Fake Pipe Attacks By Japan 2019/2021

i can’t write and i only have my meager drawing skills to offer but pls accept my humble doodle of what i imagine osamu to look like when i read about omah 👉👈 it’s not very clean but i hope it’s okay omg 💦 i just wanted to let it out of my system 🙃 

INSERTING MY FUCKING SELF HERE BECAUSE FUCK OKAY YOU TRYNA HURT ME DROP YOUR @ GIVE ME OSAMU ASKHDKJSDHA THE GLARE. would also love to be able to properly credit you. 

i think it also means he's really into it when you do a lot of cute, domestic things. gets butterflies when he sees the laundry you've folded for your little household, and gets a little too excited when he finds you cooking or baking something yummy. loves it when you pack him a bento, and write him a little love note. he's a staunch feminist, so it embarrasses him a little when he realizes just how manly he feels when you cling close to him when weaving through a crowd together, or how important he feels when you watch him take his first few bites when you both have dinner together.

I think Iwa just really thrives in that traditionally masculine role. Just really to takes being a provider, protector, and pleaser. Def the kind of guy to touch his lady’s waist when he needs to skirt by her, and who gets up early to shovel your car out from the snow. Calls you at the supermarket when you ask him to pick up some groceries if he has a question about something on your list, and keeps an eye out for any interesting treats that you might like. Brings home flowers on the regular, and has a strict no checking work rule for the weekends because he values his quality time with you. Makes sure he’s always walking between you and the road, and stays eagle eyed for any unsavory figures. just a solid, dependable man.

kirishima is not a homebody and also he makes you sit in his lap everywhere you guys go. you literally never have your own seat bc kirishima will manhandle you into his lap if he has to

Todoroki who can't relate to the bawdy locker room talk he hears all the time in pro-hero rings. Who can't find the appeal in face-fucking, pussy pounding, or anything of that or shoving your face into the bed or tearing your clothes off. Who doesn't find the appeal in blowing you back out.

Who wants to watch you slowly undress, as you look at him through your lashes. Who would rather make you melt in his arms, under his touch. Who would rather take his time, slow and intense, tenderly kissing the full swell of your pussy lips, nosing tenderly at your clit until your legs are shaking and you're panting like he's knocked the break out of you. Who wants to look at your face when he presses the head of his cock inside of your pussy, your lips parting and your eyes closing, dreamily. Who wants to feel the soft exhale of your breath against his cheek, as he lowers his head to kiss along the line of your jaw. Who shivers when you reach around to cup his ass, squeezing and caressing in a way that's far too distracting. Who spends hours, squeezing his abs and flexing his ass as he fucks you, the headboard rhythmically bouncing against the wall with each pump of his hips.

Who hisses when you ask to be on top, eager to watch you sit astride him and pleasure yourself with his body. Who tenderly cups your breasts and whines with each languorous circle of your hips. Who pants excitedly when you start to cum, and only lets himself finish once you've had at least two orgasms.

barking 

i love rough sex and kinky sex obviously buy honestly reading sweet and romantic sex does something bad to my fucking heart but especially thinking of it being todoroki who is so wholly in love with you. like his dick gets hard for romance. 

todoroki who doesn’t really have many day-dreams of fantasies but when he does, there almost innocent. stuff like seeing you in his shirt or other simple shit that gets him so riled up. he learns things about himself slowly, not oblivious really but that everything is brand-new and honestly, the most appealing part of anything is you and not whatever kinks attached to it. 

you in his shirt, you in lingerie, fucking you in different areas of the house. all of it’s exciting cause he’s into you particularly and that makes him eager. makes his stomach churn bc he’s in love. 

this (nsfw) is soooo atsumu im sorry i had to share

THE WAY HE SUCKS ON HER TIT

oh my god the way he looks at the camera and SMIRKS, the ass gripping…….i’ve ascended

the cakes turn out gorgeous: for the team, an airy almond chiffon cake with blackberry-lime curd and a dreamy raspberry swiss meringue buttercream and for the training staff, a nutty sesame olive oil with a blackberry-shiso jam, and salty swiss meringue buttercream. for the female-led and hired social media team, a lush devil's food cake with raspberry coulis and and an espresso buttercream, and finished with fresh flowers for a touch of style. the cakes are set up on display for everyone to ooh and ahh after, and for the last time, you check over the exact headcount of guests before the cakes are rolled back into the make shift assembly space to be portioned out and served.

the staff members protest when you insist on helping them serve the cake, saying that they couldn't ask you to do even more than everything you've already done, but you wave them away with a smile.

"i really love seeing people eat my cake," you beam a little harder than you really need to. "you can't imagine the joy i feel whenever i get to see it."

the second you step into the dining area where everyone is sitting after the banquet dinner, your eyes start scanning across the room for the guy. that one, beefy, surly looking guy.

and there he is, at the mixed staff table, sitting between an older bearded man and a man with wildly spiky hair. you paste a cheerful smile on your face, and roll your cart right over, setting down slices of cake for each person.

when you come around to him, his eyes are wary. good. the prick recognizes you.

"h-hello," you force a timid tremor in your voice and smile as nervously as you can. his brows furrows. "w-would you like a s-slice of sesame oil c-cake, or a different cake?"

"sesame," he says tersely, and you make a show of flinching and forcing a tight smile.

"of course, r-right away!"

"i know iwa-san's face can be a little scary," the spiky haired man sitting next to him pipes up with an easy going smile. "but there's no need to be intimidated by him. he's a nice guy."

you push out a high little laugh. "ah, yeah, i'm - i'm sure he can be. i ran into him in the hallway, and he, uh. he can really raise his voice."

the social media girls sitting at the end of the table look up from their conversation, while the bearded man frowns. the spiky haired man raises a brow.

"oh?"

"oh, but it was an extenuating circumstance, i would never blame him!" you exclaim. "he was handling two guys who weren't feeling well, so I'm sure he was just caught up in the heat of the moment."

"that's-!" iwa sputters indignantly. "you were-!"

"ah, wrangling those boys gets the better of us all at some point, iwazumi-kun," the bearded man claps his shoulder sympathetically. "you should take care to rest well, especially now that the year is over. have some cake."

"she-" he sputters, feeling utterly accused. you blink at him, innocent as a lamb, and set down his slice.

"i hope y-you like it, iwaizumi-san," you simper. his eyes narrow at you, gripping his fork and stabbing the cake with more force than necessary.

"is it good?" you ask, eyes gleaming with hope. the bearded man smiles at him encouragingly, and the spiky haired man sits back, watching with some measure of amusement.

"it is," he swallowed, forcing a smile that looks like someone is pointing a gun at his head. "it's very good."

"well, i'm glad," you smile. "i love it when people enjoy eating my cakes."

meet ugly with iwaizumi hajime athletic trainer where you’re catering the dessert table at the Olympic Training Center's End of Year Celebration. You’re covered up to your elbows in swiss meringue buttercream, iwaizumi is wrangling two drunk volleyball players about to vomit all over him, and there’s only one available bathroom left to use.

your eyes and his meet from either end of the hallway - he can clearly see you're covered in buttercream and you can clearly see two gigantic men being wrangled like puppies by the backs of their shirts, both slurring happily about how much they love volleyball and how much they love each other, bro.

in the center of the hallway, equidistant from either one of you, is the door to the only unoccupied sink on the first floor of the building.

of all the men in the world you would normally be willing to pick a fight with, a surly looking athletic trained with flexing biceps is not the first one you would choose to tangle with. but between your mixer dying on you, the two previous batches of buttercream that split on you, and the gigantic celebration cakes for the team, staff and the social media team still waiting to be frosted, you're willing to take your chances.

"hey!" he barks in shock, as soon as he realizes you're booking it to the door. Atsumu and Bokuto make alarmingly queasy sounds when he starts running in earnest to get to the door before you. "hey, stop! seriously?"

bokuto squawks, when Iwaizumi bodily swings his limp body across the threshold of the door, eyes narrowed at your buttercreamed hand just beginning to pull the door handle.

"pardon me," he says, low and deadly serious. "but i have two sick idiots about to blow chunks all over the walls."

"i have buttercream in my hair," you huff, eyes narrowed. "and three unfinished cakes waiting for me. i get you're in some sucky shit, but work trumps pukey people."

"urgh, iwa-san," atsumu mutters, strained, his forehead beading with sweat. "i think i'm gonna be sick."

"hold it in, you little bastard!" iwazumi barks, before turning back to you. "come on, can't you just wait 10 minutes?"

"i'm already running behind on my cooling and setting schedule," you snap back. "and i'll literally be done within in, like, two minutes!"

bokuto groans, hands coming up to hold his belly. "oh, man. i don't think i can wait 5."

iwaizumi gives you a sharp look. "you want shit and puke on the carpets?"

"you want to fuck with my job?"

"i don't give a damn if your cakes come out late!" he snarls. "frankly, it sounds like you have bad time management skills."

"and you sound like you can eat my ass!"

at that moment, atsumu lurches forward, hand slapping over his face as he shoves past the two of you and steps over bokuto. before the door even closes, you can already the retching sounds of him vomiting into a toilet.

"oh shit, i'm gonna shit myself," bokuto mutters, pushing up onto his hands and knees, drunkenly crawling on all fours as he pushes open the door.

"oi! bokuto, at least stand up!" iwaizumi shouts, only to get a vaguely panicked "no way, man, it's about to come out!"

Iwaizumi gives up, rubbing his forehead and counting slow breaths, almost as if he's completely dismissed the fact that you're even there.

spite is like acid on the back of your tongue.

fine. fine. you're not unwilling to recognize when you've been defeated. but this is not how you go out against this guy.

Women have many belongings. It used to vex Nanami. But it doesn’t anymore.

The first thing to migrate to his home, was your face lotion. He has a face lotion, a perfectly serviceable one, but you insisted on bringing your own. Your routine was important to you, you had told him, and Nanami understood. Routines, rules, structure – these are all things he has always respected, found meaning in. And so, in his bathroom, his drugstore razor, toothbrush, and facewash sat together, lined up like toy soldiers, right next to a luxurious indigo jar of face cream.

The rest of your routine follows shortly: the lilac bottle of mist that smells like aloe, the golden serum that smells like summertime, and the periwinkle tube of your green tea face wash. Your bergamot and sandalwood soap linger on his pillow, and when he can’t smell you on his sheets anymore, longing sits heavy and sticky in his throat.

Your clothes are next. Amidst his practical navy, gray, and blacks, appear pops of warm lilac, royal blue, and torched orange. He doesn’t mind it in the least – it would be entirely unreasonable for him to demand that you stop bringing such colorful clothes in his home, especially when he never really wants you to leave.

When the two of you finally just bite the bullet and put your name on the lease, Nanami imagines that his life will certainly become more colorful. But he doesn’t have the first idea of how many more things will be in his house.

All his life, Nanami has lived quietly, abstemiously. He is a jujutsu sorcerer – while his non-sorcerer peers were learning trigonometry, he was learning how to kill curses and how to die as a soldier dies: with resolve and bravery, to the bitterest end. His life has been fat trimmed from steak, practical solid color towels, plastic storage bins with plenty of clearing near the edge, never packed to capacity. A man who walks on the very edge of life and death doesn’t require more than the necessities. The very few things he indulges in are sensible: good whiskey, grade A rice, custom leather shoes (no broguing) built to take a beating.

You bring in your life to his, and it is completely different. You’re striped linens, fresh flowers, scented candles on every corner. Baby blue drinking glasses shaped like beer cans, artisanal ceramicware made by friends locally. Your life is marked by comfort, simple pleasure, and (dare he say it) the sweetest, most innocent frivolity. He supposes it’s really what he loves most about you, honestly. He’s always tended drawn closer to brighter, bolder personalities: earnest and warm, like Haibara and Itadori, not bombastic and irreverent, like Gojo or Tsukumo. You belong in the same shades of sunlight as Haibara and Itadori, but…tender. Like the dream-like throw of warm, rose tipped dawn that thaws the chill of his lonely apartment.

Now, in the mornings, he doesn’t wake to the desolate silence of a man alone. He wakes to the sound of your fluffy slippers in the kitchen, the smell of dark roast coffee, the sight of your toiletries sitting side by side in the bathroom, cozy and couple-like.

Somewhere between your checker print tea kettle, and the warmth of your body on the sheets, Nanami falls so in love with you that he looks back on his life and wonders how he ever lived, starved of the sun that is you, for so long.

@chicoree someone mentioned dilf!Osamu—

dilf!Osamu who leaves breakfast waiting for his sweet little girlfriend every morning. Who's so used to cooking for his girlfriends, even though he's been cooking all day, and who'd like to be doted on, just a little bit. Who spends his free time in the restaurant responding to cater requests, invoices, bills, and maintenance. Who smiles a little bit when he sees his baby girl's "good morning" and "I love you" texts, because it's nice to know that she's thinking of him even then they're both so busy. Who comes back home, arms laden with groceries, only to find his baby bustling about in the kitchen, with a big pot of stew going and the quietly rumble of laundry in the other room. Who has to take a moment to hold back his tears of surprise and who's so overwhelmed with his feelings that it's all he can do to not cry when you immediately drop everything you're holding when you see him and run into his arms, covering his face with kisses, telling him how much you've missed Daddy, and that dinner is just about ready. Who kisses you hard, quietly turns off the stove, and makes love so sweet to you on his bed, the both of you cry.

Who's so grateful that you're so understanding, despite how you're so much younger than him. Who feels bad that the beginning of everything was felt like wildfire, and now that you guys have been together for a while, the reality is that he's an older man and his limits aren't what he wants them to be. Who feels like the worst boyfriend ever when he turns down sex or if his dick flags, because he's so tired and stressed and he's an older man. Who is so grateful for you when you give him a smile and a kiss and reassure him that you love him so much. Who spends hours eating you out, lavishing you with his tongue and his fingers and everything else in his arsenal that he can, because he wants you to have his full, undivided, loving attention. Who makes it a point to fuck you stupid on the weekends, hunched over you and panting, the bed soaked, and his dick pushing inside of you over and over again, slow and intense. Who loves hitting it from the back and patting your clit firmly until you break apart and thrash from the pleasure, before he forces your hips down and just ruts at you until he cums, groaning low and shuddery in his belly. Who sometimes longs for the strength and stamina of his youth, but is also grateful that he met you when he was older and mature, so he can be a proper lover and partner. Who thinks that the perfect fit of your bodies entwined is so beautiful, and isn't it incredible that from something so beautiful, comes new life?

Who thrusts lazily between your thighs, asking for a baby. "I want a baby with you," he whispers in your ear, as you're moaning and writhing against him. "Let's make a baby. I want a little girl, with a heart as sweet as her Mama's."

if you happen to have the time/motivation… i beg you please elaborate on dilf!osamu more, i absolutely love the thought of him omg

Helloooooooooo that was actually all @lilsisenergy!!! It came from Nini's big beautiful brain huehuehuehuehue

Please the way you fed me with that Eremin ask I'm so full!!!! Ugh, I love jealous bratty Armin and dom Eren so much. If you do end up writing more I always have room for dessert 👀

I just came from a great chair class and I'm feeling good so let's go—

happy eating, anon @ringpop-poppy @johnsrevelation

Eren means it when he says he loves both of his babies equally. He loves the punishing pucker of his baby boy's ass and he loves the warm, sucking silk of his honey's pussy. So Eren absolutely means it when he looks down at his baby girl, who's sobbing hysterically from the overstimulation, and the feral bare of Aremin's teeth, and says that he doesn't know who looks better. Fuck, he's sure that this is will seared in his memory permanently. The drooly gape of your mouth, Armin's urgent grunting, and the damp slap of skin almost seems to be happening in slow motion, with Eren's cock thrusting up into Armin as the impetus of it all.

"Doesn't our honey's pussy feel good, baby boy?" Eren growls into Armin's ear, eyeing the way your arousal has slicked all the way Armin's nipples. "Doesn't it make you wanna lose your mind?"

"Yeah," Armin grits out, thumbing your nipples and grinning at the way you twitch and gasp helplessly. "Ugh, yeah, fuck this pussy, Daddy, fuck our pussies."

Eren swears, and snaps his teeth against Armin's shoulder. "Squeeze baby girl's throat, choke this bitch out."

Your eyes fly open as Armin fists the base of your throat hard, and your pussy squeezes so naughty and nasty that Armin sucks in a breath like he's been the one choked out and jerks his cock back. It still doesn't matter—you're outright drooling and crying as you cum for the umpteenth time, and Armin finally, finally blows his load, babbling a garbled chant of "fuck, fuck, fuck, oh daddy, pussy, pussy, pussy so nasty, fuckkk—"

Eren's ass flexes five, six, seven more times before he shoves hard at Armin's back, cumming in him with a victorious hiss. "See? Always listen to Daddy."

Osamu who punishes you by only eating your ass.

No fingering. No pussy eating. No tit grabbing. No blowjobs. Nothing- not even the smallest brush against your clit.

He just eats your ass and refuses to give you anything else, anything more even when you plead so very sweetly and apologize in your prettiest voice and promise to be a good girl.

He'll eat your ass in public to humiliate you and huff whenever you sniffle and protest meekly that it's dirty, grumble that back that you brought it on yourself. When you're teary eyed a week later crawling into his lap and begging him to please just let you suck his cock, he'll push you away and scold you with a blank, stoic face, tell you that your punishment isn't over yet.

It's only when you break down and bawl like the crybaby you are that he'll ease up. He'll gather you into his strong arms and let you blubber into his neck, pet over you patiently and ask if you've learned your lesson- if you're ready to be a good girl; if you're ready to stop being such a brat.

(It might be a bit funny that you can't remember how you ended up in trouble if you weren't so miserable, felt so worthless)

A pathetic, weak "yes, daddy" will earn you a cherished kiss and a hip squeeze, a muttered promise to give you his attention.

If that attention glosses over your pussy and goes straight to your ass, well, Osamu better not here you complain- you're lucky you're getting anything at all

Really, he calls it punishment, but all it is is Osamu slowly molding you into his lil anal queen 💕