closet, leaving her scowling as she looked at the row of identical clothes.

Opening her dresser, she was similarly disgusted at the lack of sexy underwear. Sports bras and cotton granny panties? She huffed, shutting the drawers in disgust.

She’d have to modify...her eyebrows shot upwards as she saw an outfit that was outright casual in the back. A tank top, suspenders, and miniskirt. It looked perfectly adequate and covering...if her vessel had it’s old proportions.

With a wicked smirk, she snagged it and began to dress. No underwear of course, if she had wanted underwear, she should have been like her last vessel and kept some sexy and slutty underwear in stock! But since all she had was annoying and boring ‘modest’ ones, she was going to give a lot of lucky people a wonderful show!

Taking a look at herself again in the mirror, Neo grinned. The entire underside of her vessel’s new tits were out, as well as the underside of her areola, the darker shade of brown teasingly visible, along with the whole of her trim belly and perfect hourglass figure.

The miniskirt was barely hanging on to her wide hips, a bountiful shelf of ass visible, the skirt itself barely covering half her ass cheeks, and anyone barely glancing down would see the entirety of her pussy visible to their eyes.

Striking a sexy pose, Neo blew a kiss to the mirror and turned around and walked towards the door, swinging her hips, opening it and stepping out, ready to make sure that Harriet Bree would be very well known by morning!

[mygaynesshasnolimits]

this reminded me of the video they posted of geno saying she's no where near to what he's making when the nil store declared she was the highest earning female athlete. he's always cutting on thwm

[appalamutte]

Eric turns into the baking supplies aisle, tapping his thumb against the cart in rhythm with the Christmas music playing overhead.

He hadn’t intended to stop at the grocery store on his way home; after slipping on a patch of ice in front of a school field trip on his way to work, dropping and shattering his favorite work mug in the break room between meetings, and being told for the umpteenth time that another client has gone with another publisher, Eric, if you don’t start showing improvement then we’re going to have to look at other alternatives, all Eric wanted to do was go home and take a long, warm bath. Start that food critic’s memoir he picked up at a flea market a few weeks ago. Maybe—finally—clean out and reorganize his disaster of a spice cabinet, something to take his mind off things.

Just forget this day ever happened.

But then his editorial assistant accidentally deleted one of their client’s manuscripts while performing a mass exodus of unused files, and just like that, Eric went and cried in the bathroom because the day officially got worse than he ever thought it could get.

By some miracle, Dex down in IT had been able to find an old save of the file on the system’s hard drive. It didn’t have most of the notes Eric added for corrections or changes, nor did it have any of his assistant’s annotations. Really, it was the most bare-bones copy, but it was the entire manuscript in it’s most recent glory.

For that, Eric would’ve kissed Dex right then and there.

He loves Nursey too much to do that, though, so instead he did what he always does: he hugged Dex tightly, asked him what his favorite dessert was (snickerdoodle cookies), and at five o’clock he took the Green Line to West End and walked a few blocks to the best Whole Foods in Boston.

“Now you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Eric murmurs, standing in front of the rather unfortunate-looking flour selection. Usually, there’s a complete inventory of all types—bread, whole wheat, all-purpose, self-rising, pastry—and that’s half of the reason Eric goes twenty minutes out of his way to shop here. Yet all that’s before him now is a couple of bags of all-purpose and a full row of cake flour.

Great. As if this day couldn’t get any better.

He pulls the shopping cart close as a family enters the aisle and considers his options. Normally, he prefers using a half-and-half combination of whole wheat and all-purpose, but after last week’s batch of pancakes, he’s out of whole wheat. He could get the cream of tartar and ground cinnamon now and stop at the Stop & Shop near his apartment for the flour, but that place is hit-or-miss at best, and with how his day’s going he doubts they’ll have any in stock either. 

Maybe he could forgo whole wheat flour this one time and just go with the all-purpose, but he really does love the taste it gives, not to mention it adds a bit more nutritional value. Nursey has been going on and on about how Dex is trying to eat healthier after losing his college-athlete physique, and—damn, maybe Eric should’ve offered to make something other than a dessert. Is it too late to call and ask if Dex would rather have some homemade protein bars? But then Nursey messaged Eric right before he left work with a bunch of crying emojis, thanking him and saying he was definitely going to steal some of the cookies from Dex, even though Eric’s pretty sure Dex would give Nursey most of them anyway, and—

“Bittle?”

Eric startles.

Looking up, he stares at the man before him for a moment before his heart skips a beat.

“Jack?” He asks dumbly, because it is Jack, standing there in an old, threadbare Samwell hoodie with a ball cap pulled low on his head. 

He’s a little soft around the edges and worn down in that way all professional athletes are after retirement, but he’s still unmistakably Jack Zimmermann with that small little quirk of a smile and the way his eyes are piercingly blue in the fluorescent lighting of the store. His hair still curls around the ear like it did whenever he used to let it grow out but there are flecks of gray in his temple now. His jaw, even after all these years, is still so pronounced but it’s not as sharp as it was back at Samwell, hidden under a layer of scruff. He’s still wearing god-awful yellow sneakers, except they’re a newer pair from a different brand, bright and spotless.

“Hey, Bittle,” Jack says, warmer and surer.

Eric uncrosses his arms. “Jack,” he says again, feeling himself smile, “gosh, I can’t believe it’s—it’s been so long! Jack! How are you?”

On a reflex, Eric steps forward to hug Jack, and there’s this absolutely mortifying moment where he realizes he’s going to hug Jack Zimmermann, the Jack Zimmermann he hasn't spoken to in seven years, the Jack Zimmermann he hasn't seen outside of the NHL Network in ten.

But then Jack meets him halfway, pulling him into a hug with both arms wrapped around Eric’s shoulders, and it’s like the last decade never happened, the weight rolling off his shoulders as easily as could be. It’s like Eric’s back in Providence, back in Samwell. It’s Jack’s apartment and the front porch of the Haus and the bed of Coach’s truck in the thick Georgia humidity.

(It’s being in love with your best friend.)

“I’m good,” Jack says, his chest rumbling. “Great, actually.”

He pats Eric’s shoulder once and with that, they pull away from one another. “That’s good,” Eric says, pulling his shopping cart closer so he can lean an elbow against the handle. “How’s retirement been? It’s been, gosh, almost a year now?”

“Just about. It'll be a year this February."

“You miss it?”

Jack tilts his head. “Eh,” he drawls out, “honestly yeah, I do. But, well…”

He gestures down toward his knee, and it takes Eric a few seconds to remember that Jack's retirement had more to do with an unfortunate check and less to do with the fact he was thirty-seven. Eric immediately backtracks. “Oh, shit—lord, excuse my language, I didn’t mean—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Jack chuckles, shoving his hands into his pockets. “The knee has its days, but besides that, it's good as new.” He pauses. “Sort of.”

Eric’s blushing ‘till high noon, he’s sure of it. "Well that's good, then," he says.

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas starts playing overheard and they stare at each other for another awkward beat. Finally, Jack clears his throat. “But, uh, how have you been? I think Shitty said you were at…Morris…”

“Morris Press,” Eric says, pulling at the skin between his thumb and forefinger, mentally slapping his cheeks. He’s usually never this bad with talking. “But yeah! I’ve been there for six years or so now, it’s a really great job. Helping others do what I always dreamed of is just, you know, a really fulfilling feeling.”

“I bet,” Jack says, and he’s got the little smile on his face again.

Another, not-as-awkward beat.

“I mean, I never thought I’d go into publishing, but…,” Eric starts, and he doesn’t mean to ramble, really; it’s an accidental slip that he starts going on about his job and his coworkers, the projects he’s helped publish, how publishing his own cookbook right out of Samwell led to now, just talking Jack’s poor ear off in the middle of the store. Jack gives his little comments here and there, like he used to, and doesn’t once make Eric feel like he’s holding him, and that—that’s exactly why Eric finds he can’t stop himself. The easiness of it, how natural and comfortable it is. How the warmth of a dormant love flares somewhere in Eric’s chest because it’s different but it’s not. 

He doesn’t stop until an older woman cuts in asking to get to the flour, and Eric takes a breath. “Goodness, I rambled there,” he laughs. “I suppose things haven’t changed all that much.”

Jack hums, looking at Eric with this unreadable, nearly intense expression that Eric would describe as soft, probably. If he looked into it too much. He’s nearly about to let Jack go so he can go home and panic-bake a pie and call Lardo about this entire day when Jack suddenly says: “Would you want to get coffee or lunch or—or something, sometime?”

Eric falters.

Then he decides that, maybe, this day isn’t a total bust.

[luvhughes43]

about rosemary (quinns gf au)

➼ has a degree in architecture (just graduated by the time she meets quinn at the bookstore), but instead of getting an internship she has to work at the bookstore because her grandfather who primarily runs the store is sick.

➼ her father died when she was around 13 due to an illness, and so her grandfather has been her father figure for most of her life. that's why working at the bookstore is so important to her even though her heart is with designing.

➼ veryyy close with her mom!! who was a little skeptical of her dating an athlete because yn has always been an introvert and reserved, but she quickly sees that quinn brings out the best in yn.

➼ she helps redesign the bookstore, as in decorating and doing some remodelling in hopes of getting more customers (which succeeds; hence quinn).

➼ when she was like 16 she worked at a cafe down the block from the bookstore. she has a skill for making latte art and quinn swears she makes the best coffee/sandwiches/pastries.

➼ has a few small tattoos! i think she'd have a little bow on her arm, a small dragonfly on her upper back, vines on her fingers? just super small and dainty tattoos. quinn loves tracing and kissing her tattoos🤭

➼ her fav book genres are literary fiction, classics, and she loves a good romance! she definitely reads a silly little hockey romance with quinn who's just shocked by the smut and how out of pocket the book is! (maybe they read the off-campus series? it's just a little silly. and maybe the recreate some of the scenes....🤭)

➼ when she was younger, this stray cat would always linger near the bookstore and she would always set out food and water for it. it kept coming back, and so she adopted the cat and named it anne after anne of green gables (her fav stories growing up)

➼ her love language is quality time and physical touch! lovesss spending time with quinn and he often helps her work around the book store on his days off. lots of hand holding and kisses in-between the book shelves.

pls let me know ur thoughts💌

[camiefromstatefarm]

We're back with some more 'Upper Moon Demons' headcanons!!! Today, we're focusing on my personal favorite. Slight NSFW warning.

Upper Moon 4

Hantengu/Hanito Jigoku (Part 1)

- Born in 1611, in a less populated town near Kyōto City.

Koki Jigoku, his father, was an extremely handsome and charismatic ladies' man. Parenthood was unexpected, but his heart melted when he saw his newborn son, who bore a striking resemblance to him. Despite his love for his wife, Koki struggled to abandon his womanizing ways..

Otsuru Jigoku (née Aisaki), his mother, was a strikingly attractive young woman with a caring personality. She had sun-kissed skin, a slender yet dramatic lean body, reminiscent of Devon Aoki, a heart-shaped face, warm brown hair, and silver to orchid eyes always filled with energy. Otsuru loved her husband intensely, but her love often turned deranged, driving her to murderous jealousy towards his frequent infidelities. She came from a wealthy family.

- Even as a young boy, Hanito was a stunningly handsome child with a sturdy athletic build and tanned skin. His spiky black hair messy and full, framing his brooding heart-shaped face and accentuating his piercing onyx eyes. His eyebrows were thick and expressive, often laced with a dramatic display of emotions. His features were sharp and chiseled, with high cheekbones and a straight high-bridged nose. He also bore a mischievous devilish grin.

- Hanito's life of crime began at just seven years old, not out of necessity, but sheer desire and bad influences. He ran with a trio of urchin boys, forming a band of young thieves who stole whatever they could to fill their pockets. Surprisingly, his parents, Koki and Otsuru, didn't reprimand him for his delinquent behavior. Instead, they adopted a lenient approach, telling him that as long as he avoided getting caught, he wouldn't face trouble at home. This unconventional parenting allowed Hanito to hone his thieving skills, shaping him into a skilled young thief.

- Stealing meant buying whatever they wanted, but for free. Hanito-kun rarely strayed from his tight-knit group, seeking the safety net of their protection. Hanito had a knack for evading capture, thanks to three key factors: his incredible speed, his skillful lying and manipulation, which convinced people he was just an innocent child, and his loyal clique of local fangirls who often helped him out of sticky situations.

Emiko-chan, gasps: Girls! Here comes Hanito-kun, act natural!

(Hanito passes by and smiles slightly before leaving)

Sakura-chan, giggles: You see that? He smiled at me!

Yumi-chan, cooing: No, I'm pretty sure he had his eyes on me!

Emiko-chan, huffing: Nuh uh! He was definitely checking out my hair!

(None of them realizing their missing hairpins)

Hanito, gripping all 3 hair pins: Too easy.

- The manifestations of Hantengu's emotions take on physical forms that reflect the age where he experienced those emotions most intensely.

Zohakuten 👹

Year 1623; a store clerk by the name of Mr. Yamada was fed up with the troublesome child's lies.

Hanito, defiantly: Let me go you big bully! There really was a wolf!

(He struggles trying to free his ear from the store clerk's harsh grip)

Mr. Yamada, angrily opens the door: Otsuru, your brat is at it againー

Horrifying. There knelt Otsuru ominously, in a tattered old kimono ー stained with blood spatter, one she kept specifically for these occasions ー with an ecstatic expression. Before her lay the lifeless body of a curvaceous young woman, a ravishing beauty with a face like a porcelain doll and dark sea-green hair. Her thighs impaled by two knives and her pale mint eyes froze in perpetual horror, surrounded by beads of sweat.

Otsuru, glances behind her: Ah, welcome Yamada-sama! Do come in, we're having a family reunion of sorts...

Hanito swiftly averted his gaze, closing his eyes to shield himself from the uncomfortable graphics. His reaction betrayed a familiarity with his mother's brutal outbursts, a hint that he had witnessed her madness before. In contrast, Mr. Yamada stood frozen, his voice caught in his throat as shock and terror rendered him speechless.

(Otsuru rose, her movements graceful like a cat)

Otsuru, curls her lips: And you, dear friend, are just in time for dinner. I do hope you have an... appetite for the macabre.

(She walks closer making Mr. Yamada free his grasp on Hanito's ear, slowly retreating)

Mr. Yamada, sweating: No... no! What have you done to that poor woman!

Otsuru, pats her son's head: Hush now, everything is fine... I'm bound to tidy the house after this.

Hanito, crying: How much more that nasty stuff is going to happen here?

Otsuru, gently and soothing: Darling, you know I don't have other options...

Mr. Yamada, pointing: You... what are you teaching that poor child, youー you crazy bitch!

Otsuru's eyes blazed with a dark intensity, her gaze flashing like a stormy sky. The air seemed to thicken, heavy with malevolence, as the unhinged madness gave way to a sinister wrath. Her long hair whipped around her face like a flail, as if the wind itself was fueling her fury. Her stained kimono fluttering behind her like a dark cloud.

Otsuru, in an ominous voice: Forgive me, good sir... but I'm afraid you've dug your own grave!

(A knife slid out of her sleeve and she launched at him. However, Mr. Yamada was quicker and dodged her attack)

Mr. Yamada, cornering her from behind: So reckless...

Hanito, yelling: Momma!

(Basically what happened was Mr. Yamada managed to grab Otsuru's wrist, twisting it, forcing her to drop the knife, and knocked the woman out.)

Mr. Yamada, grumbles: I'd be damned if I wasn't a former martial artist. I'm sorry to say it, kid, but your mother's actions have earned her a reckoning. She'll face trial and judgment for her wrongdoings.

Hanito's tear-stained face twisted into a furious scowl, his large bushy eyebrows furrowing in anger. His piercing eyes narrowed, flashing with intense animosity, his glare so heavy that it almost crushed the store clerk. It was unnerving to see how this boy could be both seriously handsome and intimidatingly fierce at the same time.

Hanito, darkly: You evil son of prick! Leave my momma alone or... or I'll kill you!

(He charges at Mr. Yamada attempting to punch the latter, but was triped over by Yamada's sliding kick)

Mr. Yamada, lifts Otsuru up: Don't try to fight me, Hanito, I'm three times your size.

Hanito, grabbing onto Yamada's ankle: No!!! I won't let a scumbag like you give me orders!!!

(Hanito twists Yamada's ankle causing the latter to wince and kick him back)

Mr. Yamada, scoffs: Blasted child. You're lucky I respect your father enough to let you off the hook.

The 12-year-old's rage thickened, his glare twice as spiteful as he rose from his position, gracefully like the fall was nothing. He balled both hands fist, ready to spring into action when two people showed up. A samurai and a middle-aged woman with the same green hair as the victim.

Samurai, analyzing the situation: So if I'm correct, this was the lady who your daughter was last seen with.

(The middle-aged woman just nodded)

Mr. Yamada: I fear to inform you... that your daughter is dead...

(The middle-aged woman weaped)

Mr. Yamada, frowning: I was just taking her son, Hanito, back home. That kid has been in a lot of hot water lately, I wanted to have a word with Otsuru about this...

Hanito, looks down bitterly: I was telling the truth...

Mr. Yamada, shouts: There was no wolf and never one to begin with!

Samurai, tapping chin: Note the freshness of the blood suggests the incident occurred within the past 30 minutes.

Mr. Yamada, still disturbed: The girl is inside. Poor thing was bleeding head to toe.

This was a night no one forgotten, especially Zohakuten who held onto that memory like an ideology.

Basically after that fiasco, Otsuru was convinced of 13 accounts of homicide and sentenced to death by hanging. Nobody wanted to inform Hanito what happened to his mother, believing it'd be too hard on him.

- To cope with the void left by his mother's absence, Hanito's fragile mind conjured a distorted narrative, convincing himself that she was a monster who had abandoned him, rather than confront the painful truth of her fate.

- After his mother's departure, Hanito spent his remaining teenage years by his father's side. Seeking a new beginning, they relocated to Gion, a prestigious district in Kyōto renowned for its vibrant entertainment and traditional geisha culture.

- Hanito only grew more handsome by the day. His voice deepened, and he became taller & stronger. His spiky hair had grown longer, reaching his shoulders. His heart-shaped face still brooded with intensity, but his features had matured, sharpening his cheekbones and nose. His piercing onyx eyes smoldering and framed by thick eyebrows that gave him a debonair look. At thirteen, he was already the most attractive guy in Gion.

- He idolized his womanizer father, emulating his ways but with a more sinister edge.

Hanito, exclaiming: Father, teach me how to charm the ladies!

Koki, smiling: Ah, my son, it's all about confidence and charm. Watch and learn!

- As young Hanito honed his skills, his reputation grew, and so did his ego. He began to see himself as a legend, a master of charm and deception. And his father, well, he was the one who had taught him everything he knew.

- He employed his charms to lure unsuspecting girls into his trap, only to rob them blind. Unlike his father, Koki, who had treated his mistresses with kindness and sincerity, Hanito's intentions were far more dark. He delighted in leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake, his beauty and charisma mere tools for exploitation. With each conquest, Hanito's confidence grew, as did his reputation as a heartless Casanova.

His father, Koki, looked on with a mix of pride and concern, aware of the darkness brewing within his son. Yet, he remained silent, allowing Hanito's destructive path to continue unchecked.

- At 14, Hanito experienced his first kiss under the soft glow of a lantern on a bench, in a secluded area of the Gion District. Maiya, his girlfriend, rested her head on his shoulder, her gentle eyes sparkling in the dim light. With his arm wrapped around her, Hanito felt a sense of vulnerability he'd never known before. As their lips touched, he tasted the sweetness of innocence, leaving him breathless. Maiya may not have been as pretty as the ryotei girls who often fawned over him, but to Hanito, she was cute in her own right. Her gentle soul and kind eyes captivated him. In that moment, Hanito felt like a different kind of man.

- Unfortunately, their relationship wouldn't last very long. Hanito's temper and insensitivity brought Maiya distress. Because of that, their relationship ended on bad terms that would leave the spiky-haired boy with his guard up.

- On his 16th birthday, Hanito's life took a reckless turn. He lost his virginity in a wild encounter with three bad bitches in one room, quite tumultuous but worth it.

Rorerei: a former geisha that kind of resembles a young Meisa Kuroki.

Kyoka: the daughter of the second wealthiest man in town & somewhat resembles young Fukada Kyoko.

Nozomi: a waitress who looked a bit like a young Nozomi Sasaki.

- They'd do it again the next night in the same Ryokan. Hanito enjoyed every minute of it. A cute girl named Mika ー cousin of Maiya ー would walk in on them while trying to find her room. This would fluster the young man greatly. However, Mika was... chilled with it and even joined in the fun.

When Maiya found out about what happened, she gave her cousin a 48 hour long lecture.

✅️

Aizetsu 😿

- At 18, Hanito's world was shattered when his father, Koki, died under mysterious circumstances. The discovery of Koki's lifeless body at dawn, drained of blood and beyond salvation, left Hanito reeling. Consumed by grief and abandonment, he plummeted into a dark depression, desperately seeking solace from the anguish. In his darkest moments, Hanito attempted to escape the pain through self-destructive means, but the void left by his father's absence only seemed to grow.

Aizetsu is the second physically youngest of Hantengu's clones. Since Hanito would no longer wore his hair spiky after turning 19.

- This led him craving solitude in the most somber area of Nishijin, where he could escape the world for a while. His only companion was a Japanese Bobtail cat he found injured by the roadside. He took her in, nursing her back to health by bandaging her paw and feeding her. He named her Usui, inspired by the rain that fell on the day they met.

- This was the second time Hanito displayed compassion towards another being. Together, he and Usui weathered the rainy days, a somber but comforting duo in the midst of Kyoto's bustling streets.

- In moments of introspection, Hanito would often hear his father's gentle voice whispering in his mind, urging him to stay strong and press on. The memory of Koki's words, though faint, remained a comforting presence, echoing through Hanito's thoughts like a soft breeze on a summer night.

- Eleven months later, Usui would find her siblings again. Although Hanito didn't want her to go, he did as he knew what it was like to be separated from family. But not before Usui rubbed against her close companion's leg and purred contentedly.

This version of Hanito became the base/blueprint for Aizetsu's creation. Each clone gain power using a series of events in Hanito's 87 years everytime he'd experience that emotion.

✅️

✅️

Karaku 💚

Year 1630; was when Hanito finally decided to move again and start over.

- Having grown into a stunningly gorgeous young man, his hair grew moderately past shoulder-length and wavy in a very sexy, satisfying, and stylish sense. His charm and good looks intensified, making him a magnet and true Casanova Killer. With his narrow piercing gaze, captivating smile, thick eyebrows, lean muscular build, nimble fingers, and glowing tawny skin, he was extremely irresistible to many. His voice fully deepened, and he grew taller, exuding confidence and allure.

- New year, new him. Hanito moved to Shimabara, a fascinating red-light district in Kyōto where life was an endless party.

- Hanito got to try liquor for the first time. A quarter cup of shochu mixed with ¾ cup of yuzu was enough to satisfy his taste buds. By the way, when he says the ladies at Shimabara were fine, he means it. During his time in Shimabara, he found himself hooking up with every woman who flirted with him. And that's saying a lot because Hanito was the talk of all town, a head-turner. Husbands would told onto their wives more closely at the charmer's presence, bachelors envied Hanito and wanted to be him and some were even mesmerized, many maidens found themselves falling for his charms and brooding persona, and the top most gorgeous women would even spend the night with him. As a result, Hanito acted overly cocky and prideful in many situations.

Let's just say, the ladies at Shimabara were like Makio/Mitsuri/Daki-level badness. Effortlessly pretty faces, voluptuous figures, stylish sense of fashion, sexy, and hot personalities.

- Let's just say, Hanito almost encountered the dreaded Kukushisen (Syphilis) this one fateful night. Nana, the chick he was with was really hot and was very experienced, luckily she brought mika (paper condoms) with her and they had a blast.

- Hanito actually first met Muzan at a party....

Hantengu's name holds a dual meaning, translating to both "Braggart" and "Half Tengu". The former suggests that The Demon King encountered him in a state of boastful pride, while the latter reveals a connection to the mythical Tengu creatures from Japanese folklore. Tengu are known for their striking appearance, featuring wings, beaks, and formidable magical abilities, as well as their mischievous and powerful nature. This namesake is fitting, as Hantengu's Blood Demon Art allows him to split his body in half, unleashing Tengu-like clones that embody the same quick and cunning spirit as their mythical counterparts.

- Unfortunately, they never got the chance to interact as the party got raided by a bunch of drunken thugs. However, despite being initially annoyed by Hanito's ego and two-faced nature, Muzan was intrigued by his soon-to-be-UM4's ability to charm and pickpocket people.

- Hanito's journey would take an interesting turn as he developed sadomasochistic tendencies. This transformation began with a chance encounter, where he found himself engaged in a captivating conversation with an alluring older woman... whose name remains a mystery. Deciding to step outside for some alone time, she pretty much... just dined in, left an indelible mark on his sensitive place. The sensation made him wince, but somehow he was enjoying it.

- Giving and receiving pain was more than just a fetish. He found himself really enjoying the suffering of people who wronged him. Heartbreak no longer hurt anymore, he was addicted to agony it brought him. Pain was pleasure.

- At 21, Hanito visited his boyhood town, only to discover his old home gone. In its place stood an Inari Shrine, alongside a garden where 13 graves lay next to cherry blossom trees in silent remembrance. He thought this view was rather satisfying and pleasing.

After Otsuru's heinous crimes came to light, the authorities embarked on a meticulous investigation, meticulously dismantling the house piece by piece to uncover the gruesome secrets within. Their grim task was to retrieve the remains of the 13 unfortunate women who had fallen victim to her brutality, whose bodies had been hidden or buried in various clandestine locations throughout the dwelling.

✅️

✅️

✅️

Urogi 🕊

Years 1623-1632, the town's population and commercial activities would slowly increase throughout the years.

The trio of urchins Hanito used to hang out with years ago were now successful yashi/yamichi (peddlers) ー by the way; their names were Bakuto, Omaru, and Kaito respectively: smooth-talking salesmen who may not be the honest people when it came selling things (Scam Artist Douma-san from the Academy AU should really hire these guys)

You may or may not have remembered the three girls who were obsessed with Hanito from the beginning. Emiko embraced her distinctive hair color - a pale silver with a soft baby blue undertone - rejecting the pressure to conform by dyeing it black. Meanwhile, Sakura harbored subtle affections for Yumi, but ultimately chose duty over desire and married a lord. In contrast, Yumi found true happiness with Omaru, her heart full of joy in their union.

Sakura, curiously: Who is that tall, dark, strong, and handsome brute over there?

Yumi, blushing: You're telling me. He's a snack.

Sakura, in a teasing voice: But, Yumi-chan. What about Omaru?

Yumi, nervous giggles: Oh, yeah... I forgot.

Emiko, looks up from sweeping: Girls? The porch isn't gunna clean itself.

Sakura, without looking away: Just a minute Emiko. We're too busy swooning over this hot new boy.

Emiko, raises a brow: Who?

(She walks over, trying to get a peak)

Emiko, surprised: H-Hanito-sama?

Well, they were both surprised to see each other. Emiko has now grown into the most beautiful woman Hanito has ever see. With her fierce meadow green eyes, flowy white hair, adorable smile, delicate frame, femininity, and great personality; she became the first woman he ever truly loved.

And Emiko; she always had a thing for that boy. Even after realizing he swiftly swiped her hair pin when they were little. She was absolutely smitten upon seeing this man again. He made her heart sing like no other person has.

- The time Hanito spent with Emiko were the best 2 months of his life. They shared an instant connection, discovering a deep affinity for each other's interests and values. Hanito, attuned to the subtleties of human emotions, realized his feelings for Emiko went beyond friendship after just three weeks of togetherness - he had fallen deeply in love.

- They got married on the first day of July, in the same Inari Shrine built where Hanito's childhood home used to be. He was overjoyed by this event, believing he might have a chance to a normal life.

- After bidding farewell to the town, they escaped to a serene foothill of Mt. Hiei, where they built a secluded haven near the charming town of Sakamoto.

"We are in love in love, haven't you heard. How we rock each other's world!"

(- Avril Lavigne)

Well that was fun to write! Considering Hantengu's backstory wasn't as detailed or shown like some of the other characters, and due the fact that he lived a relatively long human life... It made room for plenty of creativity.