tulip

20...୨ৎ

[j6suke]

─୨ৎ── navigation ! ₊˚⊹ᰔ˚࿔

" COME AND TAKE A WALK ON THE WILD SIDE.. "

UNDER CONSTRUCTION: bucciaratti fucks up and finds out! so he fucks hard to make up for it

SEE ABOUT REQUESTS HERE.

𝜗𝜚 - smut.

JJK:

ᰔ gojo x foreign reader

ᰔ needy nanami 𝜗𝜚

ᰔ downbad toji 𝜗𝜚

ONE PIECE:

ᰔ *crickets*

JJBA:

ᰔ buccigang’s favourite part of your body

ᰔ mista proposal drable

ᰔ buccirati x goth reader 𝜗𝜚

[j6suke]

mdni toji x reader

toji fushiguro was far from weak. the words feeble and toji have never been used in the same sentence in the history of mankind.

well, up until now that is.

because you-you- are his one weakness.the only thing that can make his perpetually stoic expression waver. the only thing capable of breaking his immutable focus. the one thing he would lay his life down for without a second thought.

toji thinks that god must’ve sent down one of his angels to nerf him.

and god, he fucking loves it.

you’re up to your umpteenth orgasm of the night, and toji just wants more. more, more, more. at some point you end up in missionary, the shared haze demanding the kind of closeness only it can offer.

“i-hngh-love you doll,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your mouth. “so much.”

he buries his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent. he tasted the salt of your tears, and a fierce protectiveness surged through him. he would destroy anyone who ever made you cry. anyone.

“i-i love you more, ji.”

he kissed you then. a long, lingering kiss filled with regret and adoration. toji wanted to be worthy of you, to be the man you deserved. he knew he wasn’t, but he would try. he'll spend every waking moment trying.

your lashes flutter, “what-hic-chu mean baby?” shit, he said that out loud. his bottom lip tucks beneath his teeth, biting it hard enough it might bleed.

“ya gunna cum for me, baby? make a mess all over me?” a calloused hand dips between the two of you, rubbing tight little circles almost too easily with the pool of cum from the both of you. you whine and shake as he brings you closer and closer to the edge, and toji thinks he’ll die if you don’t cum right now. “yeahhh, jus’ like that. c’mon doll, i’ll look after you. my sweet perfect girl.”

and just like that, you’re coming so hard you see white. the pornographic moan, the way your pretty eyes roll back—it makes him bottom out, filling you to the brim once more with a wrecked, raspy, “f-fuck baby,”

toji fushiguro was not a weak man.

but his heart beat so softly in your chest that he couldn't help but soften at your touch, your presence, your being.

and he wouldn't have it any other way.

a/n: im actually pretty happy with this for the first time maybe ever in the history of ever

[j6suke]

mdni nanami x reader

no thoughts just nanami railing the shit out of you after been gone on a work trip for a week. he can’t help it, he missed his precious girl too much!

when he gets like this, he all but smothers you trying to get as close as physically possible. you swear your hearts might fuse together if he holds you any tighter.

nanami will have you in the meanest mating press, his massive cock bullying itself into your cunt, while his equally massive hand cradles your cheek, keeping your forehead pressed to his. even the idea of not seeing your pretty, pretty face makes his voice actually crack.

and when you rub his shoulders to relieve some tension… oh.

oh.

“my love-oh fuck-you’re so good. so so good. my sweet girl. could live a thousand lives and never deserve you.” when you smile up at him, cheeks flushed, eyelashes wet, he has to bury himself in the warmth of your neck to avoid embarrassing himself. inhaling your scent while mumbling something along the lines of “don’t look at me like that angel..”

your soft, manicured hands drift from his shoulders to his hair where they entwine. he let out a shuddering breath, tilting his head back just enough for you to catch the raw, yearning look in his eyes.

your husband pulled you closer--impossibly closer--until there was no space left between your bodies. a silent, desperate claim. he tasted of coffee and longing, and the pressure of his lips against yours was both demanding and tender. the hand on your cheek tightens, pulling you into a deeper, more fervent kiss.

“i’m never leaving you again-ngh- never. cant stay away from you… your pretty face… your pretty pussy-hic- my pretty girl,”

oh he’s lost it. bad.

you kiss his cheek and croak a small “i love you ken.” and he cums. immediately. hard. you do too practically in sync, because you’re perfect like that. perfect for him.

when you flutter your eyes open, nanami is already looking at you. and you know he’s nowhere near done with you.

a/n: soft dom nanami is the best nanami--WHO SAID THAT?

[j6suke]

Hey! Hope your doing ok (not sure if your still taking asks) but would love something about Bruno Buccellati with fem reader who’s an intimidating looking goth girl but is super kind (especially to animals)

Sorry for the ask been long and probably specific but i saw your ask post and got very excited! You can choose if it’s sfw or nsfw :) hope you have a wonderful day or night

─୨ৎ── bruno x readerੈ♡˳

hiiiii my love! sorry it took so long! Im so so SO slowly getting through requests at like a disastrous pace

cw: light smut, MINORS FRICK OFF!

wc: 685

The first time Bruno Bucciarati sees you, you’re crouched on the cobblestones of a narrow Naples alley, coaxing a stray cat out from under a rusted dumpster.

He’s supposed to be scouting for threats. Instead, he’s watching a woman in spiked boots and eyeliner so sharp it could cut glass whisper in a sugar-sweet voice to a trembling kitten like she’s casting a gentle spell.

And the kitten purrs.

You don’t notice him at first—too focused on gently slipping off one of your many rings to give the kitten a drop of water from your palm. But when you finally glance up, it’s with a guarded stare and mascaraed eyes that could kill a lesser man.

He doesn’t flinch, he actually smiles.

“You’re good with animals,” he says.

You blink at him. “They usually like me more than people do.”

He laughs, low and warm. “They must have good taste.”

You become a strange fixture in his life after that. All dark lipstick and heavy boots, but carrying birdseed in your purse just in case. The kind of girl who would scare half his men speechless, then stop mid-sentence to save a bug from being crushed underfoot.

“You are a lot like Bucciarati,” Narancia jokes one day, “just with a lot more eyeliner.”

Bruno doesn’t disagree.

You’re both calm in chaos. Careful with broken things. Loyal in ways people don’t always understand until it’s too late.

But while Bruno hides softness behind iron will, you wear it beneath ink-black lace and heavy metal rings.

He watches you once from the balcony, talking sweetly to the same stray kitten—now a full-grown cat that insists on waiting outside your apartment each morning.

You crouch down, boots scuffed, your coat swallowing you in folds of velvet as you scratch under its chin. Your face softens. You smile, just a little.

And it hits him.

He wants to protect that softness. Not because it’s weak—but because it’s rare. Rare in a world like his, like yours.

And maybe—if he’s lucky—you’ll let him.

Later, when the sky goes indigo and the city hushes, you find yourself in Bruno’s apartment—his hands on your waist, your back pressed against the smooth wall of his bedroom. The windows are cracked open, letting the night air drift in, cool against the heat blooming between you.

He’s slow with you, he always is. Like he’s unwrapping something precious, even when you’re the one who pulled him close, kissed him first, bit his lip with a miscevioush grin.

“You try to look like you don’t care,” he murmurs, brushing your hair from your face, “but you’re the softest thing I’ve ever touched.”

You want to say something biting—something witty and clever. But his fingers are at your throat, not tightening, just resting, reverent. His thumbs trace the hollow where your collarbones meet, where your pulse jumps like it’s telling on you.

“Let me see you,” he says.

And you let him pull off your shirt, slow and delicate like silk. When you're there, vulnerable, he stares for a long moment, lips parted, reverence in every inch of his posture.

“Bellissima,” he breathes shakily, leaning in. “Even the darkness looks soft on you.” You laugh, quiet and breathy, and tug him down by the collar of his shirt until your mouths meet again.

He makes love to you like a prayer. On his knees first—fingers tracing the curve of your thighs, the swell of your hips. He kisses every ring mark your fingers left on your skin, every place the moonlight hits you.

And when he’s inside you, finally, it’s slow. Anchored. His forehead against yours, your hand in his hair, black nails tugging when he hits that spot just right.

“So good,” He groans into your neck, voice ragged. “Like you were-ngh-made for me.”

And when you both come apart, tangled in sheets and each other, he doesn’t let go. He holds you like you might vanish. Like he needs to memorise every breath.

“Stay,” he murmurs into your shoulder, as if you’d ever dream of leaving.

[j6suke]

UNDER THE PALE MOONLIGHT

─୨ৎ── mista x reader✧˖♡°.

yes I know I have requests, yes I'm getting to them. (kinda) and yes I love you all <3

cw: like 1 swearword (extremely proud of my disgusting pottymouth)

wc: 573?

Mista, who bought a ring the night after your first date. Just in case.

It sounded stupid when he told Bucciarati. A little less stupid when he told Trish. But to himself—on long rides home to you, in dimly lit hotel rooms, on missions where bullets flew past his head and time felt burrowed—it made perfect sense. You were it. So he kept the ring, just in case the universe decided to be kind.

And for once, it had been. Because years later, that ring was still with him, tucked safely in the lining of his nicest coat. Still waiting, Still right. 

He had big plans, of course. He’d propose over the fanciest dinner at the fanciest restaurant with the perfect view of the city. He’d already mapped it out in his head. Your favourite flowers would be waiting at the table—The speech? He’d practised it in mirrors, in the shower, even while shooting cans behind hideouts. Well over a thousand times. 

He’d gotten Trish in on it too. She was going to whisk you away for a spa day, get your nails done, maybe even pick out that dress he secretly bought months ago—Perfectly you. A piece that he knew would make his heart stop when he saw you in it. 

But all that went out the window the moment he saw your eyes glisten on a quiet Thursday night. 

There was nothing special about the day. The sky wasn’t particularly clear, the city was far from quiet. You, you were just…tired. A soft kind of tired. Wrapped in one of his old shirts on the verandah, legs curled beneath you, the moonlight pooling in the hollow of your throat. The way you looked up at him like he had hung the stars himself had him in a chokehold. 

"You're staring," you murmured, voice like warm tea.

“Yeah.” He answered, voice caught somewhere between breathless and certainty. “I am.”

His hand brushed over the box he’d spontaneously put in his pant pocket, and something deeply twisted in his chest. Not painful, but big. Bigger than any plan. Bigger than any speech. Bigger than the weight of the ring that surely felt like it was burning a hole through his pocket and skin.

He sat beside you, the wood warm beneath you from the day’s sun. You leaned your head on his shoulder and sighed in a way that sounded angelic to his sore ears.

"You ever think we’d end up here?" you asked, half-dreamy.

"Yeah," he said again, quieter this time. "Yeah, I  did."

And when you turned your head to look at him, he knew he was done for.

The flecks of sliver caught in the reflection of your eye, the light dancing over your skin. Mista has never considered himself religious, but if there were a god, he must be his favourite. Maybe second to you. 

Fuck the speech, the restaurant. Its just you, the moon, and the way his hands shook when he held the box between you.

"Marry me," he said, like a prayer, a promise.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

And then smiled in that slow, stunned way that made his heart feel like it might fall apart entirely.

"Really?" you whispered, tears slipping down without shame.

He nodded, almost sheepish. “I was gonna wait. Do it right. But you looked at me with those big pretty eyes and I forgot how to think..”

You laughed, wet and breathless. "This is right."

And it was.

Because sometimes, the universe gives you a random Thursday night, a moon, and a chance to say yes.

[j6suke]

─୨ৎ── order up! ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

" BEFORE WE GO OUT, WHAT'S YOUR ADDRESS? "

please always feel free to slide into my asks anytime! it just might take me a while to get to them sometimes.

CHARACTERS I WRITE FOR:

(keeping it small atm to not fry my brain + i don’t write for minors (unless they’re obviously aged up) …feels weird)

JJK:

ᰔ nanami

ᰔ gojo

ᰔ choso

ᰔ toji

ONE PIECE:

ᰔ luffy

ᰔ zoro

ᰔ sanji

ᰔ law

JJBA::

p3:

ᰔ polnareff

ᰔ joseph

ᰔ dio

ᰔ avdol

p4:

ᰔ rohan

ᰔ jotaro

p5:

ᰔ bruno

ᰔ abbachio

ᰔ mista

ᰔ risotto (and the rest of la squadra)

my..

do's: nsfw/smut, weed/tobacco/alcohol, mental health issues, body dysmorphia, eds, angst (pls be specific if requesting), gn reader, addiction, hcs

wont's: any bodily fluid that's not spit/cum LOL, dom reader, polyamory, sexualisation of minors to any extent

(a chunk of these are due to me not having lived experience with them, nothing is wrong with most of them. )

love ya! xx

[j6suke]

Hi, can I request a gojo x foreign reader?

You can make the reader feel high self-esteem because of the compliments they would receive.

I have noticed that Japanese people see foreign women with a curvy body even if foreign women say that in their country they are flat, the Japanese praise them for their physique, personality, beauty.

I have even heard testimonies from foreigners who have just flirted with couple where the person flirting asked their partner if they would look cute together and their partner responded they would also be with a foreigner.

That's all, thanks for reading me (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)

─୨ৎ── gojo x foreign reader ⟡ ݁₊ .

cw: one little horny implication at the end because im ovulating and its everyones problem

wc: 580ish

hi lovely anon!!! this is genius because gojo would be SO feral for a woman who doesn't exactly fit into beauty standards, and that's canon because I said so.

hope u like it!! <3

the people in japan always complimented and praised you so highly, so genuinely. in your home country, it was more common to hear neutral or backhanded 'compliments'.

you'd never quite gotten used to it. sure, it was great. the lingering stares, the frequent compliments on your physique, the adoration from children... it was all incredibly ego-boosting, and you found yourself feeling a little more confident by the day.

pre-moving to japan, friends and family had kindly taken the time to warn you about the japanese beauty standards and how they might make you feel a little alienated, considering how slender the typical japanese woman is. however, almost immediately you discovered that this was incorrect. since day one, people have literally tripped over themselves just to get a look at you.

japanese people, particularly the men, complimented you relentlessly. and somehow, it was never in a way that made you feel objectified. It was gentle, respectful, and sincere.

you'd met satoru gojo not long after arriving in japan, for work purposes, and had become pretty close comrades. he was nothing short of charming, and not to mention very handsome. even despite being considered incredibly gorgeous yourself, your confidence faltered in his presence.

one afternoon, as you were sitting across from gojo in your headquarters attending to some work. well- you were working. he was watching you.

he raised an eyebrow at you with that signature smirk of his.

you met his eyes and blinked before plainly asking, "what?"

"you." he answered, pushing his glasses ontop of his head, eyes staring straight through you.

you raised an eyebrow at him and shook your head, returning to whatever it was you were doing. gojo was almost always flirty towards you in some shape or form, you'd grown accustomed to it by now.

"hey! don't ignore me! im being serious. you don't give yourself enough credit.. you're like, this perfect being. an angel sent straight from heaven."

and when you look at him with utter confusion, his jaw goes slack, and his eyes widen in disbelief, he looked as if you had just broken his heart.

“oh my god,” he breathed, his voice low and almost reverent. “you really have no idea, do you?”

before you could even process his words, he pulled up a chair beside you, moving in closer until your faces were mere inches apart. you could feel the warmth of his body and the faint scent of his cologne that was quickly filling the air between you. your face immediately flushed hot, and you instinctively leaned back, but he wasn’t about to let you get away.

his voice softened, laced with sincerity. “listen, doll. you’ve got this beauty that’s rare. genuine beauty. It’s not the kind that can be bought or manufactured. It’s the kind that’s just... you. and I, for one, think that its the most gorgeous thing.”

his intense gaze shifted from your eyes down to your figure, his smirk returning as he looked you over with a profound appreciation that had your heart doing backflips.

"and you, baby," he leaned back and gave you his signature wink, "are insatiable."

gojo stands up, his hands rushing into his pockets suspiciously fast, and gives you a kiss on the cheek before leaving the room.

as the door clicked shut behind him, you realise that from now on, no other compliment any other man is inevitably going to give you will have an effect on you.

[paper--machete]

they should invent a strain of weed called video essay

[charlottan]

[j6suke]

buccigang’s favourite part of your body-!! Σ(-᷅_-᷄๑)

bruno: your mouth, he adores your smile and kisses. when you smile his heart melts and his chest grows tight, no matter how many times he sees it. and god, your kiss. every time your lips touch him he swears it adds another 50 years to his life expectancy.

‘Never stop smiling, amore.’

‘Hm? What? No, kiss me again.’

abbachio: oh lord-hum this man to sleep every single night, he’s in love with your voice. all of those comforting words you’ve told him are his treasure. the way that whenever he says ‘i love you’ and you say it back without a second thought, it truly brings him inner harmony. your gentle nature is resembled in your tone and abbachio absolutely lavishes in it. if you send him voicemails throughout the day,he’ll replay them and go so so soff.

‘Say that again. No-not that- that you love me,’

‘You have no idea the effect you have on me, my dolce.’

giorno: your eyes are the most elegant and captivating thing in the world to giorno. he finds comfort in the midst of your glassy stares, and how they show nothing but passion toward him. let alone how observant giorno is, your eyes speak for themselves regardless. they’re just so damn gorgeous to him.

‘Let’s stay like this a little while longer. it’s not my fault you look at me like that, amore.’

‘I promise, cara, i’ll let no one ruin that glisten in your eye.’

mista: chest. yes, i know, boob go brrr. it’s much more than accidental cleavage mista gawks at- it’s your heart. nothing brings peace to this man like laying on your chest. he’s not open about it though, he plays it off as your ‘hot physique tm ;)’ he also adores your collarbone and shoulders. mista will trace his fingers around that area a lot, truly reminiscing on your love. you definitely have a lot of hickeys there. not to mention he totally thinks your bust is hot too so-

‘I don’t care that it’s 3 in the morning, let me lay on your chest- what do you mean why? because i want to?‘

‘Tesoro i love you but your boobs are in the way-‘

fugo: oh what fugo would give to be entangled in your cute grasp all day. when he wakes up during the night, he’ll look down to see your plumped face pressed against him snuggling into him as closely as you physically can, and it makes his heart skip a beat. fugo is constantly holding your hand, at the very least- and GOD- when you do the little bicep grab with your smaller hands, he sees fireworks!

‘Cara I don’t want you catching a cold, come close.’

‘Hm? You can’t reach the cookies? Cute.’

narancia: waist- but he insists on referring to it as belly or tummy. this boy gives no fucks what you look like. abs? hell yes. pooch? hell yes. chubby? hell yes. plus size? hell yes. somewhere inbetween? hell yes. bloat easily? hell yes. scars? hell yes. you get the point. hugging his love from behind is one of his favourite things to do, especially when she don’t expect it. when you get cramps, narancia will be right there to massage you for as long as you want, and give you all the butterfly kisses he has. bye the way, if you wear a midriff around him-be prepared to be devoured in affection and love. always a hand around the belly. always. And he’s not afraid to tickle you too. watch out.

‘Are you feeling any better? Yes? Too bad you’re still getting kisses.’

‘Your lil love handles are so cute! Come here!!1!1!’

-

-this took so long for no fucking reason. like i started this at 8pm and it’s 4.30am rn?? girl?? therapy??

anyway i hate the way this turned out but like i need to go to fucking bed, ty for reading ily!-