#i think it’s really funny they have him wearing like… one of those muscle skin suit things

[illumiskneecaps]

hxh the stage 2 started dropping preview videos and images today waaa so happy ^_^ i didn’t realize they would also be covering heavens arena so exciting. so we get to see hisoka in both the heavens arena costume and the yorknew one….. also they did the shower scene LMAO😭😭

[writersdrug]

omg you mind holy wow i love your brain i would never come to lobotomize you omgomg by god i need more bartender!simon you recently mention, maybe abt how they interact and develop? idk i really dont care what exactly you write, i js need any words from you abt bartender!simon

Hmmmmmm I have some headcannons!

You show up for work thirty minutes early because you're NOT risking losing this job.

Simon sometimes lets you bang on the back door for a few minutes, yelling for someone to let you in, until Soap gets tired of hearing it and opens the door. Simon finds it funny.

You think Simon is the owner of the pub until Price comes in one day with cash for your tip payout. You screamed as soon as you saw him walk in through the backdoor, thinking you were being robbed.

Simon barely managed to swing into the kitchen and grab you around the waist before you pummeled Price with an empty beer keg.

Price later told Simon he thought you were a perfect addition to the team.

You do your tips at the end of the bar every night as Simon polishes the glasses across from you. Lets you have one drink on the house.

First floor is the restaraunt/pub, second floor is the pantry/walk-in fridge/office where Price does money work, third floor is the studio apartment where Simon lives (Price discounted it for him).

When it's slow, you and Simon and Johnny all take a smoke break in the alley out back - you don't smoke, but you talk to them while they share a cig, complaining about customers together.

You bring it up to Simon that you've noticed how Johnny always comes to the front of house when Kyle brings the new kegs in, "Simon, need ya to check somethin' - ah, hey, Garrick!"

Simon scoffs at your revelation. "Jus' now seein' that?"

You live ten blocks away from the pub and ride your bike to work. Simon let's you stuff it in the alley for safekeeping.

If you're feeling especially sporty, you pop in your earbuds and take your skateboard. Simon nearly had the breath sucked from his soul when he saw you zipping by the window the first time.

You mop front of house because Simon hates it. Simon restocks the to go boxes because you can't reach the top shelf where the overflow sits.

You tried to pour a lager once when Simon was busier than usual. After watching you attempt it, he banned you from doing it ever again.

You enter Pino grigio in the POS as "peeno greeshio" and Simon hates it, but you love the way Soap cackles from the kitchen when he sees it.

Kyle sometimes sticks around to help you drag the new beer kegs up the stairs, and he shows you how to connect them to the taps.

You're constantly begging Price to set up a Karaoke machine in the corner of the bar. He says when you can afford it, you can buy it.

You broke the soda gun once; you and Soap were frantically filling container after container with tonic water while Simon was on his back under the bar, cursing and trying to turn the water off.

Monday mornings are deep-clean days, and everyone has to participate. You're all wearing sweats and bleach-stained shirts, pulling out the stove, sweeping behind the kegs, dragging the mats into the alley to clean them, emptying the fridge and scrubbing the entire thing.

Simon doesn't like to think too much about how hot you look in your sweatpants, ratty t shirt, and sweaty, flushed skin when you're exerting yourself.

You're constantly thinking about how those sweatpants hug his hips, those muscles in his arms flexing, and the grunts he makes when he's shoving the stove back into its place.

Simon gives you full permission to return any nasty attitude the customers dish at you.

After you go home for the night, Simon often finds himself lying on his bed, one arm behind his head and the other hand on his chest, staring at the ceiling, replaying the events of the day - and they're all centered around you

[lokis-army-77]

A request for you: hugging best friend!Eddie and he pops a boner. Do what you will with this information. - @munson-blurbs 💚

Recipes for Romance

Bestfriend!Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word Count: 2.1k

When your best friend comes home while you're cooking dinner and something happens. . .

Warning: 18+. Oral (m receiving), gagging, choking, masturbation, cum swallowing

Thank you @munson-blurbs for sending this in.. I do believe this is the best BJ I've written 💗💗.

Masterlist

It's funny how love happens. One minute you're friends with someone and then the next, you realize something fundamental in your relationship has changed. No longer were you childhood best friends living together in a small, two-bedroom apartment trying to make a place for yourselves in this world. Now, you were childhood best friends who live together but one of you has an unrequited crush on the other. 

Simple chores around the house and just hanging out with one another have turned into something more domestic on your end. You could see yourself coming home to him so easily. 

Really, what would change if you were to tell him? Nothing, other than he would kiss you when you came home instead of only giving you a hug and asking what was on the menu for dinner that night. 

That's where you were tonight. In the kitchen, chopping up ingredients for dinner like usual, thanks to Eddie's lack of expertise in anything other than pizza rolls and microwavable macaroni cups. If it had been left up to him both of you probably would have starved by now. 

It was nearing eight when Eddie strolled through the apartment door, guitar slung on his back and an amp being hoisted up in his arms. Oh, those arms. He was wearing a black muscle shirt, perfect for the summer heat and showing off the delicious-looking veins that protrude from them. 

“Hey, Eds!” You call out to him. 

He grumbles out, “Hey,” in response, and fumbles with his things all the way down the hallway behind you, to your right, and into his room. 

It’s a few moments and chopped cilantro later that you hear his bare feet padding back to where you are. 

“How was your day?” The question comes out smoothly, without a thought, because you had been asking him this same thing forever. 

“Good," he answers. “I’m exhausted.” 

“Well, it’s a good thing dinner's almost ready, then you can go to bed.” You move about the small rectangular kitchen area with the grace that comes with knowing the area like the back of your hand. 

You’re stirring the warming spaghetti sauce so that it doesn’t burn to the bottom of the pan when you feel those same bare arms you had been lustfully gazing at only a short while before reaching around your hips. You stop, freezing your movements to focus on how not to let Eddie feel the racing of your heart. 

His chin rests on your shoulder and his hair tickles your neck. “Smells good,” he mumbles. 

You blush. You know he’s talking about the food but you wish he were talking about you. It was always nerve-wracking for you when he got clingy like this. Knowing you couldn’t just relax into him how you wanted. Having to hold yourself back from turning your head and giving him a peck on the lips. 

Eddie continued to watch you cook, nuzzling his nose deeper into the crook of your neck. You were hyper-aware of his lips on your bare skin and you were even more aware of growing hardness pressing against your ass. 

Your face heats up even more as you think to yourself, ‘Why god? Why do this to me?’ It’s a struggle to keep stirring the food when all your attention is focused on your best friend's dick. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, the movement has Eddie humming into your neck and making him harden even more. 

One of his hands unwraps from around you and grips your hip. You can feel his breathing becoming more labored as he struggles behind you. 

You reposition yourself once more, this time pushing back into him just a little. Eddie can’t catch the strangled moan that flies up from his throat. 

“Fuck.” His lips move across your skin like a hot branding iron, saying your name breathlessly. 

“Eddie?” You question innocently. 

“Hum?” He replies. 

You push the saucepan back onto a cool part of the stovetop and turn the once-in-use eye off. 

“Are you…” You can’t bring yourself to say it out loud, but he knows your silent query. 

It takes him a moment to say anything. He swallows hard and nods. “Yeah. Shit, I’m sorry.” He squeezes your hip with his large hand and begins to back away. 

“Wait!” Your voice is louder than you had anticipated it to be but the urgency in it stops Eddie before he is fully separated from you. “Eddie, wait,” you say much softer this time. 

He stops, the tips of his fingers barely touching you. You turn around in his light hold, eyes staring up into his. Your heart is beating a mile a minute as you say, “I can help with that y’know.” 

Eddie sputters, seemingly choking on air. “W-what?” His face blushed a deep red and it flushed all the way down his neck.

Taking a breath, you try and calm yourself down. Those six words can’t be taken back now, but why would you want to do that anyway? The thought of his hard cock filling your mouth was the only thing running through your mind and now that a chance had arisen, you were going to take it. 

“I said,” You trail your hand down down down until you are cupping him over his jeans. “I can help with that… Unless you don’t want me to.” 

Eddie’s eyes go wide and he opens and closes his mouth like he’s trying to find the words to say only to be left mute. Instead, he nods his head, letting his curls cover his face. 

You turn your bodies, pushing him up against the counter, and with less practiced grace than moving about the kitchen, you begin to undo his pants. His breath catches and he looks away from you for only a moment when your hand dips past the waistband of his pants. 

“Oh god-” He swallows. 

Ever so slowly you begin your descent to your knees, taking his pants and boxers down with you. The sight left before you makes your mouth water and your legs clench. He looks painfully hard, the tip flush and a bead of pre-cum pooling at the slit. You ached to run your tongue over the vein protruding down his shaft, you needed to have his balls in your mouth. 

So, that’s what you do. From base to tip you lick a fat, wet strip up him. His hips jerk forward, one hand caught in your hair, and the other holds on for dear life to the edge of the counter. You lick again and again, over and over. 

“Fuck-,” your name falls from Eddie's lips in a whimper. That sound had your stomach flipping and your pussy fluttering. You needed him to do that again.  

You start to pepper kisses along his shaft, ending at his head and giving it one big smooch before opening and taking him into your mouth. 

Eddie tugs on your hair at the first experimental suck that you give him. You can't help but moan at the slight pain. Taking him a bit more you suck again, gentle and with little force. 

"Ah-." There it was, that whiny sound. 

You bring your hand up to wrap around the length of him not nestled in the warmth of your mouth. Giving him a firm squeeze you begin to move. Up and down, up and down. You follow your hand with your mouth. 

The hot and tangy taste of him spreads across your tongue and pre-cum just dribbles out of him. Really, it makes you salivate, it makes you wet. And what really turns you on is knowing that this is your best friend. This is the guy you've known since forever. The guy you never thought you would ever be doing this with. 

It made you hungry for more, needy, and unsatisfied. You dip your head further down, lips meeting your fingers at his base.

"Oh God. Oh fuck." Another strangled whimper followed by the prettiest grunts and groans. Your other hand, resting on Eddie's thigh, could feel how his leg tensed with every suck, with every nudge of the back of your throat. Then he jerked forward again. His cock buries deep into your throat.

You choke and gag around him, spit dripping from the corners of your mouth and falling down your neck. Tears sting in your eyes but you let him thrust into you. 

Eddie says your name like a prayer. It flows from his lips in a melody only for you. He’s got your hair fisted in his hand, fingers digging into your skull. Your own fingers dig into his strong thighs. Then, he lets you go and you pull away fast for air. A string of drool connects your lips to his cock. 

“Eddie,” You say as you look up at him through thick lashes and heavy eyes. 

“Mmm.” He hums, head falling to the side. 

“You taste so good. Want you to cum down my throat.” 

He looks down at you in such a way that you think you can see something other than love for a friend. Something more potent, something like what you feel for him. It makes the breath catch in your lungs. 

Eddie releases his grasp on your hair and smooths his hand down and onto your cheek. His thumb rubs light circles into your skin. You lean in more, scooting closer to him on your knees, ignoring the numbness in them. 

The cheek he isn’t touching rests on his thigh and you continue to look up at him as you take his cock fully in your hand and start pumping. 

Eddie bites his lip but that doesn’t stop the moans. “God damnit, baby…” 

He’s never called you that before. Sure a pet name here and there, sweetheart or something of the sort, but never baby. The name had you aching with need and it only took a few more high-pitched whimpers from Eddie to have you shoving your other hand down your shorts. 

You were drenched, wetness pooled in your panties and around your fingers as you swiped them through your folds. You trail your lips down to his balls and kiss them before sucking one into your mouth. 

There is a moment when you think Eddie is going to fall on top of you. You feel his knees buckle and his feet shuffling to keep himself upright. 

You let go of him with a pop and then take the other into your mouth, warming him and running your tongue over the skin. 

“Fuck fuck fuck. Baby- mmm,” Eddie can’t keep quiet and you don’t want him to. The louder he is, the more it encourages you. 

After a few more pumps of your hand, you move your mouth back to the tip of his cock and take him deep. This time when he hits the back of your throat, you don’t gag as bad but tears still swell in your eyes. You let him buck his hips into you, following his rough pace with your hand as you rub your fingers into your clit. 

“Gonna cum baby, fuck gonna make me cum. Such a pretty mouth." Eddie blubbers. "Fuck I love you, baby. Gonna fill that mouth up. You gonna swallow all of it, baby?"

You hum around his cock at his words. Heart beating faster and safer as your own orgasm begins to come forward. 

With a hand buried in your hair again. Eddie pushes you down onto his cock, nose pressed against his abdomen and drool spilling down your chin. You feel him twitch and watch through tear-rimmed eyes as his head falls back and his mouth hangs open. Eddie lets out the most lewd-sounding moan as he releases his sticky, hot cum down your throat. 

You swallow and swallow, consuming all that he gives you. Your hand still works between your thighs and in a gush of pleasure, you can feel your release dripping over your fingers. 

Pulling away from Eddie, his cock now softening, you catch your breath. You move to sit more comfortably on the floor and lean your forehead on Eddie's left knee. 

"Wow…" Eddie heaves out. "That was- that was fucking amazing." His grip eases in your hair and then he's adjusting himself back into his pants before sitting on the floor with you. 

"Look at me?" He asks. You're avoiding eye contact with him, embarrassment of the actions and words just exchanged flooding through you. 

"Sweetheart, please look at me." He pleaded.

That name had you looking timidly through your hair. Those big, brown eyes caught yours and in that moment you knew that another fundamental piece of your relationship had changed. 

No longer was it two childhood best friends living together with one having a crush on the other. No. It was now two childhood best friends who loved each other in every way, who were once too scared to say anything lest they break up the friendship. 

[kisscara]

love on the ice ♡ [scaramouche x gn!reader] ⎯⎯ fluff, modern au, figure skater!scara 0///0

"you make it look so easy..."

your legs tremble as you desperately clutch onto your boyfriend's hands, brows furrowed as you continue to anticipate your eventual fall on the ice. scaramouche had just won another ice skating contest and once everyone left the stadium, he wanted to spend time with you by teaching you how to skate.

scaramouche scoffs with a smile. "you look like a newborn deer with how much you're wobbling," he comments. you murmur while trying to move the blades of your skates forward, "not funny."

you gradually give up and your shoulders sink when you let out a sigh. "kuni, help me instead of looking all smug and letting me hold your hands as if it does anything!" you finally let your own ego deflate, your face reddening in embarrassment.

scaramouche chuckles, "it's about time you asked." he places one of your hands on the rink's boards and grabs your other one. "you could have asked nicer though." he slyly narrows his eyes and a smug grin curls at his lips. those damned, soft and mauve pink lips.

before you can shoot another comeback at him, he yanks you toward toward his body, causing your arms to instantly wrap around his figure out of instinct.

"hold on." scaramouche adds in a whisper, "i'll be doing the work for you." he swiftly moves his blades backward, letting you stride forward in return. the whole time, you're clinging onto his torso, eyelids screwed tight as you put your trust in him with your physical safety.

scaramouche rests his chin atop your head as he carries on with his precise and skillful skating all across the ice. his hands are firmly holding onto your waist to reassure you that you're going to be okay with him.

you eventually let your tense muscles relax, now loosely set around his figure.

"you're such a show-off, you know that?" you pout and slowly open your eyes. the whole stadium blurs as scaramouche pursues with his graceful actions.

"maybe. but not just any guy would want to impress you like this." scaramouche slows to a stop and snow shavings skid along the ice. "i'm the guy and i think that speaks volumes, don't you think?" he affectionately cups your face in his hands, thumb caressing your soft skin.

you playfully roll your eyes, muttering, "way to be corny." you lean in to peck a kiss on his lips. you widely grin, "i think i'll be okay skating on my own now." scaramouche raises a brow and muses, "will you?"

you nod and he carefully removes his hands from your face before you meticulously back away. there's a bit of a falter in the way you stride, but nothing too major. you put out your hand towards scaramouche, indicating that you want to try again but without hanging onto him for dear life.

he skates forward and removes one of his gloves using his teeth, pocketing it and holding onto your hand. "i prefer feeling your skin on mine for something so romantic," he teases you in a lilted tone, which you only pay mind to with a laugh.

you profoundly gaze at scaramouche all the while drifting next to him on the ice.

the soft gusts as you two skate carry deep into his indigo locks and suddenly meet his eyes, causing it to narrow at the breeze. the black body shirt he wears enhances the curves of his slender body so well which makes you wonder just how could someone be so perfect?

"don't look at me with those eyes." scaramouche's baritone voice snaps you out of your private thoughts. you huff, "i'm not looking at you with any specific type of eyes, weirdo." you try and play it off that way, but he knowingly tsks.

"come on, (name), you gotta be a better liar than this. you're looking at me like you want me to do unspeakable things to you-" you immediately cut him off, calmly saying, "was not... you just looked really pretty in the moment, is all."

you dramatically joke, scoffing, "can i not even look at you, now that you're famous or whatever? i didn't know you'd get down to these type of standards, geez." scaramouche pauses before saying under his breath, "i didn't know you thought of me that way."

you blink a few times in confusion and glance at him. "what, are you serious?" you hold onto the boards of the rink, putting your skating to a stop as well as his. "my boyfriend," you bring your hands up to pinch his cheeks. "is super cute and cool."

you grin, "do you agree?" scaramouche's complexion flushes and he coyly covers half of his face with his mouth, mumbling, "maybe now i do." you gasp. "no way, i made you shy, didn't i?"

"no, i'm just sweating from how much we've been skating, damn it!"

"it's as cold as winter in here and you expect me to believe that?"

scaramouche sputters in disapproval. "keep that act up and i'll leave you on the ice," he says, shaking his head and crossing his arms. you hug his arm and giggle at the man's flustered state, "don't be such a killjoy, kuni."

you can't believe the shy and goopy mess in front of you is the same kunikuzushi you see all over the media with his title of an amazing figure skater. as graceful and as talented as he is with his skating, he's still the same man you chose to love and devote yourself to :3

© kisscara

[b3ach-bunn7]

WET CIGARETTES

Gojo Satoru, your prettiest customer, insists on ordering the most insane drinks possible. As a barista, it’s your duty to fullfill them.

alternate!universe, fluff, happy ending

(This is a long one guys 🙈)

——————————————————————

You love your job. The truth is, the people who romanticise working at a coffee shop were exactly right. Yes, the hours can be long, and the occasional Karen can turn what should be a five-minute interaction into a half an hour one. And sometimes you go home with burns from a hot coffee pot, or spills on your favourite trousers. But you love every part of your job.

Except for Gojo Satoru.

Your most troublesome customer. You know he goes to your university, because you’ve seen him wearing a hoodie with its logo on it. You assume you both have different majors, because you don’t cross paths at all.

But he comes to the shop every day without fail. And he orders the most complicated, diabetes-inducing drinks known to man. He strolls up to the counter, blinking those bright blue eyes at you, with his perfect smile and his hair that looks so soft to touch and starts rattling off his order.

Okay, it’s not the worst thing in the world. Gojo is easy on the eyes, and it’s quite funny to see how far he’ll take it. You’re not exactly sure if he even consumes the stuff he buys. Maybe he’s trying to impress you. Maybe he’s trying to annoy you. You think he succeeds more with the second option, but it’s fine. You like the little challenge everyday.

Today, you’re wiping down the counter when you see him appear behind it and begin drumming his fingers against it.

“Hi, sugar.”

You look up, unamused. He’s wearing a black compression shirt that hugs his muscles and grey sweatpants. He’s probably come back from the gym, judging by the sweat that sticks some strands of his white hair to his forehead. He looks good. Whatever.

“Gojo. What monstrosity will it be today?”

He hums under his breath. He rests his cheek on his palm. His skin is so clear. For all the coffee he drinks, at least.

“I would like… A single shot, 4 pumps sugar free peppermint, nonfat, extra hot, no foam, light whip stirred grande white mocha.”

Your mouth gapes. “Gojo. What? That’s not- what even is that?”

He laughs, loud and boyish. The shop is quite empty, so, you can take your time to mock his ridiculous request.

“I don’t know. Thought I’d try something different, you know?”

“You try something different everyday. I think this one wins the stupidest order yet.”

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart. You know you like it. I bring some joy to the darkness that is your shift.” He pouts and leans forward.

You rolls your eyes. You turn and grab a cup to begin concocting his drink.

“Don’t call me that. And it doesn’t bring me joy. It does test my memory, though,” you pause, “How many pumps of peppermint was it?”

“Four. And what’s wrong with sweetheart?”

“I’m not your sweetheart, Gojo.”

He groans. He watches as you flit around behind the counter, going to steam the milk for his drink.

“Come on, what else am I supposed to call you? I don’t know your name.”

You point to the name tag pinned to your shirt.

“Yes you do.”

“That’s not your name.”

You nod and insist that it is. His eyebrows raise and he nods towards it.

“Your name is Brian?”

“Cute, right? I don’t like strangers using my real name, so they let me print a fake one.” You smile.

“It’s a shame, really. Brian suits you.” You stick your tongue out and Gojo grins.

The drink doesn’t take long. You make one of the fancy milk designs on the top, and slide it over to him.

“Here you go.”

He thanks you. He peers at the design at the top, eyeing the drink.

“I like this. You should learn how to draw my face on there.”

“Ah, yes. You’re right, that does sound like a great way to pass my time.” You nod sarcastically.

He sips the drink carefully. His nose scrunches and he sticks his tongue out.

“Oh, that is not good. At all.”

You laugh. You reach over and grab the drink, taking a swig. Gojo protests, but you can tell his effforts to get it back are half-assed. You wince, the warm peppermint drink sliding down your throat.

“Yeah, gross. How did you even come up with this?”

He shrugs, “They just come to me.” He nods at the cup in your hand, “You know, we basically just kissed.”

You snort, “You can keep dreaming, Gojo.”

“Oh, you’re definitely in my dreams, baby. All the dirty ones.”

Oh, he’s feeling brave today. You turn to hide the flush that dusts your cheeks. You wipe down the steamer.

“Baby is gross.”

“Tell me your name then.”

You point at the name tag on your shirt. Gojo groans and runs a hand through his hair. You glance down at the ignored drink on the counter.

“Gojo, you haven’t even touched your drink.”

He shrugs. “Oh, well. It’s not like I can’t pay for it.”

You hum under your breath. Rich people.

The shop starts filling up, and your manager pops his head around the door to tell you to get a move on.

“Sorry, Gojo. You gotta get a move on.”

“Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You wave him off, sighing as he drops his drink in the trash.

——

The next day, Gojo walks in with someone else. A girl, short brown hair and an unlit cigarette in her mouth. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him with anyone else. Maybe she’s a girlfriend. Gojo seems awfully close to her, a smile gracing his lips as she says something to him.

You’re staring. You turn away quickly. It’s none of your business what he’s up to and you don’t care, anyway. Gojo could be married for all you care.

He bounds up to the front. Gojo has a way of taking up every space he’s in, and as he leans across the counter, he’s all you can see.

“Hey, cutie.”

“Hello. What can I do for you today?”

“Aw. No complaints. You like cutie?”

“Feels like something a 12 year old would call his discord girlfriend, but. Sure, let’s go with that.”

He laughs, but he straightens up quickly.

“Look, I’ve got no time for our cute banter today. I’ll have a Venti, triple-shot caramel macchiato, with three pumps of vanilla, two pumps of hazelnut, one pump of caramel, a sprinkle of cinnamon, and extra whipped cream on top.”

“No time for banter, but time for all of that.”

“Oh, and a mocha.”

You smile. “Who’s that normal order for?”

He points at the girl he came in with, who’s gone outside to smoke her cigarette.

“Shoko. Luckily for you, she likes normal people drinks.”

You turn to start making their drinks. Today’s order is much tamer than usual. It actually sounds like it might taste nice, and it’s sugary enough to satiate his sweet tooth. You wonder if he’ll ask that girl to try it for him.

“So. You got any plans today?” You say.

“Mhm. My friend and I are going shopping. She asked me to keep her company, but I think she likes my credit card’s presence more than mine.”

“Makes sense. At least she gets something out of the card.”

“Ha ha ha. Come on, she gets mean when she’s impatient.”

You shake your head, waiting for the milk to steam. “It takes as long as it takes.”

“Okay, Carla.”

“Wrong.”

“Bridget?”

You tell him he’s wrong again and laugh at his whining. You finish his drink off with an alarming amount of whip cream, to his request, and place it and the mocha on the counter.

“Done in record time.” You wink.

He tries it, and perks up.

“I’m impressed. This one actually tastes nice.”

He slides it over to you, and you take a sip.

“Yeah, you’re right. It is nice.” You say, incredulously.

“Can I have a sip?”

You look to the left and Gojo’s ‘friend’ has appeared. She smells a little like cigarettes but she’s so breathtakingly pretty that you don’t think anyone‘s really worried about that. She takes a drink before Gojo can protest, and she winces.

“God, it’s so sweet. You’ll die an early death if you keep going on like this.”

“Well, good thing it’s not for you.” He grabs it and passes her the mocha.

The girl looks over at you and smiles.

“Hey. I’m Shoko. It’s nice to meet you. Gojo doesn’t shut up about you.”

You tilt your head at the boy, who is looking away from the two of you, and coo.

“Aw, how sweet!” You awe, pressing a hand to your heart.

“He calls you Barista girl. Says you make the best drinks.”

You shrug. “I wouldn’t say best. I am the only one who will make his insane orders, though.”

“That’s true. He doesn’t even drink them half the time. Just throws them away the second he leaves. It’s like the only reason he comes here is so-“

“Okay! Okay, we’ve got to go.” Gojo claps his hands together, cutting off Shoko, and steering her away.

She grins, waving at you. She yells it was nice to meet you, and you say it back, much to Gojos dismay, and wonder what the real reason he comes here is.

——-

The next time Gojo comes in, he looks good. He’s wearing a black button up, the top few buttons undone, the sleeves rolled up to show his forearms. There’s a silver chain around his neck, and his hair is done up in a way that looks effortless and prepared at the exact same time. He’s also holding a bouquet of pretty flowers, pink and white and perfect looking.

God. You move away before he notices you blatantly staring at him. It’s almost closing, and you’ve got ten minutes before you’re free to go. You should be annoyed at his presence. You and Choso, the guy you were working with tonight, had just cleaned up, and you know Gojo’s order would probably need every appliance in the building. Any other customer would be shunned away, a quick point at the clock.

But Gojo’s not any other customer. Not that you’d ever tell him that.

“Hey, Gojo.”

He smiles. “Hey, gorgeous.”

Your cheeks heat up. God, if only he wasn’t so attractive. It would be so much easier to act like you don’t care when he calls you all those things.

“You look nice. You going somewhere after this?”

“Mhm. I’m going on a date.”

You pause to where you’re emptying out the coffee pots. A date? He was seeing someone else after spending god knows how long flirting with you?

You shouldn’t be surprised. He’s never asked you out, and Gojo is attractive enough to be someone who doesn’t care about girls' feelings. You know you should’ve seen this coming. It probably was just a little fun he had everyday, joking around with the oblivious, head-over-heels barista who allowed him to act like a dick with his stupid coffee orders.

Whatever.

“That’s nice. What can I get for you? You need to hurry up though, because we’re closing soon.” Your voice is flat, and your hand rests on your hip.

“Uh. Just a coffee.”

You frown. “No obnoxious order today?”

“Nah. I’ve got places to be. And I need to be awake tonight, if you get my drift.” He winks and you scoff.

You turn and fill the coffee pot, a little more aggressively than normal. You unfortunately do get his drift. Before you can say anything in response, Choso comes out from the back.

Choso is cute. He looks intimidating, always monotoned and looking sleep-deprived, but he was a sweetheart. He always ties his hair into little buns, draws cute designs on top of the lattes, and always makes sure you don’t close alone. Plus, he looks good in an apron. You think you’d like him if it weren’t for an annoying blue-eyed boy and his stupid orders.

“You okay if I clock out?”

You turn to him and smile. “Yeah, I’ll lock up. You working tomorrow?”

Choso takes his apron off and drapes it over his shoulder. You turn to face him, effectively ignoring Gojo.

“Nope.”

“What? Choso, come on, I can’t work if you’re not there, it’s so boring!”

He laughs, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter. It make the muscles in his arms stand out, and wow. Does he work out? Probably.

“You’ll be fine without me.”

“I won’t.” You pout.

“Goodbye.” He walks away, nodding at Gojo, who looks just peachy waiting for his coffee.

“So who’s that?”

You turn back to face him. “Choso. He works here.”

“Yeah, I figured. You like him?”

“Yeah. He’s great. My favourite coworker.”

Gojo nods slowly. A weird sort of quiet settles over you two. A part of you wants to ask who’s he’s going on a date with, but you respect yourself too much for that.

“What time do you get off?” He speaks up.

You pause slightly. “Me?”

Gojo raises an eyebrow. “No, the other barista behind the counter. Yes, you.”

“Oh. I’m done in ten.”

“Okay, good. Our reservation is in half an hour, so we should make it.”

The coffee pot whirs to let you know it’s ready. Instead, you keep staring at Gojo, who’s looks all too serious for somebody speaking nonsense.

“What?”

“It’s a nice place, don’t worry. Thought I’d splurge, to impress you. These are for you, by the way.” He thrusts the flowers towards you.

“I- What? Gojo, what’s going on?” You laugh, a little hysterical, confused as to what the hell is happening.

He grins. He walks right over to the you, leaning over the counter, so you’re a couple inches away from each other.

“You really think I’d ask anybody else out? I’ve been asking for these stupid orders at for weeks now just to throw them out so I could talk to you, that wasn’t a hint?”

“Yeah, but I just. I don’t know, I thought you were just messing around!”

“Are you really that clueless?”

“Hey! You-“ You stop for a second.

You take the apron from around your neck and throw it behind you into the office. You cross your arms and you nearly laugh at the nervous look that crosses his face.

“Did you make a reservation and dress yourself up for a date you didn’t even ask me to?”

Gojo scratches the back of his head. “I-“

“And then come in here and just tell me when it’s happening, without even giving me time to prepare myself?”

“I- Barista girl, I can explain.” He clasps his hands together.

“And you still don’t even know my name.”

He sighs. “The mystery is part of the fun, babe.”

You smile slightly. You have no idea what went through his head, but it’s cute he tried so hard. Even if it was a little weird.

“What if I had plans tonight, huh?”

Gojo shrugs. “I was hoping you’d cancel them for me.”

“And if I didn’t?”

“Not too sure. Maybe throw the coffee I’m still waiting for in your face?”

You perk up suddenly, remembering the pot that was still bubbling behind you. You take a cup and fill it for him, fit it with a lid and give it to him.

“So. Are you going to ask me out properly?”

He nods. His face is determined and he grabs the flowers from your hands. He takes two steps back and he walks forward.

“Barista girl, will you do me the honours of going on a date with me tonight?”

You frown, sighing dramatically, “I don’t know. I’ve had such a long shift. I’m tired.”

Gojo grabs your hands, pulling you towards him. The counter gets in the way, but you don’t think he cares. The two of you are still close enough that if you moved a couple inches forwards you’d be kissing. He smells like something expensive, and it overwhelms your senses. His lips quirk up in a little smirk, and you think your skin is buzzing where he’s touching you.

“I’m sure I can help wake you up, baby. You just gotta say yes.”

“I- I kinda look like shit, though.” You whisper.

“Don’t say that, you look beautiful.”

You know you don’t. Your hair is being held up poorly by a claw clip, random strands falling out of it. Your mascara is slightly smudged under your eyes, and there’s a lovely new coffee stain on the shirt you're wearing, courtesy of Choso knocking into you before you got a chance to put your apron on.

But he’s looking right at you like you’re the most incredible thing that he’s ever laid his eyes on that you feel like you might actually believe him.

“Okay. Okay, fine. If you let me go home and freshen up. Put a dress on, or something.”

“Oh, I can get behind that.”

You snort a laugh, stepping back. The nervousness from before is gone, and he’s grinning at you excitedly. He waits the few minutes it takes you to lock up, and holds his arm out for you to take while he walks you to his car.

It’s seven in the evening and the sun is just starting to set. The sky is beginning to turn, seeping from blue to orange to pink, and the light is catching off Gojos face. He’s speaking animatedly as he talks about the restaurant he’s taking you too, oblivious to your staring. He’s planned every last detail, somehow remembering when you said that you loved Asian food about a month ago.

You don’t really know much about Gojo. You do know enough to say that he is so sweet it makes your teeth rot.

You say your name, then, softly enough that he nearly misses it. He stops mid sentence and turns to you.

“Is that your name?”

You nod.

“You have a very pretty name.”

You smile. “Thank you.”

He nods slowly. “You can call me Satoru, by the way.”

“Okay, Satoru.” The name feels nice on your tongue.

He groans when you say it, hand reaching up to cup your face.

“God, it sounds so beautiful when you say it. It’d sound even better if you were screaming it, though.”

You roll your eyes, face a fiery red, and let a laughing Satoru lead you into his car.

——————————————————————

AUTHORS NOTE

Gojo satoru the man that u r.. also that cosplayer is EXACTLY how I envision him in my brain.. so obsessed..

again, any requests r welcome! (I’m literally lost for ideas)

[konata-izumi-kinny-writes]

Sfw Headcanons of Dating Jack Skellington

This man is so sweet fr fr, he needs a hug 🖤

[WARNING: mentions of horror movies]

HAPPY SPOOKY MONTH, YAAAALL!!!!

🖤 boi where do i start lel

🦴 Mans is a big cuddler

🧡 like for real, hes so sweet

🦴 Lots of kisses from this big boi

🖤 Like, for real, hes the most affectionate thing out there

🦴 king of the pumpkin patch, AND romance

🧡 Will scare anyone who makes you sad or angry. And he won't scare you unless you tell him you're okay with it.

🦴 hes a huge flirt. Like, the BIGGEST flirt out there

🖤 make things for him, HE'LL LOVE IT

🦴 hell, he loves you

🧡 Jack makes the best Cider and Hot Cocoa

🦴 His favorite thing to do for a date, is getting caramel corn and going for a walk with you under all of the trees.

🖤 the sun shining through the orange, yellow, and red leaves makes for a beautiful atmosphere

🦴 yall play fetch with Zero too :3

🧡 Wear a skeleton costume :)

🦴 He will either, 1: find it funny, 2: be confused, or 3: be flustered

🖤 I have no idea why, but i headcanon that Jack can play the piano and cello. I have no idea why but it just fits imo

🦴 Sing with him :D

🧡 wait- you expect me to not headcanon a disney character to be musical??... you're insane LMFAO

🦴 Pumpkin bread with chocolate chips is one of Jack's favorite things, if you like baking, make this for him lol

🖤 If you don't live with him and in a seperate house he will walk you home every single time, doesn't matter if you live next door or not.

🦴 HE👏 WANTS👏 YOU👏 SAFE👏 AND👏 IN👏 ONE👏 PIECE👏

🧡 Speaking of which, he's pretty protective of you, but not to the point where its suffocating

🦴 So its basically canon that he knows how to sew right, thats straight up.

🖤 BUT HEAR ME OUT!!!!

🦴 he makes monster plushies with it AND NOBODY CAN CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE

🧡 Like c'mon now, how can you own a sewing machine and NOT make plushies?!?! Its UNHEARD of /j

🦴 Have autism? Or anything similar to it?? HE STIMS WITH YOU!!! (Its because he thinks its fun :3)

🦴 Annoy Jack with bone puns, his reactions are priceless 🤣

🖤 His pet names for you are, Dear, Darling, and Pumpkin

🧡 He likes horror movies, if they're too much for you to handle, thats okay. Jack can always settle for less scary movies.

🦴 His favorites are The Descent, the Saw movies, Trick r' Treat (He thinks Sam is adorable), Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark (because of the nostalgia from the books), and the Fear Street movies

🖤 If you can't handle those scary movies he'll watch mellow ones with you. Like Hocus Pocus, Spooky Buddies, Halloween Is Grinch Night, etc.

🦴 He loves animals... spooky ones.

🧡 This boi wants a Bat, Frog, Tarantula, Snake, Black Cat, or maybe another ghost dog :)

🦴 As long as its not venomous

🖤 It'd be nice for Zero to have another playmate :D

🦴 okay so, while this talks about snuggling in bed and body anatomy, this isn't in a nsfw way so bear with me here lol

🧡 While yall are snugglin, you can flick his ribs to make them sound like a xylophone. You can totally play a song 🤣

🦴 Hes totally interested in your muscles, fat, and skin

🖤 like ???? How tf are you so squishy?!

🦴 He's not complainin though, he loves you how you are <3

🧡 He has cute lil monster outfits for you, Jack lets you pick out your clothes but he just has them for you just in case :)

🦴 Okay so... lets get one thing straight (unlike me LMFAO)

🖤 As a monster, Jack doesn't need to sleep, but he does.

🦴 But this means sometimes he doesn't sleep at all and just wanders around the house at 3 A.M.

🧡 and its actually lowkey scary when you run into him at those times

🦴 He just looks way scarier than usual without even trying. And oh my gosh.

🖤 There have been MULTIPLE times where Jack accidentally scared you half to death while you were looking for a snack 🤣

🦴 When all is said and done, Jack Skellington is a really sweet dude who means well. A very loving person :)))

Thanks for Reading,

HAPP SPOOP MONTH

[mamamittens]

Had the funny thought about Thatch losing a dare and having to cross dress.

He'd normally go to Izou for obvious reasons, but he's still in hot water from a prank and would rather not get castrated, thanks.

So he pops over to Nikia hoping for some assistance.

"Uh... Sure? Wait, is this a 'funny, hah hah, big man in a lady's dress' kind of dare or a 'you plebs thought my range was limited?' kind of dare?"

He has to pause at that.

"...I prefer the latter." He admitted. If he has to wear a skirt or whatever, he'd like to look good.

"Oh, sweet. Touching the hair or nah?" He instinctively goes to shield his pompadour before wincing.

"I... Guess we can style it differently."

He didn't expect much help, to be honest. She didn't really dress up a lot to start with. But, shockingly, she had a lot of thoughts about styling clothes and makeup. Every step asking if he preferred this or that. To actually look feminine or to just rock feminine clothes.

Was very flattered she didn't believe he needed much makeup, because anytime Izou does this, he insists on a firm foundation. Part of that upbringing and style in Wano. But no, Nikia knew and preferred a more natural approach.

Well, for a simple man, at least. He sat through the whole thing and still wasn't sure she actually put makeup on him, it barely registered to his eyes. Though he looked a bit younger. Not soft, but certainly enchanting. A little eye shadow and liner for his eyes ("You have pretty lashes, so we don't need to do much to them really") and little contour for his face ("You've got a strong jaw already, this is just making it pop a bit") and softening up his wrinkles ("Seriously, stop scowling whenever you scowl so damn much. It's literally all on your forehead and it's weird").

A nice flowy skirt to his knees with a wide belt for his small waist. A pretty blouse emphasizing his shoulders without clinging to his ("Super well defined and sexy muscles, don't you think, Nikia?" "...Thatch? Are you fishing for compliments after I spent an hour doing your makeup?" "...no."). Hair gently tousled in a wave over one shoulder in a loose braid. If it wasn't for the facial hair, Thatch would think his reflection was a lovely, if a bit masculine and flat chested, woman.

"And kitten heels for those dainty, princess ankles." She handed him, ignoring his sputtering denial. "Don't forget to wash your face tonight before bed or you'll ruin your pillow. Also, maybe moisturize sometime. I know it's manly to be rugged or whatever, but dehydration isn't a stylistic choice. It's an unfortunate dietary concern."

"Is that why your so soft?" She stared at him dryly.

"Yes. Or my skin cracks. Specifically my hands. Moisturizing my face keeps me from looking demonic when I don't sleep enough. It's a favor for everyone."

Very helpful. A little too helpful, judging by the way someone grabbed his ass before they saw his face.

The look they made when he scowled at them over his shoulder, though, was priceless.

He won that bet though, and now a few brothers had new blackmail hanging over their heads from before they realized who the pretty woman was.

[vampiricmycelium]

Day #4 of @redscapeweek || Sharing Clothes || T

-

Scar was trying not to stare, but he was failing. Badly. He had been spending time with Mumbo today, and he might have accidentally pushed Mumbo into a river. It really was an accident! He didn't have the best balance, and Mumbo was right next to it. So he couldn't be held responsible for it.

Mumbo had let out a cry before there was the sound of a splash and there he was. On all fours in the middle of the river. Luckily, it wasn't that deep, so there was no risk of Mumbo drowning. Scar did help him back out of it, but he had spent maybe a couple of minutes just staring at Mumbo's ass. It was right there! If Mumbo had noticed his gaze, he didn't say anything, too focus on his state. He was looking down at his soaked through suit, his mustache looking sad as it drooped.

"Scar, why?" It was almost funny, but Scar managed to find some restraint. He covered his mouth so Mumbo didn't see him smiling.

"I didn't mean to. I promise."

"Hm." He didn't seem to believe him. Scar made an offended face, gasping as if he couldn't believe it. Mumbo sighed, but there was a small smile creeping onto his face. "Fine. But you're going to have to loan me some dry clothes."

"What? Why?"

"Your place is closer."

Scar looked over at their two bases in the distance. He wasn't entirely sure if that was correct, but he also wasn't sure if it was wrong. He was willing to give Mumbo the benefit of the doubt. This was kind of his fault and he wanted to do something for his friend. They took off together into the sky, landing down in Scarland. Scar gestured for Mumbo to follow him into a building.

Once inside a room in a corner of the park, Scar started digging through some chests. He glanced back at Mumbo, eyes going wide as he seemed to be undressing. He had his jacket off and his tie as well. The white dress shirt was soaked enough that it left little to the imagination. Scar cleared his throat, grabbing some random clothes of his and pushed them at Mumbo.

"You can change over there." He gestured to a side room. Mumbo nodded and headed over there. It might have been Scar's imagination, but he seemed to be a little red in the face. Scar watched him for just a moment.

There was something wrong with him. He couldn't stop staring at Mumbo and thinking, well, non-friend type thoughts. He could almost feel himself thinking of Mumbo stripping out of his clothes and changing into the ones he was offered. Luckily, Scar managed to stop blushing before Mumbo returned.

Or, well, he thought he had. But the sight before him was just too distracting and, well, hot.

Mumbo stood there in a collage of Scar's clothes. He was wearing a HotGuy's shirt underneath one of Scar's brown leather jackets. His pants seemed to be the acid-washed jeans from his Limited Life skin. He wore just plain black socks, the only thing that didn't stick out as something of Scar's. It was a mismatch, but Mumbo seemed to pull it off. He was nervously pulling at the jacket and frowning.

"I think I should worry about you stealing my title of HotGuy." Mumbo's face turned bright red, nearly sputtering a response of how that was not possible at all. Scar grinned, enjoying seeing him flustered. "No, I mean it. I wasn't sure if you'd fit into my clothes, but the way the shirt hangs on you loosely. It's attractive."

"Scar."

Scar drew closer. "And those jeans? I bet if the shirt wasn't so long, I could see your hips. How scandalous."

"Scar?"

"I think you should keep them. I am sure I'm not alone. You don't think you're hot?"

Mumbo fidgeted with the ends of the shirt and then turned his face away, still the bright red from before. Maybe he should push Mumbo into a river more often.

"I'm not as hot as you. I mean I haven't seen you in one of my suits, so maybe if I did you. I don't know what I'm saying."

"Should I try one of them on? We could dress like each other today!"

"I'm not sure if they'd fit. Your, um, muscles might be too much."

"Well," Scar replied, finally in front of his friend, smiling up at him. This was not how he expected this to go, but he was willing to see what happened. He grabbed Mumbo by the jacket, pulling him closer. "There's only one way to find out."

[pumpkinstrawbrew]

I desperately want to draw Batcrow, but I’m unfortunately going through an art block right now. If you don’t mind, I hope I can ask you for a prompt, since I do believe you are THE Batcrow shipper. Besides, I think it’s a win win, considering that there is little content of this pair, this would be a free treat, as I haven’t made any contribution in the tag yet. Any will do by the way, be it sensual; romantic; I’m down for it! And once I’m done, I’ll leave it in your mail teehee~

blocks are honestly a rather annoying thing. esp if you have free time an’ motivation, but no ability to do anything with it. that’s just evil of our brains. either way, i’ll be glad to help, if i can! an’ oh, that’s a real bandage of honor right here! hehe. [blushes] i’m happy to be your local batcrow preacher! i know there should be more of us scarebat believers out there. even if not all are vocal.

but alright, so prompt. i’m not sure what exact version you gravitate towards more or which one you like the most, i’ll do my best to try an’ give you fairly ‘loose’ concepts, that can be calibrated / tweaked into what you might be possibly aiming for. an’ ah, mailed in my in-box? i’m very honored! what a thing to log in to, it would be! 

so um, first on the menu is what bats can do with all those ropes / belts, that many jonathan’s have as part of their costume. i always feel like they are perfect for gripping an’ tugging an’ also if we take into account jon’s noose, it’s like bruce can press his fingers under the rope around his leg / waist / wrist an’ keep him in place by the noose or collar piece. jonathan doesn’t have a lot of things he can grab in return. bruce’s cape, his belt, the sharper ends of his gloves *if he have those pieces in his design* but that's like a stalemate. also touching that can be used in different manner, rougher or gentlier one. as a way to press foward or to confuse. i also always thought, that it's funny that in some comic versions, jonathan have so many ropes around him, that bruce can literally use these to tie him up, if he wanted to lol. costumes are really such a big part of superhero media, that it kinda upsets me a tad, when people keep complitly disregarding those in stories *less so in arts tbh* that's like hating extra toping to your ice cream. so many sexy an' intimate things can be done with it, esp bc in most other media, there isn't an actually reasonable way *besides idk, a halloween party* to make someone wear latex or specific piece of clothes, like mask or gloves.

marks. another bluntly intimate / sexy aspect about the whole superhero thing is how usually there is always a fight / a scuffle, a way to touch, that doesn't even always have to be fist to the face. personally, when i think about them actually leaving marks on each other *purposely or not*, i think that crane scratches a lot? the sheer fact that BTAS an’ earlier comic designs depict the ends of his gloves as lil claws can be such a good tool. or even jon’s exposed fingers in arkhamverse, where he has needles on the other hand. in turn, bruce can squeeze him pretty strongly, the sort of gesture, that makes skin burn, bones ache, but if they do it during intimacy, be it a kiss or smth more heated, that’s like a try to attempt an’ communicate things. funny enough, i don't think that any of them are esp bitey *besides vampire AU* but then again, bit lip or tongue? or just generally small bite. maybe, jon can bite bruce's hand lol. he's not above it, i imagine. as well, as bruce won't be above to pettily shove his fingers deeper into his mouth or bite him in return lol. just pure shock of them being childish toward one another, but also like....lol, he's biting me. what. no one does that.

them reacting to each other’s compliments. while crane’s way of complimenting bruce is always hilariously abrasive an’ not self-aware at all, i wonder what it might have been if jon was more focused on a certain aspect of him. like his arm muscles. or his face *what he can see of it if the mask is on* an’ actually be accidentally poetic about it. jon read a ton of books, he actually might have a way with words, usually he just doesn’t operate in that way. but scarecrow waxing poetry about bat an’ making bruce feel squirmy under compliments is a good thing to imagine. naturally, he gets a lot of praise as batman an’ bruce, but those are usually just super surface level vs someone, who stares at him an’ thinks that he’s the most attractive an’ alluring man, who ever lived lol. an’ in return, bruce showering jon in praise can make different versions of him take it differently, but all be blushy an’ confused to certain extend. batman finding a new method to ‘torture’ him like that be smth else. just compliment him till he makes a noise, like he’s dying, bc he can’t handle it. like closed off body language, lower heads, or general perplexed expression on either of them. heh. 

an’ this one for funzies, like how would jon carry bruce? bruce can do it with ease. jon is light an’ thin. but if it’s the other way around, could at least some versions of crane pull it off? not to drag the bat by the legs, but actually try an' hold his weight.

i hope, some of it might be helpful / inspirational enough. i’ve tried to keep fairly detailed, but also with a leeway for you to imagine, add smth of your own.

[izzyspussy]

Another tit ask pls rank some of your favorite famous men's/fictional character tits, detailed reviews if possible

Top 5 Fictional Men's Tits

5. Jim Kirk (Star Trek: TOS)

They are always out. Simply can't be contained. Kirk has plot armor but his shirts have whatever the opposite of plot armor is, just like when a female character wears clothing that covers her midriff. It's a guaranteed casualty. Slutty, pink little nipples. There's that one post about his mommy milkers that made that dudebro shit blood. Frequently artfully dirty. Lowest on this list because they could be bigger and hairier, and also because Shat sucks enough to interfere with the inherent horniness of his character.

4. Batfleck (DCEU)

The first superhero in twelve thousand years they didn't wax from chin to big toe. His skin isn't shrink wrapped to his muscles. Nature is healing. They were just as mad as he was that whole movie, and then in the next one they were sad like him too. I like picturing Wonder Woman motorboating them. Also frequently dirty. But tbh... also could be bigger. Other Batmans could probably deliver on that, but alas all of them are significantly less slutty and have not sent me a picture of their tits.

3. Mick Rory (DCTV)

Not slutty and has not sent me a picture of his tits, but he makes up for it with being Big and unfathomably emotionally damaged. He's like the draft horse of men, and that's how I like 'em. I think it would be really hot and also really funny to bounce those things while he sits completely frozen like maybe if he stays still enough my heat seeking sexual objectification missile won't see him.

2. M'Baku (MCU)

BIG. Fit perfectly formulated to accentuate the girls, as god intended. Is that a peek of sideboob? Maybe so. I am staring. He should have been allowed to have them out. Everyone wanted this.

1. Izzy Hands (Our Flag Means Death)

TECHNICALLY Izzy has not sent me a picture of his tits, but Con O'Neill shows me his license (left) and registration (right) every single day. Hairy. Perky. Got a nice little bit of belly to support them. Izzy's all buttoned up- no, almost- almost buttoned up. He's got a little hint of sternum showing where he didn't do the last two buttons, despite having a tie!!, wearing all black for contrast, to draw your eye in, make you think about it, make you wonder, make you yearn. He could do everything the four runners up did. Boob window sliced open in battle that's a metaphor for gay sex? He could do that with his hands tied (please let him do that with his hands tied). Sweaty, bouncy, revenge training montage? Easy-peasy lemme squeezy. Prey fear response to a much younger, sluttier, and immeasurably more well-adjusted relentless flirt? Already done. Power slouch? Coming soon (season two, and me).

[Disclaimer: Accuracy of this post not guaranteed due to author's unreliable nature and inability to answer questions that can't be found through Wikipedia (I forgot every man I've ever been attracted to in my life as soon as I read this).]

[itsbrucey]

i got into your cave through an ask i saw on the btb tag that i've been stalking since the directors cut of season 2. also thanks for liking that cesare idea! i always think about that with the undead

So style. starting with the bigtop burger themselves, I got steve's style about right. jeans and buttonups. however i thought khakis. I don't imagine the buttonups to be super fun, but i did draw him in one outfit that is basically the same as an outfit Stu Macher wore in scream. It is the only button-up i think Stu wore. Billie in my heart is very typical 'grunge' with sweaters and layers, but pretty basic. She owns stuff that she doesn't have to think about matching, and mostly lives in basic prints like stars and stripes (i think she liked stars a lot) as well as dark colors. Steve wears the same thing every day, but I agree with your take on the no skin. I don't have any ideas for Penny so far.

I think Cesare is stuck dressing like an emo kid with the black layers to cover up the zombie thing as well as the perpetual bleeding. Also he is forced to look gothic since is he undead, so perhaps he'd lean into the style to look more natural. The only reason I said he dresses 'emo' is because it can be basic and he fucking hates having to dress like that so he puts in little effort. Maybe before he died he was more fun and flashy. I dunno. Frances I haven't thought of yet, same for conrad, though I think his zomburger outfit isn't too different from the normal style he would have. for doctor, I like to think he has piercings. I have more headcanons about his day to day life than style.

I'm about to upload a the outfits i drew, but here's the stu outfit i mentioned

AWWWW THANKS FOR STOPPING BY THEN!!!! I'm trying to post about Bigtop Burger more bc it's like. My favorite thing ever so I'm glad some people outside of the DnDads fans are seeing it :]

I really like your thoughts!!! Billie being grungy/alt is sooooo true.... I think she'd definitely be a band shirt enjoyer. Chunky sneakers. Baggy pants with fun chains or rips!! She'd be a dark flannel enjoyer vs Tim's brighter button ups and prints!!!!

If I had to think about Penny, I'd think simple, practical, and casual!!! Maybe it's my own bias bc she's my fav but like... As a mom who we assume is cheery, I think a lot of fun tshirts and mom jeans!! Cardigans and pullover sweaters too!! She has the CUTEST burger earrings so I definitely think she has more silly earrings and things like scrunchies!! She's very floral/simple print/springtime coded to me!

I think the Zomburger crew's outfits reflect what they'd normally wear more already, especially Conrad!! Francis and Doctor both have a lot of piercings to me,,, Francis definitely strikes me as the type to have a lot of cool jackets and like...handsewn/altered things. Doctor too but in a more "plain" way. Conrad...my wonderful. My beloved. He definitely just had tshirts and baggy sweats and jeans and sometimes one of those muscle shirts that have the side stretched open SO much. And he forgive him /j

( Emo Kid Cesare is so funny.... He'd make a killing on TikTok )

[shewhopats]

My thoughts on Overwatch Designs (Reinhardt Edition)

Tbh, anytime I think of him, I remember when the game first dropped and everyone was guessing what he looked like without the armor, with my favorite being:

I feel that his canonical height of 7ft tall is very unrealistic (the fan-theory is that it's in the future, and humans have become taller over time, but I feel like it takes more then 50 years for a species to gain a foot of height AND most other characters are reasonable heights), and it's funny tonimagine this HUGE personality and booming voice coming from a scrawny or small dude. I could get behind the decision to have him so tall, but then they kept releasing characters as tall as him, which really steals his thunder, imo. OK, back to the main topic.

There aren't a lot of huge differences, so the devil really is in the details on this one.

The red highlights in OW1 are used much more sparingly then the yellow in OW2, which might sound like bad thing, but they are used to make the glowing heat shining through the plates of his crusader armor and the eye-slits of his helmet seem more bright/hot. This detail gets lost in the yellow of the OW2 design.

It was clever of OW2 to change the number on his shoulder from 08 to 09. It's a nice hint of storytelling in the design. Is this a new and improved suit, did he rank up, what does it mean?

I REALLY wish they kept the helmet on. It's like an episode of Scooby-Doo, where they unmask the culprit and it's just some guy. And if the base skins represent how they look in canon, why would he not wear his helmet in battle?

I'm an absolute simp for men with wild hair and long beards, and I cannot bring myself to decide which hair/beard style I love more for him.

OW1 had a circle on Reinhardt's chest, which I never was too fond of. I imagine it's supposed to be a power source of some kind, but it just doesn't come across that way. OW2 replaced it with a lion's face, and you'd think I'd be a fan, but I find it redundant to have a lion on the shield and the chest. If they had made out like the lion IS the new power source and had energy pulsing from it's mouth and eyes, that would have been cool.

Finally, the look of the armor itself. OW2 has way too many creases, open joints, and those weird straps on the front. OW1, by comparison, looks solid and defensive, with stains and scratches everywhere, and a sense of the power building up under all the protection.

OW1: 8/10 a good example of how to make boring grays and blacks seem bright and colorful

OW2: 6/10, it's got too much going on, and the exposed head feels like it stands out from the formidable mass of metal and muscle.

[casualbiintrovert]

MHA headcannons

Izuku Midorya

A/N

Hi :D this is my first time posting any of my writing/headcanons, so I apologize if there are any grammar mistakes.

-He's a mix of afro Latino and Japanese, with Inko being afro-Latina (specifically Colombian) and his dad being Japanese. Both his parents were born and raised in Japan, but Inko spoke both Japanese and Spanish, and that rubbed off on Izuku with them speaking both languages at home.

-Though there is the common hc or stereotype for Latino characters to start rambling in Spanish only when they're really mad, I think it happens for him with any intense emotion. Whether it's him happy, sad, anxious, or even just mildly annoyed I think he turns to Spanish in those moments (he got it from Inko).

-He's autistic, and his special interests are quirks and heroes (obviously), but he has pretty bad sensory issues. Like, he can't stand the feeling of someone else's skin on his skin, he can tolerate it if he initiates the hug but other than that he hates the feeling. The same goes for crowded spaces, when he has to do things like joint class activities or is in the cafeteria he'll often be wearing noise-canceling headphones.

-I'd like to think that he's a bit of a mama's boy, but not in the way that Inko would do everything for him. But in the way that he was attached to her hip and wanted to do everything she did. And because of that, he picked up different skills and hobbies, like crocheting, knitting, and cooking, and he even has a bit of a green thumb. I like to imagine that when he was little all he would do is follow Inko around and have his own little set of everything she did, like a mini gardener sat with a shovel and gloves, and a little bag with his yarn and child safety hooks.

-He's ftm trans. Growing up he didn't really know the difference between "gender roles" because all he really had was his mom, so when it came to stereotypes and gendered clothing he didn't even know that it was a thing. He actually grew up till he was around 4 or 5 believing he was born a boy.

-Boy is biromantic and demi-ace. I don't really have any backstory for this one except that he just thought everyone was attracted to both women and men. It wasn't until he was around 14 that he found out everyone was in fact not attracted to both men and women.

-Comfort items and food. His absolute comfort food is Katsudon, but only the kind Inko makes (and he's learned to make) because every other ones he's tried just aren't right. Those t-shirts that have the writing on them that either say pants or tux, he finds them both funny and comfortable. The same goes for his red shoes, though others might say they're an unsettling bright red, they're the only brand and type that fit him in a way that doesn't make him want to scream.

-Anxiety. With how much anxiety he has he's had to both go to therapy for it and even take medication. And it's not something he's ashamed of, it's something his mom does too since it seems to have been a common genetic thing in his family.

-Chronic pain after he started using One for All. Like, we all have seen how much he's either broken his bones or been extremely injured, I think that it's had a toll on his body. He can still move around and train just fine, but there are still times when he has to take a break because of the pain he's feeling. And there are even times when he has to actively massage and work the muscles in his hands and arms since he sometimes feels like they're either stuck or painful to move.

-We all of course know him as the ultimate All Might fanboy and just how much he tries to emulate him as a hero. But at the core of it, I like to think that he takes a lot of heart and inspiration for being a hero from his mom. Growing up she was all he really had, so he tries to emulate the strong and emotionally vulnerable person that made him feel so valid and safe in his own emotions when comforting and talking to both civilians and the people around him.

-He's not allowed to be alone with Hatsume for too long. It happened once and they ended up drawing out and even creating over 30 support items based on their collective observations and notes of hero student's quirks. They had even made a few inpo boards on what students they would be able to monetize on the most and showcase the quirks in the same time period.

A/N

If you got this far, thank you for reading! And tell me if you might be interested in my other hc for other mha charcacters <3

[charlenasaxen]

Favorite Quotes - Draco Veritas pt. 2

the image of Draco, shirtless, unknotting the tie at the waistband of his pajama bottoms, branded itself

just because someone has wavy white-blond hair and sculpted cheekbones this really cute way of sucking on a quill

"You know, this casts your desire to see Draco up against a wall into an entirely new light."

He wanted to play with dice. Ron did not want to play dice. It was a stalemate.

he was so beautiful: all that pale hair fired with sunlight, gray eyes bright

the temper tantrum he had thrown over a bad haircut in sixth year was still a legend. People pointed at the scorch marks on the dungeon wall and spoke of the incident in hushed tones.

"But everyone always told my father what wonderful manners I had."

you think I don't care. You think you can push me and push me and push me and I won't break --"

lifted the veiling silvery lashes slowly up over his smoke-colored eyes

for Draco, an oversight as serious as if he'd gone out with no trousers on

But she couldn't. She loved him, she thought,

the best-looking boy in school, who was also rich, who was also popular, who was also captain.

She had decided to love him, because he had saved her, because he was beautiful

had pinched Draco in a very inappropriate place on her way down the hall

Hermione believed him. No one would lie to Draco in the state he was in.

"I put the flames out," said Draco, to whom recollection was returning in rather lurid fragments.

"With a rain of blood,"

"Then all those snakes burst out of the wall. Although they didn't get the attention they deserved, I fear, since everyone was kind of distracted by the wailing chorus of the damned

Draco was more substantial, muscle curving over bones, stomach flat, she could feel every inch of him as he slid down. He rolled casually off her and sprawled on the floor, legs apart

"No. I'm just getting started. I'm considering it as a career. Whining for England."

If I'd dropped it into my lap we'd have a national tragedy on our hands."

the small fat man who had once been his pet rat

the narrow line of pale gold that ran from his navel

sometimes when Draco worked up one of his really blinding smiles, even Ron would look dazzled momentarily

because everyone would be looking at Draco Malfoy anyway

Did you know Malfoys are forbidden on pain of death from wearing powder blue?"

Draco Thomas Hephaestus St. John Vivian Augustus Malfoy, III, Esq.

"Is it true?"

"Yes," Blaise said. "I have seen Draco naked on a number of occasions."

Draco had subsided into a full-on sulk. "You are tired of me," he declared.

he walks like a duck! I never walk like a duck. I prowl, I strut, I slither, I glide -"

'BE QUIET.

if he actually knew where he was going, or if it was merely that the sight of expensive things relaxed him.

Ron took the opportunity to open his robe and do a brief and disrespectful naked dance.

a willowy blond aristocrat with languid eyes and a voice that sounded like Galleons

"Are you threatening me?"

"Maybe," Draco said.

"With what, exactly?"

"I'm not sure," Draco admitted. "I thought it would be more effective if I kept it vague."

her eyes sparkling. "Draco!"

she shrieked. "Draco, mon petit! I have missed you so very very much!"

they'll all want to be on a team."

"You're on a team," Hermione said darkly

spoil the line of your trousers." He examined his nails. "I usually wear nothing under my Quidditch cords."

his jumper rode up as he raised his arms, showing the bare skin of his flat stomach.

flung her arms around Draco's neck and kissed him on both cheeks. Fleur's Draco-favoritism was so extreme as to be almost funny.

"Send them back where they came from," Viktor snapped.

"It's on fire where we came from," Draco pointed out.

"True," Draco said. "I've been withholding sexual favors from him for years and look how angry he is at me."

"He has a girlfriend?"

I can't believe this, Ron thought. I've been kidnapped by the forces of evil and everyone is still discussing bloody Draco Malfoy's bloody sex life

"Hurt you?" she said. "You have, I think, been hurt enough." she whispered against his cheek, and began to unbutton his shirt.

"I'm not scandalized. It's just - you look good."

"Well, that's hardly headline news."

"I'm NOT jealous," Hermione snapped. "I just don't like the idea of her seeing you naked."

"Neither was I," she said. "I guess you're right. I am like you."

limited to 'Are these snakes poisonous?' and 'Hey, cute thing, can I buy you a beer?'

"was he hung about with crucifixes?"

"He was hung about with the Malfoy boy,"

"Don't sell yourself short, Potter," Draco said. "I'm sure someone with your obvious talent for imbecilic misjudgments will be making even bigger, better mistakes in future."

"I had a pet bird. It died. My father killed it, actually. I ran away from the Manor. My father sent the hellhounds to drag me back"

the wreck of his clothes, the ruin of his beautiful hands.

"What gives you the right to tell me what to do?" Draco snarled.

"I love you," Harry said. "That's what."

Soon there would be nothing standing between himself and the poison but his own failing strength.

"Oh, no," Harry exclaimed, aghast.

Draco was scarlet with the effort of not laughing.

that the one person in the whole fucking world that you can't do without, can do just fine without you?"

I told you I couldn't stand to leave you, that it was the greatest punishment I could imagine for myself

[saintodo]

𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃

NOTE. the manga panel is me when i see gojo’s tits

PAIRING. gojo satoru x gender neutral reader

WORD COUNT. 2.1k

WARNINGS. dom reader, sub gojo, male titty sucking/fondling, slight feminization (calling pecs tits), grinding, cumming in pants

You walk into the living room of your apartment with all your attention on the phone clasped in your hand. You’re scrolling through social media, half-heartedly paying attention to the images and text popping up in your feed. You harshly exhale in a silent laugh when a particularly funny post pops up.

“Satoru, what do you think we should do—”

Slowly, your hand lowers to your side. Your grip on your phone loosens, causing it to nearly drop out of your grasp. The question of what your plans should be for this upcoming weekend dies out on your tongue as soon as you gain a glimpse of your boyfriend.

As usual, Gojo is sprawled out on your large, comfortable couch, long limbs thrown in every direction. It looks like he’s trying to take up as much space as possible, which could very well be the case. He’s not wearing his modified uniform for a change, dressed in casual at-home pants and…

“What are you wearing?” The question falls from your lips before you can really think about how it could come across. Your boyfriend knows you well enough to know you don’t mean any offense by it. You stand in the hallway near the entrance of the living room, unblinking.

Gojo’s attention shifts from the flatscreen tv, playing one of his favorite movies (one of those films where it’s so fucking bad that it’s good) onto you. His sky-blue eyes shine brightly over the tops of his sunglasses.

“Hm?” he hums, processing your question. He tilts his head at an angle to showcase his faux confusion. You ignore the way his sharp jawline flexes.

“Oh, this,” Gojo says like it’s just dawned on him what you meant by your very direct question. With his pointer finger and thumb, he pulls on the cotton material of the t-shirt he’s wearing. “I tried to do laundry the other day and accidentally shrunk all of my shirts.”

You can see that.

The shirt is beyond tight. Hugging every curve and dip of Gojo’s upper body, the once loose t-shirt is now obscenely form-fitting. His pecs are fucking bulging. The material is suffocating them, and they look like they’re about ready to spill out of the top that has his collarbones on full display.

The bottom of the faded black t-shirt is also a good few inches shorter than it used to be, exposing a lot more of Gojo’s torso. The darkness of the top contrasts greatly with the revealed paleness of Gojo’s skin. You watch, mesmerized, as his abdominal muscles flex as he shifts around a little bit.

You would jump Gojo’s bones if he attempted to leave the house looking like that. You already have to deal with people openly ogling him when you go out together. You don’t even want to imagine how many more people would shamelessly stare or flirt with him if he wore a fitted cropped top.

“Oh, you like it.”

Gojo’s comment knocks you right out of your reverie. The amusement in his tone, the knowingness of his voice, immediately makes a scowl form on your lips. Your gaze drifts from Gojo’s chest, which you were not checking out, to meet his eyes. The Cheshire-like grin he’s donning makes your eye twitch.

“Shut up, no I don’t,” you instantly respond.

It’s not that you don’t think your boyfriend is hot shit, he is. He 100% is. But, there is no way in fuck you’re going to admit to your boyfriend you think he looks fucking hot right now. You absolutely cannot and will not inflate his ego like that.

His crystal-blue eyes gleam, and you know you have lost already. Sometimes, you forget that your partner is the single most powerful sorcerer there is on Earth and that his powers are unparalleled by any other being. Truly and honestly, screw him and his stupid ability to know when you’re being untruthful.

“Liar,” Gojo says in a sing-songy manner. He wags his pointer finger side to side to emphasize his statement.

You groan, taking long strides across the room. Haphazardly, you toss your phone onto the coffee table and hope that the screen doesn’t shatter from your rough behavior. A loud huff escapes Gojo when you flop down onto the couch with a loud, exaggerated sigh. You maneuver around until your lower back is resting against the armrest and your legs are parallel to Gojo’s.

You’re smart enough to know when you’ve been defeated.

“What do you want me to say, ‘Toru?” You huff, glaring at the man facing you from the opposite end of the couch. There’s no real heat behind your apparent harsh look. “Wow, you look so fucking hot or something?” you sarcastically say. You gesture by waving a hand around in the air. “I tell you that shit like every day already.” 

“I haven’t heard you tell me that today,” Gojo innocently says.

You groan, realizing that you have not in fact told Gojo today how attractive you find him. Then again, you didn’t mean it literally, but of course, your boyfriend would take your words at face value if playing dumb benefited him. Oh well. Guess you’ll indulge him.

The movie’s audio buzzes at a low volume as you crawl over Gojo’s stupidly long legs, careful not to hurt him or yourself. You place your hands on either side of Gojo’s head, balancing yourself as you hover over your boyfriend.

Gently, you move aside Gojo’s sunglasses to rest on top of his head. His light blue eyes, now revealed to you, swim with mischief and amusement. Underneath all of that, you can see the beginnings of arousal swirling in his pretty hues.

“You look hot, ‘Toru.” You lean in closer. Your nose brushes against Gojo’s and your lips nearly touch. You can feel the upward curve of a smile on Gojo’s lips. Soft exhales fill the little space between you. “Really hot.”

Gojo is the one to close the space separating you. The translucent gloss coating his lips glides onto yours. You find the minty taste of it not unpleasant on your tongue when you lick the seam of his mouth.

Shifting your body, you ease yourself over Gojo’s lap and lay your knees on either side of his torso to support the majority of your weight. His hands on your hips help guide you into a comfortable position for both of you.

“I do look hot, don’t I?” Gojo teases when you pull away from his lips to trail kisses along the column of his neck. The playfulness in his voice dies down a little bit, replaced with a moan when you harshly nip at his fragile skin.

“Shut up,” you mutter between the love bites you’re decorating Gojo’s neck with. His skin is so sensitive in this area, it’s almost comical. Even if you just licked a line down the curve of his neck, it would prompt a slight shiver to travel throughout Gojo’s entire body.

In his daily life, he’s so good at masking his true feelings, but in the bedroom, there is nowhere left for Gojo to hide. The way he’s receptive to your every touch is obvious, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Your hands move from their place by Gojo’s head to his abdomen, pushing his shrunken t-shirt all the way up until it’s bunched up above his pecs.

You grab a handful of the mound of flesh presented before you and delight in the way Gojo’s eyes go lidded and his mouth parts to form a slight o.

“You have such pretty tits, Satoru,” you sigh reverently. With one hand, you continue to palm at the muscle, feeling his heartbeat thrum beneath your touch. You dip your head over his other pec and wrap your mouth around his nipple.

He tastes like skin, which is not exactly earth-shattering. Swirling your tongue around the hardening bud, you can make out the faint audio of the movie that’s still playing on the screen. But, your quiet hums and Gojo’s loud, breathy whines quickly drown out the noise.

“O-oh, fuck,” Gojo curses, dropping his head back over the edge of the sofa.

Internally, you smile and relish how you’ve made him stutter over his words. The fact that you are the only person who gets to see the great Gojo Satoru like this fuels your ego. But, you are also filled with an overabundance of affection for the white-haired sorcerer. The trust and vulnerability shown through his actions of allowing you to see him like this, of allowing you to bring him such pleasure is not lost on you.

Even if Gojo Satoru is a menace, you love him all the same.

He wraps a large hand around the back of your neck- the heat of his palm bleeds into your skin- and urges you closer, even if you are already as close as possible.

You run your tongue over Gojo’s nipple and tug it between your teeth over and over until it’s all puffy and aching from your continued abuse. After you’re satisfied with the pretty shade of pink it is, you mouth at the rest of his tit.

Distantly, you’re aware of how much of a mess you’re making. Saliva and sweat now coat Gojo’s skin as your tongue glides over the firm muscle of his pec. Saltiness infiltrates your tastebuds as you nip his skin, leaving reddening love bites in your wake.

Your fingers tweak his other nipple, gently pulling and rolling it between your forefinger and thumb until it’s a hardened peak. Once you’re content, you switch your focus and wrap your lips around the pulsing bud.

Beneath you, you can feel the outline of Gojo’s hardness through his pants. With the thought of getting your partner back for teasing you so often, you shift the majority of your weight off of your knees to your center. An unabashed moan leaves Gojo’s lips when you settle more into his lap and grind down against his erection. His large hand tightens around the back of your neck: his grip is a little uncomfortable, but not painful.

“You make really cute noises, ‘Toru,” you exhale into his skin, barely lifting your lips from their place around the swollen bud you were running your tongue over. Your fingers toy with his other nipple, which you just had your mouth on. “So lewd of you to get off by having your tits played with,” you comment.

His face reddens, a stark contrast to his usually pale skin. 

“They’re not—ah, fuck—they’re not tits,” Gojo whines in weak protest. Snow-white strands fall onto his forehead as he lifts his head off of the edge of the armrest. You hum unconvinced.

Gojo can say all he wants and deny your statements as much as he likes, but at the end of the day, he has a fat pair of titties. And going off of how he instinctively ruts his hips up when you call his pecs tits, you know he fucking likes it.

You opt to keep quiet and continue playing with his pretty tits. Alternating between laving long strokes over Gojo’s nipple with your tongue and lightly sucking on the hardened peak, you’re pleased when you manage to draw another high-pitched moan from him.

The friction from grinding down on Gojo’s clothed cock sends sparks up your spine. The action feels good, but you’re more focused on having Gojo come undone for you. When your gaze drifts upward to the white-haired man, you can tell you’re nearly there.

His face is flushed a deep scarlet down to his chest. You’re slightly surprised to see his sunglasses are missing from the top of his head: they must have fallen without your notice. His hair- let down from its typical spiked-up style- is messy and disheveled with many loose strands falling over his forehead. It's Gojo's eyes that catch you a little off guard. The bright blue hue of his irises is overtaken by the dark inkiness of his pupils. His eyes dilate even more when he catches your gaze.

His chest heaves under your tongue, and you know that Gojo is about ready to fall off the precipice. 

With a harsh pinch to his nipple and a rock of your hips, you send Gojo hurtling over the edge. His eyes immediately flutter shut, rolling to the back of his head. A stream of curses interrupted by whines flows from his mouth as his hips jerk up against you in search of prolonging the friction.

You can feel the wet patch growing beneath you as Gojo cums in his pants. You drink in his reactions, stoking the flames of arousal that lie deep in your gut.

You release your mouth from where it's latched to Gojo's pec and sit up a little when he's recovered from his orgasm. You admire how pretty he looks when wrecked: a complete mess with his shirt still bunched up just above his pecs.

Gojo should wear crop tops more often. Only around the house, though. He should never wear them out.

[yandelights]

easy. / yan tartaglia x reader.

~2.8k words.

t.w. / mentions of future forced marriage, general yandere stuff, sfw.

a.n. / i have not writted fanfic in like over a year please excuse how sloppy it might be LOL (also it's unedited because i actually can't proofread so sorry for any errors in advance!).

Tartaglia fancied himself as a sort of family man. That was one of the few things you could say for sure about him. You could count the rest on one hand, really. They were few, far between, and you couldn’t tell if he dropped them on accident or purpose. Yet another mystery, it seemed, regarding the Harbinger.

He seemed easy enough to talk to. Laidback, with an even easier laugh to match his boyish charm. And yet it put you on edge. Threatened nerves with a small heat, akin to candle fire underneath the skin. Tickled in a way more uncomfortable than funny or friendly, though you couldn’t pinpoint the reason why. For a while you thought it might’ve been that very easiness, or maybe his posture, or maybe the way he was too comfortable too quickly. How he would sling an arm around your shoulder, or your own arm, much too soon for you to even consider the same behaviour.

But maybe you were a prude. He was just having fun, really. And you couldn’t really say no; not to a Harbinger, with a high probability of more blood staining his hands than water you’d ever drank.

He said your name easily, too. Familiarly- like an old friend, a dear friend, a lover, everything he wasn’t. It was nice, the way he said it. Objectively. But it made you itch as you forced your muscles to relax. You couldn’t appear aggressive. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Not technically. But it all felt wrong in a way you couldn’t describe. Maybe it was the simple fact that he was a Harbinger- it was probably that.

As he laced his fingers with yours, flashing you that light smile, you had never felt so heavy. It was like the ground was trying to swallow you whole, as he seemed to wait. Your heart was sinking slowly but surely down to your feet, and you were unsure if you’d ever muster up the energy to heave it back up to your chest again.

When he stopped in his tracks, so did that very heart of yours. It made up for it twentyfold, though, as he resumed, only to lead you off to the side, out of the way. You wondered if he could feel it- you were sure he could have- even in the loose grip on your hand. Even through the thin fabric of his gloves, he could feel it. You knew he could.

“You can lighten up, y’know?” There was a childlike playfulness in his voice, even if only a mockery. Because you could feel the tension, even if his voice didn’t wear it. It was in the air, and in his eyes. For his easy grin didn’t reach up there, as they bore into you. It was like he was turning you inside out, with those eyes. As if you weren’t wound up enough as is, the tension was tangling your thoughts further. So much that you barely registered him talking, never mind how to respond.

“You look at me like the devil incarnate, or something. It kinda hurts.”

Maybe he really was able to read what you were thinking, because somewhere you sardonically thought that he wasn’t far off. But it was never something you’d voice aloud, even if your tongue didn’t feel like a lump of lead in your mouth.

He fell silent, after that. His silence was never a good thing. Not paired with such cold eyes, even if they wore the disguise of an adoring, joking smile. Maybe especially when they wore that disguise. It all felt so much easier when he stopped playing, stopped toying.

It’s nothing serious, you tried to tell yourself against all other evidence, it’s only a small joke. Soon he’d lose interest and move onto someone more fun to toy with, or someone who could say more, match his energy. Even if it came at downplaying yourself, you had to cling to some belief that he’d move on and forget you even existed. Hopefully soon, at that. Besides, he seemed to treat it all so lightly. It had to be the truth. Nothing less than the truth.

There was a small twitch to that smile. Another red flag; another star in the sky. With that, you were drawn out of the clouds, and it was easy to see what was causing the problem when both your feet were on the ground. To feel it, rather. To feel how you were practically gripping his hand like your last lifeline- it was the furthest thing from a lifeline, but your knuckles were paling from the force and your fingers were beginning to throb.

He was unaffected. You didn’t even need to look at him to know that. Not into those abyssal, endless blues that seemed to coat you in their very hue.

“Sorry.”

You felt like you could barely drag it out, but you did. Barely above a mumble, and as low as your eyes were averted. Yet when he softly squeezed your hand back, you felt as though you’d done a good job. Appeased him a little, for just a little longer. That was all you needed. Keep him happy for a bit, until he moved on. And then you could move on, too. To the opposite side of Teyvat, preferably. You’d take that any day. Some small, rundown shack in the middle of nowhere had to be better for your wellbeing.

“For what?”

Any vision of appeasement quickly crumbled between your fingers by his own hands. Unwavering, as was the edge to his words. You didn’t dare meet his eyes. You couldn’t. Not when that bite in his tone called his eyes home; swam in them like a myriad of starving sharks. It took everything you could not to unconsciously increase your grip again.

“For- uh,” you’d blurted out the start before you had given your mind enough time to come up with words that weren’t simply ‘everything’, for you weren’t sure just what he wanted an apology for, this time, “for being so… moody.” And, because the following silence was a bit too sickening for you to stomach, “and holding your hand too tight, and looking at you funny- weird, I mean weird, and-”

Before you could drag your feet through a messy, apologetic ramble over something else you’d be making up, because he seemed like he wanted more apologies than you could genuinely think of, he pushed a finger to your lips. A gentle shush, to match the infantilising action. And before you could glance around to see if anyone was watching, murmuring, whispering, he hooked his thumb under your chin and pulled it up. He wasn’t exactly forcing you to make eye contact, but you knew he would if you delayed any further in giving it to him.

“It’s not much of an apology if you can’t even stand looking me in the eyes, is it?”

He let go of your chin, your lips, with his fingers, though his eyes still lingered on the latter. It wasn’t long before his hand returned, though the roles had reversed. His fingers grazed your chin, whilst his thumb hovered. It moved closer, the smooth fabric of his gloves kissing your lips with a tenderness previously thought to be unknown by someone like him. It tickled, yet again, though you didn’t have to fight the urge to pull away when you were already like a statue.

His other hand, fingers still intertwined with yours, allowed your palms to meet. Yet he seemed to want them even closer; closer than they could ever be. Infinitely closer than you ever wanted to be, and yet infinitely farther than he ever wanted them to be. He was much too warm, despite the iciness in his eyes and undoubtedly in his very soul, and it set your very cheeks ablaze with that warmth.

“Sorry,” you mumbled again, because you couldn’t think of anything else. It felt like you were being shoved under the ocean with a weight as a friend to explore the depths, to reach the bottom, to never be found again.

He hummed. You weren’t sure whether he was even listening. He seemed all too occupied with other matters swimming around inside that head, all unknown to you. It was better that way. It could almost have been called pleasant, with him off as if in a trance, though you were never so lucky. He was never as far away as he seemed in such moments. Not to mention how he always came back from his thoughts with a grand idea that you were never fond of, not that you could tell him as such. Just nodded your head as he dragged you along all too eagerly, like the favourite toy of someone much younger but just as obnoxious.

When his lips parted next, you knew it was yet another one of those cases.

“I’ve never met your parents, have I?”

The responding, “huh?” was as immediate as it was regretted. For his smile only widened further; the corners of his lips curving upwards so delightedly.

“We should change that, some time.”

“No we should not.”

You were wound up that day. It was like you’d rolled out of bed the wrong way after an already rough night. You didn’t need more fuel to struggle keeping your mouth shut, but God- if Tartaglia didn’t know how to add more fuel, then no one did. Too much fuel, in fact. Like dumping a whole bucket of coal onto an already raging fire. Or oil- oil seemed like a better comparison.

However the realisation of what had slipped was like a bucket of icy water, straight from his homeland personally. The moment the first sound left, it had been too late to take it back, and too late for any amount of apologies. He looked rather surprised, for a moment; taken aback by a forwardness previously danced around and buried. One usually had to watch their words and triple-check them when talking to a Harbinger, never mind flat-out denying them. Never a good sign.

His eyes narrowed, though the boyish smile returned easily. That alone was terrifying. More than a bucket of water, it was like an entire lake. One wrong move further and you’d be submerged, with the exit sealed shut behind you.

You couldn’t let him, though. Not back home, surrounded by faces you knew and loved. You couldn’t introduce them. Then you’d have to acknowledge it was more serious than you thought it was. You’d have to sit and watch as he wormed his way into your life for good, vying for your family’s approval with honeyed words and charming laughs. How he’d seek to win them over with grandiose gifts and words of affection that made your bones grind against each other with how you froze up, offering to help with cooking and clean-up, and entertaining anyone and everyone with incredible stories that spared the horror and bloodshed that he never cared to spare you, late at night. He’d clean up, and shake their hands, and thank them so kindly and genuinely for the meal.

You’d hope, if it came to pass (and you’d do your best to ensure it didn’t, now it’d come down to it), that your family would see through it all. Ask him to leave, and never come back. In some fantasy world where everything was ideal, he’d oblige. But when mulling it over further, you found you didn’t know which you preferred.

If he tricked them, you’d suffer knowing they believed the lie of a murderer. If they saw through it, you didn’t want to know what he might do to them.

You couldn’t stand to know.

So, when he asked you to repeat yourself, you did. And you clawed at his hand, and began to stir up some picture of a scene as you twisted your face out of the nice, gentle grip he’d fixed it with.

“Let me go,” there was urgency, and a threat of your own under your words; you’d raise your voice if he didn’t, “let me go, or I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” He cut you off for the second time that day. Easily. Dangerously easily, with the smile having grown rather than scrubbed off like the stain it was. It wasn’t a glare, really, but it felt so smothering that you couldn’t have labelled it as anything else. And even as you pushed and tried to wrestle your arm out of his grip, he only held on tighter, pulled your hand closer than it could’ve ever comfortably been. Not that he cared about your comfort, not when it didn’t align with what he wanted from you. He pulled you down a small alley, and when you opened your mouth to shout out, to cry out, he preferred to clamp it shut with his other hand. Thumb digging into one cheek, fingers into the other. It made it that much harder to breathe, and only made you shove at him more; try to get away more, whether by scratching or some pathetic attempts at punching or elbowing or kicking. He leered at you during it all, even laughed it off with some cold, awful laugh that was both condescending and petrifying.

He didn’t even need to fight back, really, as he pushed you against a wall.

He didn’t even need to say anything, and so he didn’t. All he needed to do was stand there as you exhausted yourself, until your lungs screamed for reprieve and your muscles felt ready to give in. It came sooner than you thought. Too soon, and yet it felt like you’d been fighting for too long. You didn’t even register when the soft orange of his hair and cutting blue of his eyes began to blur and mix together, only briefly solidifying when you could feel the tears beginning to spill.

It did nothing for the exhaustion except worsen it- laboured breaths were drawn unevenly, and it was a struggle alone to stop yourself from breaking out into sobbing.

“Done already?” His mockery was expected, but no less unwelcome; followed by a few gentle taps to your cheek. They’d likely bruise by tomorrow, what with his prior grip on them. “You can go on,” he was aware that you couldn’t, and even more aware that you knew he was, “I don’t mind.”

You tried to glare at him, and he chuckled with that god awful laugh of his. When he leaned in closer, you pointedly turned your cheek to him. There was a lazy sort of sigh that followed, and he instead settled to bury his head into the crook of your neck. His hair tickled your neck, your jaw, any skin it touched. Every controlled, steady breath he exhaled did the same as it fanned over skin that already felt too hot, but you didn’t feel like laughing. Instead you looked at the ground, barely having the energy to glare at it as you clenched your hands into fists.

He took note of it instantly.

“You wanna continue? Be my guest,” you could feel that smirk against your skin, feel his lips forming words you didn’t care for and didn’t want to listen to, but you couldn’t tune them out, “hopefully you’d put up more of a fight. But I doubt it.”

It was humiliating, but what did you expect? Physical strength alone, you were outclassed easily; he probably needed less than one arm to take you down at your full strength. Not to mention the vision hanging leisurely from his belt. Confidently. He was the pinnacle of confidence, though. It was doubtless that no one would’ve been able to snatch it from him and tell the tale. It shone and gleamed in the darkening street, depths of azure ocean unable to compare with how the hue swirled in that one small sphere.

He peppered a few small kisses to the side of your neck; enough to make you squirm. That seemed to be enough to satisfy him, at least for the moment, as he retreated. You were still against the wall, your hand was still in his, but his other hand cupped your cheek again. Where his thumb stroked it tenderly, his gaze on your tears matched with that expression only served as a sick juxtaposition.

“We can put it off, I guess,” he seemed almost disappointed; you knew better than to assume as such, when his eyes met yours again, “just for a little bit.”

He didn’t wait for you to respond, even if you wanted to.

“I think a visit home’s overdue, anyways. Maybe that’d ease you into things.”

It was easy to give in, by that point. Easy to allow his thumb to trace against your cheek, and down to your lips once more. Better that than his own lips, though you figured you’d find it easier to take even that with how tired you were.

“I plan on meeting the in-laws before the wedding, though.”

He made it all sound so easy, with the lilt in his voice and the carefree smile barely concealing its sinister edges once again. Maybe it was.