#thank you anon for getting this out of my system

[kentopedia]

hehe okay thank you to all my beloved friends + anons that have listened to me rant about the moving blogs situation <3 after much consideration i think im gonna stay here and do a complete overhaul of kentopedia and see how that goes ><

[vryfmi]

KIPPS ANALYSIS? 👀👂

buckle up, it's a long one before we start: this thought process was made possible thanks to my fear of l&co tv series killing Kipps in teg storyline because it would be the biggest mistake writers could possibly make and here's why

Kipps is a key character for understanding the world that Stroud has made.

Each book has its own clear structure and themes that it focuses on. That said, the first book is an introduction, we get a first look at the main characters, enough to understand who they are but not to give all away all at once; we get a general idea of the world and its rules, as well as hints of an overarching plot. But it's very much on the surface, because now that the reader has a general idea, they are ready for more in-depth information. The second book focuses on the world and society, third on ghosts and talent, fourth gives us ghost lore, and fifth is a payoff. And characters, as an integral part of each story (although each book focuses on certain characters more than others) gradually grow throughout the books. All together it gives us an almost perfect sequence with great pacing and enough content to dig into it ourselves to make theories and headcanons.

So what my point is? Stroud is a genius.

The Screaming Staircase gives us Lucy and Lockwood's adventures, a tad bit of George too, ghosts are there, and of course a moral of the story - "adults are useless in this world“. This is the thought that runs throughout the book: Jacobs' screw-up, the emphasis on L&Co's independence as an agency, Fairfax and finally Kipps. As soon as we meet Kipps, he's a nuance - first of all, Fittes, secondly some adult supervisor with his agents on the run, finally he makes fun of MCs and has a history with Lockwood. However, George steps in just in time and says some rather interesting things: despite the medals on Kipps' jacket, his teams are screwing up just as much, and what George notices is that Kipps has the highest death rate of operatives under his supervision. And the cherry on top is a defeat in the sword fight. Doesn't he look like a minor antagonist?

The Whispering Skull. In characters, of course, focus is on Lucy, George, skull and Kipps. Overall Stroud gives us more insights into the world and how The Problem has changed England: we see the influence of Fittes, learn about relicmen, and how ghosts have changed the mentality of society (and driven some to madness, in Bickerstaff's case). That's good and all, but you know what Stroud is already preparing us for? You guessed it, suffering, which is why Kipps becomes an exposition of literally everything.

Through Kipps and his teams we see agents outside the protagonists. For readers cases of Lockwood & Co. are adventures, something packed with action, where things eventually work out in their favour. Compare it to cluster case, on which Kipps' team arrives including eight-year-old agents (via Lucy), which should be alarming, since these are very young children (Lucy herself was only in the night-watch kid at that age, and these are Fitties operatives already).

Chapter 29 shoves its fat hint right in readers' faces. Jopling and Bickerstaff have just been defeated and everyone is scattered in the graveyard. Lucy sits on the steps, Kipps sits a step below. A conversation starts between them that perfectly draws a line between them - both distinguishing and drawing a parallel. Yes, Kipps was an agent, was good at what he did, but where is he now? His talent has died out, while Lucy's talent is just gaining momentum. Her boundaries as an agent have been pushed, she's reaching new heights and wonders where that growth will take her next with type three ghost at her side. But then again, there's Kipps sitting there, a physical reminder that the talent will eventually fade away, that as an agent Lucy will be gone in four to five years. And Kipps knows it. He remembers himself, his peak, his reckless deeds and adventures, and how quickly it all came to an end.

By the way, interesting side note: Lucy mentioned that Fittes agents tend to be around 8-16 years old, although Kipps lost his talent when he reached his twenties and only then went into mentorship. So chronologically Lucy started developing as an agent at the same time when Kipps started losing or had already lost his talent.

The Hollow Boy. The whole Chelsea outbreak is a stroke of genius on Stroud's part: to show what happened to England without repeating himself. Genius and all. To show the panic as if for the first time, to introduce us to the operatives anew when we see agencies unable to work together, and finally to show the horror of what's happening, but now to make it as painful as possible.

Ned's death doesn't particularly hit the reader - we knew the guy, he wasn't the best. However, it's not the death itself that's important here, it's the reaction to it. It seems as if both Kipps and the rest of his team don't care all that much, the question of "how it happened" is a commonplace, and they give an explanation of how it happened in detail, with an assessment. Is that how you talk about someone who died on duty? About teenager? No, and that's the horror of it. Ned was one of hundreds of agents dying every night. He wasn't a sensation, death of children isn't a sensation in this world. But that's besides the point - Kipps cares, he even puts funeral first, not his job, which he's willing to throw away because of his own despair. Of course he doesn't want to send his agents into the thick of it and sit outside waiting, of course he wants to understand the nature of what's going on in Chelsea, but he can't, nobody can, and the situation is getting worse and worse. So Kipps' hands are down, and who can blame him for that?

In The Creeping Shadow, Kipps is once again confronted with the fact that society does not care for him. He's been given a promotion, but only for the purpose of shutting him down, keeping him out of the ghost business, even though it was the only skill he learned in life. Kipps didn't go into mentorship to command children, he simply had no other option. Neither did many agents who outlived their talent. Having left Fittes, we don't really know what Kipps was up to. Probably nothing, and where would he go? He responded to Lockwood's offer despite having nothing to offer their team. Kipps doesn't go there for the money, but out of habit, a desire to get back to what was once his routine.

And then there are goggles. To be honest, their sheer presence seems like a double-edged sword - are they a second chance or a burden holding, dragging him back? But they make Kipps the happiest we've ever seen, so let him have it for now.

And now the fifth book and again a side note: Stroud in his first draft of the book had killed Kipps after them crossing gates the last time around and even wrote the whole thing that way, but he came to his senses in time (alas, he didn't rewrite anything properly).

I have nothing to say about the first half of the book, because I have no complaints about it. The complaints start from a part with almost killing Kipps (and some other things, but that's not what the text is about). I'm not a fan, in fact, I'm a hater of what Kipps' death would have implied. It wouldn't have been heroic, it wouldn't have been a reminder that we are all mortal, it wouldn't have been the sudden punch in the gut that writers like to entertain their readers with (at least not with characters like Kipps). It would have been a major contradiction for Kipps' arc as a character-exposition, as a face of generation after generation that were sacrificing their youth for the quiet nights that never came.

And, worst of all, all of it could have been avoided very, very easily. Not wounding Kipps; the one who would have been feeling better on the other side would've been George, as he was already barely on his feet during the defence of Portland Row - who better walk chipper on the other side other than George? He'll of course survive, it's just that his condition is critical and everyone is trying to get George out of the building. But the important thing here is that Kipps doesn't stumble and fall to his death right before the finish line.

[ratatatastic]

another angle of lombo climbing the pole (the act of sluttery to start it all like a fucked up game of dominoes) to take down the jersey from the rafters has hit the towers because we needed another angle of benny pushing up lombos ass as he scales that thing like hes gonna get graded in gym class

slow dancing in a club...may the alcohol pour and that we might comfort in each others body as we become anonymous in the sea of thousands

do you ever think about the fact that on a random wednesdaythursday in a city practically 40 years away from being claimed by the sea and yet has put unimaginable money time and resources into pump systems to delay the onset for just a little while and yet is still plauged with flooding problems and is riddled with construction all around its city center making it both a "go-to destination" in terms of things to do and also a carcass of itself... in a little club... there is romance being borne anew again. quite frankly its beautiful may the hollow slabs of concrete bless this little coupling and may they ever continue to bring a precious bond to this team

also the juxtaposition of them being in their own world while lundy bounces and tries to hype up the crowd dear god i dont think any finn on this team knows how to dance but bless this dork anyways its the vibe that matters and hes passing with flying colours

also drunken sidestory that is sasha turning around and bumping into uvis and IMMEDIATELY GRABBING his shoulder to read the name of the jersey and going "Ba-lin-skis? Ah your name? Your name :)!" and uvis going "yeah :)!" and drags him into a hug like there was any other reaction he could have but hug the teddy bear that is sasha

6.27.24

[disasterinbound]

oh em gee hourlyhanamura anon.... i am in thoughts with your tweet.....

maybe souyaoi is fairy prince yosuke x devil yu and souyuri is fairy princess yurisuke x devil yuri.....

thinking more on it, would yu (or yuri) be something like an agathos daimon? it would be funny if he was like a devil n stuff (evil but also very nice) but i feel like he'd fit in more with that (but still can and will go ham on whoever dares harm his friends and family)

small yosuke my beloved..... of course he can go to a bigger size (which is still shorter than yu's height, and no, he's definitely NOT pouting or sulking about it), but his usual size is like tiny......

yosuke kissing yu on the cheek but he's so tiny.... so he gives multiple kisses.... yu trying to kiss yosuke but its so hard trying to kiss his tiny bf... peppers his tiny face with his kisses... makes him more flustered than ever after yu's done..

yosuke has like bad luck for a fairy and it's kind of bothering his life as a prince, so maybe he tries to find out how to improve it and stumbles across agathos daimons. so yu gets summoned, takes one look at yosuke and is instantly enchanted by him. (not like yosuke's any better—his brain immediately tried to blurt out "you're really hot" the moment he saw yu)

unfortunately, when yosuke tries to ask him for help regarding his bad fortune, a stray gust of wind sends him flying right into a hole in the ground, and of course yu rescues him and immediately agrees to yosuke's request.

definitely not for any other reasons pertaining to yosuke. the fact that yu has to be near yosuke 24/7 doesn't mean anything, i swear

[rubberduckyrye]

You know since I'm in a... mood, dunno if good or not, but it's a kind of "yolo" mood--

I'm just gonna make this pretty clear right now, and I know it's a random topic that seemingly came out of nowhere but like... I've been toying around with the idea of me being a "system" or "plural." Not like, full on D.I.D., at least not to my knowledge, but I have been talking to a few friends who also identify as systems and yeah. There are Signs.

After identifying with the label for a few months now, I'm just gonna flat out and say it--I'm a system! I have alters! And yes, before anyone asks--all those times I've said "You don't write Kokichi, Kokichi writes himself" was in fact the BIGGEST red flag of all time, thanks for not telling me! (jkjkjk)

Feel free to ask me about it if you wanna, but any and all hate or bigotry will be yeeted off my blog/ask box. Be kind or I will yeet you.

I've probably been a system for a long time now--I definitely was one when I was about 17/18? Prooobably? Maybe younger? Who knows. My whole childhood is a hecking traumatic blur so who knows if I had an alter back then (probably did) but the first one on the ~records~ was from when I was about 17.

Yeaaaah on that note I would be considered a traumatic system? I think? I'm still learning stuff, so please have patience with me. Info on system stuff is hard to find, ehe.

Anyway, with that being said...

If you think you need ~trauma~ to be a system, please yeet yourself off my blog! I will not take criticism on this, you have bad opinions!

[jemmo]

Something I noticed in ep 5. After his encounter with pran in the music shop it's like pat's whole world shifts. And for the rest of the ep it honestly looks like he can't breathe properly. Almost like he's suffocating. It's at the rooftop after their lips meet he let's out a breath like he found oxygen and after their kiss it's like he can finally breathe.

oh dear anon you’re just so right. and ive honestly spent long nights thinking about nothing but this. bc it’s kind of incredible how much pat commits to pran after he realizes his feelings. his world shifts in that music shop and he’s so off kilter for the rest of the ep, so not himself, but not in a way that he’s changed. it’s more like… well the only way i can convey it is that for the eps before it, you always see pat messing around, doing some kind of shit, with his friends, with pa, and in those scenes it’s not always about pran. he has things that he’s doing and thinking about that aren’t pran. but after the music shop it’s like that part of him shuts down, bc suddenly he can’t do things that aren’t to do with pran, doesn’t understand how he could before. he pursues this way he feels so single-mindedly in order to get some kind of answers and he just abandons everything else. he’s chatting to korn but it’s about pran, he’s with pa but he’s thinking about pran, he’s doing the music contest but it’s all to do with pran. I could go on and on, but when you think about this being a pat focused or pat pov ep, the fact you don’t see him in scenes where he’s not on this pursuit to figure out his feelings for pran tells you that he really isn’t doing anything else. and you can picture him in class or say with his friends at lunch or in his dorm or at practise just being so in his own head thinking about pran or even avoiding those things so he can go to pran to figure it all out, you can see how his whole world just becomes pran, and how it doesn’t open up again until he gets in a good place with pran. you can say that yes he has that moment of relief after they kiss, but again when pran leaves he’s still in that headspace. at the bus stop and going to camp and pursuing pran, he’s not only thinking about this non stop but actually actively acting on it constantly. it’s almost like a a bug he needs to get out of his system and his body shuts down until it’s gone. just the all-consuming need to know and understand immediately, and to be in a good place with him, it’s like nothing has ever been so important. to me it just speaks to what it’s like when you know. people always say that when you fall in love, you’ll just know, that it’ll be different. and for pat, who has liked and dated others, to have this experience, it’s like he does finally know. it hits him, this is it, this is what they talk about, this is what love is, and just that simple fact turns his world upside down.

[whotookquiche]

ur art sucks

Oh my god this is so awful. How could you say something like this to someone. You know I struggle a lot and art is my one outlet where I truly feel free, where I know I can be myself, but I don't know anymore. This has really hurt me. Ii feel nauseous I thing im gonna throu up oh my god. I hope gouer happy, I hope youre proud of ypurself. I might just stop drawing. Whats evrn the point if someont thingks my art sucks. I genuinely cant keep foing this. Fuck you. Fuck You, You asdhole. I hote youre happy ...

[page-2-ids]

The post is 2000 words long and I’ve only talked about 3 1/2 artists (I am still working on #4). Buckle up, folks! This is gonna be a long ride!

[mariasont]

not sure if you’re planning to write this, but smut with spencer & bimbo!receptionist!reader would probably fix my problems 😔 i feel like spencer would be praising her nonstop, while also being condescending & i fucking live for that‼️

Undo You - S.R

a/n: i love ur mind anon 😚 i hope this lives up to what you want 🫶🏼🫶🏼✨ thank you for requesting xoxo

anyway i kinda think this is bad bc i didn’t proofread but whatever ill prob go back and edit laters!

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader

summary: bimbo reader and spencer doing the nasty

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fingering, degrading? (not really), spencer being slightly condescending, p in v, unprotected sex (BE BETTER!), creampie (STOP I HATE IT TOO BUT WHAT ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO CALL IT?!?!?! TWINKIE?!?!)

wc: 1.3k

Mustering the courage to ask you out was a feat in itself but getting you into his bed was a whole other ballgame. But here you were, fingers roaming through his hair and tracing the contours of his back. You were perfect, and you were in his bed.

The wasn't the first, nor would it be the last if he had anything to do with it. It's hard to fathom his good luck--to have you, breathtaking in every sense, under him, your fingertips gently grazing his waist band as you inch towards his cock.

Your makeup was almost artfully messy, with mascara delicately pooled beneath your lashes, rendering you devastatingly tempting. You had glittering eyeshadow on, and it was getting everywhere. Spencer felt the urge to undo you--to disrupt the pristine image you presented to the world, to make you uniquely his. Selfish? Without a doubt. But that didn't diminish the idea. 

Your hands, with their perfect manicure, were now wrapped around his cock, tugging and pulling as if your palms were sculpted precisely for this purpose. 

You were saying something, your lips a mesmerizing motion as he grasped the sheets beside you, each fistful a concerted effort to remain control.

"What, angel?" He was trying to be patient with you.

You talked a lot in general, but in bed, it only seemed to amplify. This was not a bad thing, not in his eyes, no, it was almost too much of a good thing. Each time your mouth opened and closed with another airy comment he found himself that much closer to spilling his load all over you.

"Your face is really red," you breathed out, nostrils flaring slightly, your eyes averted, engrossed in the sight of his length enclosed between your hands.

He stifled a laugh, resisting the urge to shove his cock into that pretty mouth of yours.

"Well, you see," Spencer starts, pausing as your hand presses to the tip of his length, "when someone is excited...or aroused, blood flow increases to the f-face, causing...vasodilation. It's... it's a sympathetic nervous system response."

"Oh, like when you get all red after running?" You tilt your head in that curious way of yours, your actions uninterrupted as words flowed from you.

"Yes, exactly like that."

He grabbed your hand, pulling you off of him and pressing that same hand to the mattress below him.

"And just like my face gets red, your pupils dilate when you're excited," Spencer explains, his hand poised just above your collarbone, sketching paths on your skin, "It's due to the release of norepinephrine, which is part of your body's fight of flight response."

Your lips were parted, pressing your body into him like you couldn't help yourself, hips squirming under his.

"So, what's the verdict, sweet girl?" Spencer asks, watching your gaze met his, lips parting as he dragged a hand over your clothed heat. "What's your body telling you? Fight of flight?"

You kissed him, gasping into his mouth as he pushed a finger into you. You were drenched. "Is submit an option?"

"That's my girl," he said, feeling his cock tighten even more, as if that were possible, almost moaning at the sight of your dimple being drawn out.

You whined, arching your back against the navy-blue sheets as your hands locked around his neck, pulling him impossibly close. He could smell everything about you from here—your coconut shampoo, your vanilla perfume, your lavender lotion. He wanted to inhale it, to inhale you.

He didn't even bother with your skirt, simply pulling your panties out from under it and lining himself up with your entrance. He watched, enthralled, as your chest rose and fell, holding your breath as you braced for his cock. You were so good for him, too good for him.

One hand clasped against your hip as the other guided his length into you, hissing as you tightened around him. It was a feeling that could never get old, like he was being reborn, like the world was ending and you and him were the only two people left. He would be fine with that.

Your face twisted up in pleasure as you began to rock against him, not giving yourself that chance to adjust. You did this often and it caused him to push down on your hips, stopping your movements. He could come if you kept doing that. He would.

"Patience," he hissed, but you were never one that was good with following orders.

You moved again, tits bouncing up and down your chest as you did. He stifled a groan, meeting your movements with thrusts of his own.

He imagined this is what Buddhists meant when they referred to finding the garden of Nirvana. This was it for him. The ultimate state of liberation and profound peace.

You were a blubbering mess, fingertips clawing down his back, surely to leave marks, but he couldn’t care less.

“Look at you,” he cooed, rutting his cock in and out of you. “You’re awfully quiet. Got something on your mind, baby?”

“N-No,” you stammered, legs wrapping around his waist as your arms went around his neck, clinging to him like a koala, your moans now pressed up against his ear.

“I figured as much.”

Your tits were flush against his chest, his breath stalling as he reached in the limited space between you, thumb circling your clit. Your whines intensified, just as his thrusts did.

“Spencer, please, yes, oh fuck—,” you paused, a gasp releasing from your lips as he felt you unravel on his cock, your wet cunt clenching around him in a way that made his legs shake.

“That’s it, sweetheart, just like that.” His movements were more desperate now, sloppily slamming into you without mercy. “You’re so fucking good, baby.”

He barely recognized your lips against his ear. “Will you come inside me please?”

That was all it took, those simple words, brushing against his skin and rushing all the way down to his cock. His thrusts slowing as he pumped himself inside you, the sound completely obscene, but it just made him enjoy it that much more.

You were limp against the bed, and Spencer was quick to follow, face finding the crook of his neck as he tried his best not to crush you with his weight.

He could feel your pulse against his lips, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses into your honey induced skin as he waited for you to return back to planet Earth.

He was well aware of the drill, pressing one last kiss to your sweaty forehead before prying himself out of your hands and making a beeline for the bathroom. He grabbed a towel and a glass of water before coming back to the bed, nearly fainting at your tired smile shining at him, at him.

“Hi, gorgeous.”

“I really love when you call me that,” you said, almost dreamily as you pushed your tousled hair into the pillow.

He laughed, placing the water on the table and moving your legs so he was between them.

“Gorgeous,” he repeated as he dabbed the towel to your sex, cleaning the mess he made on you. “Do I not call you that enough? Because I can certainly make it a more regular occurrence.”

“Well, I mean, it couldn’t hurt,” you said, giggling as you flinched away from the pressure on your clit.

He pushed your leg down, preventing you from squirming. “Let me clean you up.”

You pouted, and he had the sudden urge to bite your bottom lip. You gave him a salute, giggling before you could even get the words out. “Aye, aye captain.”

He tossed the towel to the side, climbing up your legs as he kissed you, soft and slow, murmuring into your lips, “come here, smart ass.”

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf

[rafecameronssl4t]

can u do dcc!reader x Rafe where they’re both at like an event, obvs reader w the other cheerleaders and Rafe with his other teammates and he sees when a man touches your waist even tho they aren’t allowed to bc of the no touching rule and the security guard doesn’t notice until you tell him to get his hands off of you. maybe the guy even goes up to Rafe to ask for a photo but he’s rude to him bc he was touching her girl

Hands off || nfl!Rafe Cameron x dcc!reader

A/n: so creative anon! thank you :)

Warnings: unwanted touching from stranger, lil bit of angst at end if you squint

Word count: 1,973

MASTERLIST (nfl!rafe x dcc!reader au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

The "no touch" policy was quite simple: fans were not allowed to touch the cheerleaders. Footballs were brought to every stand and pose event. This gave fans something to hold during photos, making the interaction less awkward and minimising any potential for psychical contact.

Not everyone knew the rule, though, and some would instinctively try to put their arms around the cheerleaders for a photo. Thankfully, security was always on hand, watching and ready to step in, instructing fans to keep their distance.

Over the three years you've been a dcc, you’ve never had a bad experience with this policy. It’s become second nature, and you trust the system. So when you and a few of the other girls arrive at the event, where fans will be meeting you and taking photos, you think little of it.

The familiar buzz of excitement fills the room, and as you scan the crowd, your eyes land on Rafe. He’s on the other side of the room, already engaged in conversation with a fan. A small smile tugs at your lips as you take in his casual outfit: a pair of well-worn jeans, a black shirt that fits him just right, and a green baseball hat.

Before you can admire him any longer, Kelcey pulls you along to start taking photos. The first few interactions go smoothly, with fans smiling as they pose beside you, football in hand. Of course, there are always a few who try to get a little too close, but security is quick to intervene, keeping everything under control.

As you smile for the camera, you’re completely unaware of Rafe’s gaze locked on you from across the room. His eyes trail over your figure, captivated by your appearance. Your radiant smile, the way you carry yourself—everything about you seems to draw him in. He watches intently, his attention fixed solely on you, as if nothing else in the room matters.

“Watcha lookin’ at?” Chris asks, nudging Rafe’s shoulder with a playful grin. He follows Rafe’s line of sight, his curiosity piqued. It doesn’t take long for Chris to figure out what—or rather, who—has captured Rafe’s attention. A knowing smirk spreads across his face as he spots you across the room. “Coach’s daughter, huh?” he chuckles, turning back to Rafe, who still hasn’t torn his eyes away from you.

Chris can’t resist teasing him a bit more. “Heard from a few fans ‘round here that she’s their favourite,” he comments, watching Rafe’s expression carefully. Rafe scoffs, but the amusement is clear in his eyes. “Too bad. It’s not like it’s my name she’s—” “Woah there, bud. Too much info. Jesus,” Chris interrupts with a laugh, shaking his head as he holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t need to hear all that.”

As Chris walks back to the others, still chuckling to himself, Rafe remains rooted to the spot, his gaze never straying from you. The smirk on his lips only deepens as he watches you, the teasing from Chris barely registering in his mind.

His thoughts are entirely occupied by you—your smile, the way you move, the effortless way you light up the room. Even from across the room, it’s clear that you have a magnetic pull on him, one that he has no desire to resist.

Rafe’s gaze narrows as he notices a man approach you and the other cheerleaders. Even from a distance, it’s clear that this guy’s attention is solely on you. The way he barely acknowledges the others, his focus only really locking on you when it’s his turn for a photo, makes it obvious to anyone paying attention—this man has a particular interest in you.

Rafe watches intently, a sense of unease creeping in as the man lingers around you. Something about him doesn’t sit right. The usual football, meant to occupy fans' hands and prevent unwanted contact, has somehow gone missing, and security is scrambling to find a replacement. In that brief moment of chaos, the man sees his opportunity.

Rafe’s muscles tense as he watches the man discreetly slide his hand around your back. His fingers hover just above your exposed skin, as if hesitating, before finally making contact with your waist and smoothly resting on your hip. It’s a subtle move, but to Rafe, it’s glaringly inappropriate.

His jaw clenches tightly, frustration bubbling up as he realises the sea of fans between you and him would make it impossible to reach you in time. He feels a surge of protectiveness and helplessness all at once.

But then, he notices your reaction. You don’t hesitate—your hand quickly grabs his, pulling it firmly away from your body. Your expression is unreadable from where Rafe stands, but he can see that you’re saying something to the man, your words lost in the noise of the crowd. Fortunately, before the situation escalates further, the security guard steps in. His large frame moves between you and the man, effectively blocking any further contact.

Rafe exhales, tension still coiled in his muscles, but relieved that you handled the situation with the confidence and poise he’s come to admire in you. Even from across the room, he can see that you’re okay, but that doesn’t stop the protective instinct from simmering just beneath the surface.

~

The moment you make eye contact with the fan, a strange vibe settles over you. There’s something off about the way he looks at you, his gaze intense and fixated. Still, you smile at him, greeting him politely even as he barely acknowledges the other girls.

His focus is entirely on you, and you can feel the discomfort creeping in. A quick glance at Kelcey and Reece confirms they feel it too, their eyes mirroring your unease. "Hi, how are you?" you ask, maintaining your practiced smile as the man approaches. You guide him to the center, between you and Kelcey, trying to keep things professional.

"I'm so great," he replies, grinning at you in a way that makes your skin crawl. You nod, forcing a smile, though the unease gnaws at you. "You're even more gorgeous up close," he comments, his voice laced with something that makes you nervously chuckle.

"Thank you..." you reply, your voice trailing off as you notice the security guards in conversation. Concern flickers in your eyes, and you glance at Kelcey for confirmation. "They lost the football," she whispers, and you nod in understanding, trying to keep your composure.

"Did the other guy maybe take it with him—" Before you can finish your sentence, you feel it—a hand sliding onto your waist, then resting on your hip bone. Your body tenses, and without hesitation, you step away, firmly pulling his hand off of you.

"Please do not touch me," you say, your voice steady and commanding. The firmness of your tone catches the attention of everyone around you. The man’s bravado crumbles in an instant, replaced by nervousness as all eyes turn on him. "I didn’t mean to—sorry," he stammers, but the lie is obvious, his excuse flimsy.

You narrow your eyes slightly, your patience wearing thin. "You didn’t mean to feel up my waist and hip?" you challenge, your voice tinged with defensiveness. Before the situation can escalate further, a security guard steps in, his imposing presence effectively cutting off the interaction.

"Okay, that’s enough," the guard says firmly, positioning himself between you and the man. "Sir, were you aware that there is a strictly no-touching rule when it comes to taking pictures with the cheerleaders?" The man gulps, his earlier confidence evaporating. "No—no, I had no idea—"

The guard raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "You’re telling me you haven’t seen the signs that are everywhere informing you about this?" His tone leaves no room for argument. "Move along, please," the guard instructs, gesturing with a dismissive wave of his hand. As the man sheepishly slinks away, the guard turns to you, his voice softening. "Miss, are you okay?"

You nod, your pulse still racing but your composure intact. "I’m fine, thank you," you reply, your voice steady. Kelcey and Reece quickly move to your side, their concern evident as they guide you away from the scene.

"Let’s get to the changing rooms," Kelcey murmurs, her arm around your shoulder as the next group of cheerleaders takes over. You allow yourself to be led away, grateful for the support, but also determined not to let the incident shake you.

~

Rafe watches intently as you disappear from view with the other girls, a tightness in his chest gradually loosening as you’re led safely away. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, turning back to face the next round of fans lining up for pictures. His mind is still half on you, replaying the scene over in his head, but he forces himself to focus on the task at hand.

A few more fans pass by, offering handshakes and snapping photos, but then something catches Rafe’s eye—a familiar face in the crowd. It’s him. The same guy who had touched you earlier. Rafe’s entire body stiffens, his muscles tensing as a wave of anger surges through him.

His glare sharpens, eyes narrowing on the man who seems completely oblivious to the fury directed his way. The guy casually makes his way down the line of players, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, utterly unaware of the storm brewing in Rafe’s eyes.

When the man finally reaches Rafe, he extends his hand with the same nonchalant attitude, expecting another casual greeting. But Rafe has no intention of letting this slide. He grasps the man’s hand in a firm, vice-like grip, squeezing just hard enough to send a clear message.

The man’s expression shifts from easygoing to startled as he looks up at Rafe, his brows furrowing in confusion. Rafe meets his gaze head-on, his eyes cold and unyielding. There’s no need for words; the intensity of Rafe’s stare says it all. The man fidgets slightly, trying to mask his discomfort, but it’s clear he’s rattled by the unexpected show of strength and the silent warning in Rafe’s eyes.

The handshake lingers a beat too long, the tension thick in the air, before the man awkwardly pulls his hand back, mumbling something under his breath as he moves on to the next player. Rafe watches him go, his jaw still clenched. He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to relax, but the anger simmering beneath the surface remains.

When it came time for the group photo, Rafe made sure his smile was practiced, not genuine, his eyes cold as the man stood at the center of the group. The man's audacity to remain at the event after what he had done gnawed at Rafe, his mind replaying the earlier scene with a growing sense of disbelief and anger.

As soon as the photo was taken and the man left, Rafe rolled his eyes and shook his head, barely able to contain his frustration. "I need to take five. Gotta hit the bathroom," Rafe said to the event coordinator, his tone controlled but urgent. "Yeah, sure, go ahead," she replied, barely glancing up as she continued to redirect the flow of fans.

Without wasting another second, Rafe made his way to the girls' changing room, his heart pounding with concern. He knocked in a familiar rhythmic pattern, the signal you both had used before to let each other know it was safe to open up.

You opened the door, and before you could say a word, Rafe swept you off your feet, pulling you into a tight embrace. The door clicked shut behind him as he nudged it closed with his foot, his arms wrapping around you protectively. The tension you’d been holding onto melted away the moment you felt his warmth, your own arms sliding around his waist.

"I saw what happened," he murmured against your hair, his voice soft but filled with concern. "You okay?" You let out a shaky breath, your face buried in his chest as you absorbed the comfort he offered. "Not really," you admitted quietly, the vulnerability in your voice evident. "But I'll be fine."

Rafe’s arms tightened around you, his grip steady and reassuring. He didn’t say anything, just held you close, letting the silence speak for the care he felt. He knew you were strong, that you could handle yourself, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to shield you from every bad moment, every unsettling experience. He couldn’t change what had happened, but he could be there for you now, and that was enough.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, just holding onto each other as the world outside faded into the background. Rafe’s presence was a balm to your frayed nerves, grounding you in a way that made the fear and unease dissipate, if only for a little while.

Finally, Rafe leaned back just enough to look at you, his hand gently cupping your face. "If you need anything, you tell me, alright? You don’t have to go through this alone." You nodded, your heart swelling with gratitude. "Thank you, Rafe. I’m glad you’re here."

His gaze softened, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. "Always," he whispered, the promise clear in his voice.

[churipu]

THE MOMENT THEY REALIZE THEY'RE IN LOVE ִ ࣪𖤐

featuring. gojo satoru, sukuna ryomen, itadori yuuji, toji fushiguro x reader

warnings. cursing, college! au, toji being a single father during his second term of uni (i searched that most japanese college uses 2 terms or trimester system / 3 terms, 1 term of uni in japan is around 15 weeks apparently) -> please tell me if i get this wrong.

note. omg, for the anons who have sent in requests to me, i apologize if these came out before your requests did, i'm trying to empty out my drafts :( but pls note that i am not ignoring your requests at all, it will be written, i promise <;33

GOJO SATORU

when he finds himself checking his phone countless of times, waiting for your message

i promise you, you both started out as work partners in one of your lectures. the two of you were complete strangers to each other — he doesn't know you, and you don't know him. but, either way, the two of you had to get to know each other because this was a crucial grade to pass this lecture.

gojo never thought about having feelings towards you, his work partner. he thought to himself, he'd just get this work done, pass this lecture, and never see you again.

but fate is a funny thing.

the way you made him feel like he wasn't just special because of his face, but his heart too. whereas most people in campus would consider him the pretty boy who could go head-to-head with the hottest celebrities — they just think of him as a pretty boy. and gojo would just go along with them, he gets used to it.

but you? you didn't consider him special at all. although, you did make him feel special the way other people can't.

gojo deep down, knows he was fucked up the moment he finds himself checking his phone to see if you'd reply to his messages, and when you do, he gets so happy. gojo was never a fast responder to everyone — because he practically receives the same kind of messages, "gojo hang out with us", "gojo go out with me", "gojo i like you".

but with you? he won't waste a second at all. even if sometimes you didn't reply as fast as he does, because you are a busy person in campus. you'll work on that after you both started dating, i promise.

SUKUNA RYOMEN

when you stood up for him when nobody would.

sukuna, how do i say this? not everyone is fond of him, people are scared of him — they talk shit behind his back, and don't dare to approach him. people dreaded when they have to be in the same group with him, despite the fact that he actually works; they still think he's a bad person.

"you guys are talking shit to a person who's in our group, if you want to say something to him, have the balls to say it to his face. and while he's here, why don't you tell him about it?" you tell the two people who were sitting beside you, who had been talking in whispers about how they were unlucky to be grouped up with sukuna.

and sukuna? he could honestly care less, he'd gotten used to those kind of things anyway. but when you actually stood up for him, he could only look at you with an amused smile.

he's definitely curious about you after that day — he has pride. and he'd never admit that he's actually pretty thankful that you, the first person to stand up for him, actually did what you did. because now people are a little terrified of being told off by you.

sukuna finally sucks it up at the end of the semester and tries to talk to you. yes, it took him the whole semester to talk to you, asking you for your number, and then thanking you for what you did because nobody has ever done that before to him.

ITADORI YUUJI

when you went all out to tutor him so he'd pass his lectures, teaching him patiently when he doesn't understand something.

yuuji hates studying. and when his lecturer asked you to tutor him, he feels extremely bad for you — he feels that he'd just going to waste your time tutoring him, when he knows that he's going to fail this one subject.

but when you reassured him, and encouraged him. saying that you will do anything to teach him so that he could pass, he gets a little emotional at the thought. you both were just mere classmates, and he barely knows you, vice versa.

when he doesn't understand a topic, he gets so frustrated at himself for not being able to understand it. but you, you were very patient with the male, reassuring him that you had the time to teach him over so that he will be able to understand the said topic.

and when he does finally understand, he gets so happy. he started looking forwards to your tutoring sessions, and like everyone said: if you enjoy something, it passes by quickly. and it's true, yuuji feels like time went by in a flash, and the exams soon started.

he passed with flying colors, he makes sure that you know about his grades — and points out that without you, he wouldn't be able to pass. yuuji, gets a little upset when he realizes that if the exams are over, you had no more tutoring sessions with him; which meant no more conversations.

so he has to ask you out right then, he didn't want to just return as mere classmates. he wanted to be more than that.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

when you didn't care about his shitty reputation of being a single father while still being on the second term of uni.

being a single parent is hard enough. not to mention, in university. not married, with a baby itself gets a lot of unwanted (negative) attention — toji, who once failed to get a babysitter on a weekday, and so he had to bring his eight month old son to class.

his son—megumi— was a calm baby, thankfully. the young one didn't cry or babble during lectures, and he just slept through it. toji was a little relieved to say the least, but ever since people find out about him being a single father to an eight month old baby, a lot of assumptions and words have gone around.

toji hated group works, especially when he has to pick the group himself. people didn't want a single father to be in their group, they assumed that the male would focus on his baby and ends up deserting the group work.

so when that particular day where he has to bring megumi to campus, strapped on a baby carrier on his chest. his lecturer just had to give out a partner work, and to add the cherry on top; the lecturer left the class to choose their own partner. so the male sat on his place, a pencil in between his nose and upper lip as he puckered them lightly — hearing his classmates choosing each other.

he figured that he could just do this and get the grade himself, solo. but when you came up and slipped into the seat next to him, he was of course surprised.

you asked him if he would like to partner up with you for this work, and after a few seconds, he accepted your offer.

toji knew it was getting bad when you didn't care about what people say about you getting close to him. just by choosing him for this work made your reputation falter a bit, and he was honestly ready for you to back out of the partner work.

but you didn't, and he knew it's bad for him, his feelings, and his heart.

the way you treated him and megumi like they're both normal (which they are normal humans), and the way you always make him feel included makes his heart race. sometimes, when he fails to look for a babysitter when you both are working for this project, you tell him he didn't have to since megumi is a calm baby.

he finds himself in awe when baby megumi plays with you during both of your little meet ups outside of class to do the project. he's in love.

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[rememberwren]

/•Harmless Fun 4•\

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Further Parts

For anon who asked for reader calling simon and johnny to pick you up from the bar after getting drunk. Thanks for requesting!

-

The phone rings, and Simon answers it before he even knows he is awake. Perhaps it’s that ingrained military training within him that has him snapping to attention at…quarter til two in the morning according to the glowing numbers of the digital clock on the nightstand. Or maybe it’s the remnants of the sleepless nights when Johnny was in hospital, when Simon would spend the hours staring at the ceiling and dreading the ring of his cellphone. Yes, he was perfectly fine when he kicked you out, but he’s taken a turn for the worse and doesn’t have long left…

“This is—” Ghost. Bravo-0-7. “—Simon.”

“Wha’ is i’?” Johnny slurs from the bed beside him, still more than half asleep. His hair is a mess, lines on his face from the pillow. He reaches out and finds Simon’s hand and they tangle fingers briefly, communicating via touch. Soap’s head lowers, though he doesn’t begin to snore again. He’s listening, more than likely. That military instinct is still in him too, even if his body can’t make the same use of it anymore. 

There is ambient noise from the other end of the phone, but Simon can’t quite make it out. He untangles his fingers from Johnny’s and puts the hand against his exposed ear, blocking out extraneous stimuli. There are voices, talking back and forth. Someone somewhere is laughing. Music, in the distance, though he can only make out the undercurrent of it, something with a heavy beat that he could likely feel in his teeth if he were there. 

Rustling. Then your voice: “—ut it, I’m on the phone, can’t you see? I—Simon? Are you there?” Distantly, like you’ve held the phone away from your mouth, he hears you admonish: “You made me miss him!” 

Simon slips out of the bed wearing only his boxers and leaves the bedroom in case Soap decides that he wants to fall back to sleep. He keeps his voice low when he says into the phone: “I’m here. What’s going on?” 

“My girlfriends all found boy-friends,” you mutter morosely, your every emotion heightened by the alcohol pulsing through your system. Simon doesn’t think he’s ever heard you sound so sulky, not even when Soap ate the last of your leftovers from the diner last week. 

Someone in the background says, full of charm: “I could be your boyfriend.” 

Simon’s eyes narrow. He switches the phone to his better ear. “Who’s that?” 

“Who’s—? Oh. That’s Alan,” you say, your effect brightening somewhat. “He’s buying my drinks at the bar. Free drinks, Simon! Isn’t that nice?” 

Simon wrenches his keys off the hook beside where your own should be resting. Slipping back into the bedroom, he sees that Soap is sitting up now at the edge of the bed rubbing at his thigh. Simon gives him a nod, searching for his pants in the dark and stepping into them. He shoves his keys in his pocket. 

How fucking sweet, Simon thinks. He can imagine exactly what a pissant like Alan is thinking, too: that if he buys this lonely girl enough drinks at the bar, she’ll be easy to convince to come home with him. That maybe even if she puts up a bit of a fight, it wouldn’t be much trouble to persuade her…

He picked the wrong fuckin girl. 

“Have him open up his generous wallet and buy you a fuckin’ water. A bottle of it. Break the seal yourself, understand?” 

“I understand,” you say, sounding a little more sober in the face of Simon’s obvious displeasure. He works to temper his voice. 

“Put Alan on,” Simon says silkily. “Let me make sure he’s taking good care of you.” 

“You want to talk to him?” You sound baffled. Maybe you aren’t as drunk as he thought. 

“Said so.” 

There is a rustle as the phone is exchanged. 

A very unsure, masculine voice says, Hello? 

“I’m going to be there to pick up my girl in ten minutes or less,” Simon says into the phone. “If anything happens to her between then and now, I’m considering you personally responsible, Alan, do you understand me? Whether you had anything to do with it or whether it was an accident out of the clear fucking blue. You will answer for it. So if I were you, I’d take good fucking care of her. Am I clear?”

“I—I didn’t know she was taken—“

“Put her back on the phone,” Simon barks. 

You pick up the conversation right where you left off, not missing a single beat. “Anyway, Alan said he would give me a ride home since all my friends bailed, but I remember you said that if I needed a ride, I should call you and…oh Simon, I’m sorry if I woke you. This is stupid, isn’t it?” 

“Negative,” he says, slipping his belt through the loops. “Not stupid, I mean. Send me your location—your address. Get that water. Absolutely do not go home with any fucker who isn’t named Simon.” 

“What about fuckers named Johnny?” 

“Not even them. Name’s too common. Can’t trust you’ll get home with the right one.” 

“I resent that,” says Johnny, reaching for pants of his own. 

Simon hangs up the phone with you. “Ready for some field work?” 

“You know it, LT.” 

-

Johnny’s heart is thrumming happily the entire way there, something about the late night adrenaline and knowing you are on the other end of this excursion. He’s fine in the passenger seat, even if Simon’s driving is enough to give a civilian a heart attack. Johnny can tell that Simon desperately needs the control right now, his knuckles white where he grips the steering wheel, eyes dark and glued to the road except when he glances at Google Maps on his phone every now and then to be sure they are heading in the right direction. 

Johnny hasn’t driven since the accident. He could, likely, but it would be hell on his sore leg. Maybe after he heals more…

By the time the two of them arrive, it is threatening to drizzle, the wet sapping the warmth out of the air. He’s glad he brought his jacket, already shrugging out of it to give you, memory vivid with the skimpy little dress you were wearing when you left the house, the one that bared your legs even while it covered you from shoulder to wrist. 

They spot you leaning against the brick wall outside the bar, sipping your water bottle. They pull up to the curb and Simon reaches for the jacket, abandoning Johnny inside with a firm, Stay Here. Johnny watches from the passenger seat as Simon slips the jacket around your shoulders and takes the water bottle. You are clearly unsteady on your feet (those shoes don’t help, bonnie though they are), and Simon gets to loop his arm around your waist to guide you to the car where the hazard lights are flashing ominously. 

Johnny rolls down the window. 

“Hey lass,” he says. 

Your face lights up at the sight of Johnny. You put your arms through the window and wrap them around him, smelling faintly of your perfume and sweat and Johnny’s own jacket. 

“Alright,” Simon says dryly. “Wrap up the reunion. It’s about to rain.” 

“Come sit in the back with me,” you breathe, breath smelling of sweetness with the underlying tinge of alcohol. Whatever you had been drinking tonight had been strong to have you so out of sorts. Your fingers tangle in Johnny’s shirt a little, tugging. “Please, Johnny? Sit in the back!” 

“Alright, alright,” he agrees with a laugh, even though it is painful to get out of the car and into the backseat, and there isn’t as much room back there for his leg to stretch out. He’s afraid that he might do anything for you if you asked him like that: looking at him with your guileless eyes, fingers tangling in his clothes, moonlight like liquid silver on your skin. 

He slips into the backseat with you and has to help you buckle your seatbelt when you can’t get the clasp closed. Johnny feels Simon’s eyes on him, heavy and dark through the rearview mirror. He meets those eyes and gives a nod. He knows that you're drunk; he doesn’t intend to make any passes at you. 

He just doesn’t expect the passes you make at him. 

Cuddling up to his side, you slip his arm around you and meld into him, careful of his bad leg. It’s hard not to be half in love with you when you treat him like this: with such care, even when you’re three sheets to the wind, but never like he is broken. Never like you doubt his masculinity. You look up at him, forehead briefly brushing against his jaw. 

“Did I wake you up, Johnny?” you ask him, soft and sweet. 

“Aye,” he says. “From good dreams, too.” 

You groan. “I’m so sorry. I knew I should have let Alan drive me home.”

“Who the fuck is Alan?” Johnny asks with a laugh. 

“Forget it,” you mutter sleepily, burrowing against him. His jacket slips off of one of your shoulders, and he has to stretch to replace it. 

He thinks you’ve fallen asleep when it happens: your mouth brushing against the juncture where his shoulder meets his neck. He goes still, eyes flickering to Simon in the rearview mirror (he is dutifully watching the road). Was that an accident? Were you asleep? His every cell seems attuned to yours, to the quiet even breaths you draw in, to the warmth of your body pressed flush against him, to your bare legs stretched out beside him changing lights thanks to the passing streetlamps. Then it happens again: your lips brush against his throat, this time with more intention.  

Johnny can’t help but tilt his head to give you more access, his eyes falling shut, full mouth parting around a longing sigh. Even as his body encourages you, his words seem to carry a threat to them. “Lass, you shouldn’t.” 

You hum and press a kiss there, soft and chaste as anything. The next one though is burning with the warmth of your tongue, and Johnny groans softly, unable to stop himself. You match the sound with a whine, shifting in your seat. Uncomfortable, he realizes—because you’re wet. Because you’re searching for friction on your needy little cunt.

“Fuck, you don’t know what yer doing to me,” he whispers roughly. 

“Johnny,” Simon says, an audible warning rumbling in his tone, eyes now watching in the mirror as often as he dares take them off the road. 

You slur something, but what it is and who it is to is lost in your drunkenness. The hand of the arm you had slipped around him finds a way to his belly, resting against his abs, rustling his shirt upwards a little as you cop a feel. 

Johnny half-heartedly takes your hand away, tries to lace your fingers with his own but you are single-minded in your desire to touch him. 

“This is hardly fair,” he says, his breathy laugh turning into a groan when your fingers brush against one of his nipples by accident. Your fingers finally find the way beneath his shirt, your touch chilly and soft against his heated skin as you stroke along the trail of hair just beneath his navel—

Simon hits the breaks hard, jostling you both in the backseat. The seatbelt locks for a moment and is pulled tight across Johnny’s chest, the lap belt scraping against his hard on in a way that has him hissing.

You lean forward, blinking owlishly. “Did we almost hit somethin’?”

“No,” says Simon. He deadpans: “Just traffic.” 

The road is empty. You find this hilarious, laughing until tears are in your eyes. Even Simon can’t help the effect your laughter has on him; he seems to sit taller in his seat, his hands gripping the wheel with less anxiety, the lines at the corners of his eyes growing as he fights a smile. 

Johnny lets out a chuckle too, one that is more of relief than anything. He doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, but the last thing he could let himself do is take advantage of you. Nuzzling against the crown of your head, he breathes in the scent of your shampoo. His erection fades alongside your laughter, and the rest of the drive passes in silence. 

They pull into the parking lot of the apartment building at half past two in the morning. 

“Can you walk, love?” Johnny asks.  

No response. Your eyes are closed where you lean against him, mouth parted in a silent snore. 

“Fast asleep,” he tells Simon, brushing his fingers against your temple in an apology when you flinch a little at the sound, eyes fluttering open before settling back into sleep. 

“This is getting out of hand,” Simon says simply. In the mirror he looks tired…and maybe it is just a trick of the light, but he looks sad. “You need to talk to her.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Don’t you mean we need to talk t’her?” Johnny asks. 

Simon doesn’t answer. 

Outside, it begins to rain.

[rueclfer]

Reverse comfort reader taking care of Touya plsplsplsplspls 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

I just had the amazing thought of it he's being overly cocky during winter "I don't need a scarf I have a fire quirk!" And the next days he's curled in bed with a fever and sore throat and there's a ton of I told you so's

Not even a fic if u don't feel like it maybe a smau but I think it'd be super funny 😭

🫐 Anon

sick touya supreme bc he can just lay there, be cute n not speak <3

sweat it out // touya todoroki

"What the hell are you wearing?" You exclaim after opening your front door.

"What?" He looks down at his attire. "What happened to hi, hello? A 'thank you for bringing me my package that I stupidly got delivered to your apartment?' Why don't we start there?" He huffs, stepping into your apartment, setting your package down on your kitchen counter.

It had been nothing but near freezing temperatures for the past few weeks- so cold that you had to layer up inside your own apartment to prevent your electric bill from skyrocketing.

"Hi hello, my sweet boyfriend." You roll your eyes. "Do you seriously need me to mommy you right now and scold you for not wearing a fucking jacket out in this weather? Are we not grown adults?" You drops the blanket draped over your shoulders and go over to rub his arms for the thermal friction. "Like you're seriously just wearing this long sleeve? It's freezing if you haven't noticed."

He raises his hand up to your face and snaps a flame into place in between his index and thumb. "You forget I run warm."

"Yeah okay, Mister. I-have-a-fire-quirk. How is that going to help you if it starts raining?"

He pulls you into his chest, letting his body heat transfer into your own, instantly warming you and most importantly for him, shutting you up.

You release a deep exhale in content. "Idiot. You just should stay. For the Winter. Just live here with me for a few months and never leave." You rub your face into his chest, savoring the warmth.

"I think we'd end up killing each other before Spring comes." He chuckles into your hair.

"I'll just chain you to the bed and duct tape your mouth close." You smirk up at him. "Everyone's happy."

"Don't threaten me with a good time, sweetheart." He pulls back, reaching out to tousle your hair. "But I gotta run. Told Shigs I'd be quick."

"Wait! Let me find you a sweater and an umbrella." You frantically look around your living room for any piece of clothing that you had previously stolen from him.

"No need." He bends down and quickly press his lips against yours, letting them linger for a few seconds before pulling away. "I have to go. I checked earlier and it's not going to rain and I'm not cold either. You on the other hand, worry about staying warm."

"It definitely is going to rain, Touya. I can smell it." You huff. "You'll get sick."

"What, is that a new quirk development or something? Weirdo." He lightly pinches your cheeks before slipping his shoes back on. "Also, I have a strong immune system."

"Seriously, let me find you an umbrella at the very least." You rummage around the coat rack for something that could fit him or a spare umbrella.

"Nope, no time. See you tomorrow, yeah?" He calls out.

"I guess." You mutter in defeat as you watch him slip out your door.

"Idiot." You sigh under your breath once the door clicks close.

-

"I'm here!" You call out after stepping into Touya's apartment, using the spare he lent you after locking himself out multiple times.

You kick off your shoes and shed off some layers, draping your jacket, and scarf over his couch before making your way to his bedroom.

"Knock knock." You say as you gently crack the door open, revealing near pitch darkness with sliver of natural light peeking in from the blinds.

You make your way over to the dark lump of mass of blankets on the bed, kicking aside used tissue paper that were thrown onto the ground before kneeling down next to the bed.

"Hello, my sweet stupid boy." You coo, slowly stroking the tuft of dark hair peeking out from the comforter.

"Don't be mean to me." The nasally voice muffled from under the covers. "Princess treatment today, got it?"

Touya finally pokes his head out from under the covers. It may have been dark, but you could still make out his puffy bloodshot eyes, dry cracked lips and flushed cheeks.

"I'll say it this one time then and then I'll give you the best princess treatment, okay?" You lean in close, letting your lips lightly graze the shell of his ear. "I fucking told you so." You whisper.

He groans, retreating back under the covers.

"Did you hear me? Okay maybe one more time." You giggle, trying to rip the covers off from over his head. "I told you so. It rained and it rained hard. Not ideal for that fire quirk of yours, huh? I fucking told you so."

"Fuck off." He groans once more. "One more time and I'm kicking your ass out."

"As if." You successfully tug the covers down to his chin, placing the back of your hand on his forehead. "You don't even have to energy to, you poor thing."

"Am I gonna make it?" He gazes up at you with his tired bloodshot eyes.

"Looks like you got a fever." You push away the sweaty stray hairs sticking to his forehead. "But I think you'll survive."

"Damn." He wheeze out. "That's unfortunate."

"It is, but maybe next time you don't listen to me, you'll get lucky and it kills you."

"Let's hope for it, then." He smirks, bringing his hand up to rub his eyes. "Can I have a kiss?"

"Nope. I'm not trying to get sick, Touya." You smile at the neediness in his voice.

You move over to the blinds and slightly twist them open, letting in some of the dim daylight before tossing the haphazardly thrown stray tissues into the trash bin nearby.

"I don't give a fuck. I want a kiss."

"Too bad." You pay no mind to his piercing stare as you wander around his room, tidying the space as well as clearing off an area on his desk to set up the cough syrups and fever reducers that you brought over from your own medicine cabinet.

You come over to him with the stray glass on water sitting on his desk and a couple Tylenols in your palm.

"Sit up." You order, kneeling next to his bed again, holding out your palm.

"Pop a perc then I black out..." Touya mumbles to himself as he sits up, grabbing the pills from your palm and popping them in his mouth, following it with a large gulp of water.

In this moment, you couldn't help but notice how precious he looked with his old flannel pajama pants, dingy stretched out band tee, disheveled hair and tired eyes- a spitting image of his everyday look when you two were teenagers.

"...Fuckin' I'm blowing her back out." He continues, leaning over to press a kiss on your forehead. "Don't look at me like that unless you're trying to help me sweat out this fever."

Your own face heats up. "The fuck were you saying earlier?" You chuckle, brushing off the insinuating comment and setting the empty glass on his nightstand.

"I don't know. Nothing." He coughs, laying back down, pulling the covers up to his chin. "I think the fever dream-hallucination is hitting hard. You should get in and cuddle before the sickness takes over and kills me."

You roll your eyes at the dramatics, nudging him to scoot over before climbing in under the covers with him, which felt like you had just stepped into a furnace.

He groans in content, wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you in as close as he could.

"Can't cuddle for too long okay? I'm going to have to leave and make you some food soon." You mutter into his chest, letting your hand run up and down his back.

"No." He whines. "Just stay like this and I'll get better. I promise."

"That's not how that works." You mutter.

"Maybe if you give me a kiss instead? I think that'll 100 percent make me feel better." He pulls away, inching down towards you with puckered lips.

You stuck your hand out against his mouth, pushing it away. "I can't get sick, Touya. I know your ass will not know how to take care of me."

"You love hurting my feelings." He huffs.

"Well? Who put themselves in this situation. I told you, didn't I?"

"Shush." He mumbles, letting himself close his eyes and rest his chin on top of your head. "You didn't tell me shit."

You let out a sigh and let yourself close your eyes for a moment as well, letting your deep inhale and exhales sync in unison. Maybe having this every night wouldn't be too bad. Sure you two would tear each other apart if you had to spend every waking moment together in the same home, but for moments like these, you wouldn't mind it. Your eyes pop open the moment you feel the deep vibrations of his snores again your body, now realizing that you couldn't dare move from this position, risking waking him.

Just an hour. You'll only give yourself an hour.

-

touya tag: @moonchild701

[visionsofmagic]

watching them as they train. ⭒ mk1

—✦requsted by anon.∗ imagine watching liu kang, kenshi, bi han, kuai liang, and tomas working out. you can’t help but ogle them. their muscles straining visibly, they are panting, sweat is rolling off them, THEN feeling them up. how do the guys feel about this?

╰┈➤ tags: spicy, sfw, pet names, sweating, watching, flirting, tattoo, gn!reader, use of y/n, no specific use of gender, boyfriend dynamic, fluff, ‘s all I suppose. ✩ wc: 2.3k ✩ rose’s notes: offf, this one was so spicy to write and I like how I imagined this entirely while reading your request, lol, love ya & thanks for this hot request! hope you all will like, enjoy. [also, changed the aesthetic of requests post, hope this one is prettier. muah!]

✩ liu kang.

being the god of fire, protector of the earthrealm, and having a decent power in his system, he needs to train his muscles, physical strength, and power as well as he does with his mindset. watching him sitting down on the carpet, eyes closed, hands connected while being inside his mind to power it up as if he’s not the most powerful soul in the entire timeline is the thing you do as a habit now, so, it’s not surprising when you find yourself sitting on one of the benches on the training area as he trains alone – no one else, just you and him.

it’s different than watching his peaceful closed eyes, a little smirk on his face from time to time as he knows you’re there to take a sight of his meditation – because he gladly allows you to. it’s different even within the air – it’s too hot to handle and the wind doesn’t help at all because how he has no particular sleeve on his upper part, wearing just pants as he trains with his sharp movements.

muscles getting tighter, sweat running from his neck to his exposed chest, professionalism is as clear as the sun’s rays and you can’t stop thinking about how easily he will use his skillful hands on your body – he’s making you weak by only training and you know that he acknowledges his effects on you, making his training session sharper and more powerful than it is needed as he turns his back, arms move fast, making his back’s muscles go visible to your eyes.

mouth getting wet on its own, your eyes travel from his sweaty hair to his sharp jaw, arms with visible veins, white tattoos covering his arms and a part of his chest beautifully, sweat flowing from there until they reach his abdomen, making you gulp in excitement.

is it wrong to fantasize about a god? you can’t answer, and you don’t care about it either – well, at least, your instincts don’t care because without calculating its outcomes, your legs move on their own as you get up, slowly approaching him. with each step you can hear his deep breaths, and can see his sweats shine under the light of the sun.

he stops at his movements when he feels you near, chest rising up and down still. standing in front of him with warm breaths hitting his hot chest, you can’t help but touch his arms’ tattoos full of sweat – slowly enough to get a warning from his parted lips. “y/n –“

“yes, my lord?”

you can see his eyes narrowing, mind studying the situation and knowing that you will not stop, not after both of your hands happen to be on his chest, rubbing his muscles from time to time and earning another warning from him as he grips your wrists – fingers still playing with his arm muscles, getting wet, “you should stop, I need to train for one more hour, pretty.”

“train with me,” you say, putting a kiss on his exposed chest before turning over, knowing the god of fire, the man of determination, can’t resist your open invitation, and agreeing.

“you will be the death of me, my love,” he says, picking you up in bridal style as he goes to his room – to train with you of course, much hotter this time.

✩ kenshi.

to get back his sword from johnny, and be worthy of his clan once again, kenshi tries his best – so hard to accomplish his aims – he needs to be strong, he knows it, and the knowledge pushes him to train over and over again until he can beat everyone who crosses his way and avoiding him to reach his destination.

and there’s one more reason behind it – having you as his audience. his beloved lover who likes to watch him get a good view of his exposed body, half-naked, showing his muscles off even though he will deny it. he can have his orange training clothes to wear but in that way, he won’t be able to see your parted lips that you bite and lick occasionally, eyes shining as they travel on his body shamelessly, hands move rapidly because of not knowing where to put them because your mind is not working entirely when he winks at you whenever he changes the way he trains – legs, arms, back muscles – doesn’t matter as long as you get heat rushing on your body which he knows so well.

“liked what you see, love?” he will ask, smiling down at you when he takes a break, chest rising up and down as he stands on his foot, hovering over you, teasing because it’s so fun to play with your cute mind.

“u-huh,” you say, looking at his chest and waist covered with sweat rather than his eyes directed at you, “like it so much –“ you add, and to his surprise, you put your hands on his waist, pulling him closer to you as you sit on the bench still, and eyes turning up to find him, “are you doing it for me to like it?” you tease back as your hands move from his waist to his abdomen, feeling his six packs tighten under your fingertips. “cute.”

“not as cute as you, prettiest.”

then, he will make sure you put your hands on his body whenever he takes breaks until he is done with training and takes you into his room, admiring your body the way you do to his. after all, he is such a pleaser that he needs to return the favor.

✩ bi han.

for being the grandmaster of the lin kuei clan, the man who seeks great power, bi han trains a lot – he needs to, he has to.

he never gets exhausted by training with his potent stamina and determination to become the best – the strongest to bring great accomplishments to his clan. also, he never gets tired of having you beside him as he trains after he tells you to watch him closely to see what a true and good training session will look like – well, half truth half lie because it’s not the only reason why he keeps taking you into the area, having you sit down on the carpet, on your knees and watch him – it’s all because of you though, you were the first one who requested to do it and from the way you look at him, his body and mostly muscles with parted pretty lips, he can’t bring himself to train alone when he can your pretty face lighten up with desire of him as he does it.

knowing he does it on purpose, you sit down on the carpet calmly – as much as you can anyway, watching him having only his pants on, ice appearing on his hands until it reaches his elbows, the temperature getting colder but you don’t – it only gets warmer for you when your eyes travel on his torso, chest, shoulders, arms – full of muscles and sweat, getting tighter from time to time with the impact of his hard training. oh, you think, he truly deserves the title of grandmaster.

thighs clenching together, hands getting between your legs, eyes sparkling, and lips getting licked, you know bi han laughs menacingly inside his mind whenever he takes a look at your messy situation – he definitely does it on purpose, doesn’t he?

your question is answered when he cleans his sweat with a towel before sitting in front of you on his knees, hands positioned on his lap, raising an eyebrow he asks, “did you learn anything from my training, y/n?”

nodding, you challenge him by saying, “yeah, I learned how your muscles move so beautifully, sir.”

he chuckles deeply, and letting you do what you wanted to do before, taking you by the wrist, he puts your hand down on his shoulders, “now learn how they feel under your touch, doll. it’s what your hands carve after all.”

instead of saying anything, you use your hand movements as an answer – massaging his rigid muscles on the shoulders, moving from his chest from there until they find his abdomen, full of thick packs, showing his masculinity off so perfectly that you put a kiss on his exposed body, earning a low growl from the man.

“if you keep doing that, I will use your body as my training tool, princess.”

he sounds deep and hot – you’re being a brat. “then, do it.” and he does it in a way you can never imagine before experiencing it.

✩ kuai liang.

he doesn’t mind having your company when he finds alone time to train his abilities to make them reach the highest point; on the contrary, he finds it amusing how you even bring snacks with you as if his training session is a scene coming out of your favorite show – you admit it though, he’s your favorite show to watch because how it cannot be when he has sightworthy attractive and cute features, especially in the training area in which he has nothing on the half of his body – yes, you see it every day and night yet it’s far more different when it comes to seeing him training with his tools to strength himself up.

watching him jumping, crouching, using his knives with long ropes you happen to have on your wrist a night ago, your hand stop in mid-air, not being able to eat a snack because of how your mouth keeps getting wet – the hotness coming from him and hitting you on the face heavily isn’t related to his ability, no, it’s only coming thanks to being so damn attractive right now; all sweaty, breathing heavily and rapidly, movements perfect, gaze he gives to you breathtaking.

“what is it princess?” he will ask, a knowing smile on his face, taking a bottle of water to drink as he sits down beside you, radiating two different kinds of warmness to your body, “I am the one who trains and you seem to be the one with no steady breath.”

his teasing stops when you can’t help yourself and touch the scorpion tattoo on his thick and big arm, moving from there to his shoulder slowly. chuckling, you say as your hands travel on his wet chest and abdomen playfully, “who has no steady breath now handsome?”

“oh?” he holds your wrist, pulling you closer, hot breath hitting your neck when he puts a kiss on there, “when I am finished with the train, you even won’t be able to have a brain to remember how to breathe, pretty.”

✩ tomas.

“what now?” he will ask firstly, trying to find a few excuses to tell after you sit on the ground, smiling widely and telling him you want to watch him as he trains – because, ugh, he knows he will get all shy and missing a few steps, or doing his sessions incorrectly with the effects of having your piercing eyes on him, studying him, literally seeing every move and it makes him a bit nervous because being the cute little boyfriend, tomas wants to be as perfect as he can be in front of you – no one else’s, except his brothers.

his desire to impress you in every way, the situation as possible gives him a bit of sadness when he shows some weakness as he does exercises, you behind him, sitting and watching – oh, he sucks, isn’t he – he will think until the moment he realizes that you don’t watch him train – well, you do, but not with the way he excepts.

your eyes scanning his arm muscles, back, thighs, and hands as if he’s a piece of art with thick and sharp features he has – he can see how you bite your lip from time to time, smiling face is long gone, replaced by the expression of passion and tomas can’t decide which one makes him happier; to realize his not-so-perfect training isn’t understood by you or to witness your greedy gazes as you keep your eyes on him, clearly liking what you see.

being addicted to pleasing you, tomas smiles at himself and without hesitation, he takes his tight sleeveless top off of his body, showing his body underneath it – getting proud when you begin to lick your lips, thighs getting clenched with pure instincts.

even at his shiest moment, he teases you by standing between your legs, holding you by the chin, and making you look into his shining eyes with joy, “you’re quite an admirer, my love, aren’t you?” he asks, leaving you dumb for a moment before you come into your senses, smiling as your palms position on his exposed chest, playing.

it’s his turn to be dumb at the sudden action, “after what I am watching is the most beautiful sight in all realms, of course.” your hands are shameless as they flow on his top, admiring it as a true admirer.

“then let me put on a show only for you, my goddess.”

[2kiran]

HI! HELLO!! 🤍🫶🏻

first of all i really love your writing! the way you write is just amazing! i absolutely love your works and always come back to re-read some of them!! keep writing and don't forget to take care of yourself and drink lots of water!!! 🥺🩷

anyways i wants to request something if it's not too much of a bother askjkasksj

dom!m!nerdy reader and sub!badboy with a whole load of crying from overstimulation, praise k!nk, size diff (tall!reader) and dumbification OOOHHHH IM GONNA GO FERAL 😵‍💫

[also can i be your 🎀 anon?]

THREEKVENT NAVIGATION

2knote. aww, this is so sweet of you. I appreciate it, thank you so much and I hope you enjoy this one. take care of yourself too and get some rest. lmk if you aren’t actually anon angelwing.

Every nerve was set on fire, blood pumping hot in his system as beads of sweat tingled down his forehead to his chest. It doesn’t help with the sudden high temperature of the room, especially not the uncontrollable throbbing in the center of his thighs. “Shhh,” your voice brings him back from his clouded state, grounding him. “won’t you look at that? You’re doing so great, practically sucking me in.”

He whimpers, oh how badly he wanted to punch off the smug way you were holding him up with his knees that threatened to buckle. His head tilted up to look at you, eyebrows knitting together in an attempt to appear threatening. Instead, he seems even more fucked out, tight hole squeezing your length with every push.

“Sh- shut up.” He grits, though tears sprouted and occupied his vision. Fuck, he hated you. The complete opposite of him, a reckless bastard, and you, the smart and adored one.

He hated how he’d perk up when you’d speak, listening to how your voice practically caressed the words you were uttering. Wishing that in lieu of you giving out the correct answer, you’d say his name and and — he’s definitely out of it. “Don’t say things like that, pretty thing,”

That fucking glint in your eye and how you’d scold him if he stepped out of line, he despised that even more. He clenched around you, gripping your cock tightly, silently begging for you to cum inside of him. It was overwhelming, flushed and sweaty skin bumping rhythmically against each other and making his mind hazy with pleasure.

You were supposed to hate him, not treat him as if he was the most valuable thing in the world. “Shit, that’s it.” You groan, rolling your hips into the spasming warmth that warned to milk you for all you were worth. “So good for me, haaah, yeah, take my cock.”

And he was. “Nnnggh–” stop talking is what he’s unable to retort with. Each thought is combining with one another, jumbled nonsense forming in his head and his mouth agape, only to gift pretty little moans and hushed whimpers to your ears.

He can’t stop the tears, bottom lip trembling and he’s clamping down all over again. You’re brushing against that spot which causes his back to arch off the wall, eliciting a breathy groan from him. He’s leaking on his stomach, pre-cum pathetically gathering up and slicking himself with his own fluid.

“It’s okay, let it out. You’re okay, yeah?” You grind your hips, aiming for it and he swears he’s going to kill you when he cums hard from just that. His body trembles, numbed, gasping for air and the only thought echoing is your damn mouth that can’t shut.

“Listen. Ah– look so pretty like this, all for me.” He can barely move a muscle, your thumb smearing his release around the sensitive tip. Briefly, he wonders if you’ll stop.

You don’t.

One of his palms reach out to you, weakly pushing at your arm as he sniffles. You’re rolling — on the brink of pounding — into him, set on getting him brainless beneath you. He can’t say it, can’t tell you to fuck off because you feel too good and he’s still got energy left. The overstimulation has a faint hint of pain pinching him, but he’s too distracted by the way you don’t quit.

You must’ve gotten to him. “Doing such an amazing job for me, sweetheart.”

He sobs, not quite recovering from his orgasm yet. How you’re crowding him sends him reeling, dizzy, and incredibly horny. He grabs the back of your head, tugging on the strands as he yanks you down to capture your lips in a bruising kiss. You can make out the salty taste of his tears due to the unrelenting thrusts, his poor body not catching one break, and that has you pushing your tongue inside of his mouth.

When you finally pull away, he whimpers in disappointment. But then, you speak up;

“You can give me one more.” It’s not a request. It’s a demand.

[imsilay]

I need to get this out my system or else I'mma lose my shit... What about in Mania pt 3( don't know if you'll have one) but what about König hair pulling y/n? Him just cooing as she's babbling shit and overstimulated. (+Slide some belt there if you wanna) huehuehuehue. You get the rest! Imma go to Mars and come back after you post it! Love youn babyeee!! Ajsbsjamajshjssh

people are so wei- jk we’re equally horny i love you anon.

MANIA pt.3

obsessive love; very possessive and often jealous.

word count: 1.3k

read first chapter here

summary: König doesn’t wants you to leave him, even for a second. he finds excuses and makes it your problem so he could fuck you until you’re too sore to leave again. (he could destroy me and i would thank him fr.)

mdni NSFW! +18, cw: hurt/comfort, possessiveness, size k!nk, fem!reader, obsessive König, dom!König, manhandling, hair pulling, overstimulation.

art cr: @kinky-thirsty-reader

His hips slammed to yours as he grabbed your thighs and gave them a squeeze, his big palms causing your sore muscles to ache. But he made it up to you by kissing your g-spot repeatedly. It made your eyes roll back and pussy clench around him. He groaned and pushed your thighs to your chest, still thrusting into you without mercy. “You take me so well, Hase.” his eyes were focused on how your greedy cunt sucked him in. “Ich schwöre bei Gott, you love my cock more than you love me, Hase” with a light chuckle continued to watch it, it amused him that how your tight cunt get used to his shape. He used you at his heart content, your little body was like a putty in his hands. He would mold you into the perfect toy for him. Needy and dependent. Maybe then you wouldn’t have a thought about leaving him.

“Kö-König!” was all you could push out from your lips when he didn’t even consider slowing down. Your legs aching and causing so much pain but the pleasure he fucked into you was all you could think and feel. His hips slamming to yours and making the bed shake with the force. “Ja, Hase?” The way you slurred his name was turning him on even more. You were a moaning mess, mind too foggy to remember what you wanted to say. “Faster.” you gripped the bed sheets for dear life, squirming and sobbing while he pounded into you hard. “Du wirst mein Tod sein.” (You will be the death of me.) he mumbled before pounding into you harder and making you gasp. When you said his name, he thought you would beg him to slow down but it was his mistake to forget how needy you already are. Your walls clenched around him and your hips desperately rolling to meet his, that’s when he knew you’re close.

He didn’t stop or slow down. Continued to thrust into you as he tilted his head back and let out a low groan. Your moans and sobs was mixed with his low curses and groans. “I know you’re close Hase. Cum for me.” he looked back to your face. His heart dropped at the sight. Your addicting lips parted and face twisted with pure bliss as you cum on his cock without needing any further stimulation. “Scheiße.” he dug his fingers into your thighs as he couldn’t contain himself and cum deep inside you. “Oh my-“ you whimpered when you felt him unexpectedly fill you up with his hot semen. He pulled his cock out and released your thighs. His hands immediately find your face and pulled you up to meet his lips halfway. The kiss was rough like he was mad at you for making him cum. “You should be punished for the expression you made when you cum.” he whispered after the kiss and bit down your lower lip. You whined and shook your head in protest when he let go of your swollen lip, unable to form a proper sentence as you felt the arousal dripping from your cunt to your thighs.

His hands found your clit and rubbed with enough pressure to make you squirm again. “Wrong answer, Hase. Try again.” he whispered, his eyes filled with nothing but pure lust and want to possess you. Your hips twitched and rolled foward to his fingers, chasing the any friction you could get. “So verdammt süß.” he gritted his teeth to stop himself from devouring you whole. He teased your folds with his fingers, fingering you with the both of yours cum still inside you. You shuddered and grabbed his forearm when he hit that sweet spot. “Fuck.” you cried and threw your head back, another orgasm building within you.

He felt your walls tightened around his fingers. He smirked and tilted his head to the side. “Again? Already, Hase?” he purred then curled his fingers so he hit that spot he already knows by heart, his other hand on your waist to keep you still. He knew all your weak spots and the places that made you squirm. You were already overwhelmed with the all pleasure he was giving to you. “gonna… please-“ you moaned as your eyes rolled back to your skull and legs trembled. “Braves Mädchen.” he cooed when you cum again, harder than before. You collapsed back to bed, legs still trembling and aching. He watched the mess he made out of you with a satisfied smile. His hungry gaze locked with your pleading one, his fingers leaving your cunt and finding his mouth to lick his fingers clean. The sight of him tasting your arousal made your stomach do a flip, earning a needy whine. “I’m not done, Hase.” he whispered to your ear, his voice stained with want. The want to take you over and over, the want to make you his, the want to make you stay with him. He took of his mask. As much as he wanted to fuck you with his mask on, he couldn’t resist your trembling lips. His lips found yours in a passionate make out session. His fingers traced back to your breasts kneading and making you squirm again.

He didn’t even let you recover or take a break. After leaving you breathless with his lips he flipped you over and grabbed your hips to hold you up. Your breath hitched when he pressed his rock hard cock against your ass. You tried to escape his grasp but it just earned a low growl from him. “Where do you think you’re going?” He hissed and grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking it back and looking into your eyes. Your blood ran cold when you saw his icy-blue eyes, and you realised that you had managed to anger him. “Du wirst mich nicht verlassen.” (You’re not leaving me.) he murmured as he pressed your face to the mattress and lifted your ass up. Positioning you into however he wanted to take you. Ass up, back arched perfectly and chest pressed against the mattress. He continued to murmur the same thing repeatedly as he stretched you open with his thick cock and pounded into you rapidly. You were already a blabbering mess, begging and sobbing as he fucked the breath out of your lungs. Your legs trembled and gave up eventually, the only thing holding you up was his hand on your lower belly. He adjusted you again with his hand on your belly and carried you without effort. With his hand pressing on your belly he could feel himself moving inside you. With each thrust of his pushed you closer to edge, milking him as you cum again. He suck in a sharp breath and grabbed your hair firmer, yet he didn’t cum until you begged him and promised to not leave. Your cries increased by the time he cum inside you filling you up with his hot seeds all again. He gave you last a few slow thrusts overstimulating further both of you with his each thrust.

He pulled out and then flipped you over onto your back again. “Aww mein kleiner Hase… Don’t cry. You did so good f’me.” he kissed your cheeks and wiped the tears. “You know i love you so much.” he soothed you with pulling you onto his firm chest and massaging your sore legs. As your sobs came to a stop. He then prepared a warm tub for the both of you, filling it with your favourite essences. Carefully placing you into the water then pulled you into his lap in the tub, his body taking up the majority of the space. He began to massage your thighs as your head dropped onto his shoulder. "I'm not going to leave you." you whispered by the end of the day. He pulled you even tighter into his embrace and planted kisses on your neck. “I know.” he mumbled softly.

a/n: please support me by reblogging, if you liked it <3

a/n: also i post everyday -sometimes 2 posts in a day- so if you follow me i won’t disappoint ;)

AND HUGE THANKS TO @lunanilla FOR HELPING ME WITH GERMAN <3