#its written in the stars guys

[ohmytiredheart]

Self-UNdiagnosing. I don't have autism—it's just my natal chart.

[nomazee]

close to your heart and that bed of yours too

you've been having the same weird dream about dan heng, over and over, and it just so happens that he's had the same dream, too.

dan heng x gn reader — 2.4k — super suggestive content but definitely nothing serious or graphic, some guilt abt attraction, dreams, romantic fantasies but not weird ones, kissing and closeness and physical touch, literal sleeping together

notes: forgive me and my debaucherous writing... this is nowhere near smut but it's definitely suggestive they get touchy and feely but it's very emotions-focused...oh my god what did i write this is so

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

It’s probably not possible to get cabin fever on a constantly-running space train, but that’s the only reasonable explanation for the weird, weird recurring dream you’ve been having about Dan Heng. It’s not— not that weird, not weird enough that you feel like a complete deviant, but enough for you to realize that it’s a complete reflection of your innermost thoughts and desires, and that scares you more than anything. 

The dream— it goes like this: 

You wake up—not in real life, but in the dream world, which freaked you out the first time because you didn't realize you were dreaming at all so you thought everything was entirely real—and it’s usually because of the noise of your door sliding open. The instinct to look and see who it is doesn’t hit you. You lay there, gaze fixed distantly on the steel surface of your ceiling until the feeling of your bedsheets moving next to you pushes you to full awareness. 

You still don’t move your gaze until you feel a body—warm, breathing, real real real?—lift up your blankets and slide underneath them, pressing next to you, curling into your side as if seeking out your life source. Your breath catches in your throat every single time as you turn to see that it’s Dan Heng, still dressed in his work clothes because he doesn’t understand the concept of pajamas, and his arm reaches around you and curls around your shoulder and he rests his head on your collarbone, gently, and you can feel his breath fan against the fabric of your shirt and your skin. 

Dan Heng says your name with reverence, with something like desire, and it makes your stomach clench and he turns his body into you more. He tucks his leg between yours—not moving, just sitting there, a reminder of him, his warmth—and he’s so, so warm, it amazes you that he’s like a furnace, and that he’s so unbothered by laying so close to you under all of your blankets. 

And he says your name again, each and every time, and it spurs something in you and you bring your arms around him each and every time, and pull him close, and feel the way he shudders, like a cold breeze wracking his body, like he’s never been this close to anyone before, and it dawns on you that he probably hasn’t—and that thought alone spirals into the realization that Dan Heng would never do this—

And then you wake up. Each time. 

The first time it happened, you didn't realize it was a dream, and you were so overwhelmed with thought after thought and feeling after feeling and sensation after sensation. When you finally woke up, it felt like you were grieving a loss. You felt too cold, and too empty, and curled into yourself and laid in your bed for an hour taking in shaky breaths until you finally got over yourself. 

You couldn't face Dan Heng for that entire day. Which was fine, because he spent his whole day in his room shuffling through the archives, so he was easy to dodge. But then you dreamt of him again. And again, and again, and then it just became a part of your nighttime routine to dream of your own friend so intimately and then wake up and pretend like nothing matters and nothing changed. Pretend like you didn't feel anything, and pretend like these dreams didn't flood you with guilt about your sick sick feelings and your sick sick fantasies. 

You tried to rationalize it, make yourself feel less awful. The dreams never went past him laying beside you, for the most part, and you preferred it that way. If they got any more intimate than they already were, you would’ve thrown yourself off the Express the next morning. 

Regardless, the Dan Heng in your dream and the Dan Heng that you saw every morning were different people, because the Dan Heng you saw every morning would never get so close to you. Would never lay in your bed and breathe on your neck like that. 

Never. That distinction is the only thing that convinces you to let yourself dream. You indulge, and it’s sickening, but you let your dreams happen over and over, and each time you hold Dan Heng tighter and tighter and tighter, and let him breathe against your neck, and feel the rush of his blood circulating through his body. 

One night, in one iteration of this dream, Dan Heng kisses you. It feels so real that it makes you nauseous. His lips were warm and damp and clumsy against the corner of your mouth, and he let out anxious breaths until you tangled your hands in his hair and tugged him closer and kissed him back. 

You woke up sick, running to your bathroom to puke in the sink as your hands shook in guilt. Somehow, you could still talk to Dan Heng normally that day, stomach twisting only the slightest bit whenever your gaze lingered on him for too long. 

Welt might have noticed how weird you were acting. There was a nagging furrow in his brow and he caught your gaze more than once and each time, you felt waves of humiliation crash into you, flooding you in heat and guilt and vertigo. He looked like he wanted to pry in that odd, awkward, old-man-paternal way of his, but you just shook your head and looked away and begged, hoped, wished upon a star that you would have a normal dream tonight.

The night— it goes like this: 

You lay in your bed, staring at your ceiling, leftover remnants of guilt swimming in your lungs and nightly congestion forcing you to take shallow breaths through your mouth. Thoughts run through your mind and slam into your skull at rapid speed. Has Dan Heng noticed how weird you’ve been acting? He hasn’t treated you any differently, but maybe it’s out of pity. Maybe you haven’t been paying enough attention, because you’re so busy replaying that dream over and over and over, obsessive, wondering if you should just let go of the rope you’re suspended on and slam into the water and drown in your wants and your needs. 

So you close your eyes, and you let yourself drift off and wake back up in your dream. You’re on your side now, instead of on your back, and the door is on the far wall behind you. You still hear it slide open, as it always does in this dream, and the footsteps get closer until you hear the shuffling of someone kneeling behind you. And then there’s nothing. 

Your blankets don’t get lifted up. There’s no warm body tucking itself next to you. But there’s— a voice, Dan Heng’s voice, and your heart sinks into your stomach as you hear the pitch of his voice, the vibrations of sound. 

“Are you awake?”

Your brow furrows, and you clench and unclench your fists twice before parting your dry, trembling lips. He’s never spoken in a dream before, not like this. He’s only ever said your name. Your fingers twitch with the instinct to pinch yourself. 

“Yes,” you respond, hoping that the confusion isn’t clear in the timbre of your voice. “What’s— is something wrong?” 

“No,” he says immediately. Clothes rustle as he adjusts himself. You’re scared to turn around and face him. You don’t know what you’d see. “You…” and he pauses, thinking of his words. Dan Heng would rather take a full minute to think about what to say, what words to pick, instead of stumbling over syllables, and it’s so unlike your own habits and as you think of this, your fingers twitch again. This time with the desire to hold his hand, because that’s what you’re supposed to do in this dream, but everything feels too real now and you don’t know where you are. 

Finally, he finds his words. You’re patient with him. “I can’t sleep alone,” he whispers, as if embarrassed to admit it, “not tonight. I trust you.” 

God. He can’t say that. He shouldn’t say that, because your head is spinning and you’re going to throw up. Your hand finds the strength to pick itself up and pinch the skin of your forearm. You’re not dreaming. 

“Yeah,” you cough out, sniffling afterwards to cover up your budding anxiety as you finally sit up and turn to face him. “Yeah, you can, um. Sleep here.” 

When he finally enters your field of vision, he looks the same as he always does—both in your dreams and in real life. It makes you sick. The guilt that you feel now comes more from the fact that he’s still in his typical outfit instead of pajamas. 

“Dan Heng,” you start as you shuffle back on your bed to make space for him. He follows your motion, kneeling on the edge of your mattress before adjusting the sheets around you to tuck himself underneath and lay down. “We need to get you pajamas. I don’t know how you sleep like that.” 

“I don’t sleep,” he admits, “not usually. I don’t need a lot of sleep.” 

“You do. You might not think so, but you probably do. I wish I had a spare set of pajamas, but— they’re all, um, in the wash right now.” 

“It’s okay. Your blankets are nice.” 

Words tingle against your gums, syllables of confessions lighting up in your mouth. You want to tell him that a dream-version of him has slept under a copy of these blankets multiple times before, that you’ve dreamed for weeks about him curled into you and sleeping, and saying your name, and kissing the corner of your mouth. Right now, you’re just laid side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder, but you can feel how warm he is and his hand is so close to yours and you just want to hold it. You want him to say your name and look at you and hold your hand. 

“Good,” you say instead of everything else that you could say, because you have a sense of self control at times. 

Then Dan Heng says your name, rolling onto his side to face you, hands tucked underneath the side of his face in a stupidly endearing sleeping position. You follow suit, because your self control isn’t that strong. He doesn’t say anything else. Just your name, once. With reverence and desire. Maybe you’re dreaming it, but you pinch your knuckles again and yet you’re still in the same room with the same man in front of you. 

One of your arms is bent between you two, hand resting on the pillow that separates you two. Dan Heng’s own hand—warm, and breathing, and real— comes up to rest on top of yours, and you cannot believe any of this is happening. You want to pinch yourself again but his hand is curling around yours and he’s inching forward and you hope that your deer-in-headlights expression doesn’t scare him off. 

“Dan Heng,” you whisper, voice cracking with an embarrassing desperation. It’s a warning for him, before he does whatever he’s about to do. But he says your name, again, and his face is so close to yours that you can feel every breath fan against your face, and your entire body is warmed and your hand flips over to hold his, fingers slipping between his and tightening around it. 

“Have you had these odd dreams these last few nights,” he asks, a leading tone in his voice, “because I have. About you,” and he’s too honest, and you have to swallow your saliva before it turns into sweat and blood, and you feel his hand squeeze back around yours. His is shaking, and you find some kind of comfort in knowing that you’re not the only one. 

“Yeah,” you answer, because you can’t get more than one syllable out at a time tonight. Could anyone blame you? Would Dan Heng blame you for that, afterwards, even though his face is so close and his hand is so warm and it’s tight around you, and he’s shuffling around again, constantly fidgeting, and he takes his other arm and slides it around you, hand between your shoulder blades. He hooks a leg between yours, tugging you closer and closer and closer. You’re blinking at him, heart caught in your throat and eyes landing on his lips so that maybe he’ll finally take the hint. 

He does. He does, and as cliche as it is, it’s better than your dream. He kisses you, desperate, and right before your eyes flutter shut you catch the contemplative furrow in his brow. His mouth is—warm, damp, but you feel the crack in the skin in the center of his bottom lip. It scrapes against you and you can’t help the shaky sigh you release at the feeling, and the hand on your back curls into the fabric of your sleep shirt. 

Your eyes are closed, tight, scared that if you open them, you’ll just wake up back in your room, alone and cold again with your empty steel ceiling. Dan Heng’s mouth is moving against yours with a practiced proficiency that you’re almost jealous of. You let your tongue trace the edges of his teeth, carnal in your desires, before you bite down on his lip hard enough to leave a temporary dent. He shudders, hand trembling against yours and lips pulling back from yours as he tucks his head into your neck and lets out shaky breaths lines with addictive sounds. You’re going crazy. He’s driving you crazy. 

The hard, carved metal parts of his clothes dig into you. Your hand goes around him to rest on the back of his head, threading through his hair as his breathing slows against you. “We can go shopping somewhere tomorrow,” you tell him, already thinking of how you’d convince Pom-Pom to land at some shopping district of some planet. “You need pajamas.” 

“There’s no need for me to have that,” he says, stubborn and set in his ways, even with something as mundane as sleep clothes. “My normal clothes are fine.” 

“Not if you’ll be sleeping in my bed.” 

And that makes him succumb to your whims, much too easy for your own good, and you laugh when he lets out a weary sigh at your reciprocal stubbornness. Your fingers keep combing through his hair, soft and meaningful, until he falls asleep. You think you'll get him a blue plaid pajama set. He'd look nice in it.

[freindsssssss]

"She's such a well written character if you ignore the points where she wasn't well written" is my toxic trait

[chamerionwrites]

As a small-time Stellan Skarsgard's Acting enjoyer and big-time Morally Compromised Old Man enjoyer I was inevitably going to fall down a Luthen Rael rabbit hole at least once so forgive me for being fully on my bullshit. But I can't explain my read on this guy without talking about That Speech, and I can't talk about that speech without dumping a bunch of thoughts about dialogue.

Because in my own writing the thing I get most obsessive about is character voice, and the thing about character voice is that not everyone is a poet. Sometimes the craft of writing is about euphony pure and simple. But sometimes (revealing my biases) I think the craft of writing is being able to ask yourself - sure it's good, but is it true? Can you find the poetry in the everyday? Can you express something sharp and compelling and resonant and stay faithful to the perspective of a character who isn't consciously honing their words in that way? All fictional dialogue is constructed. But there does come a point on the spectrum of naturalistic to constructed dialogue - it's partly a matter of taste - where you see more of the writer patting themselves on the back for writing a banger of a line than you see of the character, and personally I often find this off-putting.

Which doesn't mean you never get to let the poetry off the leash (God, that would be joyless). It just means there's a time and a place.

Andor's writers are dropping a lot of bangers and they absolutely know it but largely it works for me, because they're smart about the time and place. Cassian gets to be a guy who's resourceful with his words when the chips are down - that's a big part of his characterization. Maarva and Nemik get to break out the poetry when giving a speech or writing a political manifesto; those words are crafted in-universe as well as out. And Luthen - a performer, a salesman, a man with constructed identities - he gets to use a lot of constructed speech even when he isn't in full-throttle soliloquy mode. I've said before that a lot of stories about espionage are also stories about storytelling: people who create characters, fictions, who tell lies in an attempt to get at truths. In this story Luthen is that guy. Wouldn't you rather give it all at once to something real than carve off useless pieces till there's nothing left - it doesn't matter how constructed that sounds if it's a sales pitch he's rehearsed. It doesn't matter if you see a little bit of the author or the actor peek through when he says things like I know the outside; I imagine the rest, because it functions as characterization when in some sense he is both those things.

All of which is to say That Speech works for me because it tells you something about Luthen beyond the face value of what he says. It tells you this is something he's THOUGHT about, at length. If he hasn't delivered those lines to a mirror, he has absolutely worked through some version of them in his head more than once. And that tells you something just slightly to the left of who Luthen objectively is - it tells you how he constructs and sees himself. I fully believe that Luthen believes what he's saying there.

I also fully believe that this is a man who self-admittedly has an ego and a desire for recognition, who says he's given that up but evidently hasn't let go of some measure of resentment about it. That here's a guy who put on a billowing black cloak, pulled out all the spy theatrics for the express purpose of unsettling his informant, and then gave his best space King Lear audition. That here's a guy with a soliloquy about his sacrifices locked and loaded. On some level Luthen is a little bit into being a martyr for the cause. He's a little bit into the dark glamor of being a lone wolf operator pulling morally tarnished strings. He's a little bit into frightening and manipulating his informant! For all the cynicism of what he's saying, he's a little bit enamored with his own self-image as the sort of man who says it, in a way that suggests an inner romantic more than an inner pragmatist. He says he's damned for what he does but there's more furious pride underlying it than self-loathing; in the same breath he's admitting that a tiny piece of him wants a parade.

Which is fascinating and a little unflattering and way more interesting than just a badass character delivering a badass monologue. The characterization here is partly that Luthen is the kind of guy who monologues.

And to give him his due - I also fully believe that he's a very driven and committed man who has sacrificed a lot. Seen in that light, in fact, I think some of his character flaws come into focus in highly sympathetic ways. Ultimately this is a guy with a deep sense of urgency - "terrified the Empire's power will grow beyond the point where we can do anything to stop it," as he says. And sometimes there can be a lot of ego in urgency. It is a special kind of crazy-making to feel you are taking a problem far more seriously than almost everyone around you. It is a weight of responsibility to believe it's on you to fix that problem before it becomes too big to solve. Under those circumstances it's very understandable that Luthen has big responsible student leading the group project energy and a touch of main character syndrome (which is interesting and sort funny, contrasted with Cassian spending much of the story desperately trying to avoid becoming a main character). It takes a certain kind of drive and audacity-verging-on-arrogance to accomplish what Luthen has accomplished. But character flaws are often the flip side of character strengths, and I think a lot of his are tied up here. Sometimes he's a little enamored with his own isolation (he could choose to be more open with fellow rebel leaders like Saw imo). Sometimes he's awfully comfortable instrumentalizing others while insulating himself. He says Imperial arrogance is remarkable, but sometimes he's blind in similar ways - Luthen is almost as surprised as the Imperials by the funeral riot in the final episode. He's spent so much time stage-managing his would-be rebellion from Coruscant that an organic uprising startles him. In his self-appointed position as the lonely string-puller at the top, he maybe has a bit too much fondness for control and not quite enough regard for community (imo it's also kind of telling that there are no actual Aldhanis involved in the heist on Aldhani). As Clem says - sometimes people don't look down the way they should.

All of which are very interesting and human flaws for him to have! And which I do think the show subtly gestures at in the sort of contemplative way he reacts to that riot, and which I'd love to see come into focus more in S2.

[lightyaoigami]

that post about tumblr knowing about the kendrick drake beef being like a remote siberian village is so annoying like i beg of people to find a personality other than being ignorant of major cultural touchstones

[mo-ok]

🎉 Toku x Birthdays 🎉

Day 4 - Chinese Zodiac

🐂 Ox ~ Kuro Kishi Hyuuga 🐂

[siliconforbrains]

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Fandom: Undertale (Video Game) Relationships: Dreamtale Sans | Dream/Killer Sans (Undertale), Implied Cross Sans/Dreamtale Nightmare Sans (Undertale) Characters: Dreamtale Sans | Dream (Undertale), Dreamtale Nightmare Sans (Undertale), Killer Sans (Undertale), Cross Sans (Undertale), Horror Sans (Undertale), Dust Sans (Undertale), Underswap Sans (Undertale), Ink Sans (Undertale) Additional Tags: Star Sanses (Undertale), Bad Sanses | Nightmare's Gang (Undertale), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Red String of Fate, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Character Death, both major and minor, Major Character Undeath, Implied/Referenced Violence, they all get to go a lil feral, as a treat, Reunions, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Dreamtale Sans | Dream Angst, Badass Dreamtale Sans | Dream (Undertale), Dreamtale Sans | Dream Needs a Hug (Undertale), they all do, and they get it, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Post Truce Scenario, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Things Happen Bingo, prompt: shot with an arrow, Alternate Universe - Undertale Multiverse | UTMV (Undertale), Caring Dreamtale Nightmare Sans (Undertale

Summary:

Dream doesn't die in a blinding burst of light. There's no explosion, no noble death, no purpose. One moment, he stands proud in the middle of the battlefield, shining brighter than the sun with his bow cocked and ready to shoot. The next, he's falling backward, quiet, with only a small, surprised gasp leaving his teeth and an arrow pierced between his ribs. Dream is dust before he can even hit the ground. The small army that surrounds them follows soon after, impaled with a thousand dark tendrils as Nightmare's screech fills the air. (Or, there are people in the Multiverse who don't like the idea of a Truce, and try to take matters into their own hands. No one is happy with the consequences.)

For @badthingshappenbingo, prompt "Shot with an Arrow"

[notthestarwar]

the idea i've been rotating in my head this week is a disco elysium inspired post order 66 cody fic.

cody wakes up and remembers nothing. not being a purge trooper, not anything before it. he has to figure out who the hell he is and what the fuck he's supposed to be doing.

the only problem is, he doesnt seem to live a life where its safe to ask questions. and he's got about 10 different people in his head all shouting different warnings, giving him cryptic hints, and telling him information that they think is helpful (none of it is particularly helpful)

as he starts to piece things together, things get even weirder, as nothing he knows adds up. its like he's piecing together two different men. but which one is he?

a key part of this is him uncovering awful things and being like. shit. i really did that? no wonder i made myself forget.

like in disco elysium, the voices in his head are all parts of his shattered psyche. unlike disco elysium, each of them take the form and use the voice of one of codys forgotten brothers, not that he has any idea.

theres a moment where he meets one of his brothers and he's like. what the shit. youre the guy in my head.

theres a scene soon after he wakes up where he walks in on a guy that past him was in the process of torturing and is like. 'buddy, do you know who i am?' its awkward as shit cause the guy is majorly scared of him and cody is really earnest and its just this absurd moment.

[toestalucia]

i miss her (main story)

[chronotopes]

i think the really fucked up thing is that i am so much more forgiving towards this stuff in television and film than in prose. if i watch a tv show and it's got its moments but part of the overall foundation informing its action is kind of sucks i'm like oh this is so interesting. i could analyze this. i could pick this apart. if i read a book with worldbuilding that shaky i'd be like fuck you the gay people who live in my phone do this better and they're not even getting paid and close the book

[scattered-winter]

maybe this is just me being A Bitch (tm) but ,, the fact that every time tk is having the worst time of his life owen is never there to help him through it.....it's either carlos or gwyn or the rest of the 126 but never his own fucking dad..............

[selamat-linting]

i should really hang out with more indo wrestling fans (they actually got other nia jax stans here)

[mogai-sunflowers]

+ i also saw like, transhobby, transjob/carrear, transfashion etc, and like, do- thwy know you can just like, do those things right? Like, just change your fashion, you can hate your job and wish you could be in a dif one you can try dif hobbys, i- i really do not fucking get these people

@gender-mailman

yeah i saw "transredhead" and i almost died laughing cUZ JUST FUCKING DYE YOUR HAIR RED OH MY GOD?????

[rexscanonwife]

This is so fuckin stupid but I'm watching a dumb tf2 video w like the ai generated voice thingy where the mercs fight over which Star Wars to watch for movie night and Scout said the prequels and I was like "why is he literally me" and when Heavy tried to tell him it sucks he went off about how Anakin's character development is the most gut wrenchingly tragic in the whole series AND I'M EEPY TIRED BUT LIKE MAN WHY DOES SCOUT GET ME 😭😭😭 THIS IS WHY HE'S MY BROTHER I LOVE HIM SM

[domoriu]

Pookie bear if you ever get the time can you recommend your favorite fics that you’ve read🙏🏿

oh i love this question… also just a warning its 95% haechan and mark lee fics 😭 i can do another part to this too if yall want 🤫 maybe with like bnd fics ? or enhypen or something idk just lmk

kiwis fic recs !!

pussy fiend - haechan // u guys dont even understand how much i love this fic. its been 2 and a half years and im still here. like i re read it every other month. i remember exactly where i was when i read it too. like oh my god its so fucking good 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 domjaehyun you will always be famous to me please dont ever die

real talk - mark // wow. 5 stars no notes. yes.

risk it all - haechan // mhmmm 😋😋

kiss you right now - mark // also super good… like wowie….

sure thing - haechan // yeah… yeah. 😭

my words, your thoughts - haechan // so beautifully written omg… like i honestly forgot there would even be smut at the end cuz i was so invested in the story its just so good. i re read it recently and just yeah.

first love - soobin // SUCH A GOOD SERIES i loved reading this so much when it came out i still re read it sometimes… tooooooo good

mine too - haechan ft. jaehyun // really good… recently re read it and its still so good…

untitled - markhyuck // my two ults. yes. so good. fantastic give me 14 of them right now.

the boy - sunwoo // ONE OF MY FAVORITES. LITERALLY SO GOOD AND JUST UGH. LIKE RHE BUILDUP TO THEM GETTING TOGETHER. YES.

cream of the crop - changkyun // i dont usually read for monsta x but this fic has had me in a chokehold for YEARS it still does like i dont play about this fic oh my god… please

gelato - mark // the yearning… yes… like oh yeah. just yeah.

i definitely have a lot more…. literally just scroll through @haechanfart where i reblog a lot of my favorites (its mainly haechan and mark lee but theres like 4 enhypen fics in there from like 2022 if you scroll down enough 😭)

[gojosprettyprincess]

A/n wrote this at 5am so I apologize for any errors! <3 also it's poorly written but I hope you guys still like it.

Yk what fucking drives me crazy the most?

Sweet innocent looking men that treats you so well, I'm talking like he writes you cute poems, follows you around everywhere like a lost puppy and gets all flustered and shy when you want to go to Victoria secret to get new bras and panties but he still goes in with you anyways with his hand clinging onto your arm instead of just leaving because anything for you!!. The way his face melts into your hand whenever you'd cup his cheeks, looking at you with those innocent puppy dog eyes then he places a gentle kiss on your hand. Like he's just such a cutie you know? He'd let you do his makeup and let you baby him and feed him. Literally just anything you want he'd do it and lets you do. Whatever makes you happy.

And that same sweet innocent guy would have you against the wall, his strong arms holding you up, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he slams his hips against you, each thrust pushing you higher and higher against the wall as he let you drop back down on his fat cock after, and he's even noisier than you are, loud whimpers and groans escaping his lips as he stares at your face, feeling satisfied and happy that his thick cock is the reason for your cute fucked out expression and sweet moans that are like music to his ears. Your nails leaving long red marks on his shoulders and back that he's sooo proud of having, he loves it when you do that, it's like a reward to him for making you feel good. His big strong arms pressing your legs back even further up so your knees raised up by your shoulders, giving him a deeper angle as his cock brushed against the right spots inside you that made you see stars to the point where you can't even think straight.

"O-oh fuck! baby, need you to cum ple-ase, fuck! please, wanna see you make a mess on my cock please I'm begging you princess", his voice cracks as he whimpers it out to you. The sweet and innocent needy tone in his voice compared to his rough pounding like he fucking hates you and had to prove it was all it took for you to cream around him, nails digging deeply into his back as he's practically making out with your neck, kissing and sucking on the tender flesh, leaving a bunch of purple and red marks that's definitely going to make him all fluttered and shy when he sees them in a few hours, remembering about what happened earlier. His eyes rolling back when he feels you coating his cock with your cream and dripping all over him.

"Ngh! Oh fuck, Tha-nk you! Thank you so much, gon-na cum!". He cries out. Your toes curling as he sped up his pace, hammering his cock in a reckless pace into your poor cunt, his thick cock head kissing your cervix with each one of his deep thrusts as he greedily chases his orgasm. He made sure to have his cock so deep inside of you to the hilt so he can fill you up full of his cum as he painted your tight walls white, thick ropes of cum spurting out of his cock, stuffing your hungry cunt full as he lets out a shaky groan while planting his face in your neck. He starts breathing heavily, panting against your neck as you felt his cock twitching inside of you. And you know what? He slowly pulls it out of you, being sooo careful that he doesn't spill any cum as he grips on your thighs even tighter before getting on his knees and eating all of his cum out of your filthy stuffed cunt like the good boy he is, after all its his mess and well, yours also but he doesn't mind! he just wants to make it easier for you to clean you know? :(

Choso, Izuku, Armin,Yuuta, Zentisu, Kirishima, Yuuji, Kaneki, Toge.