A/N : the order the characs are placed in is how “passionate” they are abt their love for ur parts ok thank u
Titty boys
They love your boobies—sucking, biting, licking ,groping and decorating your milkies in hickies is their favorite pass time:
Why spend their day stressed when they can just squish your tiddies and cum like a virgin infront of you before practice?
Niko, Rin, Bachira, Ness, Nagi, Oliver, Kaiser
Ass enjoyers
Your ass is their stressball— they’ll spank your squishy cheeks ‘till they’re red and slap them once again to soothe the pain while planting their palm on your globes in public to assert dominance:
Pray to God forbid you find out about their face sitting fetish…
A/N : currently thuggin’ it out for the Isagi fic ‘cause life is getting in the way— this was the original draft for it, fits Bachira way better though so here you go.
Wc: ~600
Not proofread we die like men LETSGO
Bachira doesn’t exactly understand why he feels this way. In some ways, you remind him more of his mother than anyone else; the way paintbrushes and late night walks seem to meld together into a journal of core memories — waiting for him to open that journal and flip through the pages of fleeting events that could dissapear at a moments notice.
Bachira, well — Bachira is, certainly an interesting individual. Those traits that seem to simmer and reflect into his yellow irises whenever you’re close to him. It’s not as if you were much more different than he was.
Every time he looks at you, he feels his stomach tie into a knot— your laughter teases him. He always thought you were pretty. It wasn’t as if he never looked past personality: he could think of a dozen girls whom had managed to attract him. Still, he always finds himself feeling this— this feeling.
A bit like a pathetic teenage boy whenever you walk the streets of outer Tokyo at night , when the lamps illuminate the city that supposedly “never sleeps”. It’s the only thing he remembers from sociology , ironically the one thing you mentioned to him while walking. Sometimes, only sometimes ; he catches himself staring a little too long at his reflection in the mirror after having walked you home when the “night walk” get dangerously close to an all nighter.
Its in that sliver of a moment , that his cheeks get red and suddenly poor little Bachira can’t comprehend why you never seem to teeter on that edge of seduction— he sulks , because he wants you to battle the same temptation he does whenever your faces get a little too close to eachother— maybe if he got you to play football with him— maybe then he could play off his lips accidentally touching yours when pretending to fall off and plant face first to the ground.
Like a pendulum, you swing towards him. Always going that extra mile whenever you manage to scramble whatever nickles you have dangling around in your school bag and buy him those sour pineapple flavored candies he loves from the vending machine outside of the school entrance. When you help him do all of those essays he always puts off to the last minute and then hastens to finish. When you call out to him after his football practice.
But just like a pendulum swings towards something, it also swings away from it.
He can’t help all those rumours that make him out to be a monster. He can’t mitigate the presentiment that he’s ransacking you of a social life that you deserve. When your classmates criticize your friendship with him, he feels something hideous creep into him— that alarming feeling of wanting to do things that are pure evil to those who harm you.
And he feels guilty for that.
He feels guilty for wanting to dictate your own life— to mallow what you feel inside so that you atleast know what it is he goes through every single day. Whenever you seem to unconsciously doubt a decision that would lead you astray from him, he convinces you to do a complete detour, to return to what you know best and—
And he snaps out of it.
Because he’s no longer in front of his bathroom mirror but in front of you,on his bed. Suddenly everything seems to come crashing down as his inner monster tell him to kiss you.
imagine WC!Kuni getting way too close to you for his own good— like he’s just so dense even after wildcard and can’t understand why you’re unable to look him in the eyes while squirming like an idiot.
Like he’d just get all close up to your face and ask you why you’re like that with his signature grumpy tone and you’re red in the face because this man MOGS but you’d be as good as dead if you ever said that to the guy who looks like he could lift up a fucking walmart shopping cart with one arm AHRHWJAJSJWKWKEK
I wanna just givebhim a big mwah on his face n kiss his eyebags he deserves it ok i love him way too much kdsjekrkdkrkrk
Hold up my neurons just formed a link and i had a thought :
WC!Kuni stutters while you ride him— he’s unusually submissive to you after a win and will let you do the work while he relaxes into your touch.
BUT— soon the pressures bubbles up in his stomach and he starts progressively losing control over himself while letting out noises until he stutters a “s-slow —down ,idiot..”
Im so inlove with him it’s not even funny ☹️
I need to work up my dialogue skills and make this into a reality for the kuni simps
A/N: In honour of failing my math exam here’s this shit that i just wrote, never actually expected to hit over a 100 notes on anything that i posted, i originally just wanted to post some drafts that i had sitting in my notes app for a couple of months and then dip, im pretty amateur but there’s a first for everything in life ig #YOLO. My ask thingy is always open so feel free to send your ideas/hcs of your blue lock favs (*'▽'*)
He’s sitting at your feet. Groveling like a dog, his pupils look exploded, if you looked closely you could almost see the hearts in his eyes. The iron grip you’ve got on his hair makes everything around him swirl.
He feels his chest tightening, he’s on his knees, large hands holding both of your thick thighs. Your stare is scrutinizing, like you need to put him in his place. He wants to ask you whether or not he’s a good boy, but part of him doesn’t want to know your answer.
You treat him so good, don’t you?
Always looking after him, giving him attention whenever he needs it, consistently coming to his soccer practice, proudly wearing his jersey to matches, unconditionally showering him in your affection, so much so that he can feel his boxers tightening over his rapidly growing dick while looking at your plump thighs.
He doesn’t even realize he’s been in his own head spacing out until you delicately grip his jaw and lift it so that he’s holding eye contact with you. The simple act stirs something within him and he softly groans, his cheeks are red and his hold on your legs are tightening like a siren luring a fisherman into the ocean.
He looks so beautiful under you.
His wet spot is showing through his boxer briefs, and the bulge poking out is noticeable too. You’re both looking into each other’s eyes and when you tell him to let go, he comes undone.
Bachira is obsessed with the way you’re obsessed with him. You cling to every word he says, everything he does.
You help him study for tests by reading out loud the material and do his homework for him, you are utterly pathetic without him and it makes him just a little bit more hot inside.
Every “where are you going Meguru?”, makes his baggy jeans feel so much more tighter, all of those small gestures that you do willingly for him without complaint makes it apparent how devoted you are to him in his mind.
You were the first and only girl to give him valentines day chocolates, and every February , without fail, you wait for him outside class to hand him a heart shaped box that is wrapped neatly with yellow ribbon on it.
The only thing you have to do is say: “-Meguru?” and he swears it makes him a little crazier than he already is.
He loves the way his big hands lave your soft flesh mounds, massages them , makes them soft.
He loves the way they squish against your tightly fitted shirt, how they smoosh up on him whenever you hug his muscular arm.
He loves the way you look up at him, with a black dress that seems to be made for you in your honour ; like a goddess that needs to be worshipped parallel to the way he worships your tits.
He loves the way your nipples harden under his jersey, how your cheeks are red and you’re panting like a bitch in heat desperate to be bred by his cock.
He loves the way you take him like a good girl but he’s not focused on your face ,no. He’s staring up at your udders, mesmerized by the way they jiggle whenever he thrusts up in your tight little cunt.
turnnoffyourmind
baratheonpilled
areudirty
romaincrisis
snowghoul