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[swooningsheep]

Chigiri is not going to tear his acl again. Chigiri is not going to tear his acl again. Chigiri is NOT going to tear his acl again. Chigiri is NOT going to tear his acl again. Chigiri is NOT going to tear his acl again. Chigiri is NOT going to tear his acl again. Chigiri is not going to tear his acl again.

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"i'm getting married."

you don't dare turn around when you say it. don't know if you can stomach it. your eyes are shut tight and your face is screwed up and your hands are clenched into fists at your side.

you feel your engagement ring biting into your finger as you squeeze.

"what's that got to do with me?" you hear touya say after a moment. his tone is breezy. unburdened.

"just thought you might like to know."

it's quiet again for a moment, then touya kisses the back of his teeth—a sound he's always made. it's one you think about often.

"never really thought much about getting married." he doesn't say it in a cruel way. he says it like it's true, because it is. that's why it stings. "i'd probably have made a pretty terrible husband."

there are a million things you want to say. you want to agree with him. you want to oppose him. you want to curse him for being right and wrong at the same time. you want to tell him that you wish you could find out for yourself. that you wish he had thought about it.

you want to turn around a look at him and see what kind of face he's making. want to know if his expression is as bittersweet as his tone of voice.

but when you do turn, he's not there. at least not in the way you may have wanted. it's just the todoroki family grave, and the flowers you brought, and a little ceramic dish that looks handmade that you're not sure who left there.

tears prick at your eyes, from frustration as much as agony. it's a beautiful spring day outside, and the sun glints off the ring on your finger when you avert your gaze down to your trembling hands. you look away, because the sight of it still makes you feel a little sick.

"it should have been you."

it's unfair that touya makes you just as angry in his death as he had in his life. it's unfair he's not here for you to complain about just how unfair it is.

the wind brushes through the leaves overhead. a cool breeze that reminds you that the winter's not long-passed. it tempers your anger, if only slightly. the bite of the wind balms the ache in your chest.

the chill reminds you of him. just like the sound of air behind teeth. and the ring on your finger.

you leave the grave without another word. you won't come back again.

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sometimes i dont want to hold and cherish my blorbos sometimes i just want to bite and chew and gnaw on them until we are one and the same

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making him the blue lock captain was the correct choice however i was voting for rin again myself #bluelock

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chigiri was a lot harder for me to draw!!! his hair!!!

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Blue Lock art~💙

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Blue Lock art~💙

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WHY IS NOBODY TALKING ABT NIKO

WHY WAS I NOT ABOUT THIS ENLIGHTENED EARLIER???

GET THIS MAN MORE FANS PLZZ?????

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being teased in public by karasu would include…

that cocky little smirk the second he sees you in something cute. he’d just whistle low under his breath and say “damn, you wore that for me?” loud enough for people nearby to hear. you try to shush him, but he only leans in and adds, “you know how i get when you dress like that.”

he’s resting his hand way too high on your thigh under the table. especially during group dinners. and he’ll keep talking to the others like nothing’s happening while his fingers trace lazy circles on your inner thigh.

he’s whispering filth in your ear while you’re stuck smiling in public. “you keep biting your lip like that and i’ll make you cry later. you want that, don’t you?” and then acting all innocent when you squirm in your seat.

he’s pushing boundaries at the worst times. like standing way too close behind you while you’re shopping, brushing his lips along your neck and murmuring, “bend over a little more, baby. that view’s killing me.”

he’s taking your hand and guiding it to feel how hard he is. even in public. even while you’re blushing and trying to yank your hand away, he just laughs, “you started this. you deal with it.”

he’s grabbing your waist when you try to walk away. he yanks you back against him with a low groan, muttering, “you think you can tease me and just walk off? nah. i’m not done with you yet.”

him sending you texts like: “you look so fuckable right now. i’m gonna fuck you so slow when we get home. just so you remember who you belong to.” …while you’re across the table from him, trying not to drop your fork.

he knows exactly what makes you tick. he’ll slide his hand between your legs in a dark corner of a party just to feel you clench and then back off like nothing happened, smirking when he sees you frustrated and needy.

he’s saying shit like: “you’re being so good for me right now. but how long are you gonna last before you beg me to ruin you?” …with that low voice and heated gaze, eyes glued to you like he’s already undressing you.

him making you ride home with him in complete silence. except for the way his hand stays locked around your thigh, fingers digging in possessively, just counting down the minutes until you’re alone.

the second you’re behind closed doors? the teasing stops. the patience vanishes and karasu becomes ruthless.

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he's so cute. i just want to bite him. and bite him. bite him again. bite him. bite him. bite him. let me sink my teeth on him.

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Everything on this blog with Gin is hilarious. XD Could we have a scenario where he's teasing a subordinate who has feelings for him? Thank!!

I think this is my first ever Gin fic. I hope you enjoy it. He’s the ultimate tease!

Characters: Gin Ichimaru

Contents: boss/subordinate relationship, abusing authority, Gin is a warning unto himself tbh, gn! reader

Gin Ichimaru

Third seat was a good, steady officer’s position to hold. It didn’t have quite the prestige of lieutenant, but it was better than the twenty or so seats that ranked below. Besides, you weren’t sure you’d survive working as second-in-command to Ichimaru-taicho.

You raised your eyes from your desk and glanced out the window to the courtyard below. Persimmon trees lined the courtyard, spreading their thin, twisting branches and dark glossy leaves. The trees were heavy with small orange fruit, the ripe, heady scent heavy in the air. 

Ichimaru-taicho strolled from tree to tree, his hands clasped behind his back like some kind of wise old master. He wore his permanent fox-smile, eyes seemingly shut but able to see perfectly well. His voice drifted up to you, the tone lilting even as he gave the scurrying attendant behind him instructions. 

“See that the fallen fruits are gathered twice a day,” he instructed the hastily-nodding shinigami. “I’d hate for any to go to waste. Understand?”

Somehow, he managed to make that sound vaguely threatening. The attendant nodded faster, scribbling down Ichimaru-taicho’s instructions. The captain’s smile widened slightly, and he let out a hum, turning his gaze back toward his trees—

Without warning, his head snapped up toward the administration building, staring directly at you. You jerked back from the window, caught. Ichimaru’s smile widened a fraction more, and he raised his voice. It reached you even where you hid behind the window frame.

“If you have enough time to spy on me, you have enough time to assist me.”

You bit your lip, glancing at your desk. Paperwork still littered it. Could you bury yourself in it and pretend not to have heard him? Or just disappear from the office entirely? Before you could decide, Ichimaru’s voice floated up to the window, borne on a summer breeze that somehow gave you chills:

“Don’t make me come and find you~”

A shiver crawled down your spine at those words, and you couldn’t quite be sure if it was dread or something else. The thought of your captain sweeping through the halls, looking for you… It was better that you went down to him and suffered through whatever taunts he wanted to throw at you, rather than making it worse by hiding. He might even enjoy the little game of having to track you down, which would only prolong your suffering. 

Cursing yourself for your nosiness, you left the administration office and trudged downstairs into the courtyard. Head down, shoulders slumped, in the manner of a prisoner approaching the gallows. The day’s heat enfolded you like a blanket as you stepped outside, only to be swept away a moment later by a light breeze that lifted your hair and tugged at your sleeves. Persimmon trees threw dappled shade across the courtyard as you made your way toward the white-robed captain. 

“Hmm?” Ichimaru turned, then let out a pleased hum. “There you are. Decided to be brave today, did we?”

“Yes, sir,” you said, for lack of any better response. 

“Delightful.” He thrust something into your arms. A basket. “Hold this.”

Startled back half a step, you shuffled the wicker contraption to get a better grasp on it. It was empty, but not for long. Ichimaru reached up, his long-fingered hands wrapping around a persimmon. He grasped the branch, twisting the fruit gently as he pulled. The fruit was small, the size of a large plum, and bright orange. He turned it this way and that, assessing it, before dropping it into your basket. 

He circled the tree, pulling down branches and examining their leaves, the fruit they bore. He looked for all the world like a farmer, concerned about his crop. You’d known, in a vague sort of way, that Ichimaru-taicho tended the orchard, but to see him take this level of care and interest in something… 

Abandoning the current tree, he strode toward the next, beckoning you after him like he was calling along a stray dog. 

“Keep up, now.”

You hurried after him, along with the gardening attendant whose name you couldn’t remember. The attendant was visibly sweating, mopping at their forehead and upper lip with their shihakusho sleeve. The captain must have been messing with them again. It was like he couldn’t help himself.

“Ichimaru-taicho,” said the attendant. “The special soil you ordered has been delayed by—”

“I’m bored of you now,” Ichimaru said, waving him off. “You can go. Just tell me when it arrives.”

The attendant sketched a hasty bow and scurried away, shihakusho flapping behind him in his haste. A little jolt ran through you—you were alone with Ichimaru-taicho. He plucked down another persimmon and paused, turning his head toward you as if he’d just had the same thought. He made an amused sound in the back of his throat.

“Come now, there’s no need to look so nervous.”

That…that was a lie. There was always a reason to look nervous around Ichimaru-taicho. Even if you tried to conceal it, he was too perceptive. He read the incredulous expression on your face and chuckled to himself, dropping the latest fruit into your basket. The pile was growing. It seemed he was only picking the ripest persimmons, those who would have that sweet, honey-like flavour you had grown accustomed to since joining the Third Division. You licked your lips, mouth suddenly dry, and dared a question.

“Are you going to dry these, Ichimaru-taicho?”

He did that often, and handed them out like candy to his subordinates. Everyone took them, even if they didn’t particularly like persimmons. Refusing would be disrespectful to their captain. And more importantly, it was deeply uncomfortable to try and refuse when Ichimaru-taicho stood in front of you, his smile widening as he beseeched you not to be so polite.

“These?” Ichimaru turned over the persimmon in his hand. “No, these should be eaten right away. They can be distributed with supper.”

“Oh, that’s very generous of you…” you said, for lack of anything more witty to comment. 

Ichimaru smirked. “Yes, I am a benevolent soul, aren’t I?”

You bit your tongue. There were many responses to that statement, and every single one of them would give Ichimaru an opening to needle you. The basket was beginning to grow heavy in your arms, and a bead of sweat slid down your spine. 

“So what was the special soil you ordered for the trees?” you asked, side-stepping the topic entirely. “These trees already look pretty healthy to me.”

“To your untrained, naive little eyes I’m sure they do,” Ichimaru said, his tone mocking. “But the soil here isn’t ideal for growing persimmon. I have to get it shipped in from the Rukongai.”

“If I may ask…”

Ichimaru raised an eyebrow at you, the only permission you’re going to get.

“Why persimmons?” You adjusted the basket in your arms so it didn’t slip. “There are so many fruit trees around Third Division, but just one type of fruit.”

“Don’t you like persimmons?” he asked, the question weighted.

“No, I do,” you hastened to reassure him. “I was just wondering why…”

It was another one of the many mysteries that made up Gin Ichimaru. His background, his family, his friends, his motives, feelings, likes and dislikes—all of it was unknown. Well, except for persimmons, you thought dryly, as he placed yet another in the basket. He really likes those.

“I grew up in the Rukongai,” he said suddenly, startling you from your thoughts. You stared at him. Was he actually going to tell you, or was this another one of his jokes? “Food is scarce out there, and especially anything fresh or sweet.”

He reached up and parted the dark green leaves to select a particularly ripe specimen. He brought it down, rubbing a thumb against its plump skin in a way that was almost…sensual. You didn’t speak. You hardly dared breathe, lest he stop talking and start taunting you again. To learn anything about your captain, even the smallest sliver, was a once-in-a-lifetime event.

“I found a tree,” he said. “The persimmons weren’t perfect, uncultivated, often bitter. But sometimes, sometimes they were sweet.” 

Taking the persimmon in both hands, he twisted it deftly, splitting the fruit in two. Juice spurted, running across his palm and down his wrist. Ichimaru raised one half to his mouth, taking a bite. His teeth were even and white, his canines slightly sharp…almost as if he really were the fox everyone compared him to. His teeth sunk into the fruit’s succulent flesh, a hum in the back of his throat. 

Eyes wide, you could do nothing but watch, pulse thumping in your ears. Ichimaru tsked, tugging his shihakusho sleeve out of the way to lick a stray drop from his wrist. Helpless, you followed the brief stroke of his tongue against the pale, smooth skin of his wrist. 

He looked up. Caught. 

Ichimaru’s smile widened, and he did something you didn’t expect. He extended his hand, holding out the persimmon half, toward you.

“Here, have a bite.”

“What?” You stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Have. A. Bite.”

It was the same piece he’d bitten, his teeth marks evident in the persimmon’s flesh, an imprint of his mouth. Your mouth flooded with saliva. You should have rebelled at the thought of eating something Ichimaru had already tasted, but… It was an order, and you were bound to obey. You tried to shuffle the basket into one arm, to take the fruit, but Ichimaru pulled his hand back.

“Ah-ah.”

His intent was clear. 

He would make you eat from his hand, like some kind of pet or wild animal he had managed to tame. You waited, and he held out the fruit again, though not quite far enough, forcing you to lean forward. You made the mistake of looking up at him as the persimmon touched your lips. Your breath stalled in your throat.

Ichimaru’s eyes were open. 

Just a sliver, but enough to let you see the clear, sky blue colour of them. The sweet, honey taste of the persimmon hit your tongue, the soft flesh sliding down your throat. Juice glistened on your lips, before you licked it away by reflex. Time seemed to slow, attenuate, as you stared into your captain’s eyes, his hand and the twice-bitten fruit still mere inches from your lips. Your mouth tingled, drying out from the persimmon’s astringency. 

Would he taste the same? you wondered. If you were brave enough, stupid enough, to press your lips to his.

Ichimaru turned the fruit over, looking at ravaged remains of the persimmon. You waited, breath baited, for him to say something, to comment on what you’d just shared.

He tossed it over his shoulder, and dusted his hands off.

The tension between you cracked and fell apart like a poorly-made clay pot. You were left gaping at your captain. He smiled placidly back at you.

“Take those to the kitchens,” he said, making a little shooing motion. “Don’t try to sneak any, or I’ll know~”

You stood there, as still and dumb as a statue, while Ichimaru turned and sauntered off, humming to himself. It was painfully obvious, now, that he had simply been messing with you, as was his wont. He knew about your obsession with him, so he’d lured you in with a little detail about his life, then forced you to watch a downright indecent display of him eating the persimmon. The indirect kiss was just the cherry on top. 

My captain is a bastard, you thought, licking your lips once again. 

Persimmon tasted just how you felt. Sweet, yet slightly bitter.

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When the sky turns dark (Gin Ichimaru x Reader)

It seems like you’re always chasing him.

Gin Ichimaru is infamous for many things, but his elusive nature and ability to disappear for long stretches of time without being found are by far the more aggravating to you. With the powerful reiatsu of a captain, you didn’t think it would be possible to simply vanish the way he does it, but Gin’s always one for pulling the rug out from under your feet. Perhaps it’s this mysteriousness that leaves you always wanting more, always willing to come back no matter what tricks he decides to play. You have your pride, of course, but Gin has a way of getting exactly what he wants out of people, even if they’re not keen to give it to him.

So when he offers to let you come with him on a simple trip out into the wilds to hunt some hollows that have been inching closer to the Seireitei, you’re only too eager to accept. You rarely if ever get to go on missions with Gin, a captain’s day is too busy for such ordinary grunt work and you understand the chance you’re being offered.

Or at least, you thought you did.

Now, you’re running for your life.

You don’t know where the other members of Squad Three are. Maybe they were killed or perhaps they fled to get help. It hardly matters what their reasons for their unattendance is – what matters is that the Hollows out here were a long stronger than the reports had lead you to believe.

Your legs ache from running and there’s a taste in your mouth that reminds you of blood, like your heart has leapt up your throat to pound furiously in your mouth as you try not to fall, try to go somewhere where you might be able to turn the tables. Killing hollows is a routine thing, nothing you wouldn’t be able to handle under ordinary circumstances, but there are so many of them and you are so tired.

Your foot catches on something – a branch, a rock, it judders hard against your toe and just like that you’re toppling forwards, falling down a slope and landing painfully on one knee, ripping the fabric of your hakama and very probably your skin too. You stagger up, up, fighting the urge to vomit. The horde are getting closer, you can practically smell them.

There’s nobody around. Gin disappeared almost as soon as you arrived at the hollow’s nest, saying something vague about how he had “somethin’ to do” and expected all of you to be able to take care of the problem on your own. His shunpo was too fast for anybody to get any further questions in, and you knew better than to try.

Now you wonder if he had just brought you out here to get rid of you.

He wouldn’t. Would he?

Keep reading

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every character i selfship with is queer by default because i am queer

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"He fell to his knees, his heart full of cheer,And thanked the heavens, for bringing her near." - James Thomson, "The Seasons"

"He fell to his knees, his eyes upcast,And prayed for her love, with a fervent heart at last." - John Keats, "Endymion"

"He knelt before her, and with a gentle smile, he said, 'My dear, I love you, I cherish you, I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy.'"* - Pride and Prejudice

"He dropped to his knees, his arms wrapping around her waist, and held her close." - Charlotte Brontë, "Jane Eyre"

"He fell on his knees, his face buried in her lap, and wept for her love."* - Victor Hugo, "Les Misérables"

"He knelt beside her, his eyes shining with adoration, and whispered, 'You are my everything.'" - Elizabeth Gaskell, "North and South"

“I always picture him as a little boy. I sit and he lays his head on my knees and falls asleep, and I stroke his head softly and caress him … I always imagined him like that when he was not with me …” -Fyodor Dostoevsky, “The Insulted and Humiliated”

"Onto my knees, I’ll quickly fall Down by your side. I’ll tamely wait for your commands And hear them through, And treasure every single chance Of meeting you. Your servant, and your love, at times. Your passion’s wave Has conquered me. And always, I’m— Your humble slave.'" -Alexander Blok, from “Servus—Reginae”

"I would fall upon my knees and plead to God to deliver you in my arms once again." - JOHN WIENERS, from “Cocaine”  

"But your voice — that would deliver my knees to the ground." - lfredo Encanasa, from “The New World”

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⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆

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h. chigiri relationship headcanons

has very few people he lets close, so when he picks you? it’s everything—at first, he’s polite, distant, pretty to look at, and impossible to reach. then you catch him smiling just for you and leaning his head on your shoulder, humming under his breath. and just like that, you’re his safe place.

lets you play with his hair but acts like he hates it—“mmph. you’re going to mess it up.” but then he tilts his head to give you better access. and closes his eyes. and sighs.

pulls you into workouts with him, but slows down to your pace—“you wanna train with me? cute. try to keep up.” (he ends up behind you. guiding your hips. “good girl. just like that.”)

has a sharp tongue for everyone else, but melts for you—the boys get told to shut up, but for you? “wait, are you cold? here. take my jacket.”

gets flustered when you call him beautiful—he scoffs and rolls his eyes. but you see the way his ears turn pink. “say it again and i’ll kiss you so hard you forget how to speak.”

beautiful, dominant, and precision-driven—he doesn’t rush. he studies your body like a map. finds what makes you twitch, whimper, gasp and then stays there. “i like this spot,” he purrs, fingers circling your clit. “you’re so responsive.”

licks his lips before going down on you and holds eye contact the entire time—kisses your thighs. laps at your folds slow and deliberate. then smirks when you moan. “already this loud? i’ve barely started.”

bondage but make it pretty—silk scarves. his practice bandages. your panties if he’s feeling cocky. he ties your wrists, kisses your stomach, and murmurs, “you look so much better when you’re restrained.”

praise kink with a hint of cockiness—“such a good girl for me.”—“no one else gets to see you like this.”—“tell me how perfect i make you feel.”

finishes inside, but slow and intimate. eyes on yours. forehead to forehead—you say his name like it’s the only thing left. and he moans back, “fuck, don’t stop saying it.”

aftercare like a ritual—carries you to bed. brushes your hair out of your face. traces soft circles on your back with steady fingers. “you okay?” he whispers. “you’re mine, you know that? only mine.”

chigiri is elegance, danger, and soft-spoken obsession—he’ll race through the world for victory, but stop everything if you say, “stay.”