#liebe spur

[ramon-1363]

Irgendwann kommt eine Zeit in deinem Leben, in der du entscheiden musst, ob du eine Seite weiter blättern willst oder das Buch für immer schließt..

[daughterofhecata]

*über Mathilda*

"Meinst du, sie kann Gedanken lesen?", fragte Peter.

"Hoffentlich nicht", meinte Justus bange.

[justusjonas]

art trade mit @bobandrews 🥰 wir haben eine szene aus "die spur der toten" zu einem comic gemacht und ich durfte für eins der panel lunas tolles lineart ausmalen! die anderen zwei findet ihr auf ihrem blog ❤️ unter dem cut ist der originalausschnitt aus dem buch und bob & justus weil 🥺

[tacticalprincess]

a/n i need him in ways that wouldve gotten me lobotomized in the 50s…

himbo!könig wanted your first time together to be special. after all the months of work he put in getting you to take him seriously, all of his dumb attempts at courting you, he wasn’t going to fumble his chances with you now.

he’s usually pretty confident in himself, almost to the point of delusion, but something about you makes him so nervous, and he can’t wrap his head around someone like you genuinely being interested in a goofy guy like him :( that’s why he misses all of the opportunities you give him to fuck you, always taking your hints and attempts at seducing him the wrong way…

“it’s so hot in here, köni.” “are you getting sick, liebchen? should i turn the air on?” “no, i think i’m wearing too many clothes…” “…you don’t look overdressed to me.”

at some point you start to question if he actually does want you in that way. but the way even the slightest touch from you has him popping boners is enough to shake you out of those doubts. everything about you seems to turn him on. he’s convinced you were plucked straight from his wettest dreams, and he can’t stand to be in close proximity to you for too long without being affected. but he thinks he hides it well enough— always covering the proof of his arousal with a subtle pillow over his lap whenever you’re around.

of course he wants to make the move, but he wants to do it properly. it happens the night he takes you to a small town carnival. he planned on kissing you on top of the ferris wheel, but he unfortunately surpassed the weight limit. instead he holds your hand on the rollercoasters and you feed each other fair food. he insists on stopping at every game until he’s won you too many stuffed animals for you to carry and eventually you’re forced to leave.

he’s shaking in his boots by the time you get back to his place, tripping over the mess on his floor and stumbling over his words. sensing his hesitancy, you’re the one to lead him to his room, your hand wrapped around his large finger.

“are you sure, maus? we don’t have to, i have DVDs–”

“shut up and fuck me, köni.” you huff, already fully naked and exposed on his bed. “please.”

he plans to take it slow, he really does. getting the chance to please you, to be let inside your hot body for the first time, is a privilege he doesn’t take lightly. he wants you both to savor it, he has to make it good for you :(

instead, he absolutely loses himself the moment his fat, pulsing cock sinks into your gummy cunt. he goes full caveman, your headboard slamming against the wall with the force of his thrusts for all your poor neighbors to hear :( all thoughts leave him when he’s sheathed inside of you except for how perfect your sopping pussy feels around him, borderline animalistic as he uses your smaller body as a fleshlight. the sounds of his heavy balls smacking against your ass accompanied by your pretty whines and moans only spur him on.

he fucks you in missionary so it’s more intimate, but there’s nothing romantic about the way he’s mounting you. you thank god for making you flexible as he’s pushing your knees up to your ears, seemingly trying to push his cock deeper than your small cunny has room for, stretching your poor cunt past its limit. you swear you can feel him all the way in your stomach, mushroom tip bruising your cervix with each thrust.

you don’t even notice you’re sobbing until he does. “are you okay, liebe? does it hurt?” he asks through heavy pants. “fuck, i’m sorry. i don’t think i can stop myself, you just— you feel so fucking good. you’re so… warm… squeezing me so tight. just- just hang in there for me, ja?”

your brain can’t work for long enough to form words, rough thrusts drawing nothing but high pitched staccato “uh-uh-uh”’s from your throat. you’re drunk on the feeling of his thick cock splitting you open, the way his heavy body squishes yours, barricading you in so you’re completely engulfed by him. his hairy stomach ruts against your sensitive, puffy clitty until you’re clenching around him, your sudden orgasm draining the cum out of his tight balls. “so good. fuck, you’re so perfect. best pussy i’ve ever felt.” he fucks you through the high, mindlessly overstimulating you both until you have to physically push him off of you.

you might’ve created a monster…

[ninibeingdelulu]

His empress ✧

Plot: Because of Michael’s busy life, he barely have any time for you.

A/N: Loved Kaiser from day one , like he’s literally my bf. Also, I made him a little poetic so idk if it’s good😓.

The apartment doorslammed with enough force to rattle the windows. Michael stormed inside, cleats leaving muddy tracks across the hardwood in his wake.

His sharply angled features were locked in a ferocious scowl, blue eyes blazing with frustration. Another grueling training had pushed his limits to the brink once more.

You glanced up from the kitchen, unable to mask your wince at the unrepentant mess he left behind.

"Welcome home," you ventured in a measured tone, knowing his volatile moods all too well.

Michael barely acknowledged you. Instead he ripped off his muddied jersey in an angry flourish and hurled it aside, seeking to strip away the stench of another dissatisfying day.

Your eyes followed his toned form from behind the marble island as he stomped towards the bathroom. His shoulder muscles were knotted ropes of tension beneath that porcelaine skin.

You knew it was intentional, feeling your steady gaze tracking him like a hunting falcon.

That was just Michael's way - everything was a crucible, an excuse to exude that overwhelming dominance he so craved.

But today the display did little to spur your usual fluttering admiration. A different rawness simmered in your chest as you watched him disappear into the bathroom without a backwards glance.

The spray of running water filled the strained silence in Michael's wake. You stood there motionless, mulling over the painful sting festering deeper each day.

Though his ferocious commitment to training and perfecting his craft was legendary, lately it had consumed him to an almost alienating degree. Including from you.

How long had it been since you last shared an intimate moment together?

Or even heard that cocksure voice murmur sweet maddening praises that used to set you aflame from the inside out?

Those precious instances had dwindled to near non-existence as Michael became more obsessed, more distant, more...unseeing of the person he'd once crowned his devoted empress.

The bathroom door creaked open, steam billowing out with Michael's emergence in fresh sweats. Without forethought, the question slipped from your lips in a dull murmur.

"Do you even care about me anymore?"

His hand paused where he scrubbed the towel through those signature bedhead spikes. Sea-glass eyes flicked over to pin you with an owlish blink.

"What?"

You swallowed, turning to face him fully now that his defenses were stripped bare.

"Sometimes I wonder if you ever really loved me at all... or if I was just another passing conquest for the 'great emperor' to claim and discard."

The words hung in the air with damning finality.

Michael froze, hands falling away from his blonde and blue hair. For several beats his expression was unreadable, marbled handsomeness set in an impenetrable mask.

Then his sculpted brows slashed downwards in undisguised hurt.

You shrank back instinctively when he stalked towards you with quickened strides, expecting more flaring tempers to clash.

But instead of the storm you braced for, gentle calloused palms cradled your face with trembling reverence.

Michael searched your gaze with those kaleidoscope depths, as if reacquainting himself with the woman he'd unforgivably taken for granted.

"You..." he started roughly before clearing his throat. "Never think that, liebe. Not even for a moment."

A shuddery inhale filled Michael's broad chest as one hand drifted down to splay over your thundering heart. His touch was feather-light, worshipful in its tenderness.

"You are the single greatest treasure I've ever had the honor of possessing, my shining star among the world's dim masses. More divine than any earthly jewel or victory on the pitch."

You felt your breath hitch at the unbridled ardor shining through those captivating blue eyes. Michael's voice dropped to an intimate baritone murmur that caressed over you like velvet.

"I am an arrogant, obsessive fool in so many ways - but my absolute worship of you is one truth I'll never stray from. You make me an emperor worthy of respect, make me burn with desire to prove my worth to stand at your side.I-"

He cut himself, his thumb brushing over the plump swell of your bottom lip reverently.

"It is my gravest sin to ever make you question how utterly you reign over my soul, meine liebe. I’m sorry if I’ve been distant these last weeks, I just had a lot in mind with the upcoming games. Forgive me if I made you feel l didn’t care about you."

You were rendered utterly speechless at the searing depth behind Michael's heartfelt confession.

A powerful tremor rippled down your frame, threatening to melt you into an incoherent puddle.

Before you could trust yourself to speak, he sealed his words with a ravaging kiss that blazed away any remaining traces of doubt.

His hands tangled in your hair, keeping you molded flush to his solid frame as if you were the single tether anchoring him to this world.

When the need for air finally parted your joined mouths, Michael bored his eyes into yours with hypnotic intensity.

A familiar smolder flickered to life in their whirling depths - a predatory allure reserved only for his empress.

"Tonight," he rasped against your swollen lips, "allow me to worship you again and again, until the nights where you felt alone disappear from your mind, mein juwel..."

[kleine-joost]

Sweet Dream 18+ MDNI

Ski Aggu x AFAB!Reader

WARNINGS: THIS IS SMUT!! THIS IS RPF!! IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ THAT JUST MOVE ON PLS AND THX uuhh also piv sex, unprotected sex, a little masturbation but its light

a/n: this is due to @spentandpent 's horny ramblings, thank u bb xx

WC: 1.4k

You woke up discovering that the fatigue hadn’t left your bones overnight like you hoped. You let out a groan into the quiet, still room and looked to your left. August was still asleep beside you, his hair awry and his lips parted ever so slightly, letting out tiny snores on every exhale.

You recalled the dream you had just before you woke up. A memory? Sort of. More like an amalgamation of all the best parts of the man next to you. His hands, his big hands, his arms, strong arms, the thin spread of blond hair across his body… Your core ached for him the more you thought of him and what he’d do to you. You were practically drooling lost in the daydream.

You body was beginning to feel warmer and warmer, your skin sheened with a light layer of sweat as you breathing became more and more laboured. You couldn’t stop yourself from bucking your hips for any kind of friction between you and your underwear.

Without thought, one of your hands slowly began caressing your body. Over your thighs and hips, stomach and stopping briefly the massage your breast, your core was pulsing with how worked up you had gotten yourself. 

You slipped one hand into your panties, gently stroking over your lips. You sighed, you wished it was your boyfriend’s hand, but you knew he needed the sleep. 

You pressed two fingers onto your clit, clenching your jaw to keep quiet and pressing your head back into your pillow as far as you could for some kind of release from the pleasure.

Gently, you began to stroke back and forth, back and forth, collecting the slick from your hole as you went. There was something spurring you one, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on it, perhaps it was the haste of it, you felt like a teenager just trying to get off as quick as possible, or maybe it was the fact that the object of your desire was laying right next to you and none the wiser to what you were doing to yourself.

You couldn’t help the strangled groan that erupted from your throat as you slipped in the two fingers, now slick and slippery. It wasn’t quite enough, you were used to…larger hands…but you’d just have to make do. You slowly pumped in and out of your cunt, desperately chasing the high you needed so bad. 

You didn’t realise you had an audience, Aggu woke to the sounds of the mattresses springs and your heavy breathing. He watched as you groped your chest, pumping in and out faster. He could tell just how needy you were, a whining, blubbering mess.

“Need some help, Schatz?” His voice was still croaky from just waking up. You jumped at the sound, slowing your hand and looking at him.

He had a look in his eye you couldn’t place, but the smirk across his mouth told you everything you needed to know. You silently nodded.

“Here, let me…” He shuffled closer to you, grabbing your hand and removing it from your underwear.

You watched in awe as he pulled your hand up to his mouth, letting your fingers lie on his tongue as his lips encased them. His tongue circled your fingertips, lapping up all the slick still on them. You practically could’ve cum right then as he moaned at the taste of you, eyes closed and fully treasuring it.

You slipped your fingers from between his lips, core still trembling.

“P-please, baby…” You whispered, face pressing into his shoulder.

“Please what? What do you want, Liebe?” He always was such a tease.

You groaned in frustration, hooking one leg over his body. “Please help me cum, Baby, I need you.”

He smiled, running one hand up your leg, resting it just below your ass. “How do you want it?”

Your mind was almost too overstimulated with the thoughts of Aggu. You stuttered for a moment. He gently placed a hand on your head, smoothing down your hair and giving you a quiet ‘hmm?’.

“Wanna ride you,” you answered in a quiet tone, your voice so timid he thought you’d just about shatter.

In a brief second, he’d pushed you to his chest and rolled onto his back so you were straddling his hips. He placed deliberate, wet kisses down your neck and onto your shoulder and roughly kneaded the fat of your ass. You could feel he was already half-hard, rubbing against your folds.

You palmed him through his boxers, eliciting a devilish moan that sent shockwaves through your chest as he continued to suck bruises across your tits.

You were feeling lightheaded, you could barely think. All you wanted was August.

Your hand slowly made its way under his waistband. His skin was hot, burning even, and you could feel his muscles recoil from your sudden touch. You softly ran your hand up and down his length, spreading his precum as you went. Before your hand could cramp, you removed it from his boxers. He tried to let out a groan at the loss of touch, but you cut him off with a gentle kiss. 

“Please fuck me,” you whispered in a tone, that had it been from anyone but you, he would’ve found pathetic, but from you it just made him even harder.

You both quickly shimmied out of your pajamas–well, underwear, it was a hot summer night the night before and your room could not get cool enough to warrant any actual clothes–throwing them somewhere in the expanse of the room, before you returned to straddling him.

You hovered above him on your knees as he rubbed his pulsing, pink tip against your slick. You tentatively lowered down on his cock, stretching your hole out with every inch you sunk further and further down.

He softly whispered in your ear as you adjust to his girth, so quiet you can’t actually make out what he’s saying but the sentiment is enough to get you through.

After a few moments of breathing, you began to move. Just slightly at first, rocking back and forth for any friction you could get. Aggu barely blinked, watching your face contort in the effort it took to move with your tired legs.

You tried to move up and down his cock as best you could, only the sounds of skin could be heard in the room. But it wasn’t enough for you to get even close to that high you desperately craved, and Aggu knew it.

“Here, Hase, let me help you.” He sat up, planting his hands firmly on your hips and helping you move up and down.

With the newfound speed you couldn’t help the small mews that left your mouth as he hit that spot inside of you that made you see stars. He began to meet you halfway, driving upwards, until each thrust had you breathless and babbling.

The air in the room was hot, and your skin quickly became sticky. You were so lost in the feeling, you didn’t even realise your hand had involuntarily snaked to your clit, rubbing messy circles and increasing the pleasure tenfold.

You were hurtling towards your orgasm that you wanted so badly. And if Aggu’s groans were anything to go by, he wasn’t far off either. It became a race to the finish line, though more as if you were on the same team. 

The slapping of skin and deep moans revolved around the room in a cacophony of ecstasy as you felt all the muscles in your stomach snap and your skin gain goosebumps all over, gushing over Aggu’s cock.

You could just about hear him over the ringing in your ears as he continued to plough into you, strangled breaths and beads of sweat running down his face and neck. “Almost there, Schatz…Almost there…”

You gently bounced to meet his thrusts, your pussy overstimulated and pulsing, which only spurred him on more.

With one final thrust, he slowed. His eyes closed and mouth agape, you watched him as he released into you.

He caught his breath and looked at you, a dumbfound smile on his face. “You’re so perfect, Schatz.”

You let out a giggle from deep within your chest, slowly sliding off of him and laying back down on the mattress. You tried to ignore the feeling of the mixture of both of your fluids slowly dripping out of you–that was a problem you could fix later. For now, you could just lay together in the warmth of the room.

[shojizbae]

Just take yourself back to 2006

Tom Kaulitz x Reader

It's the later days of MySpace and the early days of YouTube, and Tokio Hotel is starting to take off. Fan girls are really beginning to amass, and the world getting very familiar with Tokio Hotel. One young German girl had since seen the band and their aesthetics and decided to change her appearance almost entirely. One walk down to the convenience store later, she locked herself in the bathroom for the night. She pulled an all-nighter, and when she emerged from her bedroom the following day, her mother jumped at the sight.

Gone was the good little Jewish girl she had raised. Drugstore eyeliner was coating your waterline. Different locks of your hair were bleached or had been dyed neon pink. Your once sensible collared shirts and khaki pants had been exchanged for a pair of low-rise bootcut jeans you accidentally bought when out with your great aunt. A lack of cool bras was exchanged for a leopard print bikini layered under a white camisole, which you had tied around your waist. You had taken a sharpie to your nails, and your lips were drenched in strawberry glaze lip gloss.

"Oh, good morning, liebe!" your mom quivers behind the batter bowl. "Do you want pancakes?"

"Nein, I'm going to the mall with some friends." you look disinterestedly at your pink razor. Just then, your mom notices that you're dragging a bag of clothes behind you

"What are you doing with those?"

"I'm not going to wear them anymore, so I will sell them to one of those charity shops. Yeah, and I think I will go to the music store, so can I have 50 euros?"

"Why don't you ask your father?"

"Ugh, fine." You sling the trash bag over your shoulder, and your mother is not happy when you return with a hundred euros in your hand. God dammit, you have your dad in your back pocket, your mom remembers. You walk into town, sell your old clothes, get another hundred euros, and then take your new look for a spin. The bus ticket only eats up two of your euros, and when you get to the mall, you instantly grab the attention of some emos.

They take you under their skinny wings and drag you around Hot Topic. You're dragged through Victoria's Secret, and the girls show you the most natural push-up bras in the subtlest shades of neon magenta and bedazzled turquoise. They show you the matching G-strings and outfit you with all the best.

All your brand new best friends take the bus home with you and show you all the best music. Your parents aren't home, so you drag four random kids to your apartment. Your parents were horrified when they got home. Sure, it was natural to experiment at your age, and sure, 15 was a little old to still have horse posters up in your bedroom, but this was a real change.

Posters of men in tight leather pants with piercings covered your bedroom walls. Your sensible synagogue clothes had been smushed in the back of your closet to make room for miniskirts and ripped-up band tees. Your father nearly passed out when he saw that not only was your tongue pierced but also your eyebrow on your precious face? When they asked you what spurred on this change, all they got was

“What? I’m not your little girl anymore.” Your new friend may have overstayed their welcome, playing loud, trashy metal and eating all your snacks, but it was with you when Jax, a tall, spindly emo with purple highlights, said he would teach you how to make out with someone. You were just barely getting to second base when your mom walked in with a plate of carrots and hummus and sharply kicked all the kids out.

The next few months were a living hell of wresting you out of baggy jeans so your parents wouldn’t be kicked out of Temple. For that, you would abide because you did enjoy faith and your relationship with god, but as soon as you got back to the apartment, you would smear makeup on and practice with your new shitty Yamaha.

Getting more immersed in alternatives styles and culture you started posting covers of Metallica and eventually Tokio Hotel. Your covers start gaining traction some for your musical finesse and others for your looks. Accidentally you get really famous in almost a few months. When you start making money off your live shows, your mom takes over as your manager. She didn't like her 9-5 anyway.

When your gigs start making enough money to pay the bills for your dad, he lightens up on his disdain for your art. Slowly, you begin jotting down poetry, posting short videos of you noodling on your old acoustic guitar. Slowly, you sign a one-album contract with Universal Music Germany. While you juggle school and micro-fame, you spend every weekend at their recording studio.

It's one warm May Saturday when you meet him. You're both reaching for the same bottle of Coca-Cola when you brush his hands.

"Oh, entschuldigung!' you chime and continue reaching for the glass bottle.

"Entschuldigung," his slightly deeper (although still mid-pubescent) voice echoes as he reaches for the bottle. Your hands wrap around the neck as you stand together. Twin eyes flick from the bottle to each other. You relinquish the bottle and take a step back.

"Oh, I just wanted some soda." You offer kind of weakly

"Yeah, it was getting hot in the recording booth." He replies

"Oh, you're an artist. I thought you were some spoiled singer kid." You bend over to look for a different soda in the refrigerator and find that all that's left is carbonated lemonade. You ignore the gut feeling that the boy with your soda is checking your ass out. "So, are you a soloist?" You crack off the lid and flick it into a nearby trashcan

"No," I'm the guitarist at Tokio Hotel." You choke on your drink. "You don't know who I am?"

"You're Tom Kaulitz?" Your voice cracks as you point at him. You give yourself a chance to study his face, the lip piercing, the dreads, the eyes. He looks more normal than his usual promotional photos.

"You've probably heard this before, but I'm a really big fan." His face shows a wash of emotions before he settles on a bit of a snide smile.

"Really?" He steps a little closer, turning up the charm

"So are you some rich spoiled little nepo-girl. Usually, they make pretty hot babies." with his soda at his waist, he lifts your chin to look him in the eyes. "I mean, you're pretty hot, so you must be." you lean against the wall and tilt your hips toward his.

"Nein, I'm an artist. You're not too bad looking yourself, Tom Kaulitz from Tokio Hotel." You slowly take the Coca-Cola from his hand and take a sip. He gulps at the sight of you holding eye contact as you swallow. Slightly, you hand him back the bottle and duck out of his hold. He watches in awe as you strut to your recording booth. Tom rakes a hand down his face as he watches your ass move, and his band members join him in the break room.

"Who's the babe?' Gustav slings an arm over his shoulder

"My future wife." Tom holds back from a whimper exiting his mouth

[ramon-1363]

Manchmal vermisst du die Menschen, die in deinem Leben gewesen, aber sie sind nicht mehr die gleichen wie vorher, vielleicht ist das normal und du kannst dein Leben weiterführen, aber tief im Inneren willst du sie und das ist eine schmerzhafte Wahrheit ...

[lenisoldi]

Kinktober '24

Joe Liebgott

Day 1 - Against a wall

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex

Masterlist

It was late at night when Joe noticed you in the bar. You sat in a corner of the bar, sipping on your beer, and just stared into the space. Liebgott had spotted you sitting alone in the corner, he raised an eyebrow and walked over to you with a half smile. He sat himself down in the seat next to you, taking a sip of his own beer before speaking up.

„..You look lost and new. Don't think I've seen you before, what's your name, doll?” 

„Doll?” You raised an eyebrow and looked at him. „You don't like the name? Then tell me your real name, doll.” A slight smirk appeared on your face, and you looked at him. 

„I'm Y/N.” „I'm Joe, nice to meet you.” He smiled and finished his drink. „So, Y/N, what are you doing here, all alone.” You didn't answer, but just drank your beer. „I know what you want.”  „What do I want?” Joe asked. „Me. My pussy.” He chuckled softly and nodded. „Ok, I guess we can skip the talking phase and get to the important things.” Joe grinned.

„I am not a whore, Joe.” You turned your face toward him. „Oh, I know, honey. You don't look like a whore... So, Y/N, what do you think about coming with me tonight?” „Like I said, Joe, I am not a whore, you can't just take me with you.” „Darling, I think you misunderstand something here. A whore is getting paid for having sex, I'm not paying you.” 

You scoffed and shook your head a bit. „Fine, then I'm not a whore, but why should I go with you anyway?” „Maybe because you just can't resist me.” Joe winked and stood up. His hand grabbed yours, and pulled you out of the pub. 

„Where are we going?” „My place.”

Some minutes later, the two of you were in his room. You couldn't really remember how he could make you kiss him, but here you were, pressed against the door, his body weight against you, and his tongue in your mouth.

„Fuck, Joe, what are you doing with me?” You moaned as he picked you up, and you wrapped your legs around his waist. Liebgott threw you on the bed. „This is going to be the best fucking night in your life.” Joe said, and opened your dress before throwing it on the ground. "You're fucking gorgeous," he murmured, leaning forward to press a soft kiss on your neck. Then, as if remembering himself, Joe's playful demeanor returned. He waggled his eyebrows and gave you a crooked smile. He reached down to unbuckle his pants, letting them fall to the floor. His boxers followed, and then his shirt. 'She's going to be the death of me. How can someone be so beautiful?' Joe thought, feeling a familiar surge of excitement. He loved this, loved the thrill of it all, loved the way your body responded to his touch. But most importantly, he loved making you feel good, loved seeing you lose yourself in pleasure.

Lieb freed you from your panties and threw them on the floor; the same with your bra. Then he picked you up again, and just seconds later, you felt the cold wall against your back. You let out a moan and let your head fall against the wall as he kissed you and left dark marks on your neck. „Joe, I need you.” She moaned, nearly begged, against his lips. That was all Joe needed. He slid into her completely, letting out a loud groan. His grip on your hips tightened as he picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent. „Jesus, you feel so fucking incredible.” He groaned, his forehead resting against yours as he stared into your eyes. Each moan you let out spurred him on, made him want to give you everything you needed, to show you just how much he desired you. His fingers dug into your skin as he held you in place, using the wall as leverage to drive deeper. Joe loved how your nails raked down his back, how your body clung to his, how you met him thrust for thrust.

He could feel your orgasm building, could see it in your pupils, and how your breath caught in your throat. With a final, powerful thrust, he pushed you over the edge, his name ripping from your lips in a scream of pleasure. As your walls contracted around him, Joe couldn't hold back any longer. He came hard, his entire body shuddering as he filled you up, his release echoing yours. For a few moments, they remained like that, bodies entwined, hearts racing. Then, with a satisfied sigh, Joe pulled out and lowered you gently to the floor, still holding you close, so your legs wouldn't give up, trying to catch his breath. „Fuck, darlin', that was incredible.” He whispered against your hair, and you could feel his grin.

[bibastibootz]

Happy Birthday!

Es klingelt an der Tür. Thorsten seufzt und schält sich vom Sofa. Auf dem Couchtisch vor ihm steht eine halbleere Tasse Tee, die den regnerischen Tag ein bisschen angenehmer macht. Auf dem Weg zur Haustür muss er lächeln. Vielleicht ist es ja–

„Sebastian“, sagt er zu dem Mann, der vor seiner Tür steht und dessen Haare nass auf seiner Stirn kleben. Trotz des kalten Regens, durch den er sich hierher gekämpft hat, erwidert er Thorstens Lächeln. Seine Hände hat er verheißungsvoll hinter dem Rücken verschränkt. „Was machst du denn hier?“, fragt Thorsten.

Sebastian zuckt mit den Schultern. „Nur, weil wir heute nicht arbeiten müssen, kann ich doch trotzdem vorbeikommen und dir zum Geburtstag gratulieren, oder?“

„Klar.“

„Also“, sagt Sebastian und es sieht etwas unbeholfen aus, wie er da steht. Wie bestellt und nicht abgeholt, seine Lederjacke ein paar Brauntöne dunkler. „Happy Birthday!“, ruft er, eine kleine Spur zu laut, sodass jetzt auch Thorstens Nachbarn wissen müssen, dass er heute Geburtstag hat.

„Danke“, antwortet Thorsten und kann sich das Grinsen kaum verkneifen. Der Anblick von einem nassen, aber lächelnden Sebastian erfüllt ihn mit einer unsagbaren Freude – wie eigentlich immer, aber heute eben besonders. „Willst du reinkommen? Unter dir bildet sich ja schon eine Pfütze.“

Das lässt Sebastian sich nicht zweimal sagen. „Ich dachte schon, du fragst nie“, sagt er und zwängt sich an Thorsten vorbei in den engen Flur. Dabei lässt er seinen Rücken immer zur Wand gedreht. Er fällt fast um, als er sich dann die Schuhe von den Füßen streift und an seinen Socken hängenbleibt.

Thorsten schließt die Tür und beobachtet Sebastians Balanceakt ganz genau. „Was wird das, wenn es fertig ist?“

„Geduld, alter Mann!“

Thorsten hebt seinen Zeigefinger. Lachen muss er trotzdem. „Vorsicht, oder du gehst gleich wieder.“

„Wäre doch schade um den Kuchen“, antwortet Sebastian und beugt sich mit einem Grinsen zur Seite, damit er endlich das hervorholen kann, was er die ganze Zeit hinter seinem Rücken versteckt hat. Zum Vorschein kommt ein Teller mit einem kleinen runden Kuchen, der mit glänzender Schokolade überzogen und in Klarsichtfolie eingepackt wurde. „Du magst doch Schokokuchen, oder?“

Thorsten nickt. „Ich liebe Schokokuchen und das weißt du sehr wohl.“

„Ganz genau.“ Sebastian hebt seine Augenbrauen und wackelt ein bisschen mit dem Kuchenteller vor sich, bis Thorsten ihm den Kuchen endlich abnimmt. Dann hängt er seine triefende Jacke auf und streicht sich ein paar Mal durch das strähnige Haar. Er sieht jetzt zwar aus wie glattgeleckt, aber das ist besser als kalte Regentropfen, die ihm ständig in die Augen laufen. Mit einem zufriedenen Lächeln folgt er Thorsten schließlich ins Wohnzimmer, breitet eine Wolldecke auf dem Sofa aus und setzt sich wie selbstverständlich hin. Hoffentlich trocknet seine Hose schnell.

„Möchtest du einen Kaffee oder Tee oder was anderes?“, fragt Thorsten, als er noch einmal Richtung Küche verschwindet.

„Tee.“

„Alles klar“, ruft Thorsten aus der Küche, gefolgt von dem Klirren von Porzellan und dem aufbauenden Rauschen eines Wasserkochers.

Sebastian lehnt sich zurück und lässt seinen Blick durch das Wohnzimmer wandern. Es ist alles aufgeräumt, so wie immer. Und es sieht so ganz und gar nicht nach Geburtstag aus. Vielleicht hätte er ein paar Luftballons und Luftschlangen mitbringen sollen. Nächstes Mal, denkt er sich.

Nach ein paar Minuten trägt Thorsten zwei dampfende Tassen herein und stellt sie auf dem Couchtisch ab. Dann holt er noch zwei kleine Teller, zwei Kuchengabeln und ein scharfes Messer. Als er sich neben Sebastian auf das Sofa setzt, wendet er sich direkt Sebastian zu.

„Schön, dass du da bist“, sagt er nach einem Moment Stille, so als hätte er erst nach den richtigen Worten suchen müssen.

Sebastian lächelt und hält kurz Thorstens Blick, bevor er zu seinen Händen runterguckt. „Ich, äh“, sagt er und greift ein zweites Mal hinter seinen Rücken. Als er eine kleine Geschenkrolle mit Schleife hervorholt, runzelt Thorsten die Stirn.

„Wo hast du das denn jetzt hergeholt?“

„Frag lieber nicht.“ Sebastian zupft die plattgedrückte Schleife noch einmal zurecht und überreicht Thorsten dann das Geschenk. „Mach einfach auf.“

Mit einem etwas skeptischen Blick öffnet Thorsten die Schleife und legt das Band auf dem Tisch ab. Dann reißt er vorsichtig das Geschenkpapier auf und entfaltet den aufgerollten Zettel, der zum Vorschein kommt.

Sebastian starrt ganz gebannt auf das ausgepackte Geschenk in Thorstens Händen. „Du meintest letztens, dass du mehr Kultur schnuppern möchtest. Und da dachte ich mir–“

„Dass ein Musicalbesuch perfekt wäre“, beendet Thorsten den Satz, als er erkannt hat, was er gerade in den Händen hält – ein Musicalticket.

„Genau.“

Thorsten guckt sich das Ticket an, das sich etwas widerspenstig immer wieder zusammenrollen will. „Das ist ja schon nächstes Wochenende“, kommentiert er.

„Wir haben da keinen Dienst, also hatte ich gehofft, dass wir–“

„Wir?“, wiederholt Thorsten und blickt von dem Geschenk auf.

Sebastian nickt. „Du musst da nicht allein hingehen, ich hab mir auch eine Karte geholt.“

„Achso. Kein ganz so selbstloses Geschenk, hm?“ Thorsten schmunzelt und tippt mit dem Ticket ein paar Mal gegen seine Fingerspitzen. „Ich muss aber gestehen, mir sagt der Titel gar nichts.“

Sebastian wedelt mit seiner Hand in der Luft. „Irgendwas mit Vampiren.“

„Ach ne!“ Thorsten lacht und rollt mit den Augen. „So viel verrät mir ja allein schon der Titel.“

Sebastian zuckt mit den Schultern und greift nach seiner Tasse Tee. „Maja meinte auf jeden Fall, dass es super ist. Und ich vertrau ihr da voll und ganz. Sie meinte, dass es auch dir gefallen wird und sie wünscht uns ganz viel Spaß. Soll wohl ganz lustig sein.“

„Na dann“, sagt Thorsten und legt das Ticket auf dem Couchtisch ab. „Schöne Idee. Danke dir.“

„Gerne.“ Sebastians Wangen werden ein bisschen warm, als er Thorstens Lächeln erwidert. Ihm liegt noch etwas auf der Zunge, also pult er nervös an seinem Daumen herum, bevor er es endlich rausbekommt. „Wir können davor ja auch noch etwas essen gehen“, sagt er schließlich.

„Gerne.“ Thorstens Augen beginnen zu funkeln, als sein Lächeln noch breiter wird.

Sebastian legt seinen Kopf schief. „Oder wir gehen danach noch etwas trinken.“

„Oder beides“, schlägt Thorsten vor.

„Oder beides“, wiederholt Sebastian und kann es dieses Mal nicht verstecken, dass er rot wird. Thorstens warmes Lächeln würde er am liebsten in seine Hosentasche stecken, damit er es immer bei sich hat.

Dann räuspert Thorsten sich und dreht sich in Richtung Couchtisch. „Jetzt erstmal ein Stück Kuchen?“

„Unbedingt.“ Sebastian schiebt einen Teller zu Thorsten und zieht den anderen näher an sich heran. „Ich hoffe, er schmeckt“, sagt er und entfernt die Folie von dem Kuchen.

„Bestimmt“, antwortet Thorsten und greift nach dem Messer. Der Kuchen ist der beste Schokokuchen, den Thorsten je gegessen hat.

für @viennaisalwayscalling (aus ganz unerklärlichen Gründen 🤭)

[papierflamingo]

„Hung up (Time goes by so slowly)“

Hallo, na, seid ihr noch alle da?

Meine Bürohasen sperren sich gerade etwas, was bei Thomas Schmitt der schlimme Oktober ist, ist hier der schwierige November…

In Kürze möchte ich aber das neue Kapitel hochladen, es wird etwas anders als die vorherigen, vielleicht melancholischer, aber trotzdem voller Liebe.

Und dann geht es wirklich bald dem Ende zu, unglaublich wie groß dieses Projekt geworden ist - ich wollte doch nur 12 fröhliche Slow Burn Kapitel posten, mit je vielleicht 2k Worten maximal. Und dann hat mich alles rechts überholt und mitgerissen 🫠

💛

Update 18.10.2024: schon hab ich den NOVEMBER hochladen können 😊

[alintheshitposter]

Minninger hat einfach wieder Kelly mit Jeffrey ersetzt. Ein bisschen liebe ich ihn ja dafür. (Aber Spur der Toten hab ich ihm immer noch nicht verziehen.)

Jeffrey hat eine SPRECHROLLE😍 Wie lange hatten wir das bitte nicht mehr?😩

wir ignorieren einfach, dass er null nach einem Himbo-Teenager klingt aber er hat eine fucking SPRECHROLLE🥹

[strictpunishedhubby]

Gedanken eines streng erzogenen Ehemann, während er eine gefühlte Ewigkeit auf seine bervorstehende Züchtigung wartet.

Während ich einen interessanten Artikel in einer Zeitschrift las, rief mich meine Frau zu ihr zu kommen. Normalerweise springe ich unverzüglich auf um ihren Befehlen Folge zu leisten. Mich muss wohl der Teufel geritten haben, denn erst nach ihrer dritten Aufforderung bequemte ich mich zu ihr zu gehen. Warum sie mich zu ihr gerufen hat weiß ich bis heute nicht, nur als ich vor ihr stand sah ich in ein zorniges Gesicht. In einem sehr scharfen Ton herrschte sie mich an, sofort den zu Rohrstock bringen, meine Hose herunterziehen und mich anschließend unverzüglich über den Strafhocker zu legen. Als ich ihre Anordnung unverzüglich und eilig befolgte, legte sie den Rohrstock auf meinen rosa Schlüpfer und kündigte mir eine drastische Rohrstockzüchtigung an. Nach längerer Zeit des Nachdenkens über mein zögerliches, unakzeptables, unfolgsames vorheriges Verhalten werde ich zu spüren bekommen, was es für mich heißt, wenn ich ihr nicht wie gewünscht minutiös gehorche. Ferner drohte sie mir, während sie das Zimmer verließ, wenn der Stock nicht auf meinem Po liegt, wenn sie zu meiner Bestrafung zurückkommt, bekäme ich ihn eine Woche lang täglich meinen nackten Po versohlt. Ich würde jetzt endlich lernen, was es für mich heißt, sie zu warten zu lassen.

Über eine halbe Stunde liege ich schon über dem Hocker, der Rohrstock ist dabei zweimal heruntergefallen, den ich wieder sofort auf mein Höschen gelegt habe, voller Angst erwischt zu werden, dass ich nicht ruhig genug liegenblieb.,

Ich lag weiterhin innerlich unruhig auf meine Züchtigung wartend in dieser unbequemen Lage über dem Hocker und konzentrierte mich darauf, dass der Rohrstock nicht wieder herunterfällt. Allmählich begann ich mit meinem Schicksal zu hadern. Ich stellte mir vor eine Frau geheiratet zu haben, die mich nicht für meine Fehltritte so hart bestraft. Von der ich dafür keine Prügelstrafen bekomme, nicht wie gegenwärtig für lange Zeit über dem Hocker zur Züchtigung liegen zu müssen, nicht mit versohltem Po in der Ecke stehen zu müssen, kein Hausarrest zu bekommen und deshalb keine Termine absagen zu müssen, ins Bett zu gehen wann ich es will und nicht wenn es meine Frau mir befiehlt. Herrenunterwäsche zu besitzen, und nicht immer so eine beschämende Mädchenunterwäsche anziehen zu müssen. Kurzum die Freiheiten und Selbstbestimmung zu haben, die wohl die meisten Ehemänner genießen.

Aber würde mich wirklich eine andere Frau mit meinen negativen Eigenschaften wie ungebührliches, unfolgsames Benehmen mit mir zusammenziehen, geschweige denn, mich heiraten wollen? So einen faulen Lümmel, dem immer wieder gesagt werden muss, was er zu tun und zu unterlassen hat? Der oft disziplinlos ist und der nur in der Spur läuft, wenn er streng bestraft wird? Ich weiß, ich habe es ausschließlich meiner Frau mit ihren konsequenten, strengen erzieherischen Maßnahmen zu verdanken, dass ich mich nicht selber vernachlässige, mich nicht zügellos verhalte, mich nicht gehenlasse. Ohne meine Frau lebte ich wohl ohne Partnerin, ich wäre mit mir und der Welt unzufrieden.

Dankbarkeit kommt in mir auf, trotz meinen Unzulänglichkeiten liebt mich meine innerlich gefestigte Frau! Sie erzieht und damit kümmert sie sich um mich. Ich warte darauf, voller Angst und mit dem Bewusstsein, bald werde ich laut heulen. wenn der Rohrstock meinem nackten Po mit Wucht wieder und wieder malträtieren wird. Aber ich spüre gleichzeitig, wie eine Flut von Liebe zu meiner Frau durch meinen Körper strömt. Mir wird bewusst, welch ein großes Glück ich mit meiner Frau habe, die sich so große Mühe macht, um mich als ihr würdig zu formen.

.

.

Thoughts of a severely educated husband while he waits what and feels like an eternity for his forthcoming caning.

While I was reading an interesting article in a magazine, my wife called me to come to her. I usually jump up immediately to obey their orders. The devil must have gotten on me, because it was only after her third request that I deigned to go to her. To this day I don't know why she called me to her, only when I stood in front of her, I saw an angry face. In a very sharp tone, she ordered me to immediately take the cane, pull down my pants and then immediately lay me over the punishment stool. When I promptly and hurriedly obeyed her order, she put the cane on my pink panties and announced a drastic caning. After a longer period of reflection on my hesitant, unacceptable, disobedient behavior before, I will feel what it means for me if I do not obey her meticulously as desired. She also threatened me while leaving the room that if the stick wasn't on my bum, if she came back to punish me, I would have it spank my bare buttocks every day for a week. I would now finally learn what it means for me to keep her waiting.

I've been lying on the stool for more than half an hour, the cane fell down twice, which I immediately put back on my panties, afraid of being caught because I didn't lie still enough.

I continued to lie in this uncomfortable position over the stool, anxiously waiting for my punishment and concentrating on not letting the cane fall down again. Graduall I started to quarrel with my fate. I imagined marrying a woman who wouldn't punish me so harshly for my missteps. From whom I don't get spankings, not having to lie on the stool for a long time to be spanked like I do now, not having to stand in the corner with my butt spanked, not being grounded and therefore not having to cancel appointments, going to bed when I want it and not when my wife tells me to do. Owning men's underwear and not always having to wear such embarrassing girls' underwear. In short, having the freedom and autonomy that most husbands enjoy.

But would another woman with my negative traits, such as improper, disobedient behavior, really want to move in with me, let alone marry me? Such a lazy lout who always has to be told what to do and what not to do? Who is often undisciplined and only gets on track when he is severely punished? I know that I owe it entirely to my wife, with her consistent, strict educational measures, that I don't neglect myself, don't behave unrestrainedly, don't let myself go. Without my wife I would probably live without a partner, I would be dissatisfied with myself and the world.

I am filled with gratitude that, despite my shortcomings, my morally firm wife loves me! She educates and thus she takes care of me. I'm waiting for it, full of fear and with the knowledge that soon I'll be crying loudly. when the cane will maltreat my bare buttocks again and again. But at the same time, I feel a flood of love for my wife coursing through my body. I realize how fortunate I am to have my wife who puts in a lot of effort to mold me as worthy of her.

[next-autopsy]

Six Strings and a Hat

What can I say about Liebgott?

His tough ‘big man’ exterior is contradicted by his inner softy. He’s that one guy who always pulls out a guitar (from where, who knows?). His near constant plucking would begin to irritate ol’ Wild Bill, which would only spur Joe on and make him smirk while he fiddled with the strings, he might even start to miss chords or go off beat on purpose just to see a reaction. Lieb is a hard worker and yes, he will definitely roll his eyes at authority figures but he still gets the job done well and on time.

I’d imagine Liebgott began working as a ranch hand in his teen years to provide for his family and just fell in love with the open fields and wild animals, he still sends them most of his pay but he doesn’t see them all that often so he gets pretty sad and moody around holidays and his birthday. The others can tell he’s a bit homesick so they cheer him up with bonfire nights when they can and all but beg him to play his beloved instrument, it keeps his mind busy (which is why he takes it with him everywhere he goes).

Sure, he’s argumentative but all in good fun! Mostly- he may or may not start bar fights and need to have his friends pull him off strangers he claims are disrespectful. When he’s not fighting at bars, he’s sweet talking anything that moves; Joe is a lover and a fighter!

Tagging: @sweetxvanixlla @deputy-buck @malarkgirlypop @whollyjoly @footprintsinthesxnd @xxluckystrike

[meiliarotten]

Team Fortress 2 Kinktober Time

Day 3: Ichor (Blood)

🔞MINORS DNI🔞

Parings: Medic x Fem!Reader

Summary: It’s blood time, I know people have been waiting for this! (This was literally the summary I wrote for this on ao3, and I can’t remember wtf I meant by this)

Tags: Blood, biting, scratching, masochism, aftercare

Word Count: 2k

The Masterlist

There was no denying that Medic was a sight to behold after a difficult battle. Ragged, sometimes soaked to the skin with blood, and yet a triumphant gleam shone in his eyes. He looked like he had dragged himself out of Hell, and every aspect of it enticed you.

Your lust for blood was something you were always shy about. And it was a quite literal lust. The sight of someone drenched in scarlet until barely any other color could be seen, having drawn that life-giving substance from the veins of their enemies with their own hands, was incredibly arousing. You just never knew how to bring it up to your partners, so it remained a repressed fantasy.

Until now, that is, because of course, being as observant as he was, it didn’t take long for Medic to figure it out. The flush in your cheeks every time he returned from battle looking especially bloodied and ragged gave it away soon enough. It wasn't long before he began indulging you. The two of you explored your desires together, and those were the times you lived for, when he returned from work to partake in a macabre kink that the two of you happened to share.

Sometimes Medic couldn’t even be bothered to remove his uniform, simply unzipping his fly and having you right there in the infirmary. Not that you minded at all. Honestly, it was a wonder how you hadn’t been caught at some point. It was a frenzied ordeal, especially when he was straight off the battlefield, blood still slick and bright on his skin and uniform, soaked gloves leaving crimson smears upon your skin like a gruesome canvas. You loved every minute of it.

Today was one of the instances that Medic actually had the patience to completely disrobe before taking you upon the cold metal of the surgical table, the doors to the infirmary precariously locked behind him. You wouldn’t have it any other way. His hair was soaked with blood, somehow making the black locks seem darker. Drops of crimson dripped down his face as he thrust into you.

You heard Medic hiss as you dragged your nails down his back. Often you would alternate between scratching at his skin and stroking it gently in order to keep him guessing. It was exhilarating for him, to never know when you might decide to switch gears from rough clawing to gentle caressing.

“Gott liebling, keep doing that,” Medic gasped as you continued to draw long red marks down his back, knowing that you would be rewarded with even harder thrusts.

Scratching was a common occurrence during such rough situations. At first it was an accident, something you did in the heat of the moment, but Medic’s reaction to it had been so rewarding that you couldn’t resist doing it on purpose. Over time you had learned just how much force you had to exert to draw blood. Medic was spurred on by the pain, and you soon found that you enjoyed the slick sensation of blood beneath your fingernails very much. It wasn’t long before you discovered that you took pleasure in a bit of pain too, as Medic often wasted no time returning the favor, leaving both of you with vibrant red lines down your backs.

Medic leaned down to kiss you, pausing his movements despite your whine of protest. His kisses were feverish and rushed. His face was now fairly bloody and marked your own skin from your lips down to your neck and chest.

“So schön, meine liebe. You are so alluring, painted crimson like that” he whispered, leaning back to admire his work.

Growing impatient, you grabbed his hips, digging your nails in to make your desires clear. You needed him to start moving again. He growled before grabbing your wrists, placing your hands above your head and pinning them to the unforgiving metal of the table. You shuddered at the sudden restraint. Medic squeezed your wrists tightly- a nonverbal command to keep your hands where he placed them- before releasing them and grasping onto your hips.

He began to thrust into you at a merciless pace, pulling your body to his with each forward motion. You inhaled sharply when you felt his nails dig into your waist, scratching down to your hips. That was followed by a low moan when Medic smoothed over the area with the palms of his hands, spreading the small amount of blood he had managed to draw from the supple skin.

The look he gave you as he did so was almost loving. It struck you as ironic that he could be so affectionate while engaged in such a violent form of play. It was sweet, and you were almost immediately tempted to disobey him, wanting to move your hands if only to pull him down for another kiss. However, you kept still, managing to show some restraint, for now.

“Gott, meine liebe, you are so good for me. So obedient,” he growled, his hands finally releasing your hips. Instead, he shifted his focus to your chest, squeezing roughly and making you whimper. He left more streaks of scarlet in his wake.

Taking advantage of now longer having your hips restrained, you bucked up to meet his thrusts, making up for not being allowed to use your hands. His grip on your chest tightened as you did so before he moved to hold onto the edges of the operating table for better leverage.

His movements grew uneven, partially from you bucking back against him and partially from how close to finishing he was. His hands frantically grasped at you. He leaned over you, his face buried in the crook of your neck to muffle his moans, and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders to hold him closer, forgetting about the rule as pleasure overwhelmed you.

You felt the pressure of Medic’s teeth on your shoulder before you realized what was happening. It took a moment to really register the delicious pain blooming from the fresh mark. The hard bite was unexpected, and it was entirely unlike the scratches, completely new, different, and apparently, enough to push headlong into your climax.

Medic slumped over you as his own orgasm hit him, groaning at the taste of your blood as he ran his tongue over the bite. The two of you remained that way for several moments, labored breathing becoming the only audible sound in the room.

When Medic finally regained enough strength, he sat up, taking several moments to admire the sight of your blood smeared form. The fluorescent light of the infirmary made the blood seem to shine. You admired him as well, his face a blend of exhaustion and immense satisfaction.

Medic walked over to the cupboards, retrieving several items; bandages, cloth rags, and disinfectant among other supplies. That was one benefit of doing this in the infirmary. All the things you needed for cleanup were only ever a few steps away. You sat up with some effort, wincing from the residual pain as Medic arranged the items on the table.

“You remember what I taught you, right?” Medic asked, handing you some of the items he had gathered.

“Yeah, I’ve got it,” you said, pouring water over the cloth generously.

“Ausgezeichnet. Go on then,” he turned his back to you, allowing you to clean the blood that you had managed to claw from his skin.

This little ritual had become commonplace ever since your first session, when you had refused to let Medic use the Medigun on you. You liked to admire the marks left behind, to watch them heal slowly. Medic soon grew to share your affinity, and it wasn’t long before he started teaching you how to clean and treat wounds like this.

You learned quickly, and it had come in handy outside of the bedroom- or rather, infirmary- as well. There were a few times when Medic, overwhelmed with injured teammates to treat, had requested your assistance. To anyone else, it just seemed like you had simply taken an interest in medicine. None of them could possibly guess the truth behind your newfound knowledge.

Once the excess blood was pretty much cleaned, you reached for the bottle of disinfectant, once again soaking the cloth with its contents. You placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling him tense up when you placed the cloth to his back again.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“Nein, don’t apologize. If it stings, you’re doing it right. It’s better to have a few minutes of discomfort now rather than an infection later,” he said. You nodded, considering that he had probably endured worse discomfort on the battlefield.

You also couldn’t help but laugh. Medic was perfectly fine with transplanting exotic animal parts into his fellow mercenaries and conducting various other kinds of procedures on them that would be considered malpractice at the very least. Yet, in these more debauched and far less professional situations, he suddenly became a model doctor. He turned his head to smile back at you, hearing your laughter.

“Ja, I know. Ironic isn’t it?” He said, reading your thoughts like an open book.

“Yeah,” you said, reaching up to brush his hair to the side, where it had fallen out of place. The blood in it was beginning to dry. “You’ll probably have to shower to get all of this cleaned out.”

“Perhaps you should join me,” he said, turning his whole body to plant a soft kiss on your lips. You rested a hand on his cheek, enjoying the short, intimate moment before you got back to work.

“Do you remember how to properly bandage everything?” He asked as you returned to your task.

“Already on it,” you replied, unrolling the gauze as you spoke.

“Gutes mädchen. You are such a quick learner,” he said, the praise making you grin from ear to ear as you finished your work.

The two of you then switched places, now with your back to him. Taking up a fresh cloth, Medic repeated the process you had just undertaken, although a bit more efficiently. He had been doing this for much longer, after all. The excess blood was wiped off, and a small warning was given before the disinfectant was applied.

You gasped sharply at the sting and resisted the urge to pull away. Unlike the scratching and biting from before, this wasn’t the kind of pain you craved, but it was unfortunately necessary. You really didn’t want to explain how you had gotten a severe infection as a consequence of indulging a kink.

So you endured, and soon the sting faded and you felt Medic applying gauze to your back. You felt him trail his fingers up to your shoulder and pause. That’s when you remembered the bite, the pain of it now having faded to an intense ache.

“Medic?” You said when you noticed him lingering there for a bit longer than normal. “Is everything alright?”

He shook his head, obviously having been lost in his thoughts. Your question seemed to have brought him back to reality.

“I’m sorry about this, mein schatz. I hope I didn’t scare you,” Medic said, gingerly brushing his hand against the bitten flesh, which was still bleeding, albeit at a much slower pace now. “I suppose I just got carried away.”

“It’s alright,” you said, voice hitching when you felt the disinfectant applied to the bite. It was a much deeper wound than the scratches were, and therefore more painful to treat than you expected. Once you caught your breath again, you continued. “I actually really liked it.”

“Oh? Is that so?” He asked as he bandaged the wound. You could practically hear the grin in his voice.

“Yeah, in fact, could you maybe do it again next time?” You asked, turning to face Medic. There was that signature grin, just as you expected. He leaned forward to press a quick kiss to your lips before responding.

“Only if you promise to bite back, mein liebling.”

[itsawitchharold]

Die Spur der Toten- Hörspiel

So. Habe heute das neue Hörspiel gehört und Uffz. Ich hatte das Buch als es rauskam schon gelesen und wusste daher was kommt, muss aber sagen als Hörspiel fand ichs noch heftiger.

Spoiler! Es geht schon direkt in der ersten Szene los- diese Beziehungs- Anmerkung des Anwalts - absolut ungünstig. Ich verstehe Clarissa hat das so angedeutet und die Umstände führen schnell zu diesem Missverständnis....

In "Signale aus dem Jenseits" fand ich schon, dass Bob und Clarissa extrem loversmäßig geframed sind- diese ganze Szene wie er im Studio auftaucht, dann die Pizza dabei hat- wäre es ne Fernsehserie weiß man direkt wie die crossed lovers sich nach Jahren wiedergetroffen haben und dann ist direkt die Chemie wieder da (und erst dieses Geflirte mit dem Thema "diese Frisur nennt man übrigens einen Bob") nope. Fand ich wirklich extrem und absolut unpassend, das kommt mir hier direkt wieder hoch. Dann in der Zentrale. UFFZ UFFZ UFFZ. Sie macht das ja schon wirklich schlau die gute Clarissa- sie ist eine absolute Königin der Manipulation. Die Tatsache, dass es Tonbänder sind- sie also besonders gut Emotionen mitbringen kann, besonders eindrücklich sein und so richtig gut sich direkt in Bobs Kopf setzen. Gut geplant meine Liebe, gut geplant. Dann direkt das implizieren, dass er einer der wenigen Vertrauten ist, die sie hatte- mal schön direkt Druck aufbauen, weil er sie ja nicht hängen lassen kann, dann wird sie bald sterben... Hui hui hui, gut geplant Clarissa. "Nur du und ich allein" SCHÜTTEL! Die Frau ist knapp 50 (angeblich hat sie seit 30 Jahren keinen Kontakt mehr zu Schwester wenn sie beide so mit 18 ausgezogen sind muss sie also mind. 48 sein) und da sitzt Bob, ein 17jähriger. Diese Andeutungen in diese Richtung, absolut gruselig! Komplett verständlich, dass Bob auf sie reagiert und wie er auf sie reagiert aber Nein, einfach nur nein. Die Franklin Fälle sind im Laufe der Zeit immer stärker abgerutscht. Ich verstehe, man setzt immer noch einen drauf, es muss nochmal ein bisschen mehr werden- und diese seltsame Bindung, dieses etwas was da zwischen ihr und Bob ist bietet sich schreibtechnscih einfach an. Damit kann man arbeiten und Clarissa ist hintertrieben und listig- das macht Spaß zu schreiben. I get it. Aber die Franklin-Thematik ist definitiv nicht mehr an einem Punkt, wo sie in eine Kinderbuchreihe ab 10 Jahren gehört. Und die Inszenierung in den Hörspielen macht es leider überhaupt nicht harmloser, sondern eigentlich noch schlimmer. Dieses unterschwellige lovers / sexuelle was da mit rüberschwingt, das rumdrucksen... In "Signale aus dem Jenseits" wird Bob schon durch sie des sexuellen Übergriffs bezichtigt. Die Bob- und Clarissa Situation ist Childgrooming. Und das ist leider ein Thema, dass im Rahmen der drei Fragezeichen nicht sensibel und gerecht behandelt werden kann. Dafür ist nicht genug Zeit und nicht genug Seiten. Das... klappt einfach nicht. Clarissa Franklin ist eine spannende GEgenspielerin, aber die Thematik mit ihr ist zu heftig geworfen für dieses Format. Wäre das Ganze eine Fanfiction würden wohl die ersten Stimmen Darkfic schreien. Daher und im Namen von Bobs mental health und sanity hoffe ich wirklich, dass dies endlich der letzte Franklin Fall war. Bonus für die extrem holzige Sprache zwischendrin. Ist mir bereits im Buch aufgefallen, stößt aber gesprochen nochmal viel stärker auf. Selbst wenn man sich vorschreibt was man sagen will, so holzig redet heute einfach kein Mensch. Das haut mich jedes Mal so raus. Definitiv keine Folge, die ich häufiger als nötig hören werde. So wie alle Franklinfolgen nach "Stimmen aus dem Nichts".