#PLSPLSPLSPLS ^_^

[saetoshis]

the way its june 1st n there aren’t tits in my face ?;?;,?

[sharkobssesedpupgirl]

[kokomini9]

doodles of themmmmm // geppie cute either way and then cute domestic au 🤭💕

[yrsonpurpose]

So do be careful...

[stinkypeanutbutter]

He eepy . .

But seriously , he’s a heavy napper

someone help her

pls

[kamiversee]

OKAY GUYS IM WRITING THE NEXT CHAPTER BUT I JUST NEED YALL TO SEE MY VISION REALLY QUICKLY🙏

Had to share my visuals with yall fr 😩 not my art btw, I found this on pinterest ><

[marsarchy]

GUYS send me doodle ideas I need to practice

Anyway I watched one video essay on them and now I'm MISERABLE

[sugadolly]

oh please…

[pettyprocrastination]

Leg Day

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Female Powerlifter!Reader

Summary: You first catch Art Donaldson's eye in the university gym when all you want to do is hit back and biceps before class, the tennis player finds himself quite caught in your physique.

Warnings: foul language, smut, oral (f receiving), Art eats pussy and likes your thighs a whole lot. Reader is described as muscular. One line describes reader as not looking like Tashi in terms of physique.

Word Count: 1k

Author's note: Forcing myself to get back into writing at the same time im forcing myself to get back to the gym :') take this lil ficlet as a sign of my love for those who still follow me on here lmaoo.

Art adored your thighs. 

You didn’t look like Tashi. Not that there was anything wrong with that in his mind, of course. But the physiques differed greatly. The star tennis player of Stanford had a lean build from her years of training and perfecting her sport. Long legs that covered the court in smooth strides and toned arms that delivered a vicious backhand. 

The same body he and Patrick had nearly shared that one fateful night in a dingey hotel room when they should have been sleeping before their match in the morning. The same body he had found his gaze lingering on a touch too long to be appropriate for his best friend's girlfriend. 

And the same body you called him out for drooling over in the campus gym when all you wanted to do was a simple arm workout before your 10 am. 

“So are you actually going to use the bench or are you just gonna sit on it and stare at her like a fucking creep for another twenty minutes?” 

You were not Tashi Duncan. 

Strong arms crossed over one another as you waited for him to either say something or move, neither of which his brain could comprehend as you stood before him expectantly. A powerful, if not a tad intimidating physique supported by thick, muscular quads built from years of lifting heavy in sweat-filled weight rooms since you were a little girl that grew tired of soccer. 

Then cheer. 

Then volleyball. 

The gymnastics. 

Powerlifting was the one sport that finally stuck. 

“It makes me feel strong.” You had explained your love for the sport to him one night. With his head laying in your lap, the textbook he had carried with him to your dorm under the excuse of needing help studying now laid discarded on your floor as he listened to your story. “Seeing how much I can lift, how it feels to finally make a weight you’ve been struggling with for so long. It feels like you’re proving something, you know? Especially when you’re one of the only girls in the weight room.” 

Art could feel the testament to your craft under him. The thick corded muscle of your quads beneath his head as your fingers carded through his hair absentmindedly. Legs that were hugged by every pair of shorts you wore or hidden beneath the same pair of Stanford sweatpants whenever you felt a chill in the air. He found himself dreading the coming of winter as the two of you began to spend more time together. 

He wasn’t sure when the admiration began to shift into something deeper, slowly turning from one athlete showing respect for another’s commitment to their sport into a hormonal college freshman staring at your ass in spandex shorts each time he bumped into you at the campus gym. 

What he did know was that the night he finally found himself between your legs was one he would never forget. How quickly the pair of you shed your clothes in one anothers embrace, turning your room into nothing more than a collection of discarded study packets and kicked off Stanford merch telling the story that Art would no doubt replay in his mind for the entirety of winter break. 

The soft smile on your face as he crawled on top of you, pressing fervent kisses to every inch of your body that you would allow him access. How he memorized each microscopic reaction, that a kiss to your neck would make you giggle but turn into a shuddering gasp if he dug his teeth into the skin. How you softened in his arms when he ran his tongue along the scar lining your hip, one he would have to ask you about someday. 

But dear God, he could write poetry about your legs. 

The feeling of them wrapping around his head while he lapped at your cunt with tentative kitten licks that soon turned into devouring you with a desperation that could no doubt be heard through the walls. Your muscles twitching and trembling from his touch as you cried out his name with an arched back and scrambling hands, desperately trying to reach him until you found purchase in his soft curls, gripping just tight enough to verge on being painful. His own moans mixing with yours, poor bastard getting so lost in giving you pleasure he didn't even realize when he began to grind his hips into your mattress, desperately searching for a release while helping you reach your own. 

To hear your voice pitch into an airy whine as your thighs tightened around his head. Tighter and tighter as he pushed you over the edge of your orgasm, hips twitching against his mouth still working away against your dripping cunt in a way that verged on being gluttonous until you pulled him away with a sharp tug on his hair. 

In the aftermath, a silence settled over the two of you like a soft blanket. Spit-slicked lips laid feather-light kisses against the still twitching muscles of your thighs, pressing against the blooming bite marks that he knew would just barely peek out from the cuff of your shorts you wore during your morning training sessions. A minuscule stake of claim that he had no business branding you with given that he was too chickenshit to take you out on a real date. 

Had you opened your eyes, you’d see that his were already trained on you with a softness you weren’t yet ready to see. Admiring the rise and fall of your chest with a faint smile on his face and the desire to take you out properly. To scrounge up enough money from his bank account after the room & board payments bleed him dry to some small burger shop or maybe the local theater to see you outside of the walls of your dorm or the university gym, wearing something nice and laughing at his jokes before kissing him goodnight. To sit in the stands of his next match as his girlfriend and congratulate him on his win with an overly obnoxious kiss that he would swear was humiliating but made him preen under your praise like a peacock during mating season. To do all of the downright nauseatingly romantic bullshit every nineteen year old boy wanted to do with the girl he was too afraid to actually make a move on. 

But not yet. 

“Have you ever considered wrestling? You’ve got a killer leg lock.”

[littlemisstrashcan]

idk about you guys but personally i would love to have a modern(?) hsr fic where kafka and himeko are divorced parents and stelle went with himeko while caelus with kafka. like parent trap but with a pair of racoon-ish teen twins, one have idgaf energy and one have adhd

...with a side of starch and dancae

[peaktora]

—ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 * ˚ ✦ : dad!satoru gojo, who isn't afraid to do imitations in public just to make his toddler laugh (especially when she's cranky).

like he fearlessly transforms into a dinosaur at the grocery store, disregarding the questioning looks from strangers. his sole mission being to elevate his daughter's happiness. with each step, he stomps playfully, his arms flailing in a “perfect” imitation. the imitation is actually extremely off, but that's what makes it so funny. his baby can't help but giggle at his goofy moves and slowly start to imitate him.

other kids in the store, who notice the performance, join in on the laughter. maybe they appreciate it, or maybe they think he’s stupid, but he doesn't put a lot of thought into it. he only puts thought into how their giggles blend with his baby’s, creating a echo through the aisles.

amidst the onlookers, gojo becomes the hero of the moment, gaining smiles and laughs from both young and old. but most importantly? his baby. he embraces his role wholeheartedly until the end, knowing that the happiness he brings to his daughter is worth every odd look and whispered comment.

when the two leave the store, he’s asking her, "you have fun?" knowing that he's created a memory that’ll be cherished by his daughter and fondly remembered by those who witnessed the dad who dared to be a dinosaur.

[whewchilly]

like he’s done a lot of crazy shit in his time but this takes the gold medal

[housecow]

If you wanted to push yourself for a stuffing, what would you do? Dozen Costco hot dogs? Whole cake?

hmmm. as many slices of pizza as my feeder can get into me while we’re at the costco food court, then a few 44oz sonic shakes/drinks on the way back to a wg shake and a funnel :))

[carbonatedghost]

Anyone got good fanfic with hsy, kdj, and yjh as the center point? Can be romantic or familial love.

All i've been finding is just kdj x yjh with brief mention of hsy :(.

Like i get the homoerotic tension between them, but i want to see hsy in the mix too. She sacrificed her memories to write/create a world for him for years damn it.

[satorisoup]

THIS NEW AKAASHI ILLUSTRATION PLS OMIGOSH HE IS SO CUTE !! T^T

@luvring look at him & his lil server outfit </3

[gardensofivy]

we collectively as a society have failed with the lack of seth cohen fics. like I need that man so bad. If I could write I would. someone please fill this need in me.