#phys writes

[physics-of-one-piece]

Sugary Secret

(Doflamingo x Reader)

Summary: The king of Dressrosa shares a midnight snack with you. Don't tell anyone. It's his little sugary secret.

Words: 1k

Tags: Doflamingo x afab!Reader, Reader & Doflamingo Are Married, Cuddling, Fluff, Size Difference, SFW, One Shot

A/N: I am sleep deprived, much like Doffy here. (Hugs him) It's okay, Doffy, let's cuddle, we can fall asleep easier like that. I wrote this ages ago cus I wanted a cuddle with Doffy in Dressrosa. Short and not detailed enough with descriptions for my liking, but I'm not that good quite yet with describing the SIZE of this man. Ugh, I love him. Would cuddle, cuddles would be 100000/10 with him. Wish I could make this Hammock NSFW Fic but hooo boy that intimidates me so it's SFW. Also, huh, my first actual fic(that I publish on tumblr)! Of course it would be Doffy. 🩷

You got woken up by some sort of sound of...

A bag?

It sounded like a bag. You realised the usual ten foot giant wasn't all wrapped around you, hugging you possessively. You blinked at the lack of him. The bed felt very big and very empty without him.

Then, you heard it. Crunching.

You perked up, shooting up in the bed. You knew that sound.

Cookies.

You floundered around for the switch of the bedside lamp. Once you found it, the illuminating orange light cast a small light around the large suite of the bedroom.

And there was the king of Dressrosa, satten on a circular coffee table, a lid full of cookies held in his left hand while his right hand grabbed the pile of cookies.

Upon the light hitting his handsome face, bare of his sunglasses, the king of Dressrosa froze like a cat caught catching a rat, pink eyes widening slightly.

You looked at Doflamingo. Doflamingo looked at you. 

Silence.

Staring at you, he tossed another cookie into his large mouth, the crunch as he chewed on it filling the large bedroom.

You blinked, more bewildered than anything. It was still night out, but it must be very very early morning.

You wondered if he'd had a nightmare. Usually, you were able to keep them at bay with your presence, running your fingers through his hair and soothing him in his sleep until the nightmare ebbed away, chased away by your loving touch, but sometimes that didn't work.

“Before you say anything,” said Doflamingo, his deep voice covering you with a weight similar to his feather coat. “I am the king. I can do whatever I want, whenever I want. If I want to eat cookies at 3 am…” The blond pulled the box closer to his stomach protectively. “I will eat cookies at 3 am.”

When you continued staring, Doflamingo added, “Don't tell Monet.”

Poor Monet has given Doflamingo trauma or something of the like because she always kept him on schedule. He could never escape his royal duties with Monet around. He'd tried, much like you did. You both got dragged back to the palace within thirty minutes, feeling properly ashamed from the cold, chilly gaze Monet gave you.

“I am the king, and I am hungry, so what if I'm eating cookies?” continued Doflamingo. “I deserve cookies. I work hard all day.”

“And I deserve to eat cookies.  I’m a Celestial Dragon, nobody can tell me what to do.” said Doflamingo. Was it you, or was he eating the cookies faster, as though afraid you would start scolding him any moment, stop him from indulging in the sweets? “Even if you're my wife, I won't listen to you. I won't abandon the cookies, and if you got a problem, then -”

“Can I have some?” you asked, breaking off Doflamingo's monologue.

He stopped. “Huh?” he asked, tilting his head, confused.

You couldn't help it anymore. You smiled, beaming at your husband while his thin, blond eyebrows furrowed in further confusion.

That was it. He looked so adorable when he was confused. You giggled.

“Cookies,” you said, smiling, cheeks hurting from smiling so much. “Can I have some?”

Doflamingo dropped the cookie in his shock. His pink eyes stared at you for a moment, completely surprised.

Then, a huge, big, excited smile engulfed his face, stretching from ear to ear.

Without replying, Doflamingo hopped down from the table, carrying the box of cookies, and approached your side of the bed. Within a second, he lifted you into his arm, cradling you to his chest. 

He chuckled at your squeal, the sound drumming against his bare chest.

With a twitch of fingers, he opened the doors of the balcony, and walked outside, into the night, carrying you and the cookie box. He sat himself down on the large hammock, placing you on his thigh.

The night in Dressrosa was fresh and warm, the entire country swathed in darkness, streets lit by the moonlight above. The stars glittered in the night sky. You stared up in awe at them until Doflamingo’s long digits cradled your jaw, demanding your attention. When you turned to him, he offered you a cookie. It looked incredibly small between his tanned, large fingers, like a blueberry.

The cookie was circular and thick, dusted with melted sugar. You ate it, chewing on it. It melted in your mouth.

You moaned happily. The cookie was delicious! The body was chewy and soft, like a muffin.

Doflamingo chuckled, the stars twinkling in his pink eyes. “They’re polvorones, a Dressrosan dessert.”

“Delicious,” you murmured, mouth watering, smiling.

Doflamingo hummed in agreement. He slid his large body down to lie down, lounging on the hammock, curling his long arm around you, pulling your head onto his shoulder, sliding your body onto his torso, where you laid atop his chest.

You took another polvorone from the bowl and offered it to him. Doflamingo outright grinned, a lewd smile on his face.

He laughed softly, the deep sound of it resounding across the balcony, across your very body.

He opened his mouth and ate the offered treat, moaning with each chew shamelessly, half-lidded eyes staring straight at you, his hands wrapped around your waist, thumbs caressing your hips.

You lost sensation in your palm.

“Delicious,” said Doflamingo after he swallowed, repeating your words back at you, the fierce gaze of his pink eyes melting your heart. “Melts right in my mouth.”

The long, tanned digits dragged up your spine. The king smirked, white teeth flashing. He tilted your chin up with his thumb, drawing your face up to his, making you look straight into his breathtaking eyes.

“Just like you,” he crooned with a smile of the half-crescent moon in the starry night sky.

Your beetroot face made your husband laugh again, the sound filling the night of Dressrosa.

In the morning, Monet, after not finding you or Doflamingo in the throne room, and after neither of you appeared at the breakfast table with the rest of the family, went looking for the two of you. Imagine her surprise when she found the royal bedroom to be empty. She was about to pull the alarm - Doflamingo must have swept you away to the sky again and you two were probably somewhere in the streets of Dressrosa or a restaurant, or worse, on another island - but then she went to check the balcony.

You and Doflamingo were sleeping in the hammock, Doflamingo’s long arm wrapped around your waist possessively, curled around you like a rope. His other arm covered your entire spine, his palm larger than your head cradling the back of your skull, his long fingers relaxed in your hair. You laid atop his torso, your head buried in his neck, the tips of your toes resting on his thighs. In your sleep, your hands were wrapped around his neck, your fingers buried in his short, soft blond hair. Both of you looked peaceful.

There were cookie crumbs on you both, an empty tray with remnants of polvorones on the table beside the hammock.

Monet let you and Doflamingo sleep, and called Diamante to let him know everything was all right.

You were safe, snuggled in the warmth of your husband, sleeping in the arms of your king.

Taglist: @fanaticsnail

[twilightsumu]

release date | t. fushiguro

pairing: toji fushiguro x afab!reader

synopsis: one drunken (lonely) night leads you down a rabbit hole of a prison pal website — where you come across none other than toji fushiguro. after a flirty email exchange, you find out his release date and decide to pick him up. turns out, he wasn’t the only thing getting released.

warnings/genre: modern au, smut (mdni), very little plot, prison system, unprotected p in v penetration, fingering, dry (?) humping, gets a little rough, dirty talk, spitting, cursing, car sex, pet names, cream pie , reader and toji are essentially strangers, no aftercare.

a/n: last month i was obsessed with love after lockup and been sitting on this since. this was suppose to be a gojo fic but toji’s wicked spirit took over. and i know i have other fics to work on, the freak just wanted to come out. lmao, enjoy!

wc: 5.3K

your burning hot laptop is balancing on your lap as you lean into your couch. one of your hands is aimlessly on the mousepad looking up god knows what. the glass in your other hand is all empty. the wine rushing into you and making you think about the stupidest things that you know you would not give second thought to sober. 

but... you’re in your mid twenties, all of your friends have found their partners. your ex cancelled, again (as if you should really be seeing him). it’s a saturday night and the only thing your eyes are burrowing into is the bottom of the wine glass and this website that keeps making you giggle. 

writeaprisoner.com

you’re not sure how you even got here or if you’re fully aware of what you’re looking at. 

it’s just a joke you tell yourself. you’re just going to swipe and see what it’s all about. maybe find some true crime cases that you heard about from the podcast you listen to on your way to work. 

you straighten yourself up. bringing the laptop a little closer so that you could really see and make out all of the crimes these people committed. and maybe, you’ll get some eye candy to giggle over before shuffling off to bed and making you forget about your stupid ass ex, or the fact that you ran out of wine. 

you swipe up on your mousepad, passing by names, pictures of buff men in prison orange and blues. some of the taglines scaring you more than inviting you to send an email.

not a ‘killer’ but i’ll kill for the taste of you. 

(this person is serving three life sentences for killing three people.)

here for twenty more years and would like someone to keep me company. 

(how the fuck would you be able to keep him company…. in prison?) 

you sigh and start to regret your life choices. maybe even more than these prisoners are regretting their crimes. but, your fingers are swiping at the perfect pace, walking to your bed seems like too much work right now, and you just need to see at least ONE good looking prisoner. 

god, what will your mother think of you now? 

you ignore that and continue on your aimless quest.

and after what seemed like half the night. your eyes become blurry and the voice in your brain calling for you to close up shop, go to sleep, and maybe never drink a bottle of red wine alone again — your mouse clicks on to the next page and you’re sure this is where your night is going to end. 

with the page buffering, and the color orange burning in the back of your eyelids — the first account that loaded up dragged a breath out of you that was so strong you almost scared yourself. 

toji fushiguro

dob: 12/31/19xx

gender: male

sexual orientation: straight 

height: 6’2

“out soon. might need a ride. and a reason to behave.”

staring back at you (not in prison orange) is a man in a black compression shirt. as if he was granted the access to have a miniature photo shoot in the prison. 

toji fushiguro is built like a man who can ruin you — broad chest, thick arms, and a body carved from grit, not glamour. he doesn’t look like the instagram model boys you meet out at bars on friday nights. not sculpted by ab workouts at equinox. he’s dense, functional — the kind of strength you don’t just see, you feel when he’s on top of you. if you ever meet him, of course.

you would’ve thought you’ll be distracted by his body alone, but his face is another story. all sharp edges and shadows. a strong jaw that’s clenched, a scar on the right corner of his mouth, shaggy black hair littering in front of his narrowed eyes. 

eyes which even in this picture are unreadable. like their assessing anyone who looks at him. regardless if you’re in front of him physically or clenching your thighs as you look at his profile off a website in your one bedroom apartment. 

you shift closer to the laptop, placing your wine glass down so that you could use both hands to bring him, you mean the laptop closer to you. your cheeks burning along with the top of your thigh because of this laptop working as hard as it could to show him to you. 

you’re so convinced it’s the wine talking and making you act. or maybe also the fact that your best friends have told you you need to just find a good looking man and fuck him or have him fuck you, whichever floats the boat — but your fingers are flying over to the message portion of his profile. 

you skip the crime section. regret it a little. but how bad could it be, really? 

also he needs a ride and you’re all for helping fellow human beings — ones who look like they’ll fuck you so good you could possible give him the pin to your debit card directly afterwards. 

you stop. your cursor blinking over the message icon. toji fushiguro’s picture still assessing you, like he’s making a mental bet to see when you, or whoever else comes across his profile, breaks. 

you close your eyes, wondering how crazy this is. 

also, you start to make a checklist of things you need to do directly after this message: 

never bring this up to your mother. she will disown you faster than you could believe toji could make you cum. 

never bring this up to your friends either. as their view on instagram beach blonde boys will not see the vision of this man you’re hoping to get. 

make a wax appointment with your wax girl.

add this red wine to your grocery list every week. 

maybe book a boxing class at your ex’s gym just in case you do meet this toji. 

you open your eyes, meeting toji’s again. and you’re pretty sure that is the wine playing tricks on you — his lips look like they ticked up into a slight grin. inviting you to take the jump. 

and because you care about people getting home safely, you did not plunge down this website for nothing (actually exceeding what you wanted), your thighs haven’t unclenched themselves since he’s been blinking on your laptop — the cursor clicks the message icon. 

to: tojifushiguro@writeaprisoner.com

from: ynln@gmail.com

subject: i may have a ride for you 

message: 

i probably shouldn’t be the one helping you behave. but if you’re lucky, we’ll figure that out in person.

(attachment: picture of yourself)

you press send and immediately shutting your laptop. all you could do is laugh, at your boldness, the website, at how much you are expecting an email from him whenever you get back to your laptop. 

to: ynln@gmail.com

from: tojifushiguro@writeaprisoner.com

subject: what type of ride are we talking? 

message: 

it must be my lucky month then. im getting out soon, and you’re cute.. so we should find out just how well i behave. 

you got more pictures or do i have to earn them in person? 

to: tojifushiguro@writeaprisoner.com

from: ynln@gmail.com

subject: any ride that gets you where you need to be

message: 

how soon? and i think you could earn a lot more than pictures in person. 

(attachment: another picture of yourself) 

to: ynln@gmail.com

from: tojifushiguro@writeaprisoner.com

subject: how big is your car?

message:

next week — (address to prison). 

they let me out at 7 am. 

wear whatever you wore in that last picture. 

the clock on your dashboard reads 6:49 am. you should be exhausted and downing three cups of coffee right now — but you’re nervous and extremely horny. two emotions you never had the pleasure to feel at the same time and definitely not before the sun was completely up. 

you’re in the outfit you had on in the picture you sent toji last. a black mini skirt and plain cropped tee. easy access, you thought to yourself when you threw it on this morning. 

you’ve been watching the gate like it owes you something. getting here a whole hour earlier than you had to be to make sure you were exactly where toji was going to be released from. you’re the only car in the lot — which somehow makes it feel more dangerous. or more intimate. you are not sure which.

6:53 am. 

you reach for your cellphone to make sure, for the sixteenth time, that your location is off. the last thing you need are your friends or god forbid your mother to interrupt your little rendezvous with a criminal you met from a prison pen pal website. 

6:56 am. 

you’re gripping your steering wheel as you notice some commotion happening at the gate ahead of you. a couple of men in uniform and a man behind them. one man — even from here, you know it’s toji fushiguro. you have studied his photo enough times to recognize the tilt of his head.

you actually want to laugh at yourself, already out of the car before you even realize it. checking over yourself in the reflection of your car windows. 

“they let you out early,” you say loud enough for him to hear. 

and walking towards you is… him. 

toji looks taller than you imagined he would be from his photos. his arms hugged by the tight compression shirt he had on his profile picture. his lips curved in a grin, not welcoming whatsoever, but inviting if you’re into someone luring you somewhere where you shouldn’t be. 

his eyes look you over, like you’re prey. you ignore how much you want to squeeze your thighs together because you want some control over this. 

“you have a problem with me coming early?” 

you huff out a quiet laugh. toji’s slight smirk makes you feel a little dizzy. 

“i’m sure they had their reasons,” you smile, though your eyes stay on his feet — worn shoes, heavy steps, like he’s still getting used to the ground again.

he’s finally close enough that you smell that faint, clean scent of whatever soap they offer to them in prison. you didn’t expect his scent alone to make your stomach tighten, but it does and you’re trying your hardest to not pounce on him like a dog in heat. 

you tilt your head up to finally meet his eyes and you didn’t expect the stillness that comes with you both just looking at each other. 

his gaze drags over your face and then drops — slow and deliberate, over your chest — pausing on the goosebumps rising on your bare stomach at the hem of the crop top. that grin on his lips growing more as his eyes rake down your body and on the outfit he asked for you to wear. 

your gaze starts at his face. your eyes linger a beat too long on the scar just above the right side of his lip — lips you’re aching to know the feel of. his solid frame draped in sweats and that damn compression shirt. every ridge of his body calling out to you.

you don’t say anything. you don’t know what to say. your mouth is a little dry. you don’t trust your voice, not with how hard your pulse is thumping. 

“fuck,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “i think they let me out at the right time.” 

you ignore the moan stuck in your chest at the rough edge of his voice saying that curse.

“you earned it,” you shrug, proud of yourself for not letting it slip. not yet. 

“like i earned this ride?” toji grins, wider this time — sharp enough that it makes your skin prickle. “where should i sit? back or front, baby?”

you shiver under his stare and the pet name. you’re not sure how you’re going to wait to get to wherever it’s private to have him touch you. 

“mhm, where would you like to sit?” your tone playing casual. 

“back,” he says, stepping past you. his hand on the door handle of the car you’ve been standing in front of for what felt like thirty minutes. “unless you want me fucking you with the gearshift knocking into my spine.” 

you blink at his back as he opens the car door. you want to pretend you didn’t hear that sentence. like your knees didn’t buckle a little. like you’re not thinking about getting fucked in a prison parking lot.  

toji’s big figure shuffles into your back seat and you look over your shoulder. the parking lot is still empty and you hear the birds chirping in the still morning air. it feels almost surreal. 

“i thought you were offering me a ride sweetheart,” you hear from the open door. he’s patting the space next to him. 

you told yourself you’d wait — let him touch you when you got home. but your panties are damp, and the way he’s looking at you makes the seat feel too tight, too hot, too hard to ignore. 

you swallow the lump in your throat, and shuffle in behind him. your hand grazing his thigh as you settle in, closing the door behind you. 

“here?” you ask lowly. your knee is grazing his firm thigh. 

he takes a moment to stare at you, smugly. like he knows just how wet you are and he is just excited to know he got you there. and with how much space he’s taking up — your bodies are slowly entangling with each other. 

his hand reaching for your bare thigh. your hand grabbing his forearm to ground yourself. 

“did you really think i was going to wait?” 

you open your mouth to respond — something sarcastic, a joke to land to make this moment feel less desperate than you feel. but, all that comes out is a shaken breath when his big hand starts to slide up your thigh.

slow. hot. demanding. 

his fingertips stop just beneath your skirt, dragging up the soft, goosebump littered skin of your thigh like he’s got all the time in the world. as if you two aren’t in the parking lot of the prison he just got released from. 

“c’mere,” he roughly mutters. he shifts his legs wider, one of his thighs now pressing so hard into yours, you’re sure it’ll leave an indent. with one of his hands still on your thigh, his fingers so terribly close to where you really want him — he guides you to move. having you straddle him, your knees press into the seat on either side of him. 

“fuck,” he mutters again, eyes dropping between your bodies.

your skirt is bunched up high on your hips now, barely covering anything. and your soaked panties — god — they’re pressed against the thick stretch of his sweatpants, leaving a dark, obvious mark.

his hands slide down to cup your ass, fingers digging in with a firm squeeze. 

you roll your hips, desperate for more friction — the drag of his sweats reches your clit, and your breath stutters, sharp and humiliatingly loud in the quiet car.  “you’ve been this wet since you saw me?” his voice is low, like he’s fighting to stay calm — like your body is testing his patience.

you nod, because your throat’s too tight to speak.

he chuckles, slow and dangerous, tilting his head back to look up at you. his eyes flick down, lingering on the wet spot staining his pants, and then back up to your face — smug and greedy all at once.

he leans in, lips grazing your jaw, your cheek, your ear.

“then be a good girl,” he murmurs, “and let me taste it.”

before you could react — his fingers are already slipping beneath your panties. two thick fingers dragging through the wetness between yours folds like he owns it. 

you let go of the gasp that’s been lodged in your chest since he first touched you. your hips stutter forward, and his other hand grips your waist to hold you steady on the growing tent between your legs. 

“shit,” he breathes out. his eyes locked on your face. his narrowed eyes watching the way your face scrunches at the slow pump of his fingers. he curls a finger in your heat and you forget about the soreness in your outstretched thighs. 

“i knew you’d be tight,” he whispers. his nose touching yours as he breathes in the whimpers you’re letting out. 

he keeps you spread open over him with nothing but the strength in his hand that’s firmly holding your hip. the pads of his fingers pressing in tightly, your thighs trembling where they cage him in. 

your hands, not knowing what to do in the moment, run along the curves and edges of his solid abs beneath you. you feel him heave in a breath as you let one out.

his fingers start a slow rhythm, dragging through your folds again before pressing up into you. your breath catches, a low moan slipping from your lips.

he hums low and deep in his chest. pleased with himself, or at how soaked his fingers are. as if he expected nothing less from the girl he sent a few emails too before this. 

your nails dig into his shoulders — not just for balance, but to ground yourself, too. because the stretch of his fingers, the pressure in the pit of your stomach, the sounds that aren’t only spilling from your mouth but so from the wetness of your pussy — it’s growing unbearable. 

and before you could let go, toji’s fingers slipped out of you with a pop. you let an airy whine out before you could stop yourself. 

he chuckles. his thick fingers glistening with your juices between your faces. and without breaking eye contact, he lifts them to his mouth — sucking them clean off like the starving man he is. 

you watch him watch you. the pool in between your legs getting wetter by the second. 

your eyes drift from his to his fingers slick with your juices, then to the scar on his lip. every single thing making you want him even more.

there’s a beat of silence. the only thing being heard is your heavy breathing as you slowly start to slide your hips forward for some friction. 

“just wait,” he says as his finger falls from his mouth. he’s eyeing you like he has every intention to ruin you. 

the hand steadying you on your hip reaches for your hair as he tugs your head slightly back. his other hand reaching for your jaw.

“open your mouth,” he says lowly, thumb dragging over your bottom lip. “wide.”

his fingers on your jaw are firm and demanding. 

you do — almost too quickly. 

he spits right on your waiting tongue. keeping eye contact as the juices he just lapped up from you runs down your tongue. 

and before you could completely close your mouth to swallow, the hand in your hair pushes you towards him. his mouth is roughly on yours. 

you moan into the kiss, rocking your hips instinctively. the drag of your soaked panties over the thick bulge in his sweats makes your thighs twitch.

“how am i meant to behave when all you want me to do is fuck you?” he mutters against your mouth. 

your hands that were on his shoulders are now wrapped around his neck and you lean forward. chest to chest. 

“i think you’re behaving just fine,” you whisper back as you start to plant small kisses along his jawline. 

he groans, just slightly. his firm hands on your hips gripping a little tighter. pulling you a little closer… as if that’s possible. 

you trail your kisses a little lower, brushing down the column of his neck — stopping right at the pulse point that’s thumping just as hard as yours. you lap your tongue over the spot, sucking there lazily. 

you hide the smug smile threatening to stretch across your lips when you catch the thick swallow he barely manages to choke down. his hands twitching at your sides, hard enough that it sends you forward a bit. allowing you to fully feel his sweat-covered cock along your aching cunt. 

“should i start the ride now?” you murmur as you start to shift your hips to be right on top of his cock. in perfect position for him to slip in if you both were unclothed. your pussy stretching over him the thick shape of him, dampening his sweats under you even more. 

as you back up, using your hands to push off his chest — the top of your head brushing against the ceiling of the car. 

you watch as his jaw clenches. his eyes shifting from your face to the heat coming between your legs. you almost think he may want this more than you do. 

you roll your hips.

the friction sends a jolt right through your core. you weren’t even trying to make a sound but a soft gasp slips out anyway. your fingers find his shoulders again, nails curling into the solid bulk of him as you do it again. slower this time.

his breath hitches. his hands squeeze, forcing you down harder.

“again,” he says. voice tight. like it’s costing him.

so, you roll your hips down on him again. and again. 

each grind is obscene — the slick sounds of your wet pussy, your panties so wet that they’re sticking to your clit, barely moving when you drag another pass along his hard cock. but with the added pressure of your panties clinging to you, your clit catches every ridge his dick had to offer beneath his sweats. 

he’s so hard you wonder if it hurts. 

your thighs are starting to tremble from soreness. you want to say it’s too much, but in reality it’s not enough. not even close with how badly you actually want him in you. 

the windows around you are so foggy, that when you move one of your hands off his chest to the window next to you to get some balance, your hand is met with pure condensation. 

you start to find a pace that’s so achingly slow, the tick in toji’s jaw telling you so. 

soft rolls. soft grinds. you can’t help the tiny gasps that are escaping your swollen lips. 

toji’s hands start to roam, leaving from your hips. one trailing up the side of your ribs, lifting your shirt up in the process, you’re so grateful you didn’t wear a bra today. his demanding hand palming your tit, using his index finger and thumb to flick your nipple a little too roughly.

“fuck toji,” you gasp and he grins at you. pinching your nipple just a little harder causing you to arch your back. 

he lifts his hips slightly to meet yours — a subtle thrust that makes your breath catch. 

he leans his face closer to yours, his pupils blown out and you could just imagine how you look. 

“the first time hearing my name from your lips,” he gruffly mutters. the hand at the base of your back quickly making its way to the back of your neck pushing your face closer to his. 

“and look at you,” your noses are brushing against each other. “what a short ride this is going to be,” he mumbles. his eyes blinking down to your moving hips. 

you whimper. your hips twitch like they’re moving on instinct now, guided by the burn in your gut and the wet sounds between your legs.

“i need you to fuc-“

you don't even get the words out before toji’s hands are under your thighs, flipping you fast and rough. your back pressed into the car seat, the seat buckle burrowing into your hip. 

one knee pressed into your chest, your other leg extended over toji’s broad shoulders. your panties stretched miserably over your leaking cunt. 

the way he manhandled you like nothing, excites you more than it scares you. 

“what did you think i was going to do?” he whispers as he leans forward. his chest pressing into the back of your thigh, the burn matching the heat twisting low in your stomach. 

you let out a quick breath as he quickly leans back. one if his hands delicately skimming over your wet panties one second. the next, forcefully ripping it from your hips. 

your gasp is as loud as the rip of your (favorite) underwear. 

now, without anything in between your cunt and the humid air in the car — toji gives it a long look. his tongue licking over his lower lip. 

“look at her,” he muffles. the hand on your hip tightening. “dripping all over yourself and we haven’t even fucked.” 

all you could do is watch him. your chest heaving out quiet breaths. your hands clinging onto the seats on either side of you. the coldness of the buckle bringing you back down whenever you got too caught up in his stare. 

he leans closer before spitting down between your bodies. the wad of spit hitting your clit as it drops down between you.

you buck your hips, causing toji to get the hint and shimmy his sweats as low as they could go. his hard dick springing up as soon as it’s free from its confinement. 

and god, what a dick this man was blessed with. you sat and stared at his pictures more often than you’d like to admit. and even then, your mind could never quite conjure how his cock would look.

and here it is, pressing at the entrance of your leaking cunt. it’s big — curved just slightly near the tip, a vein standing out along its side. all you want is to feel it deep inside you.

with your leg still high on his shoulder, toes curled, and the other one pushed into your chest by his weight. you’re completely folded — and you almost want to laugh because no way does this stranger have you folded up like this in your own car. 

your breath is caught right in your chest when you feel the head of his cock drag through your soaked folds. so deliberately, slow on purpose. like he’s trying to savor this. or punish you. you're not sure what his motive is at the moment. 

you look up at him and his eyes are intently watching his own cock play in your folds. his upper lip snarled into his mouth. 

“so fuckin’ wet,” he shivers as he drags along the wetness again. you huff a breath out of your nose, your nails clawing into your back seat.

his dick throbs right at the head of your entrance. you suck in a breath, preparing yourself. he pushes in, just barely. 

and then one look at your face, he pushes in fully. a rough thrust follows, one hand steadying your thigh, the other reaching for the head of the seat behind you as leverage.

your mouth falls open, no sound following. your eyes squeezed shut. the stretch, the burn of having him fully inside is overwhelming. it’s so him. 

“you were grinding like a little bitch in heat,” he groans, hips snapping hard into yours. the sound of skin slapping against skin sharp in the foggy silence of the car.

“and now look at you.” you keep your eyes shut. your hands scrambling for anything to hold on too. the seat belt, toji’s thick arms, your own legs. 

he fucks you fast, deep, almost cruel. your leg on his shoulder slipping off and quickly being placed where toji believes it belongs. not letting you miss anything. making you take it. 

the sound of his heavy balls smacking your ass competing with his groans and your high pitched gasps. 

“toji-“ you moan. that growing burn in your stomach reaching out and taking over your body. you were so close. “i’m going to cum,” 

with this position, your clit is catching every movement he makes. every grind, every moment his hips meet yours. the angle allowing him to stuff you so deeply he almost feels like he’s a part of your body naturally. 

one of his hands finds its way to your jaw. grabbing you a little too roughly, with enough pressure to keep your face turned up towards his. 

you open your eyes to meet his that are filled with so much hunger, you shiver. 

“open.” 

knowing — you don’t hesitate, tongue already out. he spits down into your mouth again. and he watches you as his hips still drill into yours. you seductively swallow it down before he’s pressing into you. his mouth hungrily overtaking yours. a nip at your bottom lip as you buck your hips to meet his bruising pace. 

“i want you to cum just like this,” he demands. his lips still brushing yours as he speeds up his thrusts. 

you arch your back as much as you can, letting out a string of moans. 

“folded and drooling just for me? what more could a free man ask for?” 

your thighs start to shake with the pressure of his body still pressing into the back of your leg. 

the sounds of your slick wetness and your hips hitting each other over and over again are so loud, you think those officers who let him out must be hearing this. 

you feel that spasm coiling deep in your belly. all you could do is reach for his arms to ground you. and pray to god that the tears pooling at your lash line stay in. 

you feel him lean back, letting you see what’s happening. your body curled, pussy split open on his cock, slick dripping from where you’re stuffed so full.

his thumb presses to your clit. tight little circles that make you cry out — loud and sharp.

“yeah, let’s hear you baby,” he mutters, pressing on your clit cruelly. “lets hear you cream on my fuckin’ cock.” 

and that’s all it takes for you to finally be pushed over the edge. 

your hips bucking, thighs trembling, every curse you could mutter falling from your lips in loud moans. 

your orgasm ripping through you so forcefully, your vision gets all hazy and you’re thrown back to the night you went on this prison pen pal website and oranges burned behind your eyelids. 

“don’t stop,” you groan out. toji’s hips still slapping into yours. his thrusts getting sloppier. a little rougher. 

and he doesn’t stop. keeps fucking the mess you’ve made on his cock back into you. chasing his own high. 

your nails scratch down his arms as he leans forward again. his face lodging itself in the crook of your neck. his hair tickling you chin. his sweat mingling with yours. 

his hold on your thigh is so tight, you’re sure you’re going to have toji imprinted on your body for weeks to come. 

“fuck,” he stutters. his hips fucking into you erratically now. 

his grip on your outstretched leg is bruising and that’s how you know he’s about to cum.

jaw locked, his tongue marking your neck and you feel him pulse in you. a low groan weaving out of his mouth as you feel the warmth of his cum pumping into you. 

he stays buried inside you for a moment, your heavy breaths mingling with his. everything is still besides his heaving chest and the slick slipping down your thighs and on to his. 

he lifts his head up, his eyes meeting yours. his hand sliding up to your jaw, cupping the side of your face. thumb dragging on your bottom lip, inviting himself to more of you.

you blink up at him. dazed and extremely satisfied.

“… why were you in prison?” you whisper. your tongue lapping over your bottom lip and catching his thumb accidentally. 

he watches the movement, his eyes tracing your tongue. that grin on his face. 

he lets out a low laugh and you feel it in your stomach and you try to ignore the need to clench your thighs with him still in you. 

“we could talk about it after i eat,” he murmurs.  

you pull back slightly to get a better look of his face. your eyebrows are rising in question. 

“what will you like to eat mister free man?” you joke. 

his grin spreads. slow, sinful, and convincing. 

“your pussy.” 

and because all you want is to bury his head in between your legs as if you’re serving him his death row meal — you don’t miss a beat, surprising yourself in the process. 

“let’s get out of here.” 

he growls, his free hand dropping from your outstretched leg and gripping your thigh. the sound running straight to your dripping pussy. the one he’s slowly pulling out of you. 

“your car is too small,” he mutters. “need to get you somewhere i can really take my time.”

dividers: @bernardsbendystraws

[fee-phy-fo-fum]

mira fake dates isa and/or sif is funny on its own (to me at least) but i've just decided that if it happens, it's not going to be because they won at communication or anything

instead. its going to be because someone gets pushy and makes some sort of comment to mira about one of them being her partner

and she panics and says yes.

and that has to be the starting point because 1) not only do i think mira would be unable to ask in a normal way 2) i think it's immensely funny 3) it's also somewhat funny if she tries to hide this fact from whoever she accidentally deemed her partner which also makes for a more multi-layered conflict/plot type thing

anyway. she should say its isabeau. then go to siffrin about it to seek help a la feelings buddies and then they both have to orchestrate this whole thing without letting isabeau find out.

like. isabeau would 100% be fine if he found out, but i think it's funny if mira "anxiety" belle and sif "(gestures generally at them)" frin fear that he won't.

see! multilayered plot. im so good at this.

[whumppromptvault]

Reluctant whumper. Is this anything

Whumper is essentially... middle management? Like there's the whumpee and then there's the one above them calling the shots (boss whumper)

RW doesn't exactly like doing this to whumpee, to differing degrees depending what you got set up. But they do it anyway because BW told them to (motive can be fear, loyalty, whatever)

RW really just pities whumpee a lot. This ain't stoppin them bit it's happening

"Why are you doing this?" "Boss told me to. (Could also be any additional reasons)"

I just woke up but the people can elaborate as they please if this is anything that jingles the brain good

[aquasoftware]

LMFAOOOOO no because toji is so freaky, i was blushing myself when i wrote that “let me taste” line 😭😭😭 thank you for the reblog my love!!!! <3

THANK GOD I’M NOT THE ONLY ONE GIGGLING TO MYSELF WHEN I WRITE 💔💔 be mid sentence like “Waittt, that’s kinda 🤭” then I snap out of it and stop fangirling 😞

[scoutings]

you and your theme are the absolute cutest :)

phy dont make me cry 🥺 ily

[kichous]

✧･ﾟ:*   with only the memories

summary. he tosses your sons’ bodies aside carelessly and you finally see him for who he truly is. series. history lesson. part one . part two . part three . part four you’re here ! pairing. ryomen sukuna x f!reader. warnings. period & canon-typical misogyny. light body horror. child death cw. word count. 1944

It was only a matter of time.

That was what you had been telling yourself all these years, trying to manage your expectations. Just because you thought yourself invisible didn’t mean you actually were, and it was—again—only a matter of time before somebody realized the King of Curses was fucking you.

Well, it’s only fair to say you were fucking him too. It’s a reciprocal thing, and Sukuna will readily admit to it, savoring the claim of how fiercely he’s desired compared to the other men in your life. But no one else will see it that way, least of all your father and husband, because you’re a woman and if you don’t belong to one, you belong to the other. Never yourself. That’s unthinkable. 

What a joke.

You will never be sure who told. A disgruntled servant, perhaps, or a greedy one, ready to sell out their mistress for Lord Otagi or Lord Konoe’s favor. Perhaps one of your husband’s lesser concubines, jealous of even your lowly status because you had borne him sons while she remained barren. Or perhaps there was a spy in your ranks, from the Gojo clan or another up-and-comer eager to see one of your clans fall.

(You consider, for a moment, that Sukuna himself had exposed your affair, grown tired of you and too lazy to dispose of you himself. But one look at his face when finds you tells you that, as monstrous as he is, he never wanted this to happen to you.)

They grant you a farce of a trial before the town, branding you as a traitor even as you plead innocence. It does not matter that you have bled for family, duty, and tradition. All they see when they look upon you is Sukuna’s whore. And when they look upon your boys, not yet ten years of age, born long before you and the Disgraced One had ever made love, all they see is a monster’s brood. Your guilt—and theirs, wrongful where yours is not—had been decided from the very moment Sukuna touched you.

Very well. You can accept that you had done wrong, forsaking and betraying a husband you never loved for the bane of Hida’s existence, but the boys were innocent. They did not ask to be born. They did not ask to be your sons. They are sentenced to death alongside you anyway.

You are, for the most part, more angry than fearful. You had known Sukuna would be the death of you one way or another. When his son passed forth between your legs without issue, neither stillborn nor in breach (a constant fear after your husband’s chief wife perished), you were not fooled. One way or another, even as the babe was smuggled safely to Aizu with his accursed father none the wiser, your mistakes would one day catch up with you. Only, when you prepared yourself for this inevitability, you were certain that you alone would be punished. You are very upset to be proven wrong.

They have you chased through the forest. Men with bows and arrows, sickles, slings, and any form of weapon they can find; wolf shikigami and live hounds to track your scent; you are pursued by all sides through the lush greenery you once called home. Given a head start, you shed almost all of the layers of your junihitoe, but it was still difficult to run even so. The hunters jeered and hollered at the sight. “What a slut. It’s no wonder Sukuna couldn’t resist, if this is how she beckoned to him.” That alone had been enough to stoke the flames of your anger. Still, the boys were your priority.

Making sure they stayed in front of you, you tried to shield them with your body as best you could. It was, predictably, useless. The weapons were meant to herd you, more so than harm. Piercing your flesh was simply an added bonus. The real prize to them, the real monsters pretending to be men (and oh how deliciously ironic it is that they refer to Sukuna as such), was watching the three of you careen over the lip of a cliff into the ravine below. They did not stay long after that.

The fall wasn’t enough to kill you, a grown adult. But the twins bounced out of your grasp with a sickening crack that will haunt you for whatever pitiful moments you have left.

You’re not sure how Sukuna found you—if Uraume informed him of your execution, if he followed your residuals through the thicket and down the treacherous plummet, if he’d been drawn by your cries of agony (for you were missing a limb) and anguish (for you were missing your children, a terrible pain so heart-rending that it had no name). His eyes are… strangely soft, all four of them, as he gazes upon you.

Sukuna whispers your name in mourning, and for the first time in a long time, he sounds like the human boy you once loved. Then, in an instant, his face hardens with hatred. “Who did this to you?” he demands, his levels of cursed energy spiking with enmity. “Your bastard father? Or has it come time for the Two-Faced Specter to visit his wrath upon Lord Otagi?”

“Please,” you croak, reaching out to catch his wrist. His arm is too thick for your fingers to encircle it, and he snatches your hand when it slides off of him. If he had joined you in the midst of your pursuit, you would have accepted the offer. But at the moment, the only thing you can think about is that his mastery of jujutsu means he’s as good a healer as you are. Perhaps even better. “The boys… Help them…”

You can see Michimaru, unnervingly still, just above Sukuna’s right thigh. You’ve never been an optimist, but for them, you have to try. “If you can use your reverse cursed technique—”

There had been a weight crushing your left side, something round cracking your ribs when you struck the river bank. Sukuna picks it up and flings it away like one would plywood. That thing is gentle little Takechiyo, the unnatural bend of his neck worsened by the way he lands on his head. Your cry is hoarse, rattling free of punctured lungs as you reach out to him in futility. “No!”

In contrast with the callous treatment he’d given your son’s corpse, Sukuna picks you gently up in his two upper-most arms. It’s tender, the way he looks at you, and that makes bile rise up in your throat. There was a part of you that knew he never truly loved you, but now it’s clear as day.

“I will destroy everyone who did this to you,” Sukuna vows. Had the words fallen from anyone else’s lips, you might have found such devotion romantic. From him, it’s possession. Fury that somebody had broken his toy without his permission. If Sukuna ever loved you, he would’ve saved your sons. He would listen as you pleaded with him, rather than glare in the general direction of your shared hometown, likely fantasizing about murder and pillaging. He only looks down when you speak his given name, one of the last relics that proved he was once just a man, and he softens just a little.

“Please,” you beg again. It is more than likely that an appeal to his humanity is useless, on account of him not having any, but you’re weak. If you were strong, you wouldn’t have ended up in this situation, either scaring off or destroying your accusers. If you were strong, you would have resisted Sukuna at every turn. But the helpless curve of his brow and the light pout of his lips will always bring to your mind the first boy you ever loved over the monster he’s become. “Please don’t do this.”

“You would grant them mercy?” Sukuna scoffs incredulously. You can almost detect a hint of disappointment.

“I would not have you use me as an excuse to raze Hida to the ground. I’ll not have my name sullied with the blood of thousands, I won’t have old neighbors and friends turned into the main course of my funerary feast because of your bloodlust.” You pull your hand from his grasp with what little strength you have left and reach up to cup his jaw. He lets you, even leaning into the touch. “You were better than this, once. You can be, again. Please. For me.”

“Your last wish?” he murmurs. Once more, he’s the ghost of a tender stablehand.

“My last wish is that you try to save my children,” you plead. “Take the boys, there’s still time, and go to Aizu. There’s—”

But your blood runs cold as his features harden. You stare into the visage of the King of Curses, the Two-Faced Specter, the Disgraced One, and you are reminded that you are a fool. No amount of wishful thinking will bring back the boy he pretended to be, and to him you will never be anything but something to own, not even really a prize—just a possession, an adornment. Bless the stars that you’d managed to stop before you told him of the child that you created together.

“Do not presume to hold any dominion over me. Do not condescend to me,” Sukuna says coldly. “I will punish who I like as I see fit. They have hurt you, and for that, they will pay.”

Still, he makes no mention of your sons. You wish to protest, to fight back, but you are tired, battered, and broken. Instinct had kept you alive, healing yourself with whatever cursed energy you could reverse. It is a taxing, exhausting process, and you can bear it no longer. Blood begins pouring freely from the stump of your left shoulder as your right lung collapses.

Your hand falls from Sukuna’s face, though you hardly feel it when it strikes the ground. You are numb all over. You’ve died for nothing, you think. If it had been for love, if Sukuna truly cared for you, then perhaps there might have been something romantically tragic to it. It may have meant something.

But he and his followers will martyr you for a cause you never asked for, and Michimaru and Takechiyo will be lucky to go down as a footnote in this story. You wonder if the sorcerers of the future will ever know your name, or if you will only be remembered as Sukuna’s woman, if you’re remembered at all.

His massive hand gently closes your eyes, and you’ve not the strength to open them again. “Rest, beloved,” he says softly. It just sounds like he’s mocking you, despite the tender tone that rumbles in his chest.

As you pass, in a moment that seems to stretch on forever, you are struck with a sudden burst of rage and hatred.

You curse this land and then men who ruled it, those who condemned you to a life of loveless misery since the very moment you were born. You curse Ryomen Sukuna, a man choosing to live by a monster’s name. If that is who he wants to be, if he wants to burn the world to ashes like a monster would, then you’ll grant his wish.

In this life and the next thousand, may Sukuna be the plague upon this land which had plagued you, every piece of him its punishment and scourge, from the ends of each hair to the tips of his twenty fingers.

(Little did you know—

You had cursed yourself too, to see this through.)

[thebisexualwreckoning]

The only way im getting through this book is if i listen to the audiobook but unfortunately my various libraries do not carry it. Thankfully i know how to sail the high seas.

[obstinaterixatrix]

I read a volume of yuri about high school gals in a brass band and was like well that was pretty good, how long is it overall IT’S SEVEN VOLUMES AND ONGOING??? CAN YALL WRITE SHORTER

[fee-phy-fo-fum]

testing out a siffrin pov scene for the time-space house haunted thing

aka, mirabelle kind of gets sus event-ed

[froggywritessometims]

crushed

[pt: crushed]

i can feel the weight of fatigue pressing on me from every where

my mind chained up and tied down

its finally the weekend, finally i can let my body rest again

then another week of having my body and mind crushed by the weight of not my disabilities but the glaring lights, the expectations, the pain of moving, and thinking as you tell me

why wont you let me rest? why must i keep pushing away these feelings.

my body will not fail me but you will crush it

[oh-youknow]

if u think im not constantly thinking about

Volition -  I can't help you. I am totally useless. Everything I've said is lies. I want the exact same bad things you want. 

ur literally wrong . i am so sorry and so insane

[skyrim-forever]

WIP Wednesday

Hello everyone! It's another wednesday <3 I was tagged by the lovely @sheirukitriesfandom @theoneandonlysemla @hircines-hunter thank you for sharing 🥰

Tagging: @captain-of-silvenar @umbracirrus @pocket-vvardvark @lucien-lachance @firefly-factory @lady-iizsil @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @changelingsandothernonsense @dirty-bosmer @thequeenofthewinter

Unfortunately this week I do not bring you a snippet of Rulindil's grisly demise. That needs to cook a bit longer in the brain. Instead I bring you this lovely Theodora and Ondolemar snippet (featuring Phy!) because they are who matters most <3

The previous few days had been special, Phy meeting them on the road before making it to Riften. They spent the rest of the journey catching up, finally reunited after two long years. While Phy was away tending to her dying father, so much had happened. She wrote explaining the big events, the pregnancy, Arthano’s birth, Miraak. Unfortunately due to the nature of her love’s situation she had to keep it vague in the letters, writing that He has returned to me, do not worry I am being taken care of. Seeing her best friend meet her son for the first time was beautiful, albeit a bit funny as she wasn’t sure how to hold him. 

“He’s so sweet Theo, so adorable. He definitely looks like his father though, like completely. I don’t know if your traits even tried.” She teases. 

“Hey, he’s got my hair and my mother’s eyes.” She said pointing to the dark waves on his head and his big brown eyes. That was about it though, everything else was very distinctly Altmer. That was more than alright though. On long nights before he found her, gazing at their son’s face brought her comfort. He was still with her. 

Once having arrived in Riften, they stayed at Phy’s home, Honeyside, overlooking the docks. After having been on the road so long, relaxing in a proper home felt nice. Ondolemar claimed that his time ‘roughing it’, as he called it, looking for her had gotten him used to difficult conditions. Yet, she could tell he was happy to be near proper civilization; his words. Neither Theodora nor Phy had the heart to tell him what Riften was famous for. 

But no, nothing was special that day. As they sat in front of the fireplace, Phy offered to take her new nephew on a walk to calm him down. Thankfully he had been sleeping better since they arrived. She is caught up in the comfort of his arms when he speaks.

“Will you marry me?” It shouldn’t take her off-guard. He had risked his life, given up everything he had ever known to come find her, and on top of all it, they had a child. Yet it does. Theodora can’t shake that she’s dreaming. 

“Are you asking because it’s the proper thing to do?” She teases him, an attempt to deflect. 

“Partially.” He responds. “I was raised to believe that you should be married before children and if you get a woman pregnant the least you can do is take responsibility.” He gives her a quick kiss, turning her head to face him. “But it’s more than merely that.” She kisses him now.

“It’s more than that?”

“I want to call you my wife.” There’s a subtle look of shock dawning her face. 

“You do?” He nods. 

“My wife and I.” A kiss is placed on her forehead. “Oh, my wife likes those.” One on her left cheek. “I’m sorry I cannot, I promised my wife I’d be home.” One on her right cheek. “My wife Theodora.” She hums when he kisses her lips again. 

“I’d like that.” She tried it out, it feels surprisingly natural to say. “My husband Ondolemar.” It leaves her mouth a few more times, a beautiful tune my husband, my husband, my husband. 

“So with that in mind, let me ask again. Theodora, will you marry me?”

“Yes.” 

[egg2k16]

So excited that after this final, I'm gonna have more time to work on my exchange fic

[ravenintraining]

[makes another au] [makes another au] [makes another au] [ma

[misedejem]

I spent last night wondering what the job/class distribution was like in duty support for the standard combat classes (based on job icons, because the NPCs do not follow the same rules as players and canonically are not the player jobs ) so I looked and now I just have some hopefully accurate data with no real purpose

Anyway:

GLD is the most popular class/job overall, with 10 characters using it. LNC and CNJ are the second-most popular and have half that

The least popular class/job is MNK, which does not appear at all. There is also only 1 PUG, so if jobs and classes are combined, it is still the least popular

Jobs are much less common than classes - the most popular being SAM and BLM with 3 each. Most jobs only have 1 representative, probably because of lore

Melee is the most popular DPS with 16 characters - one less than Tank which is the most popular role

Phys. Ranged is the least popular, with only 5 characters across 4 duties. This is the only role that is unavailable to use in the Trust System, despite Trust regular Mr. Exarch being a former Archer.

Excluding the Trust System, the DPS available in the most duties is BLM, appearing 34 times, with RDM in second with 28. There are multiple DPS that are only available in one duty (ARC, BRD, MCH, VPR and SMN)

The most commonly available Tank is MRD, appearing in 19 duties. The least common is DRK, appearing only once.

The most commonly available Healer is Conjurer, with 27 duties. SCH is the least common, with 10.

The most popular class for story NPCs is GLD, with 6/10 being named characters (Ysayle, Haurchefant, Aymeric, Thancred, Arenvald, Rauhbahn). The most popular job is BLM, with 3/3 (Y’shtola, G’raha, Emet-Selch)

The least popular class/job for named NPCs aside from MNK is ARC, represented solely by House Fortemps Archer in Xelphatol

LNC and CNJ are the most popular classes for unnamed NPCs, with 4/5 being unnamed for each. The exceptions are J’moldva and Y’shtola

SAM is the most popular - and only - job with unnamed characters, with the Doman Liberator in Doma Castle

There are double the number of Elezen in DS to any other race (16, compared to Hyur in second with 8)

There is only 1 duty featuring a Viera/Viis (Lyna in Holminster)

Pero Roggo is the only DS character with no player job equivalent - they are just Peroggo and use the generic job icon

ARC and SMN are only available if the player is one specific role in one specific duty, (Tank in Xelphatol, Healer in The Mothercrystal) so it’s possible they’re the least likely to be seen for this reason

Ktisis is perhaps the duty with the most unique conditions, as it is the only duty featuring DRK and BRD, and the only duty with multiple phys. ranged. (It is also the only duty with none of the playable races, and the only duty that does not feature a single NPC who is, was, or will become a Scion of the Seventh Dawn. It’s also my favourite dungeon but that’s not why I’m still talking about it I promise)

Alphinaud has changed jobs the most in Duty Support. Alisaie is the NPC who has been in the most duties as a single job. Identical twins only in height these days

The conclusion is that Meteor should be phys. ranged in the next expansion to balance out the ratios, and someone else really needs to take over his old Stormblood job. Maybe a bunny. I’m sure there’s more that can be said but this is already long.

All the numbers below the cut (up to 7.1)

Role Frequency

TANK - 17 characters

MELEE - 16 characters

RANGED - 5 characters

CASTER - 9 characters

HEALER - 10 characters

Class/Job Frequency

GLD - 10 chars, 14 duties

MRD - 2 chars, 19 duties

PUG - 1 char, 3 duties

LNC - 5 chars, 24 duties

ROG - 2 chars, 8 duties

THM - 2 chars, 19 duties

ACN - 1 char, 13 duties

ARC - 1 char, 1 duty

CNJ - 5 chars, 27 duties

PLD - 2 chars, 16 duties

WAR - 1 char, 9 duties

GNB - 1 char, 16 duties

DRK - 1 char, 1 duty

MNK - 0 chars, 0 duties

SAM - 3 chars, 6 duties

NIN - 1 char, 3 duties

DRG - 2 chars, 19 duties

RPR - 1 char, 3 duties

VPR - 1 char, 1 duty

BRD - 1 char, 1 duty

MCH - 1 char, 1 duty

DNC - 2 chars, 2 duties

BLM - 3 chars, 34 duties

SMN - 1 char, 1 duty

RDM - 1 char, 28 duties

PCT - 1 char, 9 duties

WHM - 2 chars, 14 duties

SCH - 1 char, 10 duties

AST - 1 char, 15 duties

SGE - 1 char, 11 duties

Other - 1 char, 1 duty

Some jobs (especially BLM) appear twice in one duty, but I still counted those as separate duty appearances. Most of that 34 are G’raha and Y’shtola doubling up.

Side note, I didn’t include any limited jobs or the DoL/H, but none of them appear anyway. Maybe they should though. If Urianger can be considered a Summoner and Samurai can be a Tank, we can have a Botanist in duty support.