#in case ur wondering what the build is:

[inigostears]

bgs 3 is fun have some warm up sketches of my tav. her name is celestella and she loves ac stacking

[donnatroyyyy]

“DC characters are too overpowered! It makes them boring” No. DC characters being too overpowered is what makes them NOT boring. It gives writers and fans space to play with the reasons why the character doesn’t use all of their powers. It gives them a whole setup for development and their morality and can be an arc for itself with every overpowered character if someone ever wanted to do it. It makes them interesting and unique because everyone’s reasons are different but they do have reasons more than just “I physically cannot do that”. Like Spider-Man, marvel fans love that Spider-Man is strong enough to crush Hulk skull, they also love that he doesn’t because he wants to be responsible with his powers and to him, killing is not being responsible. It gives them depth.

And plus when it’s the type of comic/series/movie where them being overpowered doesn’t work out, they just don’t overpower them. Like look at JLU or Dark Apokolips or Death of Superman, all of those are instances in which the characters were severely underpowered to fit the narrative. No one cared. Everyone understands that sometimes being overpowered makes it hard to write a story or take a story to the place it needs to be taken. Sometimes a character’s full strength is the sacrifice and everyone’s fine with that.

[jezebelblues]

so not cool | h.s

summary: in which spiderman is obviously much cooler than dad

cw: dadrry. overuse of the word spider-man. u could play a drinking game by how much its mentioned prolly

word count: approx 1.7k

| the result of being up for 20h, writers block n being bored out of my mind !! idk what this is but…it’s..definitely an addition to the dadrry universe .. for sure (prob will delete 🔥)

not necessary but here’s the first dadrry post if ur into that

masterlist

July 2021

The sound of the credits rolling filled the living room as Harry leaned back against the couch, a sleepy grin tugging at his lips. Atlas, now three years old and still wide-eyed with excitement, sat curled up against his father’s side, his tiny fingers clutching the corner of a fleece one direction blanket that Harry had bought off Etsy, something he found to be absolutely hilarious. They had just finished watching the original Spider-Man movie, the one with Tobey Maguire, and Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at the awe that was practically radiating off his son.

“Dad,” Atlas breathed, his voice filled with wonder as he looked up at Harry with those big, round eyes that mirrored his mother’s. “Pider-man s’cool.”

They were working on his pronunciation of R’s and S’s. Not too much progress yet.

Harry bit back a laugh, ruffling his son’s messy curls as he glanced down at him. “Yeah, he’s pretty cool, isn’t he?”

Atlas nodded vigorously, his little legs kicking against the couch as his excitement bubbled over. “He climbs n’ has webs n’ fights ba’guys!”

Harry grinned, watching the way Atlas’s face lit up as he recounted all of the abilities with the fervor only a toddler could muster. His little hands gestured wildly as if he were mimicking shooting webs out of his wrists.

“Best superhero in’a whole world!” Atlas declared, sitting up straighter as if this revelation were the most important one he’d ever made.

Harry chuckled, reaching over to grab the remote and lower the volume on the TV. “Better than Batman?”

“Super much better.” Atlas exclaimed, his voice incredulous, as if he couldn’t believe Harry would even ask such a thing.

“Better than Iron Man?” Harry tried again, his tone teasing as he listed off another iconic hero.

His boy paused for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration as he thought it over. His little hand lifted to his chin in the same way Harry often did when he was deep in thought, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of it. After a moment, Atlas shook his head decisively. “M’yeah. Way cooler.”

Harry leaned back against the couch, folding his arms as he played along. “So, that’s it? Peter Parker’s just the best?”

“Yeah!” Atlas said excitedly, jumping off the couch and running around the living room, pretending to shoot webs from his wrists. “He’s fast ‘nd he can climb buildings like this!” He hopped up on the couch and began to scale the back of it with his small, wobbly legs, pretending he was on the side of a skyscraper.

Harry leaned forward, his hands hovering near Atlas to catch him in case he lost his balance. “Easy there, spidey,” he chuckled. “No need to break the couch, bub.”

Atlas giggled as he perched himself on the top of the couch, still caught up in his make-believe world. He turned to Harry, his eyes bright with excitement. “Daddy?” He paused, watching his father’s gaze resettle upon him. “y’think spideys stronger than you?”

Harry raised an eyebrow, smirking as he leaned back against the couch again. “Stronger than me, huh? That’s a tough one. I mean, I’ve got some pretty strong muscles too, you know.” He tried to persuade his son, flexing his bicep in front of him.

Atlas tilted his head, considering this for a moment before a mischievous grin spread across his face. “M’no cause he can do this!” He flung his wrist out, making a thwip! noise as he pretended to shoot webs across the room.

Harry’s grin widened as he watched his son in full superhero mode. “Alright, alright, you’ve got me there. I don’t have webs.”

“Duh!” The boy exclaimed again, leaping off the couch and landing with a soft thud on the carpet. He scrambled back up and raced over to Harry, his little hands grabbing at his dad’s arms as he looked up at him with pure adoration. “But y’cool too, dad.”

Harry laughed, his heart swelling at the sight of his son’s wide grin. “Oh, just cool am I? Not the coolest?”

Atlas giggled, shaking his head, jumping in place with his palms against his dad’s knees. “Nope, he–he still more better.”

YN had been listening from the kitchen as she prepared dinner, the scent of garlic and herbs filling the air. She leaned against the counter, smiling to herself as she heard the playful back-and-forth between her husband and their son. Harry always had such a way of connecting with Atlas—whether it was through silly games, bedtime stories, or, in this case, debates over superheroes.

She wiped her hands on a dish towel and wandered into the living room, catching sight of Atlas now climbing into Harry’s lap. “What’s all this about Spider-Man?” she asked, crossing her arms with a mock-stern expression.

The curly haired boy whipped his head around, his face lighting up when he saw his mom. “Mama! We watched’ed pider-man!”

YN raised her eyebrows, glancing at Harry, who shrugged with an amused smile. “I see,” she said, nodding seriously. “And where does daddy rank on the superhero scale?”

Without missing a beat, Atlas giggled and pointed at Harry. “M’he not a superhero—he’s just daddy!”

Harry feigned offense, gasping dramatically as he clutched his chest. “Just dad? C’mon, mate, I’m way cooler than that.”

Atlas giggled even harder, clearly enjoying the game. “Y’climb on buildings?”

Harry chuckled, wrapping his arms around Atlas and pulling him into a gentle bear hug. “Okay, I can’t climb buildings, but I bet Spider-Man can’t make pancakes as good as me.”

The boy paused, clearly torn by this new piece of information. He loved his dad’s pancakes, after all. But after a moment, he shook his head, his resolve firm. “Pider-man don’t eat pancakes.”

YN laughed as she sat down on the couch beside them, placing her hand on Harry’s knee. “He’s got you there, babe. You might have to accept second place.”

He sighed in mock defeat, his dimples deepening as he looked down at his boy, who was grinning from ear to ear. “Alright, fine. he can be the coolest for now. But when you get hungry in the morning, don’t come crying to me for pancakes.”

“He make them for me!” Atlas shot back with a laugh, clearly enjoying teasing his dad.

He laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of Atlas’s curly head. “You think Parker knows how to make chocolate chip pancakes like I do? I doubt it.”

YN watched them with a soft smile, her heart swelling with affection. She loved these moments—the way Harry could be completely goofy and playful with their son, never taking himself too seriously, and the way Atlas adored his dad with a fierceness that made her heart melt. It was a kind of magic, watching the two of them together.

She ran a finger through Harry’s curls, pressing a kiss into the locks as she breathed him in. “I’m plating dinner.” She mumbled as she ambled back into the kitchen.

Harry grunted as he stood up, pulling his son up in his arms along with him. “To the table, web-slinger.” He told Atlas, swinging him in his arms with small little swooshing sounds.

Their boy giggled as Harry swooped him through the air like an airplane, his little arms stretched out as if he were flying. They made their way to the kitchen, where YN was setting plates of steaming food on the table.

"Hungry?” YN teased as Harry plopped Atlas into his booster seat.

He nodded enthusiastically. "I want 'tatoes!"

Harry chuckled, grabbing a spoon to serve Atlas a helping of mashed potatoes. "Here you go, bubba. But no webs at the dinner table, okay?"

He giggled, pretending to shoot webs one more time before focusing on his plate. Harry and YN exchanged a fond smile, and for a moment, the room was filled with nothing but the sounds of dinner-plates clinking, forks scraping, and the occasional happy hum from Atlas as he devoured his meal.

After dinner, they settled into their nighttime routine-baths, pajamas, and a bedtime story.

Atlas, freshly bathed and smelling of lavender, jumped snuggled into his bed. It was navy blue with cartoonish planets littered about, but his favorite thing would have to be his rainbow zebra-print 1D blanket tucked around him. Harry sat on the edge of the bed, the familiar worn copy of Goodnight Moon in his hands.

"Goodnight room, goodnight moon," He read softly, his voice soothing. Atlas's eyelids grew heavy as he clutched his favorite stuffed animal, a plush giraffe.

YN stood in the doorway, watching her two boys with a soft smile. She loved these quiet moments, the way Harry's voice softened as he read to Atlas, the way their son's small body relaxed into sleep. "Goodnight stars, goodnight air, goodnight noises everywhere."

As he closed the book, he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Atlas's forehead. "Goodnight, spidey."

Atlas's lips curled into a sleepy smile, his voice a soft mumble as he drifted off. "G’night, daddy."

With that, Harry quietly stood and tiptoed out of the room, YN slipping her hand into his as they left their little guy to dream of webs and skyscrapers.

The door closed behind them with a soft click before he scooped his wife over his shoulder quietly, trudging toward their bedroom and throwing her onto the bed through her soft protests.

YN laughed as she landed on the bed, playfully swatting at Harry as he crawled over her. "You're ridiculous," she whispered, though her smile said she didn't mind one bit.

Her husband grinned, his eyes twinkling in the dim light of their bedroom. "Well, if I'm not the coolest in the house, l've got to show off my other skills, don't I?"

She rolled her eyes, pulling him down for a kiss. "You're still my favorite," she murmured against his lips.

He smiled into the kiss, his hands resting on her hips as he whispered back, "Good, because I'm not giving up that spot anytime soon."

The house grew quiet, the hum of the evening settling in around them as they lay together.

Outside, the stars were beginning to twinkle in the night sky, and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze was the only sound breaking the silence. Harry reached over to switch off the bedside lamp, wrapping his arms around YN as they snuggled into each other.

It was in those days that Harry realized—he didn't need to be the coolest superhero. Being Atlas's dad, YN's husband, and the maker of the best chocolate chip pancakes in the world was more than enough. It was everything.

[dellalyra]

OMG I WAS JUST HAVING BRAINROT ABOUT GOJO AND Y/N IN THEIR TEEN YEARS AND

imagine that back then they had to participate in a talent show or something and megumi and the rest watch the old video tape they found in the darkest corner of the library on campus.

the tape was in a box with a label reading "the best jujutsu tech students' and its just filled with memories of their teen years.

they decide to watch the talent show one and its just chaotic as hell. mid way through megumi, nobara and yuuji get caught watching it lmao

𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨, 𝙘𝙖𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙖, 𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣! 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴

A/N: this request. came in last night - and it’s all I’ve done today because it was so perfect it’s all I could think about. ur amazing ily

CW: swearing, weed, suggestive stuff, mdni i stg shoo

“Itadori! Bring these to the garbage!” Nobara shouts.

“Why me?! Why can’t you do it?!” He retorts as Megumi just rolls his eyes at the two of them, he wonders how they turned into siblings so easily.

“Fushiguro! Tell your boyfriend to take this to the garbage. It’s heavy and he should use his freaky wall-breaking strength for something useful!” She shouts back.

“Eh?! Is exorcising cursed and carrying you like a sack of flour not useful?! Or always carrying all your dumb shopping?!” They’ve broken into an all out sibling squabble by now, Megumi just turns away and continues the task of clearing out the storeroom behind the dojo in the school. Pushing boxes of old files and reports out of the way, he finds a box covered in doodles and stickers, taped shut at the top. He goes to inspect the very out of place container and finds words among the doodles of weirdly shaped beings and flowers.

‘The Best Jujutsu Tech Students.’

“Will you two shut up for two minutes, come look at this.” He says over his shoulder to the two, with Nobara releasing Yuuji from the headlock she somehow got him in.

“Ancient treasure! I told you we’d find something cool.” Yuuji shouts, pumping his fist into the air.

“What is this, Pirates of the Caribbean?! We’re clearing out a high school storage room, dumbass.” The girls rolls her eyes.

They inspect the box, trying to figure out the doodles.

“It doesn’t look super old? Open it, Itadori.” Nobara says.

“Will you quit telling me what to do?!” He says, huffing.

While they resumed the bickering, Megumi took a knife he had hidden in the shadows and sliced through the lines of tape holding the box together. The sound alerted the other two who peered into the box alongside him.

“Wait, are they… DVD’s?” Megumi asks.

“Yeah - but they’re homemade ones. Is there a label on them?” His boyfriend says, leaning in to get a closer looks.

The box itself was filled with small DVD cases of many colours - all labelled in a scrawling handwriting the kids felt like they knew.

“There’s a DVD player in the room where I hung out when I was dead.” Yuuji says, and hauls the box up and begins to walk. None of them even needed to discuss whether or not they’d be watching them, like a hive mind - but with maybe two shared brain cells.

They all made their way across campus, to a room in the same building as their Sensei’s office.

Nobara insisted on grabbing snacks from the vending machine en route, and they sat down on the sofa while Yuuji loaded the first date labelled ‘2003, December.” Well, that’s what they think it’s said. The handwriting was such a chicken scratch it almost looked like a doctor’s unintelligible writing.

The screen came to life - sounds buzzing and voices echoing (albeit muffled) as the screen panned from looking at the floor - to the sky, the the floor again. Then - a face came on screen.

A very familiar one - but… a hell of a lot younger.

“Wait… is that -?” Nobara asks.

“Shoko-sensei?!” Yuuji exclaims.

“That’s kinda how she looked when I was a kid. She’s in her uniform, so this must be when she was in school.” Megumi adds.

The camera pulls away from the close up on her face as another figure enters the shot - a man with odd bangs, silky black hair tied up into a bun and piercing dark eyes. He had a lazy smile in his face as he looked into the camera, poking a finger into Shoko’s cheek.

“What the fuck, Suguru?!” She says as she flicks his hand away.

“That’s - that’s Geto Suguru.” Megumi says. Geto had always been a bittersweet topic in their house, only getting worse in the last year and a half since… since he died.

The next action causes a gasp to echo across the room. A smiling face pops up between both figures.

Dark, circular sunglasses perched on a slim, pale nose and a wide, toothy, cheeky smile sat under a mop of shocking white, messy hair.

“Holy shit! That’s -” Yuuji starts.

“Dad.” Megumi whispers, seeing Satoru so young, probably around his age was amazing to him.

“Wow! It’s working! Is it on? Is it filming?” 16 year old Gojo says, voice eerily familiar, but much younger.

The three faces were all staring into the lens of the camera, only visible from the shoulders up. On screen, Shoko looked down and moved her arm and another head popped up from the bottom of the screen, trying to squeeze in.

The head of H/C hair and shiny eyes wiggled their way into the shot between Suguru and Shoko, and under Satoru.

“Did you say it’s on? It on recording right now?” The new figure pokes the camera.

“No fucking way… Fushiguro! That’s -” Nobara says, swirling to look at the taller boy.

“My mom.” He says, eyes fixed on screen. Your face was younger, hair the same as ever, eyes still full of excitement and curiosity and voice slightly higher than it is now. A hand pats the top of your head, a pale one - Satoru.

“Do a dance for the camera, Y/N.” Satoru says, smiling.

And you do a little wiggle in your spot squeezed between everyone as the other three burst out laughing.

The camera cuts off, and the screen changes to a view of the outside - all of them immediately recognising the training field.

In view is Geto and Gojo, sparring at such a ridiculously quick speed it’s barely visible. He could hear giggling behind the screen and recognised the voices of you and Shoko laughing about something that happened in class.

“They’re such show offs.” Your voice says.

“Geto genuinely wants to train, Gojo is just trying to impress you.” Shoko says, voice muffled by something - which he later sees as a lollipop, figuring it out when it gets launched across the field - presumably in retaliation for her comment by you.

“No way, Koko! That’s just dumb, he’s just a show off in general.” Your voice echoes.

“Whatever you say, Y/N.”

The camera cuts off again. The next thing they see is the night sky, and raucous laughter. The camera is being held by Shoko again, and she points it to a view of a rooftop - the flat part of the roof of the dorm building. The camera turns to one Suguru Geto, eyes hazy and smile even more languid than normal. In his hand was a smoking object - which he passed to Shoko.

They were both laughing together about Shoko saying she could see a constellation shaped like a penis, and the hysterical giggles and she rested her head on the boys shoulder told them that the joint in Shoko’s hand was very much affecting them.

There were clambering sounds.

“I can’t reach!” Came your voice, distant and off screen.

“C’mere shortstack, I’ll give you a boost.” The teasing lilt of Gojo’s voice came after.

“Thanks, Jack the Beanstalk.” Your retort sent the two original stars into another round of laughter before you and Gojo enter the frame, both holding a plastic bag of snacks.

Shoko gives you the joint as you sit, and you take a quick puff and pass it back to Suguru. Satoru declines it, saying it makes his eyes feel funny to which you all nod and say ‘makes sense��.

“Did you get me spicy chips?” Suguru asks, combing through the bags.

“Yes. But - you had to tell me you love me to get them.” Satoru says, smirking.

“Gojo Satoru - you are the light of my life, the centre of my world, the reason my heart beats, please, May I have my child you absolute fuckwad.” He says, as Satoru throws his head back laughing and throws a red bag of chips at him before tackling him to the ground demanding a kiss.

You laugh at the scene, turning to Shoko.

“See - that’s how Geto has at least one date every weekend.” You say, opening your chocolate.

“Man-whore.” She responds, sucking on a lollipop.

The screen flashes black. The same view is on the screen, but the atmosphere is much calmer. Suguru lay, head on Shoko’s lap and her deft fingers carding through his hair as he listens to whatever nonsense Gojo is spouting. The camera turns to a view that has Nobara and Yuuji cooing. Satoru is sitting, arm around your back to keep you upright with your head on his shoulder, eyes closed and clearly sleeping.

Suguru’s voice whispers into the camera.

“And these two say they’re not into each other.” Followed by a scoff from Shoko.

Next up is a view of the training field again, with a sight that made the three current first years laugh. Suguru was laying on the grass, and he was bench pressing you - his makeshift weight - as you lay relaxed horizontally reading a book, the casual nature made it clear this was a daily occurrence.

Once his reps are finished, he gently lets you down and you don’t even react, just laying on the grass continuing your book. He stands up and waves to Shoko, who he’s just noticed with her camera and proceeds to take off his shirt and let down his hair.

“Put your damn shirt back on!” Shoko shouts.

“God damn, maybe I should be a curse user.” Nobara utters, whistling and fanning herself.

The camera is next held up by Satoru - who smiles and puts a finger to his lips to symbolise silence, for some reason, like the camera would be unexpectedly loud. He turns the camera and in the backseat of a car is Shoko and you, both asleep and earphones split between you with a bright pink iPod on Shoko’s lap. Her head was resting in the crook of your neck, and you cheek rested on top of your head.

“They really have always been best friends, haven’t they?” Yuuji says. Megumi is reminded of last week, when Nobara and Yuuji fell asleep in the back of Ijichi’s car, in the exact same position.

The camera operator is back to Shoko now, who is filming the most beautiful scenery. Sakura petals are drifting through the air as throngs of people wander around what appears to be a festival. There’s food stalls and trinket stands and everyone around is in their finery.

“Suguru! Show the camera your best pose.” Shoko says, as Suguru appears on screen decked out in a black and grey kimono with his hair in a half up, half down style.

He throws a peace sign at the camera and then takes it so he can film Shoko who’s in a pretty red Yukata pattered with black and white koi. She smiles and then waves as she looks off camera.

“You’re late, Satoru. Where’s Y/N?” She says as Gojo comes on screen.

He’s wearing a dark blue and silver hakama which looks like it cost the same as a house, Suguru wolf whistles and Satoru pretends to fawn over him.

“She was having lunch with her mom, she’s probably going to be here - holy shit.” Satoru says, but cuts himself off halfway as his jaw drops open.

The camera pans messily as Suguru turns to where Satoru is looking.

You’re walking toward them, smile on your face and usually messy hair styled in a beautiful updo, make up making your skin glow in the afternoon sun. You were wearing a light pink, billowy, gauzy hanfu with tiny pale green flowers and leaves around the edges. You did truly look incredibly stunning. You had a little bag in your hand, and the camera flew back to look at Satoru who was gaping at your approaching figure. His usually pale skin flushed with a pink dusting.

His mouth moves, and it seems unconscious when he whispers to himself.

“Beautiful…”

You walk into the frame, smiling brightly and hugging Shoko and then freezing when you see Satoru, eyes widening at the strikingly handsome figure he makes, every inch a fairytale Prince. The pink on your cheek matches your outfit as you stammer out a breathy,

“Hi, Satoru.”

“Hey, Y/N.” He says, mouthing opening and closing as you look at him through fluttering lashes.

There’s a jolt as it seems Suguru holding the camera elbows his best friend and whispers in his ear, just audible to the camera.

“Bro, tell her she looks beautiful, damn it.”

“You… you look um - beautiful, Y/N.” He stammers out, and the three first years watching laugh at how their oh-so-smooth sensei was once such a mess he needed prompting to flirt from his friends.

You flush even deeper.

“Thank you, Satoru. You look really good too. The um… the blue really suits you. The restaurant I had lunch with my mom had Sakura mochi, so I - I got you some.” You say as you shove a small nicely wrapped box at him and Satoru seems to melt. Shoko appears on screen, making a circle with one hand and poking a finger through it repeatedly in a very lewd gesture that has Suguru cackling.

“Wait - they’re not even together yet. They didn’t get together until the end of their second year.” Megumi muses, smirking.

“So they’ve always been this whipped for each other.” Nobara laughs.

The DVD ends there, and Yuuji jumps up to put in the next one, labelled ‘second year’.

The video begins with you sprinting toward Shoko and her catching you in her arms.

“I missed you so much! A whole summer without you, it was torture. How was the medical camp?” You ask her, barely taking a breath between words.

“Did you not miss me, lil’ lady?” Came a smooth voice as one Geto Suguru wraps his arms around you too, and you squeal in excitement. The three standing are then abruptly tackled to the ground as a blur of white and black whizzes toward them.

“Satoru!” Came three scolding voices.

“How the fuck did you do that, you lanky - oh.” Shoko is stopped abruptly as they all stand up and the change in Satoru is clearly visible. Long gone is the beanstalk boy of their first year, all arms and legs at 16 and now at almost 18 - a broad shouldered, 6ft 3, sharper jawline and longer hair Gojo stands before them. You look like you might faint.

The video stops and then resumes looking at a very familiar blackboard, and a much younger Yaga beside it.

In front of the blackboard there’s two students in Jujutsu High uniforms - both in party hats and standing under a banners with ‘Welcome First Years!’ written in big bubble writing on it, the sounds of streamers and party poppers came through the room as the camera was set down on a desk.

Gojo comes on screen and waves his arms as if to show off the two students. One looked incredibly happy, a beaming smile full of excitement and the other looking absolutely miserable, but given how painfully 2005 emo he looked - it wasn’t surprising. Megumi smirked, seeing the blond boy on screen and knowing exactly who it was from photo albums you kept - but he waited to see when the other two would notice.

“Welcome to Yu Haibara! Please - introduce yourself!” Gojo says, pointing a bottle of cola at him like a microphone.

“Hi! I’m Yu! I’m 16 and I like rice and people!” He says, voice full of enthusiasm.

“Thank you! Next up, Gerard Way!” Satoru smiles and point the mock microphone to the other boy.

“Do I have to? This feels unnecessary.” He says, grimacing.

“Yes! You do!”

“Fine. My name is Nanami Kento -”

Megumi didn’t hear the rest of the sentence as a chorus of ‘What the fuck!?’ Echoes from the two beside him.

“Nobara, rewind that - I think I heard it wrong, I thought the emo kid said his name was Nanami, hah!” Yuuji exclaims.

“No need. You heard right.” Megumi smirks.

“No fucking way! That’s Nanamin?!” Yuuji is smiling so wide at the sight of his mentor as a moody teen.

“Yup. I remember his hair like that, he had a lip ring and a nose ring too. Geto Suguru pierced his nose with Shoko’s med kit for him when they drank too much whiskey at my mom’s 18th. There’s a picture of them doing it framed in their room at home.” Megumi scoffs a laugh, the other two in shock at the revelation.

The camera stops again and next time is looking from an upstairs window as voices whisper.

“What is she doing?” Shoko asks.

“It looks like she’s talking?” Geto asks.

“There’s a tiny spike in her cursed energy - wait, I’ll try see if there’s someone around.” He says and the clink of his sunglasses hitting the windowsill breaks the quiet.

On screen, there’s you in a pair of fluffy blue pyjamas and a winter knitted hat as you seem to be kneeling and ushering something small out of a bush. Satoru seems to have gotten distracted and the camera pans to him - who’s just staring out the window with the most dopey, lovestruck smile on his face.

“Satoru.” Suguru says, flicking his ear.

He snarls, but blushes.

“I - I can’t tell but, it kinda seems like? She is trying to talk to something.” He says, as they all crane their necks as you pull something into your arms and stand up, taking off your hat and tucking whatever you found into it and scurrying back inside.

An obnoxious ringtone of crazy frog blasts through the room and Satoru flips open his phone and answers it.

Since it’s you, he puts it on speaker.

“Hey, Satoru - are you still at the store? I - kinda need something, urgently.” Your voice asks.

“Eh - yeah, I’m at the store. What do you need?” He says, trying to hush the two sniggering traitors beside him who are fully aware that he came back from the store an hour ago and is sitting in Suguru’s dorm with them.

“I - um, I need kitten milk.” Your voice says, just as the camera cuts off.

The next few videos are just videos on videos on you and a tiny, tiny kitten, feeding it from a small bottle and it sleeping on your chest, or Satoru playing with it and a ball of wool in hysterical laughter. One video is taken by Shoko with Suguru in the frame playing with the kitten who is trying to catch his bangs and on the sofa, is you sitting on Satoru’s lap, as he looks at you adoringly and you giggle and place a kiss on his lips. Given that it’s about 3/4 of the way through your second year, it means you’re freshly together after torturing your friends with mutual pining.

Megumi looks closer at the kitten, and the tabby is very recognisable to him - given that to this day, the hairs of that kitten, now 13 years old and still thriving due to your unwavering spoiling, still decorate any black fabric in your home.

“Is that baby grumpy George?!” Nobara asks, hitting the nail on the head.

The video fades again, and then the screen is illuminated by a makeshift stage in the school sports hall. Another large banner is on the wall, with ‘Talent Show’ written in large writing, Megumi now noticed the big bubble writing was the same as had been on every ‘happy birthday’ banner he’d had every year.

The announcer, he recognises as a smiling principal Yaga - even though this is surely not a school organised or endorsed event, but probably the work of the couple he now calls his parents.

“Welcome to Jujutsu Talent Show! The rules of tonight are as follows a) no cursed techniques or cursed energy and absolutely no sabotaging! Panda! Do you want to say who’s going first?” Yaga announced as he lifts up a baby panda and the voice of the baby says “Nanami and Yu!”.

Yu skips on stage, decked out in a cape patterned with stars and a large top hat, followed by a very sullen Nanami Kento, adorned with a nose and lip ring now.

“Ladies, gentlemen, cursed corpses! My name is Yu the Magic Man and this is my assistant, the Fantastical Nanamin! Does anyone here like rabbits?” He announced, and takes off his hat, revealing a stuffed rabbit on his head - commencing the world’s worst magic show. The highlight was definitely Yu asking Nanami to pull the scarf from his sleeve and after pulling and pulling and pulling, a very frustrated Kento growls ‘Fucking hell, Yu - how long is this thing?’ Completely breaking what little mysticism surrounded the performance. Geto didn’t help, when he muttered ‘that’s what she said’ after Nanami’s complaint, setting the second years off.

After a bow to his rapt audience, and lots of cheering and supportive clapping from you all - the first years leave and Yaga announces the next performance.

A loud bang echoes through the room,

“Holy shit!” Your voice, the 28 year old you, carries through the room as three heads spin around to see their sensei’s back, arms supporting the thighs around his waist, belonging to his wife who’s lipstick is smudged across her cheek and her husband’s face. The white haired man’s white shirt was partially unbuttoned and your sweater had fallen completely off you shoulder - combined with the position you entered the room and the ruined cosmetics it was quite clear why the teachers had stumbled into this forgotten room of jujutsu tech.

“Get a fucking room.” Megumi grumbles.

“We were! But you’re here! And just for that I’m gonna tell you that the sofa you’re sitting on was where Akio was conceived.” Gojo retorts, trying to fix himself as all the kids groan.

“Both of you, hush. ‘Toru - look at the screen.” You were transfixed on the paused screen.

“Wait! Is that - that’s our talent show! From second year! Where did you guys find this?” Satoru says, leaping over the back of the sofa and plopping down but not before turning around and picking you up by the waist and sitting you in his lap.

“I thought all the DVD’s were lost! Koko couldn’t find them after we graduated!” You say, as you keep staring at the screen.

“We were clearing out the storage room, like Ijichi asked and we found a funky box with DVD’s in it.” Yuuji says.

“Oh my god! Press play!” You say, clapping.

“Look at angry Nanamin!” Gojo says, smiling.

“Next up is Y/N and Shoko!” Screen Yaga announces.

You and Shoko are dressed in the most colourful outfits ever, you’re beaming and Shoko looks exhausted. Large headbands, crimped hair, tutu skirts, leggings, neon leg warmers and beads were the costume of choice as Geto stood on one side of the stage.

“Welcome to - Y/N and Shoko’s dance bonanza!” You both say, and Geto presses play so that Girl’s Just Wanna Have Fun plays to match the 80s Cyndi Lauper style outfits. Having danced ballet as a little girl, and being a big fan of Just Dance and Dance Dance Revolution - you decided that you and Shoko would do this for the show, exhausted and unenthusiastic - but endlessly loyal to her best friend and determined to not let Gojo win the show. You guys danced a perfectly in sync routine with 28 year old you shouting ‘Oh my god, I still remember the routine!’ Halfway through. Yuuji was hopping along on the sofa beside Megumi.

Before Shoko could collapse into a heap as the song finished, she was thrown over Suguru’s shoulder and hauled off stage with Gojo doing the same for you.

After a brief intermission, Geto and Gojo were welcomed on stage in matching black tuxedo’s, off camera your voice could be heard saying ‘ugh, I’m gonna climb that man like a tree later, suits are the best.’

“Ladies, gents - tonight welcome to The GS squared stand up comedy show, enjoy your night and Geto’s number is available after the show.” Gojo drawls into the mic.

Megumi didn’t expect the routine to be as funny as it was, everyone especially enjoyed the part where they did impressions of different Jujutsu Elders, including Naobito Zen’in and Principal Gakuganji - which were unnervingly accurate but highly offensive to them, especially when Gojo got on his knees to imitate how short the elder Kyoto principal was and Geto kept playing Looney Tunes on the projector to show Naobito’s ‘cursed technique’.

When the audience were thoroughly hysterically laughing, with the audience being Yaga, MeiMei, Panda, Y/N, Shoko, Yu, Kento and Utahime who was visiting Shoko for the weekend, the boys bowed, winked and walked off stage and the camera caught Gojo bending down to whisper something in his ear which had you looking at the sky and blushing - still getting used to openly loving each other.

The voting wasn’t recorded, but the winners announcement was and it was shown to be Yu and Nanami - who everyone, except for themselves had voted for.

“Oh my god, these are priceless! I can’t believe I got even funnier with age, and look at your cute little outfit, princess!” Satoru coos.

“There’s a whole box of them, we’ve only watched 2!” Yuuji says, bouncing and handing the box to you and Satoru.

“No way, it’s the whole box! I remember decorating it with Koko! Hold on, I’m gonna ring her to come here.” You say as you take out your phone, smiling at the lockscreen of Satoru, Megumi and your 6 month old son and pulling up Shoko’s contact to ring her to ‘get her ass down here for a surprise’.

“Oh, ‘toru! I bet our DVD of our trip together to Fiji in the summer of third year, Shoko lent us her came for it!” You say, wrapping your arms around him and settling in while Yuuji loads the next DVD.

“Classes are cancelled, I’ve decided it’s home movie day - do we have any popcorn?” Satoru says, smiling at how fondly Megumi is looking at the screen, a still pause screen of himself and you smiling in the training yard together - still looking as lovingly at each other 13 years later. Yuuji has his arm wrapped and Megumi’s shoulders and is leaning into him, as the dark haired boy rubs circles on his boyfriend’s knee - Nobara has her legs stretched across the laps of both boys as the newest video begins.

The door swings open, Shoko entering -

“No fucking way! You found them! Kids, move up - let Aunty Koko sit.” She says, plopping herself between the arm and her two best friends, her nephew and their bonus kids.

She’s glad she bought that camera.

[luveline]

Hi there! I hope your day’s been going well :)

Could you maybe write something with Spencer where Reader faints? Feel free to ignore this if you’re not up for it!!

thank u for ur request! fem!reader, 1.6k

"It's so hot," you say, startled. The lobby of the hotel had been blissfully air-conditioned. The difference hits you immediately. 

"Don't worry about blazers or professional attire," Hotch says, though he quickly amends, "within reason."

You take off your jacket and follow the herd of the BAU into the black SUVs. The SUVs are even hotter than the outdoors, blistering ovens of heat that have you feeling nauseous instantaneously. Spencer rubs your arm with the back of his hand swiftly —it's a friendly touch to say he's here, but it's quick to prevent any unnecessary added heat. 

It's August in Texas, 107 degrees Fahrenheit. Emily smells distinctly of sunscreen from the front passenger seat. Derek, behind the wheel, looks hot around the collar. Spencer looks as though he wishes he'd had a haircut before he came, chin length curls tucked tight behind his ears. 

Despite this, none of them complain beyond the general whine every now and then. You try very hard to shut up and focus on the case with them, but as the day goes on, bumping you from hot car to hot crime scene (with all inclusive smells of gore!), you feel wobbly on your feet. 

"Spence?" you ask, sitting in a hard-backed chair in the police precinct. 

"Yeah?" He doesn't look away from the geographical profile he's building. You're supposed to be helping, but your notes are half-hearted, likely useless. "What?" 

"Do you have any water?" 

He pushes a pin into the left of the map and grabs a ruler. "No, sorry. There's a staff room by the bullpen, the secretary said to help ourselves. Actually, she said to 'go ham.'"

"Okay. I'll be right back. And I'll be more helpful." 

"You're plenty helpful," he murmurs, leaning down to follow the line of his rules with a pencil. 

You don't feel helpful, you feel awful. Head heavy, eyes aching, every step sends a jolt through your teeth and jaw, your skull like a mashed potato. You know you're a poor sight with sweat wetting your hair and a crawling sensation between your legs and the fabric of your pants. 

Letting yourself into the staff room, you're unsurprised to find a bone dry water cooler and a crate of water bottles with only one remaining. Spencer needs a drink too, and he has a thing about germs. You frown at the water bottle as though that might duplicate it, but when it doesn't, you're forced to take it and put it under your arm. You look around for a mug to at least have some tap water no matter how ill-advised that may be. They're all dirtied in the sink and on tables. Fuck. 

Spencer is super, super lovely to you. You wonder sometimes if he might ask you out, or at least want to, but most of the time you're sure it's just a little extra friendliness because he knows how it feels to be the youngest on the team, how patronised or lonely it gets. And the weight of trying to prove yourself every mission, it's almost as heavy as your head. 

"Hey," Spencer says as you open the conference room door. "I think I've worked something out. Could you call Garcia for me? I've got dry-erase marker on my hands." 

"Got this for you," you say, offering him the bottle. He takes it without looking. 

"Thanks. Are you feeling any better? I know you can be sensitive to the heat." 

"Maybe we can get portable fans on the FBI budget next year," you say wistfully, pushing a chair in at the table. You lean on it to grab the phone in the middle of a sea of papers and cases and jackets, black spots popping up in your vision. "My head's rushing." 

"Hey, guys," Emily says, sounding strangely chipper as she and Hotch trudge in. Her hair is in a tight ponytail away from her face. 

You try to greet them and end up hanging your head. 

"Y/N," Spencer chokes, alarmed.

You slump forward over the chair, desperate to keep your footing and failing. Your shin knocks into the chair and your hands grasp at the top of it, but you can't hold yourself up any longer, knocking your face into the chair as you collapse. A cheap tent in a strong breeze, you fall with little more than a weak sigh. 

You're hurting a lot when you come to, blinking like your lashes have been brushed with glue. The lights have been turned off, and a blissful chill soaks your hairline. Someone presses a water bottle to your lips and lifts your head. You drink half the contents in three gulps and get laid down again with the utmost care. 

"She's coming around," Hotch says. 

Your neck aches propped over a leg. Two deft hands hold your head still. 

"Don't move too much," Spencer says, his voice odd. You blink as his face moves into view upside down. "An EMT is on the way, okay? You passed out." 

You can't find your voice. Spencer strokes your cheek with his thumb, says, "Hey, can you hear me? Let's hear your voice. Talk to me." 

"You don't sound like yourself," you say hoarsely, each word tenuous. You wince at the bruising heat that radiates from your nose with each word. 

"I'm worried about you," Spencer admits. "It makes it hard to stay objective." 

"No, you sound funny." 

"I'm worried," he repeats. His smile is strained. 

"She's okay," Hotch says. 

You realise Emily's got your hand in hers when she squeezes it. "Have you had anything to drink today?" she asks you, fondly incredulous. 

"No, she hasn't, and I didn't say anything about it. I'm an idiot. I'm so sorry, Y/N," Spencer says. 

"Y/N's responsible for her own preservation, Reid. And it's been a tough case, with the heat. Let's not blame anyone for anything." You press your chin to your chest to see Hotch's anxious frown. "We will be having a discussion about this later." 

You turn your face into Spencer's thigh. "Oh." 

"Don't close your eyes," Hotch says. He employs a firm, boss-like tone that has you rushing to follow orders. "You hit your head." 

"I don't feel well," you complain, wanting to close your eyes.

"Considering your behaviour," Spencer says, one of his hands trailing down your face, neck, and collar, where he rests it genially, "you likely have a mild to moderate concussion. And you're dehydrated, so you'll be feeling the effects more severely."

"Why haven't you been drinking?" Emily asks. 

"I just…" You blink sluggishly. "I don't know… We don't take anything that isn't coffee with us places and…" You lean your cheek into Spencer's hand, not quite connecting that it's his hand, or that you're laying on the precinct floor. "They only had one bottle in the staff room." 

"Why didn't you drink it?" Spencer asks softly. 

"I knew you hadn't had anything to drink, either." 

"We could've shared," he says, sounding genuinely confused. 

"You don't like sharing stuff like that. Germs." 

Spencer's voice is barely above a whisper, "I wouldn't care about your germs, Y/N. They're your germs." 

You don't have time to ask him what he means, but you've ample time to think about it on loop when the EMT arrives. He props you up, checking you over thoroughly, shining a light in your eyes and deeming you concussed.

"You don't have to see a doctor," the EMT advises. "But we're happy to take you to the hospital if that's what you want." 

"Yes," Spencer says, as you say, "No." 

Spencer puts a hand on your shoulder blade. It is an extremely forward move on his part, so unlike him that you recognise how odd it is despite your foggy mind. "She should go." 

"She fainted, Spencer," Emily says. 

"Exactly! So she should go to the hospital and–"

"I didn't break anything," you say, waving a shaky hand at the small but concerned crowd of people you've attracted. 

"Luckily," the EMT says. "Drink plenty of water and take it easy. Don't be afraid to call again if you feel worse." 

Hotch walks the EMT out, needing to take a phone call. Emily goes with him, promising to return with a dry shirt for you to wear now that yours has been soaked at the collar by the water they'd been cooling you down with while you were unconscious. 

Spencer settles practically knee to knee with you in two of the uncomfortable chairs, his assessing gaze frankly perturbing. 

"You'd share germs with me?" you ask. 

Spencer's hand leaps across the gap to yours where it rests on your knee. His eyes, brown and sweet, have all the light of a blinding smile as his lips quirk into something more sheepish. "If it stopped you from fainting, yeah. And even if it didn't, I'd be stupid to care about germs when I…" 

You breathe out slowly. "When you what?" 

"Well," he says, looking down at your hands. "I guess I just wouldn't mind your germs, that's all." 

If he's saying what you think he's saying, he's doing it in the most Spencer Reid way possible. Concussed, your charisma fails you. You've no wit to tease him with. 

You fold your hand around his. "Thanks for catching me," you say gently. 

He squeezes your fingers clumsily. "You're welcome. But it was actually mostly Emily." 

[loveushijima]

ushijima bf hcs!!! like how would he be as a bf?

thank youuu!! <33

ushijima wakatoshi as your boyfriend!

fluffffffffffff, clueless ushiwaka | female reader

a/n: hi pookie bear im so sorry but i have no idea how to write headcanons so i hope this is acceptable n i did ur request justice <3 😭 also not proofread!

Let’s start from the beginning:

Ushijima would not understand that his feelings for you are more than just platonic.

In the beginning, Ushijima would see you as a great friend to have.

But overtime, he would start to feel weird. The slightest touch you give him would send electricity all over his body, he’d memorise your daily schedule and subconsciously alter his path so he’d be able to bump into you more, and he’d take notice of the way you smiled or the way you put your hand up to cover your lips whenever you laughed.

He thought your smile and laugh were beautiful and contagious, why would you ever feel the need to do that?

Ushijima wouldn’t think much about it, he’d brush it off as him treating you nicer because you’re one of his only girl friends.

Tendou, however, isn’t that dense.

Tendou took notice of the way whenever something reminded Ushijima of you, he’d immediately ask out loud, “I wonder if she’d like this…” or, “If she was here right now, she would probably enjoy this very much.”

He sighs, his friend is not very adapt to his own feelings.

Tendou has a loooooong conversation with Ushijima before Ushijima finally realises that his feelings for you aren’t purely platonic.

“Wakatoshi-kun, do you get butterflies in your stomach whenever I lay a hand on you?”

“No.”

“Do you ever think my smile is beautiful and contagious?”

“…not really.”

“Ouch. But there you go, Waka-kun!”

“Ah.”

Ushijima isn’t the type to beat around the bush and get shy and blushy once he comes to terms with his feelings. Actually, he would be the type to not confess to you at all in case the confession completely ruins the friendship. But with Tendou’s relentless peer pressure, Ushijima eventually gives in and asks if you’d be available to meet around the dormitory buildings one evening after all classes at Shiratorizawa Academy has ended.

There, he confesses.

“I have feelings for you.” He confesses… rather bluntly.

“Oh?”

“Yes. I would rather we just pretend this did not happen and go back to being how we normally were before this confession.”

“What???? But you didn’t even let me answer!”

“Oh. My apologies, go on.”

“If you would’ve let me talk, I would’ve accepted your confession! Idiot.”

Ushijima blinks in surprise and lets a small smile spread across his features.

“Thank you for accepting my confession.”

Now, Ushijima Wakatoshi as a boyfriend:

You would 100% be his first girlfriend, so please be patient! Whatever he says or does that gets on your nerves, he promises he means no harm — he’s just super oblivious.

Canonically, Wakatoshi is very well-mannered and polite. The epitome of a gentleman.

However, sometimes social cues fail him and his low emotional intelligence can be the death of him. Sometimes he can appear too blunt or aloof.

“Gosh, how did I fail this test?”

“I think you did not study hard enough. Try harder next time.”

“😡.”

He genuinely thinks he’s giving you constructive criticism and helping you out but in actuality, all you wanted was a listening ear.

There are certain things you have to be upfront with Wakatoshi about, such as certain wants. Wakatoshi is an upfront person himself, so as your boyfriend he’d be more than grateful if you just communicated your feelings to him straight up with no filter.

Setting all that aside, he tries so hard for you.

“So when I say, ‘Oh noooo, I failed a test!’ What are you supposed to say, Toshi?”

“I can’t believe you failed. That damned professor did you so wrong. The school system sucks.”

“Yes!!!!!!!!!” And you kiss him all over his face after his new and improved response. He smiles and leans in even more.

Wakatoshi’s love languages would also definitely be Acts of Service and Gift Giving.

He isn’t a man of many words, so he tries to make up for the lack of poetry by showing you his love, through his gestures. It could range from the bare minimum such as holding the door open for you, pushing your head gently onto his shoulder if you were nodding off to sleep, or whenever you’re both walking on a path beside an open road with traffic, he makes sure you stand safely inside and he stands on the side nearer to the road.

Or, it could be things more evident to show you he loves you. Such as making you bento boxes from scratch (all the ingredients fresh from his farm, of course), letting you wear his jacket if you get cold and blushing because of how cute you looked in it, or sometimes just being present with you. During the weekends, if he doesn’t have volleyball training and you have some errands to run, he offers to follow you and help run some of the errands on your list to make your life easier — it warms your heart but you always decline and tell him, “You don’t have to! I can do all this myself, Toshi. How about you just keep me company for the day while I run these errands? I would love to hear more about that match you played last Friday against that one school!”

He loves you so much.

As I mentioned before, Wakatoshi is not a man of many words. So, he would definitely enjoy the idea of gift giving very much. It doesn’t matter what you’re talking about, it could be the manga you and Tendou were currently reading together or how many different types of rice you could name, Wakatoshi listens to every single thing you talk about.

And he remembers.

Wakatoshi walks up to you one Monday morning, a bag in his hand and his normal aloof expression on his face. He hands you the bag and you look up at him confused. You open up the bag and gasp loudly, beaming ear to ear as you pick up the box from inside the bag. It was a figurine of the main character in that manga you and Tendou were reading. You jump into Wakatoshi’s arms as his aloof expression turns into one of fondness. He could stay in that position forever if God wills.

Remember the bento boxes Wakatoshi would make for you? He’d 100% remember your favourite type of rice and use that specific grain type for your bento boxes.

Wakatoshi remembered all the small, funny and mundane things about you, but sometimes that’s all you need. Everyone always remembers the exciting and thrilling things, like that one time you shop-lifted or that one time you got into a disciplinary case. Wakatoshi felt like a breath of fresh air from all the chaos. It felt nice to have someone remember your favourite flowers, or your favourite type of rice.

It’s a type of love that’s so innocent and pure, and sometimes that’s the best kind of love.

Wakatoshi would also definitely share more about himself with you than he has with anyone ever. He would tell you about his father leaving, his left-handedness being his mother’s biggest shame in life, and if he ever feels overworked or burnt out at times with volleyball. Wakatoshi was never one to moan and groan about his problems, but he just felt so safe with you, as if he could tell you anything and you’d still be there with him every step of the way. He felt so, so safe with you.

He’d want you to tell him about your problems too if you are ever facing any troubles. He wouldn’t force it out of you but of course he hopes that one day you’d be comfortable enough to share more about yourself with him. Wakatoshi really wants to know more about you as the relationship progresses more.

Wakatoshi is definitely the type of boyfriend who’d walk you to class in the morning and back to the dormitories in the evening. He’s a busy student — being the captain and ace of the volleyball team and juggling his academics was no easy task, but he always makes sure to accompany you whenever he has free time. Wakatoshi could spend just 5 minutes with you and he’d already be in a better mood after chatting with you.

The Shiratorizawa Volleyball Team Year 1s™ thank you for your service, as ever since their captain has gotten together with you, he’s become better vocally during trainings and so much more approachable. Of course he’s not hooting and hollering across the gymnasium, but he actually mumbles out a small “Nice kill.” now if impressed by one of his members.

One time Wakatoshi told Goshiki that his serves that training session were good and the junior swore he heard angels singing and he almost ascended to heaven on the spot.

You definitely brought out the best in Wakatoshi, and he loved you for that.

[sleepyangelkami]

could you do Carl reacting to you saying ur safe word?💕💕

SAFETY BLANKET c.grimes

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 1.5K

CARL GRIMES X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - during a time filled with vulnerability, everything becomes too much. luckily your safety blanket isn't going anywhere.

 ☆ WARNINGS - sexual themes, slight smut in beginning, use of safeword, crying, swearing, aged-up characters, use of good girl (not sexual), anxiety, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

there had to be something so seriously wrong with you.

that was the only viable answer you could give yourself for the uncomfortableness settled in your lower stomach that should have been filled with pleasure. a moment spent with your boyfriend that should have meant so much. and yet you'd never been so distant.

you didn't know what was wrong, truthfully.

one thing you'd known well was where carl stood. at least, you hoped his opinion hadn't changed since before. he always said that if there was something wrong, he'd stop. he didn't need a reason or answer, utter one simple word and it was over for the both of you. he'd maneuver you back to the bed and assure you that he wasn't angry, he'd never be angry. not with you, at least.

so why did you find yourself not wishing to utter such a simple word?

on the very tip of your tongue, reaching out, practically begging to be yelled. what was wrong? you didn't know. you didn't know. and frustration was building up in your throat, almost tears building in your eyes.

skin on fire, eyes burning. how could you feel so horrible and yet not muster the single word you needed to stop it all at once.

perhaps it was the worry that he wouldn't think of you as the 'good girl' he always did, always wishing to please him. and carl? well, he'd taken to your stiff posture at first but once you laid back, seemingly relaxed for him he took no notice of it.

how could he? none of this was his fault.

whether or not you didn't feel good, it had nothing to do with your boyfriend who lay atop of you, pressing his weight onto you. it was suffocating, but that didn't mean it was his fault. yet as the word reached your tongue, you worried if that was what he'd think.

everything was too much, you simply couldn't handle it anymore.

so instead of a long string of moans falling from your mouth, the so simple, so detrimental, word "strawberry." fell instead.

it was almost devastating how quickly he froze, how quickly your eyes began to burn insufferably.

you thought of a thousand words that could have left his lips. "shit." was the first he'd thought of. "i'm gonna... fuck― i'm gonna pull out of you now, okay?"

despite your teary eyes, you'd managed to nod your head almost frantically. the minute the word fell from your lips it was as if you wished for nothing more than the entirety of the moment to be over. you wanted to cry, swallow yourself whole beneath your own pretty pink bed sheets. instead, you lay beneath him with burning eyes in his own sweaty blue bed sheets.

the minute he backed away from you, giving you room, the tears started all over again. you hoisted yourself up so quickly, fishing around for your clothes while you sniffled, trying to suck up the cries that didn't wish to leave you.

he watched as you grasped his t-shirt, not your own, trying to flip it the back way around. he watched wondering if he could step in.

he was the very one who put the safeword in it's use, he gave it to you so that if there was ever a time you'd need it, you could use it. yet it'd never happened before, he was a little worried on making the wrong mistake for the second time that night, pushing you over your limits again.

he probably should have asked could he touch you, were you comfortable with his body so close to yours. but as you struggled to flip the t-shirt to the way it should be, he couldn't help but reach his soft fingertips out.

they touched yours quickly, causing startled, tear-filled eyes to snap up. "hey, hey, 's okay, baby." taking the t-shirt from your hands, gently setting it down on the bed. "'s okay, take your time."

a sudden realisation that you didn't have to cover yourself up so quickly, shun yourself away from him.

so instead of turning your face, refusing to look at the boy, you practically threw yourself into his arms.

without uttering a word, the boy took you. it was easy to hold you at a time like this, shaking while muffling your cries into the shirt on his shoulder. it was easy to provide comfort because it was all he wanted to do. it wasn't easy to watch you like this, hear your muffled cries.

guilt wracked at his bones. "you wanna tell me what happened?" knowing it was something he'd done. he'd made the effort to talk in a low voice, making sure he wouldn't startle you any more than he had already. "huh?" his nose nudged at your cheek, making your face finally leave sanctuary.

gazing straight forward, you could see his face, brows knit together and strewn up, a look of guilt plain and simple against his features. could you possibly feel more awful? "'m sorry." voice cracking as though you were but a mere child.

a different look fell across his face, almost one of agony.

the mere thought of you thinking it'd been your fault.

"hey, hey." fingers moving to grasp at your face, holding you so that you were looking at him. "don't apologise to me, pretty girl, this isn't your fault. 'm so proud of you."

brows knitting together, evident confusion washing over you as you tilted your head up to the boy. "you are?" surprise clean in your voice.

"'course i am, sweet girl." he settled you so that you could rest against his lap as comfortably as you could, despite the fact you were both still nude. "did what i told you to do, it felt wrong so you told me. would have been wrong if you didn't, yeah? 'was such a good girl."

with a sniffle, your eyes cast down to your hands, playing with your fingers as you tried to settle the anxiety in your chest. carl did that better than playing with your fingers ever did. "you're not mad?" voice low.

"no." his nose nudged against your cheek again, he sounded so sure of himself. "no, never mad."

voice cracking once more, ever so softly. "promise?"

his lips curled gently. "i promise." his fingers rubbed against your sides, soothing the slightly bruised skin from his fingers digging into them only moments before. "you need anything, sweetheart? some water? a bath?"

a mere shake of your head was enough. your cheek gently placed itself against his chest, listening to the patter of his heartbeat. it was the kind of thing you never wanted to stop listening to, as soothing as it could get. "jus' wanna be with you."

"'s what we'll do then, 'kay?" the boy wrapped you in a clean shirt, not the one you'd been fumbling with before. this one was white and smelled of linen, he then placed a clean pair of his boxers on you, dressing himself in almost the very same thing before tucking you into bed.

carl didn't need sex. sex was a plus when it came to you. but truthfully, he'd go his entire lifetime without it if it meant he could hold you like this every single night. your head against the crook of his neck, breathing through your mouth and not your clogged nose. your eyes red but softly fluttering as his fingers gathered strands of hair, gently playing with them.

the soft sound of your gentle laughter as the tv in front of you both played, some old dvd he'd found on a run that he just knew you'd like.

he couldn't help but stare, a breathtaking view so close to him. he must have been something as good as an angel in his past life to deserve this, he was sure of it. "'m so proud of you." he kept repeating the phrase, hoping one day you'd understand just how proud he was.

and as the light dimmed, tv gently playing at a low volume, you'd almost fallen asleep. almost without saying the most important words. "carl?" glancing his head down to you. "i love you."

smiling ever so softly. "i love you." pressing the gentlest kisses to your head. "now get some sleep."

you slept good that night, knowing you'd been so stupid to think carl would ever get angry with you, especially over something as simple as that. on the contrary, he'd been happy.

you didn't need a safe word, a simple "no." would have done it for you both. carl didn't care, as long as you had your safety blanket at the end of the night, wrapping around him as though he were the trunk of a tree.

he couldn't complain, he was holding practical gold in his hands.

if he really was, you could call him a hoarder. he wouldn't trade you out for anything else in the world.

main masterlist/carl's masterlist

[daisymbin]

Ok so this might be very suggestive but imagine getting on the bus with hansol after a casual coffee date and the bus is crowded so you're standing in the standing area and he's standing facing u, kinda Like shielding u frm the crowd or smth & u r sharing earpods (🎵: double take ~ dhruv) & he's staring out of the window & you're staring at him and you randomly say 15. "you’re my favorite person, you know that?" Cuz u just realise u might still hv a crush on ur long term boyfriend

(This is my 5th ask pls bear with me i just love u too much)

Also I can get this look of his out of my mind

!!!! thank you for coming back!!!! i chose another song as requested!!! 🥲🤍

full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // hansol's m.list

the bus was packed, the kind of crowded where personal space became a luxury, and you found yourself standing shoulder to shoulder with strangers. it wasn’t unusual, but today it felt different. maybe it was the warmth of the coffee date still lingering between you and hansol, or maybe it was the way he looked so effortlessly himself, casual and calm, as if the chaos of the world couldn’t touch him.

he stood beside you, one hand gripping the railing above while the other tugged at his earphones. he handed you one without a word, the gesture so familiar it made your heart ache in the best way.

“thanks,” you mumbled, slipping the earbud in.

“you don’t even know what song it is yet,” he teased, his lips twitching into a small smile.

“doesn’t matter. your playlists are always good.”

the faint intro of be your everything by boys like girls filled your ears. you bit back a smile at the song choice, wondering if he’d put it on for you or if it was just a coincidence. hansol didn’t say anything else, just turned to look out the window, his profile bathed in the soft, golden light of late afternoon.

you shifted slightly as the bus jolted forward, trying to steady yourself against the sway of the vehicle. the standing area was cramped, people pressed too close for comfort. and then it happened—a sharp stop at a red light sent someone stumbling into you, their shoulder colliding with yours.

you stumbled forward, a soft gasp escaping your lips as you tried to regain your balance. hansol’s arm shot out instinctively, his hand catching your elbow and steadying you before you could fall.

“you okay?” he asked, his voice low, filled with concern.

“yeah,” you breathed, your heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with the near fall.

he frowned slightly, his hand lingering on your arm for a moment longer before he shifted, stepping in front of you. “here, stand like this,” he said, positioning himself between you and the crowd. his arm stretched out to hold the railing above your head, shielding you from the jostling around you.

you blinked up at him, surprised by the sudden closeness. “hansol, you don’t have to—”

“just in case,” he interrupted, his gaze flickering to yours briefly before returning to the window. “i don’t want you getting bumped into again.”

the way he said it, so matter-of-fact and protective, made your chest tighten.

the song played on, and you found yourself more focused on him than the music. his eyes were distant, watching the buildings pass by, his expression soft and almost thoughtful. you’d known him for so long, but moments like this still caught you off guard—the quiet way he cared, the little things he did without needing to be asked.

as the chorus swelled, you caught a lyric that made your breath hitch: “i’ll be your shelter, i’ll be your storm. i’ll make you shiver, i’ll keep you warm.”

something about those words hit you differently. they reminded you of everything hansol had been to you, everything he still was. he wasn’t just your boyfriend—he was your safe place, your calm in the chaos. and in that moment, staring at him as the music played on, you realized something.

you still had a crush on him. after all this time, after all the little moments and big ones, after he’d already become yours, the feeling hadn’t faded. it had only grown, deeper and stronger, filling every corner of your heart.

the words were out before you could think. “you’re my favorite person, you know that?”

hansol froze, his eyes flicking to yours, wide and disbelieving. “what?”

you felt the heat rise to your cheeks, but there was no taking it back now. “i said you’re my favorite person.”

his lips parted slightly, and for a moment, he just stared at you. then, slowly, a shy smile spread across his face, the kind that made your heart do flips. “me?”

you rolled your eyes, trying to play it off despite the fluttering in your chest. “obviously.”

he blinked a few times, his cheeks flushing a soft pink as he turned back to the window, suddenly unable to meet your gaze. “oh.”

you laughed softly at his reaction. “that’s all you have to say? ‘oh’?”

he rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. “you caught me off guard. i don’t really know what to say.”

“you don’t have to say anything,” you said, your voice quieter now, more sincere. “i just… wanted you to know.”

hansol finally looked at you, his eyes warm and filled with something you couldn’t quite name. “well, for the record,” he said softly, “you’re my favorite person too.”

the bus jolted again, but this time, you barely noticed. your hand brushed against his where it rested on the railing, and instead of pulling away, he let his pinky hook around yours, the small gesture sending a wave of warmth through you.

and as hansol glanced at you again, his lips twitching into a smile that was just for you, you knew one thing for sure—you’d never stop having a crush on him. not now, not ever.

the song faded into the next, but neither of you moved to change it. the bus ride continued, but the world outside felt like it had fallen away, leaving just the two of you in this small, crowded space.

[mrs-hatake]

So~ I saw ur lad boys requests were open 👀🍵 and I was wondering if I could request their reaction if you were wearing a mini skirt and it accidentally rides up

a/n: sorry i'm late, anon! i hope you like it ^-^

Sylus:

April showers bring May flowers. As well as cool and sunny days. When one can finally shed off their thick winter coats and slip into something lighter, more colorful and maybe top it off by wearing a cropped jacket.

Y/N is strolling down the streets of Linkon, accompanied by children’s laughter and much needed heat after the long winter season. She doesn’t always spend her day off downtown, choosing to be lazy at home and recharge. But seeing how lovely the weather has gotten, she finds herself out of her pajamas and into a cute white knit top and black mini skirt. 

She doesn’t do much downtown; window shops for about an hour, grabs a late breakfast and stops by a flower shop.  When she enters the park to rest under a large tree with its leaves acting as an umbrella to shield her from the scorching noon sun, she spots an ice-cream truck. 

Happily eating her ice-cream, Y/N doesn’t notice a couple of boys chasing each other on their bikes. They rush past her, kicking dirt in their path and sending a strong gust of wind Y/N’s way. 

“Watch it!” Y/N yells after them, grumbling at how reckless kids are getting with each passing year. 

“Nice view.” Comes a comment, along with a satisfied whistle. 

Y/N turns, anger burning in her eyes and a stern talking to on her when she is met with a familiar handsome face, “Sylus?” She asks, her head tilting to the side. 

“In the flesh.” The man in question is sitting on a bench not too far from where the ice-cream truck is, a book between his large hands.

“What are you doing here-” Y/N cuts herself off when realization dawned on her that Sylus had seen her pale yellow underwear when those stupid boys zoomed by in their bikes, hiking up her mini skirt. 

A pretty blush dusts her cheeks and Y/N quickly averts her gaze from Sylus’ amused reds. 

Zayne:

Linkon’s Public Library is one of the city's most prominent buildings despite libraries being an outdated concept. After all, thanks to modern technology, everything is now digitized and an individual can gain access to billions of doors of information with a simple tap of their smart wrist watch.

Still, despite such conveniences, many still seek the warm embraces of a library. A place that feels familiar, as if reuniting with a relative after years apart. Even someone who has never been in a library before, can share this sentimentality. The aroma of book pages and the feel of the leather on the tip of the fingers, no modern device can replicate such sensations.

It’s why Y/N is spending her lunch break at the library instead of being at the cafeteria, eating and catching up with her colleagues. Although she loves them and would die for them, sometimes she needs a break.

And one of her favorite hobbies is picking up a book from the library and reading about previous generations, decades and centuries and their lifestyle.

She’s currently in the 21st century section, scanning the titles of various books when one at the very top catches her eyes; Surviving Quarantine and Covid-19. 

Y/N reaches up to grab it but the shelf is way too high for her to reach. Even when she stands on her tiptop, Y/N’s fingers still struggle to graze the book. She stretches and stretches to no avail. She tries to jump but that doesn’t help her wrap her fingers around the thick book. 

Just as Y/N tries to stand on the ledge of the book case to give her an extra boost, warmth engulfs her and an arm appears in her line of vision. Y/N is caught in a daze as a smooth looking hand easily grabs the book and pulls it out of the row of books. 

Following the arm, Y/N is pleased to see her doctor, “Zayne!”

Zayne isn’t someone who can show emotion on his handsome and youthful face but he has been trying as a small smile tugs the corner of his lips. 

“You should be more careful,” Zayne says as a form of greeting, “Your skirt was riding up. You never know who might be watching.”

Flushed with embarrassment, Y/N takes away the book, “Will do.” she chuckles awkwardly, unaware of the way Zayne’s gaze darts to her hips and back to her eyes. 

Zayne will take this to his grave but he was spending the past ten minutes watching Y/N trying to grab the book. Every time her skirt hitched, Zayne leaned further, nearly falling off of his seat, trying to catch a glimpse of Y/N’s underwear. And he would’ve been successful if he didn’t hear people making their way to where they are. After all, only Zayne is allowed to watch such a mouthwatering sight. 

Caleb:

Finally…Finally, after six long months, Y/N wakes up with excitement buzzing through her veins and heart thundering wildly. Today’s the day Caleb is coming home after his training program. 

She spends an hour and a half in her bathroom; washing her hair with jasmine scented shampoo and rubs honeydew scrub on her limbs and abdomen, shaves all the tiny hairs littered across her body and curls her hair just the way Caleb likes it. 

Y/N then spends another hour trying to choose the perfect outfit to greet Caleb home.

After three mountains of clothes pile up in her room, Y/N decides to wear a white off shoulder top with a matching mini skirt.

Just as Y/N is doing her makeup, she hears a car door slamming from outside her window. Eyes widened in alarm, she rushes to her window where she spots Caleb leaning into the window of the electric yellow cab. 

Oh, no! He’s home early!

As if on maximum speed, Y/N spreads peach colored lip gloss across her lips and pats a thin layer of powdered blush on her cheeks in less than twenty seconds. She takes the stairs by two and is out the door just as Caleb is waving off the taxi driver.

“Gege!”

Caleb turns at the sweet call of his meimei, her cute nickname at the ready when it dies on his tongue. 

Everything around him slows. The sounds become muted and his surroundings fade away into a blur. Except for Y/N who shines like the morning sun. 

She is running towards Caleb but at the same time, curls bouncing in tune with her breasts and her skirt swaying with the breeze. 

Every time Y/N comes down from the stone stairs of the entry path of their grandmother’s home, Caleb’s blessed with the sight of Y/N’s cute lace pink underwear.

How Caleb wishes he’s wearing his video recording lenses right now. He doesn’t ever want to forget this heavenly sight.

“Gege!” Y/N calls again before jumping into Caleb’s eager and greedy arms.

“I’ve missed you!” She smiles up at him, “Did you miss me too?” she pouts at him and it takes all of Caleb’s will power not to kiss her. 

“Y-Yeah…” Caleb clears his throat, hides his face in her hair and inhales her scent–jasmine and honeydew– to calm himself down, “I’ve missed you too.”

Pleased with his answer, Y/N beams at him, pretty eyes glowing with delight like the night stars. 

Y/N leans into the hug, unaware of how her warmth sends a thrill down her spine, how his heart is beating so loud he’s scared she might hear it. Heat pools Caleb’s in his stomach, a familiar sensation that he had tried not to chase after so he gently, albeit regretfully, pushes Y/N away.

Before she can pout at him–pretty eyes filled with unshed tears– and send Caleb into a frenzy, he rushes to say, “I got you a present!”

Grateful for the distraction, Caleb guides Y/N to their grandmother’s house. As much as he wants Y/N, wants her for himself, it’s not the time…yet.

[sashi-ya]

𝑶𝑹𝑨𝑳 𝑭𝑰𝑿𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵. Roronoa Zoro x f! reader

🕊️ request: anon ⋆｡˚ hii sashiii I was wondering for ur jan events week if u could maybe write something with fem!reader with zoro?? like maybe 69 position or ass eating, I hc him as an ass man lol also he’s kinda rough hehe please and have a good week!! 🫶 🕊️ tw: mdni. modern au. zoro is a gym instructor/personal trainer. oral sex. 69. rough sex. face fuck. wc: 1,7k 🕊️ masterlist

You are never sure which are exactly the muscles you train the most when you do it with Roronoa Zoro. Whether it is your body’s, or your mouth’s. You, in any case, don’t mind… as long as your lips can surround his shaft, and your walls end up pleasantly stretched..

A drop of sweat runs through your temple, it slowly snakes down your mandible and into your neck. The more pull ups you do, the more you feel like your muscles burning. Your arms are sore, but you keep going.

“If you do two more series, I will fuck you harder this time” he said. And you are willing to have your personal trainer reward your efforts.

You grunt, pushing a little bit further to finish the series. You watch him through dizzy sight, sitting with his legs spread right in front of you and his back against the mirror of a lonely gym.

“Keep going” he orders.

“I… I am… I can’t-“ you stutter. You should have known; he always does this to you. He wants you to do more, and more.

“Keep going, I am helping you as long as you don’t stop” Zoro says, standing up and walking towards your almost limpid body.

You sigh, and moan louder. “Fuck!” you scream, feeling your arms trembling about to lose the grip.

 But his wide frame receives your weight. Like a kid on a piggy back ride, you rest your body on his shoulders. His huge hands squeeze your hips and ass.

“I got you…”

You try to excuse yourself for not being able to keep going, but you simply can’t as he commands you to stop whining. Zoro puts you down, still holding you by your waist.

“You did well, I know your limits. Don’t worry” he whispers, with raspy voice and sexy metallic eyes. His slightly calloused thumb plays with your lower lip as he makes you walk backwards. His big chest, his huge build, the caramel skin, and the scent of masculine musk mixed with iron, makes you weaker.

The back of your shins encounters with a pile of yoga mats and your chest, his hand pushing you against them. You fall back with widen eyes, but still knowing exactly what’s next…

You don’t stretch after training, you get stretched. Rough.

“Is it stretching time?” you purr. “In fact, whore” Zoro says, smirking with diabolic façade. That expression that makes you tremble, horny… extremely horny.

You gloat; taking your very sweaty compression top off. Your breasts feel freed, the marks on your skin slowly disappearing.

Zoro loses no time, and quickly lets his shorts fall down to the ground. He is not wearing -of course- a shirt. It’s hot enough to be covering his sweaty abs.

Hard, as always. Veiny and reddish. Deliciously looking, deliciously tempting. Your hands surrounding his length, taking the tip to your tongue’s one.

“What about letting me fuck your mouth and throat this time?” he asks, grabbing your messy ponytail for a better grip.

He pushes his dick against your lips, forcing them open until sliding it deep inside it reaches your throat. The first gag resonates against the mirrored walls of the gym; it’s pretty late, nobody comes around during these hours.

Your eyes go blank for a second as they fill with tears; you are sure the silhouette of his sex appears on your throat the more he thrusts into your mouth.

But apparently for Zoro is not deep enough, and he pulls your hair for you to fall with your back onto the pile of mats. He moves you so that your head hangs out of the improvised bed, looking from above his imponent body reaching your wet cave.

Zoro first gives you a rough -but still cute- caress on your cheek, followed by a soft slap. He kneels down just so his hardness, drippy and shiny from your saliva, can penetrate your mouth. He literally wants to fuck your mouth backwards, and he will.

You stick your tongue out, receiving his dick deeper into your throat. His hands grip from your erected breasts, squeezing them with merciless attempt. Your nipples, protruding in between his fingers, feel overstimulated by the brutal massage.

As his hips move in and out, Zoro bends over enough for his nose to reach your navel. He plants a kiss, sniffing the scent of your warm skin.

Your nails carve con his strong, muscular legs. And your tongue reaches for the base of his dick as he goes deeper than ever.

“Look at your shorts, all wet…” he murmurs, in between little gasps and sexy grunts. Fucking your mouth feels more than heaven to him.

He plays with the damp spot around your grey shorts; the spandex in them has sticked itself to your wet sex. Zoro is delighted with the image, but he wants the spot to get much, much bigger. He reaches for the arousal patch with his mouth, tasting the salty flavour, drinking through the fabric everything he can suck.  

The warmth of his mouth, tongue and saliva pass through the stretchy material making you shiver underneath his crushing weight. Your lungs barely expand, thick saliva mixed with his precum sprouts from the commissure of your mouth and your back arching more and more. You want him to rip your pants off, you want him to eat you out completely and so brutally.

You can’t wait no more, your nails keep leaving marks on his flesh, your soles keep kicking the mat underneath. And he knows it very well, so much he keeps pumping inside of you until your lips turn a little blueish. And when that happens, just for some seconds he goes even deeper to then stick his sex out… violently.

You take a big gasp, with mandible hurting and desperate pants.

“Take… take them out” you plead, trying to squeeze your arms in between his legs to take your short leggings off.

“Take? Mhh…” he laughs, a rare sound but definitely tinted in lustful, devilishly intentions.

Zoro, instead, uses his strong hands to rip them off. The third pair in a month, he thinks those are free.

A whole, enough to expose your whole sex and ass, forms withing the ripped limits of your pants.

“This should do” he smirks, crunching a little not to crush you but for your tongue to reach for his balls. Soft skin you immediately suck and lick, causing in that man a feral grunt so loud it makes you tremble.

The green haired samurai spreads your legs, reaching for your flooded core with his own mouth. A sixty-nine position, where he is on top and you, like a little prey, underneath.

Zoro starts licking your whole sex, up and down, with his whole tongue. It seems as if he was doing some field recognition work, trying the very ups and downs of your core.

He keeps going. Your lips open allowing his dick to get back inside your mouth. You can sense the throbbing of his shaft growing stronger, getting harder than a rock, about to reach climax.

You squeeze his toned ass, strong enough to let him know you have enough oxygen to tolerate the last thrusts until his orgasm. You want your belly filled with his sweet, warm milk.

However, it isn’t enough for him. The strongest is not satisfied with the position, and specially this time with filling your mouth of his seed.

“I will eventually make you choke with my cum, but not now” he growls, pulling you down, sticking his sex out and walking until he is properly in front of you.

You pant, cleaning your mouth and chin from saliva with your forearm. You don’t mind, you accept his cum anywhere he wants. You accept everything he might want and desire from your sore body.

It is because of that, that Zoro lifts you up and turns you around. You are now on all fours and his hands rip the rest of your now absolutely wet shorts.

He separates your ass cheeks with both hands, taking a good look at your trembling thighs and dripping sex. A drip that forms long strings of arousal connecting with a pool of it on top of the yoga mat.

He kneels right behind you, playing with one of the sticky transparent strings, getting it back inside you with his finger in your sex.

“That ass looks so delicious” he moans, without stopping the fingering and getting his face close to your rear entrance.

As soon as the tip of his tongue reaches for your hole, you squirm and whine. And a slap on your ass cheek makes you flinch.

“Shh… little whore, I haven’t even done what I want yet” he says, biting the warm spot where he just spanked.

You bite your lower lip, letting your chest and face fall against the mat. Your ass, of course, lifted just perfectly for Zoro to have a banquet with it.

He spits and then proceeds to eat you out, going from your spread labia, towards your perineum and finally to your ass. To him there is no more delicious exquisiteness than your parts.

To you, at the same time, there is nothing better than the way he moves his tongue and the absolute no shame when it comes to taste every little part of your anatomy.

And of course, who could last long with such unchaste act? Not you, at least.

Soon, and guided by the way you can’t keep your posture no more, Zoro knows you are just about to burst… Him, too; he has been edging himself until this moment.

“Come, come on” he commands, slurping the unstoppable liquids leaving your core.

You can barely moan, reduced to a slave of pleasure, you simply let go of your body. Mind blank, eyes too. A loud moan against the blue gym mat, nails leaving imprints on it.

Trembling, exploding, reaching heaven or maybe hell. Him coming as well, bathing, the very minute after, your ass and sex with his release. You feel it dripping down, maybe even filtering inside you too.

“No, don’t get too comfy. We are just starting. Now that you are prepped, I’m ready to fuck you”

“Zo-Zoro…?”

[moralesmilesanhour]

Hello!!! How are you? I’ve been a follower for the past few days and was wondering if I could request something.

I was hoping to request a fic or like give you a prompt for something for miles42 × femreader

So it goes like this- yk those super corny reads that are like the reader's pinning for miles and like sometimes miles finds them annoying but in a cute way but he don't know that her yk? So he's talking to his homeboys about her, talm about some how she's so "annoying, a nuisance" and guess who's behind the wall listening? The reader herself.

So this goes one of two ways- she either matches up there, confronts him. And she's like "flipping fine, if that's how you feel then lemme get out of ur way- you won't hear a peep from me" and she like just ignores him and he learns how he feels about her, sees how his life is so boring without her and all that- goes to apologize happy ending..

Option number 2: silent treatment. Like just slowly drifting away until he once again comes to the realization that he needs her and all that happy ending yay!

Feel free to do whatever you want with this but I'm thinking of sending the same request to other authors to see what they come up with cause everyone has a style k? And i just love studying them and reading them cause evervtime- no matter how similar the prompt is- they always manage to invoke different feelings with in me.

Anyway- have fun doing this- but remember you don't have to cause this is kinda too much and I'm sorry😓

"I want my pen back."

wc: >1,200 A/N: okay so i got a bit carried away...this is a long one. (yes I am using this as an excuse to try out the gradient thing) thank you anon for this fun request! i also rlly like ur reasoning behind it and i hope i was able to do this prompt some type of justice lol

The gel pen clattered to the ground.

“I got it,” you said, grinning at Miles. You squat to grab it before the boy can act to get it himself, and he sighs as you hand it to him.

“Thanks.”

Miles turned the pen every which way between his fingers.

You had gifted it to him on the first day of school, with that same expectant grin. The little cartoon dogs that surrounded the perimeter had begun to fade with use because – admittedly – it had actually turned out to be a good ass pen.

He’d thought initially that you were just being nice; maybe you were handing shit out to everyone because it was the first day, understandable. 

But then, it was highlighters (the erasable ones).

Pink sticky-notes on his locker, telling him to have a nice day with the ‘i’s dotted with hearts.

A new sketchbook for Secret Santa.

Miles’ pencil case had rapidly gotten bulkier, and when you rushed to grab a seat next to him during the one class without assigned seats, it finally clicked.

You were trying to get his attention. And he wasn’t sure what would happen if you got it.

“I like the new braids.”

He was snapped out of his thoughts, and turned to you.

“Huh?”

“The braids,” you laughed. “I like the pattern. Who did ‘em for you?”

A tiny smirk ghosted the boy’s lips.

“My mom. Just like the last time you asked me.”

He ran a hand instinctively over the meandering zig-zag pattern that his cornrows had been sectioned into. Miles looked at you from his periphery; you were still staring. 

“Bitch, just ask him out already!”

Your friend smacked the back of your shoulder as the two of you took your sweet time getting back to your lockers.

“Alright, today, I swear,” you said, hand over your heart for emphasis.

A beat of silence passes. “But what if he says no?” 

She groaned.

“Then he says no, and you can save your money. But say something, it’s getting embarrassing.”

Your friends’ encouragement landed you here, around the corner of a building where Miles and a gaggle of other boys from your homeroom were bursting into raucous laughter.

“Yo, why you ain’t bag her yet? She wants you bad,” one boy said.

Unsure if the ‘she’ in question was you, you stay where you are and keep listening.

“I dunno, she kinda annoying,”

Miles’ low voice makes your ears perk up.

“One day she gon’ run outta things to say about my hair, she has to!”

…Oh.

The buoyant feeling in your chest sinks as the group erupts into another laughing fit. If you asked him out now, you’d hear about it for the rest of the year.

Shoving your phone into your pocket, you turn back the way you came. 

Miles knew something was off when you sat down the next morning without a word. 

“You good?” he asked.

You glanced at him, then nodded before going back to playing with the beads in your hair. The excruciating silence stretched on for almost the entirety of class before it was broken again.

“Do you…wanna help me with my homework? I’ll really let you, this time.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Morales, you got an ‘A’ in every class.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Your name’s on every bulletin board.”

“Damn,” the boy muttered to himself as his leg bounced under the desk.

Your beads clattered against your back as you rose from your seat. The bell had rung, finally. You didn’t even say ‘bye’.

Miles cracked open his locker. One of your sticky notes from last week had begun to un-stick and fluttered to the ground. There were no new ones. He bent to pick it up, noticing how neat and round your handwriting was on these compared to the way you wrote in class. The letters didn’t run together, like you were in a rush.

Neatly folding the note and sticking it in his pocket, Miles shut his locker to reveal your face. The boy nearly yelped in surprise.

“Where the hell did you come from? Scared the shit outta me,” he said with a grin.

“I want my pen back.”

Miles froze. 

“Which pen?”

You tilted your chin up towards the one he was currently gripping in his left hand. He looked down at it like a wad of cash.

“Oh.”

He couldn’t just not give the pen back to you…

…but he didn’t want to give it to you, either.

“What you need it for? Don’t you have, like, a whole store full of these?”

“Miles, I gotta get to class. I’m not playing,” you reached for Miles’ hand, but he raised it high above his head.

Instead of a smirk or mocking sneer, something like worry was etched onto the boy’s features. 

“Tell me what’s up witchu first.”

“What are you talking about? I’m about to be late, c’mon.”

“You ain’t said a word to me all day,” he dropped his hand momentarily. “Are you sick? Did I do something? What–hey!”

You had snatched the pen out of the boy’s hand when he wasn’t looking, throwing it into your bag.

“I thought that’s what you wanted.”

You turn to retreat down the hallway, but stop with a huff when Miles calls after you.

“Wait!”

“I’m waiting.”

“Come see me after school?”

You kicked an empty can down the sidewalk in front of Miles’ apartment.

“Make this quick, I gotta go study.”

He looks everywhere else to avoid meeting your eyes, looking for the right words.

“You didn’t answer me earlier,” Miles awkwardly shuffled his feet. “Are you mad at me?”

“...Yeah, kinda.”

“For what?”

You stop to think for a moment, crossing your arms. 

“For…for letting me hand you that pen, knowing you weren’t gonna give it back,” you began.

Miles’ brows furrowed in confusion. “That’s it?”

You shook your head profusely, “N-no, I’m not done. You let me buy you all that stuff, put all that dumb shit in your locker, whole time you don’t even like me–”

“You don’t know that,” Miles interrupted. Your head snapped up to look at him, and you paused.

“I don’t?”

Neither of you say anything for a moment, then Miles remembers the note in his pocket. He takes it out and shows it to you.

“These? Are cute as fuck,”

He searches for more words, ten continues, "A-and I use that sketchbook every day. That pen? It’s like, my favorite,” he laughs. “I got half a mind to steal it back from you.”

Miles watches you expectantly. Your arms are still crossed, but the corners of your lips quirk up in amusement.

“So you like getting free stuff.”

“No-! I…”

The boy’s arms had begun to flail around in frustration. You hold back a giggle, never having seen him squirm like this before. It’s a nice change of pace.

“Alright, listen. I like hearing you talk to me every morning, and…”

He trailed off. He had begun slightly bouncing on his toes.

“...I like you.”

At some point while watching Miles struggle to explain himself, the float-y feeling in your chest had come back. You tilted your head to the side, and smiled.

“Okay. What are you gonna do about it?”

The boy’s eyes lit up.

“Where do you wanna go?”

[petrichorium]

also on my hands and knees dying to know about ur divorce (and perhaps reconciliation maybe…) with sir croc

Firstly I wanna say croc is THE reason for the divorced tier I had everyone in the husband/fiance/bf (and cusp + complicated) tiers I had the list downloaded and then I looked at croc in the husband tier and I was like no. Divorced………

Anyway I think you’re a marriage of convenience at first. Crocodile needs a wife to look more like An Upstanding Citizen Ready To Settle Down for his plans in Alabasta, you need the stability and rapport for your own reasons. A deal was struck (including a nice shiny prenup and an easy way out for both of you), the wedding goes off without a hitch, and now you’re cohabitating.

You’re all but a stranger, truthfully, though he’ll admit you were one of the most beautiful brides he’s seen walking down the aisle. And he finds your presence in his home less distracting than expected—you stay out of his way mostly, though the pair of you eat meals together and sleep in the same bed and you are always expected to be on his arm for formal occasions. You’re more than decent company, slowly warming to him and growing more open; willing to give advice on occasion, even, and it’s good advice he’s prone to heeding.

Which is why he’s blindsided when you drop the papers on his desk. There’s little he can do—they were practically already signed before the wedding, and in the surprise he can’t compose himself enough to think up a proper protest. All he can do is fold his hands together as you turn to leave, clear his throat, and call out, “Might I ask why?”

You shrug. It almost seems sad. “I want something more. You’re a very busy man, I don’t think you can give that to me.”

And those words haunt him, all the more because every trace of you is gone in the span of a few days. He lays in his bed, alone, pondering how much you truly lived in his home and how much he truly had to give you. He thought he made sure you wanted for nothing—but, clearly, that wasn’t the case. And if he’d known you’d be gone in the span of a few years…

In hindsight perhaps he’d been a bit distant. His work took up the vast majority of his time. All those meals were more often than not spent in silence, with Crocodile leaving long before you finished your food; you were often asleep before he came to bed, still slumbering when he woke; he’d arrive to those formal events with you on his arm and part ways almost immediately, drawn to meet with some politician or another and leaving you on your own.

The bed feels empty.

And then he gets a report about Nefertari Vivi. It all goes downhill from there. The empire he spent years building crumbles beneath his feet, toppled by that godforsaken princess and the upstart pirate with a straw hat. And as he’s carted off to Impel Down… he still thinks of you.

It’s perhaps a good thing that you left when you did. In a certain sense it saved you, severing ties with him when you did. But foolishly he wonders about the timing—wonders if it would have happened at all if you’d stayed. Logically he knows the rationale is anything but sound.

Instinctively… whenever he gets out, whatever he intends to do next, he thinks he needs you at his side again.

So when the break-out happens, and Crocodile is given a freedom he’d nearly given up on, the first thing he does is begin to track you down.

It takes more than he thought it would. His web of informants isn’t half of what it once was, and his name no longer pulls as much weight, forced to remain in the shadows as he now is. You, meanwhile, catch onto the mystery person trying to keep tabs on you far too quickly for his liking—flighty thing, never quite setting down roots, quick to flee at the first sign of danger. A trait that has only seemed to worsen in his absence, it seems.

But it’s only a matter of time. He’s Sir Crocodile after all, back from banishment to the depths of the ocean, sure to see the sun again. His men close in on you within a year as he builds up his numbers again, but Crocodile ensures he’s the first to make contact.

He intends to show you immediately how things will be different this time.

You’ve made temporary home on a quaint little island, sharing a house with a little old granny who lets him in eagerly when he presents a bouquet and says it’s for you. There he waits, served tea and biscuits that he doesn’t taste.

And then the door opens. You pause when you see him, eyes wide—donning a breezy sundress you’d never have worn for him in Alabasta, your hair wind-tousled so unlike the meticulous updos he always saw you in, with a basket of produce under arm—and the sight of you has his chest unwinding. It’s like he can breathe again.

Not that he had any intentions to before, but the smell of your familiar perfume steels his resolve to never let you disappear again.

[chronicallyonline101]

hi its me, i LOOVEEE the way you've characterised everyone in DK and it makes me wonder how many HCs you have for them all????? because theyre so unique down to the littlest of details, like Formaggio liking Smashmouth and Ghiaccio preffering Warhammer over DnD! i want to hear ur headcannons. share them with the class

hello again !!!! i will share !

I've got... a LOT. so i'll put them under cut!

La Squadra Headcanons!

Risotto HCs:

Started the hitman team at age 21 in 1994.

- Lived with his Aunt and Uncle growing up because his Catholic parents thought he was a 'bad omen'.

- Started a band with his cousin when they were around ten or eleven, stopped playing instruments after his cousin died.

- Was technically 'kidnapped' by Passione after killing the man who hit his cousin, emotionally manipulated under the guise that the organisation had 'saved' him from being sent to prison. This is one of the reasons he turned traitor.

- Likes writing poetry and short stories; particularly graphic, gory horror stories. When he was younger, he had wanted to be an author. Nowwadays he can't really see a future for himself.

- Keeps one of those diaries where when you input the code a song plays and it opens.

The song he chose is Enter Sandman, by Metallica. It's his favourite because it reminds him of himself, but if anyone asks him his favourite song he'll say something obscure like Creeping Death because he doesn't want to be seen as some basic poser.

- Forced Prosciutto to listen to The Grateful Dead.

- He's normally quite cordial with his workspace; the Hideout and his office are clean and proper, but his bedroom is extremely messy. It's his own space, so he lets it get tatty because he doesn't want to associate it with the stress of work.

- Has a really bad posture because he always has to hunch over to do paperwork.

- He's always quiet, not because he's mysterious and cool but because he was very isolated as a teenager and has ZERO social skills - he's always scared he'll mess up and say something weird, so he's very reserved.

In turn, he's created a sort of 'Boogeyman of Passione' name for himself. He's learnt to embrace his timid nature.

- The bells on his coxcomb are a test of stealth for himself. When you put a bell on a cat, it learns to hunt without ringing it; he's done the same.

On the contrary, though, it's not uncommon to hear jangling inside the hideout as he goes about his business because he doesn't feel the need to conceal himself within the presence of his teammates.

- Had anaemia growing up, was shot with the arrow and obtained Metallica; it cured his anaemia, but then he developed haemochromatosis - which is a result of too much iron building up in the blood over a prolonged period of time.

Since Metallica is his stand, his case of haemochromatosis isn't too severe and the symptoms aren't bad. It doesn't affect his work too much, but he can often become very fatigued and experiences a lot of joint pain.

- He is an artifical stand user (hit by the arrow.)

Prosciutto HCs:

Joined the hitman team at age 19 in 1994.

- Pesci and Prosciutto are half-brothers; they share the same mother but have different fathers. Pesci looks more like their mum while Prosciutto looks more like his father - this caused a rift in their family because Pesci ended up being the favourite child.

- Was raised Catholic; claims to be atheist, but in truth upholds agnostic ideologies that he will sometimes accidentally project onto his teammates.

- Doesn't like smoking, but it's a habit he's gotten stuck into. He doesn't know how to quit.

- Joined La Squadra two years before Pesci, during this time Pesci thought he had died.

- Often uses their late mother as a way of manipulating Pesci: e.g. "What would she think of you behaving like this?" , "She'd be disappointed in you."

He doesn't realise how bad this behaviour is, he thinks he is doing the right thing in trying to mentor Pesci.

- Unlike Risotto, Prosciutto didn't know what he wanted to be while growing up. He was very focused on his classes in school, often earning lots of rewards and prizes but he only did it to try and earn his mothers affections. He never actually liked school.

That being said, his intellect is natural. He has always been very smart without trying.

- He has a gap in his front teeth and he HATES it because everyone tells him it looks cute and he doesn't want to look cute he wants to look scary and cool.

- Doesn't understand why Pesci is so morally upstanding. Why is it so hard for him to kill? Look, Prosciutto just killed twenty people! In one go!

Because of the Grateful Dead, it is very easy for Prosciutto to kill and not face the moral consequences of his actions. His kills are indirect and 'merciful', as he puts it - whereas Pesci has to get physical. He needs to come into direct contact to kill, so he has to deal with the moral turmoil that comes with murder.

- I also like to think he's got really prominent eyebags and forehead wrinkles because of how often he is subjected to the effects of his own stand.

Like, he seems to be able to control how his own body ages and shifts between old and young whenever a situation negates it, nd I don't think it's very good for his skin to be doing that all the time.

Maybe he has an extensive moisturising routine to combat the effects of his stand?

- Cleans messes on instinct; even if it isn't his own, he cleans up after everyone. He knows this is bad because it just gives everyone else a reason to be slobby, but he can't help it - nobody else ever cleans to the degree he likes anyways, so he might as well do it.

- He is an artifical stand user (hit by the arrow.)

Formaggio HCs:

Joined the hitman team at age 23 in 1995.

- Gwess and Formaggio are also half-siblings! Different mothers, and about twenty-years difference between the two of them so Formaggio probably didn't know she existed until a LOT later in life.

ALSO. when i first watched Stone Ocean i kept mishearing Gwess' name as Gwyn, so I headcanon her to be Welsh, which means by default I also headcanon Formaggio to be Welsh !!! But that's a HC i tend to leave out of my fics cuz it's really outlandish.

- If he'd lived until 2012, I like to think he would have tried to break Gwess out of prison. Probably would have failed.

- Got his cat as a gift from his mother when he was a teenager, it's the only thing he has left from his mother and so he tries his hardest to take care of her - even if he is struggling to take care of himself.

Despite this, he still shoves his cat into bottles and jars and things. It's a really cool party trick! Everyone always thinks he's so cool, like some kind of magician!

- Unlike Risotto and Prosciutto, who were both raised Catholic, Formaggio's parents were both atheist. His mother attended Church, but it was mostly an excuse to get away from his father and he never bothered to go with her.

- Has joint pain and muscle soreness from how often he has to shrink himself and then re-grow himself.

- Like's to collect mini-things; like those little baking kits. He thinks they are so cute!

- He is a natural redhead, like in the manga, but dyes his hair grey, like in the anime, so that he doesn't get bullied.

- He is a natural stand user (born with ability.)

Pesci HCs:

Joined the hitman team at age 19 in 1996.

- Pesci would rather be doing ANYTHING else. He never wanted to be a hitman. He doesn't like killing - not because he's all soft and sensitive like people make him out to be, but because he has morals and??? killing people? is wrong?

So why is he a hitman?

Well, I think Pesci has had the WORST life humanely possible. At twelve, his dad died in a boating accident. At sixteen, his brother 'went missing', presumed dead. At seventeen, his mother died. He was so lonely, and isolated, that when he realised his brother was in fact alive, he was willing to do anything to try and give himself purpose.

- Despite joining the team years beforehand, Pesci only had his first kill in 2001. This was because Prosciutto still coddles him as his little brother and he can get away with doing less on hits.

It's kind of manipulative - like, weaponizing faux incompetence, but he doesn't care.

- He wanted to be a fisherman when he grew up, like his father had been; he rarely has time to go fishing since joining the hitman team.

- If he could leave the team, he probably would.

- That being said, I think if he had lived past the events of VA he would have had the potential to become one of the most powerful hitmen on the team - and that is why Prosciutto never gave up on him, despite his supposed 'cowardice'

- His hair matts really easy so he tries to keep it short; he'll spend hours before bed trying to brush knots out of it.

- He is a night-owl, and likes staying up until quite late into the night listening to music or doing some of his other hobbies, like painting or drawing - he is extremely creative!

But because of this, when he does go to sleep, he often ends up sleeping until the late hours of the day. He is always criticised for this by Prosciutto.

- He is an artifical stand user (hit with arrow.)

Melone HCs:

Joined the hitman team at age 18 in 1994.

- Pookie... where do I even start.......

- I think he has mild heterochromia; one of his eyes is a blue-ish green and the other is blue. He used to be bullied for it, which is why he covers it.

Since joining the hitman team and meeting Risotto - who, yk, has funky eyes - he has learnt to like his eyes a bit more.

- Melone wanted to be a doctor or a scientist when he grew up. He loves biology and chemistry, particularly in regards to the creation of human life: reflected in his stand, Babyface.

I like to think that he had toyed with 'creating life' even before he got his stand; as a teenager he would do old fashioned experiments with homunuculuses and other alchemy.

- Since Junior is not connected to his body, he often does not get injured during missions. He is the least muscular and most lithe out of everyone on the Hitman team, however, maintains a semi-athletic built as he maintains a very firm exercise routine - being a Hitman takes a lot of muscle, so he can't get away with not exercising in the same way his teamates do, even if he experiences less threat than them.

- He also has a lot less scars than the rest of them for this very reason.

- His teammates are hot-headed, quick-thinkers; he is not. He is slow, cold and calculated. Since he is almost never in the heat of a battle, he is allowed to sit back and think. He has the time to calculate his next move.

This is his downfall, however; when Giorno's snake finds him in the trainstation he isn't given a chance to think through his next decision. The attack is quick and painful. ☹️.

- Unlike the rest of the team, he didn't know his parents that well. They sold him to Passione when he was very young, so any memory he does have of them has been soured.

- They were likely atheists, though.

- He can be quite manipulative at times, and he knows exactly what he's doing. In fact, he has a chart on Babyface which shows him the traits and weak-points of all his teammates; he knows near everything about them, and can poke and prod in a way that gets him exactly what he wants.

- His outfit squeaks whenever he walks. He's really bad at stealth missions.

- He also has REALLY bad posture (which I think is semi-canon tbh cuz, during that one scene where they are searching Donatella's house he walks into the room and HE LOOKS LIKE A SHRIMP.)

- I also have a transfem hc for Melone, but the last time I shared that with someone they started tweaking and told me it was weird so I mostly keep that to myself now  😭

- If he had lived, I think he would have had a MySpace and Tumblr, I think he'd of liked how you can customise your own blog and how it's your own little space to yap about whatever!

- Has a HORRIBLE sleep schedule. Not because he has insomnia or anything, but just because he always gets distracted on his laptop right before bed and ends up staying up until 4-5am.

Like Pesci, he is more of a night-owl anyways. The two often end up bumping into each other in the middle of the night.

- He is an artifical stand user (hit by arrow.)

Ghiaccio HCs:

Joined the hitman team at age 20 in 1994.

- His brash personality is a result of his bad upbringing. His parents were very abusive, and so he is used to having to bite back at those around him; he is constantly in 'defence mode' and snaps at the people around him often unintentionally.

He feels bad about it, but doesn't know how to stop. It's especially hard to recover from this habit when his teammates are always plucking at his nerves.

- With that in mind; his parents are rich.

Like, how else could he have that convertible??? La Squadra was getting paid PENNIES and then he rolls up to HQ in his shiny new eighty-one-million lira (i did the math for this) car????

- His parents seemed to think buying him nice stuff would win his affections. He got the car for his 18th birthday, and still uses it despite having since cut off his parents.

- He went to a private school growing up and is objectively the most educated on the entire team.

- Because of the way he was raised, he detests authorative figures. He didn't like Risotto when he first joined the team, but has since learnt to respect his stoic leader.

- Reads play-scripts for fun. (im projecting)

- REALLY likes tabletop RPGS, but would rather die than tell ANYONE about his little hobby.

He finds it to be a good distraction, especially after getting mad and blowing up at someone; painting the figures, or reading the rules, or playing the game can be a good way for him to focus on something else and relax.

His favourite is Warhammer, though. He doesn't like D&D, he thinks its for mainstream wannabe nerds. Not him. He's cool. (he's not.)

- He pretends to hate Fallout, but secretly loves it. I've talked abt it on my blog before, but I think when the first game came out in 1997 he was SO mad that RPG games were getting popular - Formaggio got into it and he felt like his interests were getting invaded, so he refused to play the game for like a year until the second Fallout came out in 1998, and he realised it was actually a really good game.

He is probably rolling around in his grave watching how Bethesda is slowly destroying the franchise.

- His family was Catholic, but he is an atheist.

- If he had lived, I like to think he would have DEFINITELY had a Reddit and 4Chan acct, but he wouldn't use it often because it would piss him off how stupid everyone is on there.

- He desperately needs a hug but doesn't know it and refuses to ask anyone for it. He is SO touch starved.

- Unlike Melone, he has a really good sleep schedule but suffers with insomnia. He takes melatonin gummies to go to sleep.

- He has a very good schedule in general; he exercises regularly, eats healthily, showers every day - with special shampoo to retain his curls, and likes to go for at least half an hour walks outside. A routine keeps him stable, he would fall into bad habits if he didn't have complete dictation over his own life.

- Because of this, he can grow extremely irritated when there are disruptions to his routine. Which happens often, since being a Hitman can be quite unpredictable.

- His stand is natural (born with ability.)

Illuso HCs:

Joined the hitman team at age 19 in 1995.

- Knows everything about everyone and WILL use it as blackmail.

- He is EXTREMELY nosy and will stick himself into EVERYONES business. Nobody is safe.

- Can be quite rude at times, but he never actually means it. It's just his way of showing affection. He has quite a sarcastic sense of humour that other people on the team *COUGH* GHIACCO *COUGH* don't get.

- Had to become very independent from a young age. He didn't have a father, only his mother which meant that when she developed a deadly sickness in his teens he was forced to support for the family by himself.

- BUT because of the fact that he was raised by his mother, he respects women! Yay! It's why he's into more 'feminine' stuff, he's never really seen an issue with being girly, and sometimes the others bully him for it but he doesn't care.

- He was probably raised Catholic, but doesn't really care for religion.

- He is a sleepwalker AND a sleep-stand-user (a term I made up), and will routinely freak everyone out by showing up in their mirrors in the middle of the night.

- He is so self-centred, yet blindingly insecure, that he thinks anyone who so-as-much spares him a glance is interested in him. With that in mind, he is oblivious to people who actually show interest in him.

- Illuso didn't know what he wanted to be when he grew up. He was forced into a role of authority so quickly, that he was never actually given a chance to think for himself.

- If he did get given a chance to pick his own career, he would likely stay on the Hitman team. He doesn't have the school-grades to get any job that is actually worthwhile, and he doesn't see a reason to leave his team.

- Refuses to let any of his teammates use two-in-one shampoo. If he sees it, he's throwing it. He once caught Formaggio using three-in-one and almost had a heart attack.

- Like Melone, if he had lived he probably would have owned a MySpace account.

- He is a natural stand user (born with stand)

Sorbet & Gelato HCs:

Joined the hitman team at ages 21 in 1995.

- I don't have a lot for these two, BUT, i could never forget them.

- I like to think they met in secondary-school, (high-school, for the Americans) but they didn't get together for a WHILE.

- This is because they were in totally different social circles. Gelato was quite popular and chatty, he knew a lot of people and was invited to parties like every weekend - yk, classic airheaded blond - whereas Sorbet was a social outcast and didn't have a lot of friends.

- But they are both extremely virile and violent.

- I think Gelato used to get a kick out of hurting other things. It started with animals, but eventually turned to that of people - he likes having control over things, knowing he is more powerful than those around him. He was a rampant bully, and took to hurting those he saw as 'less-than' him.

- Sorbet on the other hand, while he didn't actively go around hurting people for control, was into very grotesque things. He liked those weird, sexual slasher films of the 80's and took extreme interest in blood and gore and the likes.

- BECAUSE OF THIS, when they did eventually find each other, they clicked immediately! I'm not gonna share how I HC them having met, because it's spoilers for DK  🤭 but it's dramatic, it's bloody, and it's romantic!

- A lot of people interpret them both as being money hungry, but I don't think that's the case! In the series, when asked where they are, Ghiaccio suggests they might be "Playing hooky" (i hate that phrase sm), BUT THEN Risotto says "Gelato, maybe, but Sorbet always comes for his cut of the pay."

- Which makes me believe that out of the two of them, Sorbet is the greedy one. I think that Gelato doesn't care about money, and if he had been in charge the two wouldn't have tried to go against the Boss - but he loves Sorbet, and he wanted him to be happy. So when the discussion was first brought up, he had his reservations but trusted that they could pull this off.

THATS ALL. its all i can think of rn... i probably have more somewhere but ong I can't remember :(

[virginsexgod69]

Hi!! I love ur work for Daryl. I was wondering if you could write a daryl dixon oneshot where maybe him and the reader find an abandoned tattoo parlor while out on a supply run and reader gives him a tattoo and eventually that leads to smut! 🩷

❝ Inked ❞

pairing Daryl Dixon x F!Reader

cw established relationship, smut, unprotected p in v, pet names, pussy eating, needles (for tattoos), idk how to do tattoos so i apologize in advance for any inaccuracies

note omg i had a jolly good time writing this! tysm for the request =] i did lowkey tweak it slightly, but nothing major, i pinky promise

2.1k words

“I don’t think there’s anything else we can get outta this place,” you commented as you placed the only can- a can of cranberry sauce from who knows how long ago- into your backpack. You looked around, only seeing more bare shelves and Daryl. You smiled, a natural reaction you had whenever you saw him. He wrapped his strong arm around your shoulder, pulling you close before placing a kiss to your hairline. 

“We should take a look a’ these other stores ‘fore we start headin’ back,” he suggested as he guided you out the store, arm still wrapped snugly around you. You nodded your head in silent agreement, following beside him. It was hard to tell what most of the other buildings were since they were all dirty with broken or boarded up windows, but one in particular caught your eye. 

“Hey, look! A tattoo shop,” you pointed at the building, “Let’s go check it out!” You hurried toward it, semi-dragging Daryl with you. 

“The hell we gonna find at a tattoo shop?” He asked, seeming genuinely confused at why the hell you’d wanna go. 

“Hopefully more than some nasty ass canned cranberry sauce.” He couldn’t disagree with you there, so he fell in line with your fast paced steps toward the shop. 

 You both entered the shop with knives drawn in case any walkers decided to stumble out of the shadows. Nothing came when the two of you made noise in an attempt to draw them out, so you sheathed your knife and went all the way inside, Daryl in tow. The shop was small, which allowed the sunlight shining through the window to fill it. The walls were covered in framed pictures of tattoo designs, although they were covered in dust. The shop itself was in fairly good shape, considering. You and Daryl split off in different directions in search of anything that could be brought back to the prison. You couldn’t find anything that wasn’t tattoo related, which wasn’t surprising since this was a tattoo shop. What you did find, though, was a lot more exciting. Everything that you would need to do a tattoo was all there, right in front of you. 

“Find anything?” Daryl asked once he found you again. 

“Yes and no?” 

“Wha’s that s’pose to mean?” He asked. 

“There’s still everything here to do tattoos with, isn’t that cool?” 

“We gon’ get matchin' tattoos or somethin’? He teased. 

"Not a bad idea, Dixon," you mused. You patted the seat and he sat down after setting aside his crossbow and got comfortable. You thought about what to put on him. You had so many ideas that you may as well have had none. 

"Wha's goin' on in there?" he asked. It was something that he'd say whenever he noticed you deep in thought. 

"I don't even know what to put on ya," you admitted as you traced lazy lines on his bare arm with your finger, "or where to put it."  Your face brightened when an idea finally passed through your head. You grabbed his arm and turned his hand to face upward before wiping a spot on his wrist clean with the alcohol wipe you got lucky enough to find. You unpackaged a needle before dipping it into the ink cap. Since there wasn't any power, you'd have to do a stick and poke. You were vaguely familiar with them from a time of experimentation during your teen years. With your non-dominant hand, you stretched his skin before getting to work on your design. You could feel Daryl trying to take a peek at what you were doing, but you purposely blocked his view with your head each time. You worked slowly and carefully, doing your best to make something cute despite not even being an amateur. 

“Okay, you can look now,” you muttered timidly as you handed him back his arm. You weren’t sure if he’d like it or not and were starting to regret not finding a pen and making a sketch to run by him for approval first. But, it was too late now and all you could do was hope for the best. He brought his wrist closer to his face to get a better look. It was simple, a small love heart with his first initial plus yours. It looked like something a girl would doodle in her notebook while daydreaming about her crush. 

“S’cute,” he said as he admired the tattoo with a small, but genuine, smile on his face. His bright blue eyes looked up at you, filled with all the love and adoration in the world. “I love it.” You couldn’t help but smile at him. “You wanna gimme a matching one?” You joked, referencing his earlier comment. He glanced out the window, the sun was setting and it was likely you and him would have to spend the night here if he and you stayed for one more tattoo. Some privacy with you, alone, away from everyone at the prison sounded like heaven, and matching tattoos were a bonus. 

“Sure.” He got out of the seat and you got in. 

“You wan’ it in the same place?” 

You thought about it for a second. “I want it somewhere special, in a place for only you to see.” The rosy tint that blossomed on his cheeks wasn’t missed by you. You found it endearing how he sometimes grew flustered at your flirtation, despite it being nothing new. 

“Yeah? Where’s that?” He asked. 

“I dunno, Daryl. You pick,” you insisted with a smug look upon your face. He made quick work of unbuttoning your jeans and you lifted your hips to assist him in pulling them down all the way to your ankles. He stepped away and grabbed a new needle and ink. With another alcohol wipe, he cleaned a spot on your inner thigh before comfortably situating himself on his knees between your legs. You felt the small, frequent pokes of the needle as he got to work on the tattoo. Seeing him on his knees between your thighs made your stomach flutter. You knew that was his favorite place to be and having the tattoo there seemed like he was marking it as his own. As he was working, his hand accidentally brushed against your clit, eliciting a whine from you. He paused his work and glanced up at you, struggling to hide the smirk that tugged at his lips. You avoided his eye and he got back to work, but his hand bumped your clit more often. Each time left you desperate for more. You so badly wanted to close your legs and rub your thighs together or reach down and get yourself off, but you had to stay still. His hand brushed against you once more, causing you to squirm a little. 

“Keep still.” 

You glared down at him. “I’m trying to, but you keep-” He did it again and this time you were one hundred percent sure it was on purpose. Grumbling under your breath, you leaned back against the seat and did your best to keep still as he finished up. Once he was done, he wiped off the excess ink. 

“We should probably secure the place since we’re gonna be spendin’ the night here,” he suggested. 

“But Daryl,” you whined, “you can’t just leave me like this. You knew what you were doing earlier!” 

"Wha? Givin' you a tattoo?" You huffed and rolled your eyes and reached down to pull your pants back up, but he stopped you. 

"I'm jus' playin' darlin'. Sit back." He gently pushed you back into the chair before getting back on his knees. Slowly, he pulled your panties down to your ankles with your formerly discarded pants and yanked them both off over your shoes. He firmly gripped your hips and pulled you to the edge of the seat and placed your legs over his shoulders. Feeling his hot tongue lick up and down your soaked slit had you gripping the arm rests for support. With his thumb, he rubbed slow, teasing circles on your hard clit. His tongue was a welcome intrusion in your soaked entrance. You gasped and moaned out his name and your hands flew to his hair, your fingers getting tangled in his soft locks. This motivated him to rub faster circles on your clit, earning more gasps and moans from you. His tongue thrusted in and out of your dripping cunt as he tasted all of your juices, refusing to let any go to waste. You tugged his hair as your thighs involuntarily clamped around his head and he moaned unexpectedly, the vibrations from it bringing you closer to the edge. Your walls clenched around the pink muscle as he focused it on that one spot that always did things to you. 

"Daryl, please! I'm so close," you whined, desperate for him to bring you to your orgasm. If he weren't trapped between your plush thighs, he would've talked you through it, but instead he moved his lips to your clit and started sucking on it while prodding the bud with his tongue. You squeezed your eyes shut as the white hot waves of pleasure overtook your body. Daryl worked faster once he felt you tense up and your thighs convulsing around his head. Your fingers tightened in his hair as your toes curled. You could the vibration of his pleasured grunts against your soft flesh. 

"I'm gonna-" your back arched and head fell back as he pushed you over the edge, immersing you in a world of pleasure. He continued to lap at your pussy as you rode out your orgasm. Once you came down from that high, you relaxed and slumped against the chair. Daryl reluctantly freed himself from between your thighs since he needed to catch his breath again. His dick was straining against his pants with how hard he was just from hearing your sounds of pleasure and tasting your pretty pussy. And now, just seeing your fucked out face made him want to cum in his pants. 

 In one quick swipe, he cleared a nearby table of all its supplies. He picked you up from the chair with ease, tossing you over his shoulder before gently laying you onto the table. He made quick work of freeing his erection from his pants and stroked it a few times, causing precum to bubble up on the angry red tip. He lined it up with your slit, rubbing it up and down your slick folds teasingly. 

"So wet fer me, baby," he groaned as he lined himself up with your needy hole. You wrapped your legs around his hips, desperate for him to fill you up. Your body welcomed him as he slid in easily. 

"Yer takin' me so good, sunshine." He leaned down and connected his lips with yours. You moaned as you tasted yourself on his tongue. His tongue danced with yours as you kissed each other passionately. Large, rough hands palmed at your clothed tits as he started thrusting into you. Frustrated with your shirt, he hurriedly pulled it over your head before attaching his lips to your neck, roughly sucking and biting your skin. His tongue slid over your carotid artery, feeling how fast your heart was beating. You clumsily tugged at his shirt and vest, a silent plea for him to take them off, which he did. When he was with you, his insecurities were non existent. You tightly gripped his shoulders, nails digging hollow indents into his skin as he increased the pace of his thrusts. 

"Feel so good," you slurred. He kissed open mouthed kisses down your body, occasionally leaving marks in his wake. You squirmed and moaned beneath him, your second orgasm approaching fast. He was close too, you could feel it in the way  his cock twitched inside you and his pace became slower snd less rhythmic. 

"I'm boutta cum, baby," he groaned. You wanted to tell him you were, too, but your mind was a jumbled mess that was drunk off his cock. When your second orgasm came, your walls tightly hugged his shaft, squeezing him closer to his own climax. He quickly pulled out and stroked himself the rest of the way. His mouth fell open and eyes rolled back as he shot white hot ropes of cum all over your naked body. 

 He collapsed into a nearby chair, panting for air. You slid off the table and joined him in the chair by sitting on his lap. Both your bodies were coated in the thin sheen of sweat as you held each other close as exhaustion took over your bodies. 

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[sharkiethrts]

[𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒐𝒐!]

𝖯𝖱𝖮𝖬𝖯𝖳: 𝖽𝗈 𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗇 𝗉𝖾𝗈𝗉𝗅𝖾?

𝙜/𝙣 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

: reader is a short life species, jing yuan is pining (ineffectively) at the reader, jing yuan is making old man moves

:427 words

It's not very often that the General would summon the Master Diviner herself to the seat of Divine Foresight. After all, her constant nagging is not something even a person who has lived millenniums can sit to and listen to.

"What is it that's so important that you called me over, General? Have you perhaps finally decided to make me your successor? It's about time, you know? I am perfectly fitted for the position of-"

Oh, that again. Jing Yuan makes a quick decision to cut her off before she decides to "remind" him of her very qualified resume through memorised paragraphs after paragraphs, "-I'd like you to make a divination for me, Fu Xuan. It's rather important and personal."

"Personal?" Fu Xuan pauses to think, before her face starts booming with much familiarised exasperation again, "Will you please stop wasting the Divination Commission's time again? Our time may seem like nothing to you, but we spend centuries to ensure the Luofu's safety and peace- just because you're bored from the Luofu's troubles, doesn't mean that you'd get to-"

"Please, Fu Xuan? This is rather important."

The General's unforeseen desperation completely catches Fu Xuan off guard.

"...What is it? Make it quick before I change my mind!" Fu xuan decides to make a cut for this time. Perhaps the General is stricken with a troublesome entity after sitting in the seat of Divine Foresight for far too long. Perhaps the General actually has a problem that may concern the comfort of the Luofu Xianzhou-

"It's regarding my lovelife. I'd like you to foresee it's fruits in the future," The general says with an infuriating smile.

Nevermind! Wait. Lovelife?

"Perhaps you'd like to retire and finally find a spouse?!" Fu Xuan's angry exterior has now been banished coincidentally by the chance she sees ahead of him (which is no chance at all- The general is awaiting her maturity, and unfortunately for Fu Xuan, she is showing none of it), "If that's the case-"

"-If this goes successful, I may just consider that very enticing option," But the general, like the lowlife he is, doesn't bother to correct her. Instead, taking advantage of Fuxuan's newly found interest to dig deeper into his current frustrations.

"Please do continue, general!"

Oh yeah, she's buying it.

"What do young people like these days? Perhaps my idea of chivalry is not theirs, but I find that my attempts of quality time doesn't seem to build any type of bond with them. It's quite a problem really," General sighs, his head leaning on his right fist- eyes shutting for awhile to recount his multiple (failed) attempts on flirtatious attempts towards you.

[General Jing Yuan: Pardon me, Lady [name], but I wonder whether you have the time to come to the Seat of Divine Foresight right now for a game of Xianzhou starchess?]

[[Name]: Idk if I can play that tho haha lol,,, what's with the "lady" anyway? u shld prolly do ur work general, unless you wanna get your ass kicked again by qingzu. say hi to her for me btw :p]

Not only he's having trouble trying to decipher your text messages, he's having problems trying to get you to at the very least, interested in him. I mean, why are you mentioning Qingzu so much in a conversation with him?

Even his offers to teach you received reluctant rejections. And Jing Yuan doesn't push because his late father taught him "the ways of a gentleman".

"What's your idea of a quality time anyway?" Fu Xuan butts into his thoughts, "Don't tell me it's playing starchess or reading up on the latest puzzles on Starchess in Xianzhou Magazine?"

Jing Yuan tries to reply, but his answers are stuck in a gaped mouth.

"ARE YOU SERIOUS?" Fu Xuan lets out an aggravated yell. It's not hard to see that she's absolutely confounded by the General's lack of awareness regarding the "simple acts of wooing"- but she supposes it makes sense, after all, he has been alive for quite awhile. He doesn't like to disclose his age- but she is sure that it has reached at least a millenial.

He clears his throat, "...I suppose young people wouldn't find it quite appealing now that you have phrased it that way."

Fu Xuan sighs again, deciding to cross her arms so she doesn't impulsively maul the general's face for his dense outlook on courting, "How old are they anyway? If they are young, I suppose that they are around the two centuries old age range?"

"...Give it just about a few decades."

Fu Xuan swears that her eyes almost popped out of their sockets, "Are you talking about [name]?!"

The general's booming laugh is heard across the room, but his red face exposes his nervousness, "Now, now- keep it down. We don't need the guards hearing this."

Fu Xuan attempts to keep her composure once again, deciding that its best not to put the Luofu General's name to shame by exposing his ridiculously failure of a love life to the whole of Xianzhou. But she just can't help but point out, "They probably think of you as an old man, you know? Especially with the starchess talk and all- it's impossible to perceive underlying romantic connotations from invitations to a game of starchess- especially for a youngling."

The general's face turns sour and Fu Xuan braces herself for another attack, "Then I suppose my talks regarding my old age isn't helping at all?"

Fu Xuan thanks the eons above that she had made a conscious decision to cross her arms.

[fawnhunter]

lover boy behavior.

Just some Plug! Connie thoughts [MASTERLIST]

warnings- fluff fluff fluff, mention of weed

- Plug! Connie who grew up with you and has always adored you. You guys grew up on the same street, he remembers the days when he used to knock on your door and ask when you'd be home so you guys could play outside together. ever since those days he’s made sure to stay by ur side ever since.

-He carries around a picture of you two as kids in his wallet, it's a picture that your mom's took of you guys together at the beach building a sandcastle, and then there's another one in the back of his phone case that is just a picture of you, its one of ur your senior portraits and he adores it

- Plug! Connie who makes sure all ur drug experiences are good ones. that ur shits not laced and ur safe and sound under his watchful eyes. Can you make sure to keep you comfortable and probably asks if you're ok way too much

- He rolls all ur joints for you beforehand and he likes to stick around while you smoke from time to time. orders food for you both and keeps you hydrated on the down low. His favorite part is when you guys argue about what you were gonna watch together

- Plug! Connie who is could honestly care less about what’s going on if ur not involved. he could be out with eren and ony and his only thoughts are “what’s y/n doing? i wonder if they home yet? fuck lemme just text em-

- Plug! Connie who takes you to parties with him and just about everywhere else. he enjoys ur company like no other, even when y’all just chilling in silence, he really wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

- he sits on the couch making conversation all the while keeping his eyes on u, dancing with ur friends, one of Megan’s songs u loved blaring through the house, watching the sway of ur hips and the smile on ur face, he sighed totally in awe (meanwhile ony just laughs at his simpin ass

-Plug! Connie who would stop what he’s doing and come to ur rescue if he had to. it does not matter what else he got going on rn, he’s on the way baby

- one text, to come get u, is all he need to be in the car and on the way to ur location. pulled up, out the car already mean mugging everyone in sight till he finds you

-Plug! Connie who uses some of (a large portion) of the money he makes to pay for ur college classes, dares you to try and stop him “you gon be great one day mamas, whether u like it or not.

- Plug! Connie who “takes off” some nights so you guys can get dinner and hang out. he comes over all comfy and shit just to get high and watch movies.

- Plug! Connie who should really be sleepin on the couch, but fakes sleep when you check on him when the credits start to roll. he fakes those loud ass snore you complain about so he can stay in bed with u for the night

-Plug! Connie who swears nothing is better than breakfast with you in the morning. watching you eat, sleep all in ur eyes, bonnet forgotten on the pillow. He could definitely get used to this.

- Plug! Connie who’s totally not carving out a space for you in his heart.

thx for reading, pls consider leaving a request!!