“𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐰𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐞”

i don’t think amenogozen is truly killing people

remember how teruko melted and all that was left was her hd uniform?

the hunting dogs took her in, gave her a home, gave her a real purpose. that uniform represents who she is.

but when kunikida melted, his clothes went with him, and what was left behind instead?

his notebook. his ideals. his ideals represent who he is.

the thing that represents who they are is left behind.

i know that doesn’t really explain anything, but it’s at least enough for me to cause some doubt

WAVE - Ive Wallpapers

(made by me but no credits needed)

thinking about isagi being best friends with your little sister :(((

you bring him to your house for the first time so he can meet your family, which is where he immediately becomes enamoured by perhaps the cutest thing he’s ever seen (apart from you hehe) and of course she ends up loving him. and not because he’s famous, or older, etc… but because he will never say no to playing with her!!

its gotten to the point where if you two are with your baby sister, you cannot leave them alone- unless you want him to be whisked away from you to join her in carrying out a very crucial fairy hunt, one that results in them almost getting lost in the woods.

although it really has been biting into your alone time with your boyfriend, your heart refuses to hold onto any existing annoyance when you walk into your room to see them curled up beside each other on your bed- a purposeful gap left in between, one that was made just for you <3

reblog this if you want a LONG (or short) anonymous message saying what they think of you.

pleaaase?

☁️ ⏆   ． 🐚 ﹢

“𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐯𝐬. 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐡”

a/n: a lil suggestive, i've just been in the mood

isagi was supposed to be watching the game.

his teammates were scrambling across the field, calling out plays, their cleats slicing through the damp grass with precision. the crowd’s roar swelled with every near-goal, and the commentators’ voices crackled over the loudspeakers, analyzing every move.

but isagi didn’t hear any of it.

not really.

because you, his girlfriend, were sitting in the stands, wearing shorts. 

god help him. 

he was already distracted when he caught sight of you before the match started. he spotted you through the mass of faces, and for a second, he forgot how to breathe. but then you sat down, crossed your legs, and his brain might as well have short-circuited. 

now, mid-game, his eyes kept wandering. every time he glanced toward the stands, there you were, all casual and relaxed, completely unaware of the absolute chokehold you had him in. the way your thighs pressed together, soft and golden in the sun, had him gripping his shorts a little too tightly. his mind was already halfway out of the match, imagining his hands gripping you instead. 

“oi, focus,” one of his teammates barked when he nearly missed a pass. 

right. the game. the reason he was here. 

he cursed under his breath and forced himself to lock in. he sprinted down the field, evading two defenders, and when his teammate sent the ball sailing toward him, he struck it into the back of the net with a clean, merciless finish. 

the crowd exploded. his teammates crowded around him, shouting and shoving his head playfully. isagi gave the standard nod, offered a half-smirk, and jogged back into formation. 

but then his eyes were back on you. 

he caught the way you clapped for him, that bright smile lighting up your face. you cheered for him like he was the only player on the field. your excitement was so sweet, so pure. 

but the problem was, when you jumped a little in celebration, the flesh of your thighs shook ever so slightly. 

his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. 

oh he was done for. 

𐙚 

after the match, you waited for him outside the stadium. you waved when you saw him, and he was on you in seconds. arms around your waist, hands gripping your hips like he didn’t want to let go. his forehead rested against yours for a moment, catching his breath, but it wasn’t from the game. 

“good game, starboy,” you teased, brushing his damp hair out of his eyes. 

“mhm,” he muttered, but he wasn’t paying attention. his hands were already trailing down your sides, thumbs grazing the curve of your thighs. the skin was warm beneath his calloused fingers, and his grip automatically tightened. 

“yoi?” you blinked at him, puzzled by the sudden shift in his demeanor. 

his fingers dragged lightly along the hem of your shorts, skimming just underneath, his touch featherlight but possessive. 

“you’re messing with me,” he muttered against your temple. his voice was low, almost frustrated. 

“huh?” you laughed softly, tilting your head to meet his eyes, but they were dark. glazed over with something that made your stomach flip. 

“these,” he grunted, giving your thighs a gentle squeeze, “are driving me insane.” 

you blinked once, twice. and then it hit you. you glanced down at your shorts, then back up at him, watching the way he practically glared at your legs like they had personally wronged him. 

“oh my gosh,” you whispered, laughing. “you were staring the whole time?” 

he didn’t even have the decency to look guilty. if anything, he scowled harder, like it was your fault. 

“do you have any idea how distracting you are?” he asked, his voice low and slightly hoarse. he was still wearing his jersey, sweat dampening the collar. he was exhausted, but his hands stayed firm on you, as if the second he let go, you’d slip right through his fingers.

“it’s just my legs, yoi,” you teased, grinning.

his fingers flexed. “don’t.”

“don’t what?”

his eyes dragged slowly down your body, deliberately tracing the outline of your thighs. his gaze was heavy, heated, like he was memorizing every inch.

“don’t act like you don’t know what you’re doing to me.” 

𐙚 

later that night, when you were tangled up on the couch, he pulled you into his lap and made no effort to be subtle about his obsession. his hands traced the backs of your thighs with a slow, deliberate reverence, his fingertips kneading softly into your skin. when he leaned down and pressed his lips against them, you squirmed slightly, but he only held you tighter.  

“stop moving,” he muttered against your skin. “let me have this.” 

he was starved. 

kisses pressed to the softest parts of your thighs, his teeth grazing just barely. he was mesmerized by how easily he could mark you, the way his lips left faint imprints like fleeting little bruises. you could feel the smile against your skin when you shivered slightly. 

“so sensitive,” he murmured.

his fingers were slow, teasing, brushing over your thighs like he wanted to make sure he felt every inch of them. he loved how your skin dimpled under his grip, loved how warm and soft you were against his hands. and when you gave him a small, halfhearted shove, your voice barely above a whisper –

“yoi, you’re obsessed.”

he smirked against your skin.

“yeah,” he admitted without hesitation. his lips brushed your inner thigh, voice muffled against you.

“and i’m not even sorry.”

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

a/n: inspired by this pinterest pin lol

☆ karina ( aespa ) lockscreens !

Urgent update my little brother is dying 😭

Today we took our little brother to the hospital because he suffers from an infection that affects his breathing and causes him pain. I hope that every living conscience will help us save our young son’s life and donate any amount you can.

Unfortunately, there is no treatment in the hospital for my little. Help us before it is too late.