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I would be a pushover for him… Stupid puppy-faced man. 🐶
stop this is so cute😭😭😭
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spider of tokyo 🕷️
profiles | ch. 01
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬
tokyo never sleeps, and neither does its spider. rin itoshi moves through the city unnoticed, balancing lectures, soccer, and a secret life above the streets, but the world tilts the moment he sees you.
something about the way you sit, poised and sharp in a sea of students, unsettles him in ways he can’t name. something about the way you speak, calm and confident, proud of your work yet humble enough to own your mistakes. something about the way you read him, like you can feel which threads of him are strongest, and which are ready to snap.
first impressions lie. timing falters. and beneath the hum of the city, unnoticed connections begin to form, pulling two strangers into a web they can’t yet see, in a story where every glance, every choice, could change everything.
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞
okay this was super spontaneous, but the idea has not left my mind since it entered it, so here i've been for the past DAYS, working on a storyline lol (i have the next 11 chapters planned out bc i locked in). and it's making me realize how fun it is to write a series (dw i will still continue saint ego when i can)!
i think rin is the perfect fit for a spider man AU so please enjoy and read somewhere comfortable with warm lighting, a cute beverage, etc. and just slow down for the moment. you deserve that much!
side note: rin and sae are on better terms in this AU!
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬
violence, injury, death, mental health, crime, accidents, blood, abuse, domestic violence, stalking.
𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
sunflower - post malone, swae lee | I THINK - tyler, the creator | 3005 - childish gambino | run - joji | atomic vomit - steve lacy | 505 - arctic monkeys | she needs him - her's | creep - radiohead | passionfruit - drake | night dancer - imase | LOVE. - kendrick lamar, zacari | private - the neighbourhood | i'm not in love - 10cc | TELEPATHY LOVE - BNYX, clara la san | feel good - clara la san | roi - videoclub
𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬
ongoing! will update when i can <3
𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬
01. between his web and his world
02. silent sting
03. the first thread
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (open + please comment below if you want to be added!): @rosesanddiaries @byzantiumhollow @lylisimps @n0tbelle @xoxolalia @fairyofprose @anastasiatheloveofyourlife @burekforsatoru @alonelyartist1432 @adidistupipi @beepbopzlorp @kazumei-claude @angelin4ssss @iqxatlantic @ranzess @yumerinns @timble-tumble @wishmerin @mihyas-dieehefrau @quixoticeulogies @v1kt3l @x3nafix @t0r4s @silkiziuu @thenightsflower @yuunishin @simpingmyassoff @elliehenry24 @getoslefthairstrand @cocoloveswhip
last updated 01/11/2026
© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢
actually so excited
Reblogged
౨౿ rodrick who is such a loser, the first time you kissed he moaned into your mouth. his body leaning into yours, his hand sliding around your waist—the movement is so confident you think he’s getting cocky until you hear it, the light sound of satisfaction. you do nothing but smile into his lips before pulling away, “you’re cute.”
now, the loser loves making out with you sitting in his chair. your legs on either side of his hips as your shorts ride up your legs. to center himself like before, his warm hands slide from your hips to your sides, slightly making you shiver. your lips are wet with one another’s spit, both your heads spinning, noses hitting every now and again as you breathe in each other's air.
“rodrick!”
as if nothing has changed, noises slip from his mouth while you taste each other, your hand scratching into the short hair on the back of his head, not making him any better. his hands slide further up until he’s grabbing a handful of your breast but before you can even think about getting the shirt off greg’s voice takes over the room.
“rodrick, mom sa- EW!” the two of you pull away immediately, you look over at greg with a shocked expression while rodrick simply stuffs his face into your chest with a groan. he mumbles something, but it doesn’t reach either of your ears. “i think i’m gonna hurl,” greg says, making exaggerated gagging noises as he begins to leave. “oh my god,” rodrick moans into your chest in aggravation. he lifts his head to shoo greg from the room further, “get out.”
you hear the soles of greg’s feet hit each step as he leaves. rodrick leans back into the chair and you finally get to take a good look at him; his hair messy, his lips almost as pink as his cheeks, the pinkness creeping up his neck a little, lips slightly agape. you can only grin, “you’re really cute.”
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Anonymous asked:
can you write about rodrick heffley x plastic reader, if you haven’t seen that already
and can i be 🐬 anon?
oh yes! <33 rodrick would definitely let plastic!reader walk all over him. (& yes u can be the dolphin anon)
( ty to @spikernojutsu on tt for inspo!)
sfw + suggestive !
rodrick heffley who “coincidentally” ends up where you are
cafeteria, quad, hallway—always there. he smirks when you catch him. “i’m just… around,” he says. “sure,” you reply, stiffness in your voice. he chuckles. “yeah, you’d notice if i wasn’t.”
rodrick heffley who couldn’t care less what your friends think
when they catch you staring at him, all three of them react instantly, regina practically choking on her drink. “rodrick heffley?” she scoffs. “come on, y/n, you can do way better.” you just blink, forcing a laugh. “me and that loser? pffftttt, hell would have to freeze over.” but your voice falters, and rodrick, leaning against a nearby wall—catches it. he smirks, eyes locked on you, already filing the moment away. something tells you he’s not gonna let you forget it.
rodrick heffley who somehow bagged you without either of you realizing it
he’s always teasing, smirking, showing up everywhere, making jokes that sting just enough to make your icy composure twitch. you brush him off, but catch yourself laughing once or twice when he isn’t looking. then one day, he leans against the lockers and grins. “so… we’re basically together, right?” you blink. “excuse me?” he shrugs, lazy smirk in place. “look at us! we tease, we text, we hang out… that’s a relationship in my book.”
and somehow, you realize… he’s right.
rodrick heffley who notices everything—especially your style
you’ve been adding a little black into your usual girly outfits, and he can’t help smirking every time you walk by. “wow, queen of the shadows,” he teases, leaning against the lockers. you roll your eyes. “don’t flatter yourself, heffley.” then there’s wednesdays. he shows up with just a hint of pink under his jacket, smirk in place. “i call it…paying homage to your vibe,” he says, like it’s casual. you catch it instantly, eyebrows raised. “pink? you?” he shrugs, grinning. “even i can appreciate aesthetics.” and he watches, clearly loving that you noticed, and secretly hoping you approve.
rodrick heffley who knows exactly when you’re stressed
when your shoulders tense up, he slides his fingers over your back, tapping little rhythms like a private drum set. it’s dumb, it’s ridiculous, but somehow it works, and you can’t help letting your guard drop for a moment.
rodrick heffley who would do just about anything for you — or atleast try..
you tried to force rodrick to sit through a full-blown powerpoint trying to “improve” löded diper’s image. until halfway through, he fell asleep on the table. you blink at him, unimpressed. “really? did you hear a word i just said?” he wakes up, squinting his eyes. “yep, change the logo or something”
“that was 12 slides ago.”
rodrick heffley who’s the only one that can actually handle your bratty attitude.
everyone else either backs down or gives up the second your tone sharpens, but him? he just grins. leans back in his van, arms crossed, eyes glinting with that infuriating amusement. “done yet, princess?” he’ll ask, voice low, teasing. you glare, toss your hair, roll your eyes like it’s routine. “don’t call me that.” he rolls his eyes. “would you prefer to be called brat instead?” you gave him a long, silent glare. “yeah that’s what i thought. get in the car princess.”
rodrick heffley who silences your scolding mid-rant,
kissing you hard as his hands grip your hips possessively, pulling your body flush against his. "mmph!" you gasp into his mouth, momentarily stunned by the sudden, forceful kiss. his fingers dig into your curves as he holds you tight, not letting you pull away.
rodrick heffley who parks outside your house blasting loud metal until you come outside.
it’s not even subtle—your whole neighborhood hears it. you open your window just to yell at him, and he leans against the van like, “you’re taking forever, princess.” you’re mortified, but he swears it’s “romantic.”
rodrick heffley who gets jealous way too easily but hides it behind jokes.
someone flirts with you for five seconds and he’s like, “oh, so you’re into guys who actually shower now?”—with that fake grin that doesn’t fool anyone. he’ll act like he’s unbothered all night, then pull you closer by your waist when no one’s looking.
rodrick heffley who always shows up at your window instead of texting first.
sometimes it’s 2 a.m., sometimes it’s right after a fight. he’ll tap the glass with his ring until you open it, muttering something about “forgetting his charger” like it’s not the fourth night this week. you always let him in anyway.
rodrick heffley who forgets you come from a rich family until he’s literally standing in your giant house.
he’s looking around like he just walked into a museum. “so this is what a dishwasher looks like, huh?” he jokes, trying to play it cool, but he grips your hand tighter when your mom walks in.
rodrick heffley who flirts by annoying you until you snap.
he’ll poke at your perfectly polished exterior just to see the cracks form. “relax, barbie,” he says with that lazy grin, leaning against your locker. you glare, unimpressed. “you know, you’d be way less annoying if you learned how to shut up.” he hums. “yeah, but then how would i get your attention?” you hate that you laugh, even if it’s under your breath.
rodrick heffley who keeps your hair tie on his wrist like it’s a bracelet.
he doesn’t even try to hide it, black elastic on his pale wrist, right next to that dumb metal bracelet he never takes off. “you look ridiculous,” you tell him once. “yeah?” he shrugs. “guess i’m yours then.” you roll your eyes, but later, when someone else notices and asks why he’s wearing it, he just smirks. “sentimental value.”
rodrick heffley who says “relax, it’s just a joke” but softens the second you actually get upset.
he’ll tease you until you roll your eyes, but the moment your expression slips, when you look genuinely done, he falters. “hey… i was just kidding,” he says, quieter now. you shrug, not meeting his eyes. then he sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and says, “you know i’d never actually mean that, right?” you don’t say it, but the apology in his tone always gets you.
rodrick heffley who leaves notes in your locker but signs them with something stupid like “your local drummer boy.”
the handwriting’s messy, smudged ink on ripped notebook paper. dumb little jokes, half-flirty insults, or lyrics that sound suspiciously like they’re about you. you pretend to find them annoying, but they end up tucked neatly in your binder. one day, he catches you rereading one, and just smirks. “guess i’ve still got it.”
rodrick heffley who drives with one hand on the wheel and the other lazily resting on your thigh.
he acts like it’s nothing, like his pulse isn’t racing every time you shift or breathe. music blaring, wind whipping through the cracked window, and he’s still glancing over every few seconds. “eyes on the road,” you mutter. he grins. “what, you worried i’ll crash or that i’ll stop touching you?” you roll your eyes, but your smirk gives you away.
rodrick heffley who finds out the “plastic princess” reputation isn’t just a rumor.
he’s leaning against your locker after school when he spots you across the hall—perfect face, perfect hair, perfect fury. some chick had been talking behind your back, loud enough for you to hear. “if you’re gonna run your mouth,” you say sweetly, “at least make sure you’re not wearing knockoff prada while you do it.” the girl freezes, stammering “w-wait i— didn’t mean to off—“ you smile at her softly “save it, you’ve dug your grave, now lay.” rodrick just watches, jaw slack, then starts laughing. “you’re insane,” he says when your in his proximity. you glance up, unbothered. “and you’re still staring.” he grins, pushing off the locker. “yeah,” he admits, voice low. “guess i’ve got a thing for terrifying girls.”
rodrick heffley who corners you in the parking lot just to argue
he finds you, alone. finally. phone in one hand, iced coffee in the other. “you keep staring, barbie. i’m gonna start charging.” you lower your sunglasses slowly. “you wish.” he grins, reckless. “what? you’re not used to someone calling you out?” you tilt your head, smirk softening. “people don’t call me out. they apologize.” he laughs, low and amused.
“pathetic.”
“maybe,” you say, stepping closer, heels clicking. “but it works.” his gaze lingers, intense and calculating, yet full of fascination. “see,” he mutters, voice low, “you act like you’re running a kingdom, but you don’t even know what it’s like outside your walls.”
“then show me,” you challenge.
he blinks once, smirks, and backs away. “careful what you ask for, barbie.” the air is electric, the school parking lot quiet, the moment all yours. he’s obsessed, watching, teasing, pushing, and you know it.
rodrick heffley whose friends and your friends absolutely cannot stand each other.
it starts at lunch—his band crowd sitting one table over, your plastics giving them side-eyes sharp enough to cut glass. regina’s the first to speak. “do they even own shampoo?” she mutters. ben snorts, muttering back, “do you even eat?” you pinch the bridge of your nose, already feeling a migraine. rodrick just grins, totally unbothered, leaning closer to you. “this is kinda hot,” he says under his breath.
“babe, they’re gonna kill each other,” you hiss.
“yeah,” he smirks, “but they’re bonding.”
it escalates when karen asks, “sooo… do you guys play actual music, or just noise?” bill fires back, “depends—do you talk actual words, or just air?” rodrick’s trying not to laugh, and regina’s glaring daggers across the table. gretchen’s whispering, “this is, like, social suicide,” you sigh. “this is your fault.”
“mine?”
he says, pretending to be offended. “you’re the one who made me hot enough to start a turf war.” you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling—because somehow, in all the chaos, you’re the only two who actually get along.
rodrick heffley who swears he doesn’t care that much, but somehow always ends up next to you, at lunch, in the car, on the couch, half-asleep with his head on your shoulder.
he teases, argues, pushes your buttons for sport, but when you get quiet, he always notices first. he’s the one who nudges your leg, mumbles “hey, talk to me,” like it’s not a big deal. and maybe it isn’t—until he says your name like it means something. until you realize he never stopped showing up, even when he said he wouldn’t.
because rodrick heffley doesn’t do soft.
except when it’s you.
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SYNOPSIS. a long nap. that’s all it is, all it was. but sometimes comfort is a better solution. OR you overdose and rin is there to help you through it (written in 2nd POV)
PAIRINGS. adult! itoshi rin x reader (established relationship)
WARNINGS. implied/referenced s€lf-harm, cutting, dissociation, INTENTIONAL OVERDOSE, mentions of s#icide, vomiting & drooling, implied family issues, swearing, hurt/comfort, pet names, cuddling & kissing, slightly ooc rin (he’s a simp), author needs serious help, really dark then really fluffy
this is insanely well written but also incredibly sad
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SYNOPSIS. your anemia decides to take control while on a walk with your boyfriend. he has a mini heart attack and takes care of you OR you pass out and rin worries
PAIRINGS. itoshi rin x reader (established relationship)
WARNINGS. medical conditions, fainting, bad attempt at humor, slightly ooc (rin would be an attentive and sweet lover if he were in a serious relationship and i will stand by that) hurt/comfort (it’s like 90 % comfort), pet names, cuddling & kissing, suggestive, very minor implied eating disorder, vague hair-pulling kink
Reblogged midniqhtt
𝗣𝗼𝗽𝘂𝗹𝗮𝗿 𝗴𝗶𝗿𝗹 𝗺𝗲𝗲𝘁𝘀 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗰 𝗽𝘂𝗻𝗸 𝗯𝗼𝘆 || Rodrick Heffley ||
A/n: I have so many ideas for something like this.
You weren’t supposed to be here.
The florescent lights in the detention room buzz above you, casting a washed-out glow on the scratched-up desks and the bored faces of the other unlucky students. But none of them are the reason your blood is boiling.
No.
Rodrick Heffley is slouched across the room, feet kicked up on a chair that isn’t his, eyeliner slightly smudged, chewing a pen like it insulted his band. He hasn’t looked at you once since you walked in, but you feel his smirk anyway—like static electricity crawling up your spine.
asshole.
You know he thinks this is funny. You know he’s loving this.
You’re wearing your new cheer hoodie, lip gloss still glossy, nails still perfect. You’d just finished choreographing a homecoming routine when Principal Haskell stormed into the gym, waving a folder of “evidence” that said you were responsible for the glitter bomb prank that turned the senior hallway into a rave. Your name—along with Rodrick’s—was written in permanent marker on the underside of the detonator box.
And it was Heather Mills who “found” it.
Heather with her sickeningly perfect smirk and her fake innocent eyes.
Heather, who hated that you showed up this semester with better clothes, brighter popularity, and real cheer skills. Heather, who’s been trying to one-up you at every turn since you stole her spotlight…and, apparently, Rodrick’s attention too.
Fucking bitch. If she had a brain she might realize you can’t stand the guy.
“Cheer Queen finally cracked,” Rodrick mutters, just loud enough for you to hear.
You glare at him. “Eat my mascara wand.”
He snorts. “Tempting.”
“Ugh.” You slam your binder onto the desk, crossing your arms. You’re not supposed to be here. You have a tutoring session. A dress fitting. A whole life that doesn’t involve sitting across from Rodrick Heffley in a room that smells like old socks and Axe body spray.
You’re not supposed to be here—and yet here you are, framed like some glitter-obsessed criminal.
You don’t speak again for fifteen minutes.
Rodrick starts tapping his pen on the desk in the rhythm of some metal song only he knows. You pull out your lip gloss just to have something to do, applying it with sharp, deliberate strokes. He watches. You pretend not to notice.
Your jaw clenching for the excessive tap-tap-tap.
Outside, the sky is turning gray. It starts raining—of course it does. You can practically hear the irony in the way it splatters against the windows. Drama weather. Typical.
Rodrick shifts suddenly, scraping his chair back and striding across the room. You tense.
“Don’t even think about it,” you snap, holding a hand up like he’s a wild raccoon. “Stay in your lane, garage band.”
He stops next to your desk anyway, leans against it like he owns it, like he owns you. “Relax, princess. I’m not here to steal your glitter or whatever crap you are obsessed with."
You turn to face him slowly. “Did you set me up?”
He raises a brow. “You think I’d risk my band getting suspended just to get you stuck in detention? That’s Heather’s brand of psychotic, not mine.”
You blink. He said it like it was obvious. Like he knows Heather’s games. Like maybe he’s been watching this whole time. You hate the twist your stomach does so you left out a scoff instead.
“So,” he continues, “if I didn’t set you up, and you didn’t do it, then that leaves one conclusion—”
“Heather.” You say her name like a curse.
Rodrick gives you a mock round of applause. “Gold star.”
You sigh and slouch back in your seat. “She’s obsessed with ruining my life.”
He shrugs. “Welcome to the club.”
You don’t mean to ask it, but the question slips out anyway: “Why does she hate you?”
Rodrick’s mouth quirks, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Because I stopped pretending to like her last year. That tends to piss people off.”
You look at him differently for a moment. Not as the annoying delinquent who mocks your routines from the back of the gym. Not as the messy-haired menace who plays too loud in the parking lot and calls you Barbie.
But as a guy who maybe sees more than you gave him credit for. "So, still see me as some cheerbot?"
He leans down a little. “Still think I’m just a loser with a van?”
You hesitate. “Well. You do have a van.” You look away as your hand tightened around your glitter pen.
Rodrick grins. “Touché.”
There’s a pause. A long one.The kind where the room gets smaller.
The kind where your heartbeat starts pounding in your ears and your lip gloss suddenly feels too shiny and too kissable. Rodrick’s eyes flick to your mouth. Yours to his jaw.
And then the fire alarm goes off.
You jump. He groans. The door slams open and chaos breaks loose outside. Kids shouting. Teachers yelling. Papers flying. And before you can react, a gust of wind knocks open the windows—and the door slams shut behind you. Hard.
Locked.
You both scramble to the handle. You twist. Rodrick rattles. Nothing...of course.
You’re locked in detention. During a fire drill. Alone. With him.
“Oh my god,” you mutter. “I’m going to die here. I’m going to die in a stupid school with a stupid boy and my lip gloss isn’t even fireproof...—”
“Relax,” Rodrick says, shoving his shoulder against the door. “It’s probably a drill.”
“Or a test. Or a bomb. Or Heather’s final act of vengeance....that Bitch”
He stops, tilting his head. “You know, your panic voice is kind of hot.”
You spin on him. “Are you flirting with me right now?!”
He grins, boyish and reckless. “Depends. Is it working?”
You open your mouth—then close it. Because you don’t know what to say. Because your heart is hammering. Because you should be yelling at him, but you’re thinking about what it would be like to kiss him. To run your fingers through that messy hair. To grab his stupid flannel and pull him closer and—
Rodrick steps toward you. You step back until your spine hits the wall. He watches your reaction, something softer flickering in his eyes.
He leans in. Just a little. Just enough to test the air.
“If I kiss you right now,” he murmurs, “are you going to slap me or slap me after?”
Your voice comes out breathless. “That depends.”
“On?”
“How good the kiss is.”
That’s all it takes.
His lips crash into yours and the tension—weeks of snark and stolen glances and hallway collisions—explodes. His hands are in your hair, yours are gripping his shirt, and your perfect lip gloss is definitely ruined.
It’s messy. It’s desperate. It’s perfect.
And when you finally pull away, dazed and pink-cheeked, he’s smiling.
“You taste like strawberry.”
“You taste like teenage angst,” you murmur.
He laughs. And you realize you like the sound of it.
The door finally bursts open—Mrs. Harris with a clipboard, glaring. “What are you two still doing in here?”
Rodrick wipes his mouth. “Uh…detention?”
You smooth your hair, try to look innocent.
Mrs. Harris glares harder. “Get out.”
You do.
He holds the door for you. You roll your eyes, but your fingers brush his as you pass.
Outside, the rain’s stopped. The sky is clearing.
Heather’s across the quad, arms crossed, watching. Her glare could kill. You meet her eyes and smile sweetly then blow her a kiss.
Rodrick slings an arm around your shoulder like it’s nothing.
You lean into it like it’s everything.
Let her watch.
Let her twitch.
You’re done pretending.
holy peak
Anonymous asked:
can i get a kaiser x reader where you comfort him after a bad game? 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯
٭✧☆"Let me comfort you..."☆✧٭
Michael Kaiser x f!reader a/n: sorry for taking so long to respond diva ˙◠˙ lowkey proud asf abt this ALSO im american so i call it soccer but if youre anything but american and call it football just know thats what i mean when i say soccer also isnt 100% canonically accurate (he's less of an egotist) dont be afraid to give criticism or feedback this is my first ff ever lol...
Word count: 475
Michael Kaiser is upset due to a bad game, and you comfort him until he falls asleep.
BANG!
The front door slams open as Michael stomps in, throwing his bag on the floor. As he trudges over to the refrigerator to grab a Cola, you step carefully behind him, a concerned look on your face. He spins around and flinches when he sees you looking up at him.
Softly.
Gently.
With love he was still getting used to.
You peered at him as you slowly wrap your arms around his waist, still sweaty from the long game. You weren't able to watch the game in person due to conflicting work hours, but you had it playing on the TV in the restaurant you served at. It truly was a bad game. Michael had missed three goals, while the other team scored two. Bastard München had lost, 0-2.
"Let go of me," Michael muttered, vaguely trying to pry your arms from his abdomen, though it felt like he was attempting to get you to hold tighter.
"No thanks Micha," you responded, leading him to the couch to lay. You expected him to resist, but he followed along like a lost puppy.
"Let me comfort you... I hope you know that just because one bad game happened doesn't mean you are bad at soccer, okay?" You held Michael into your body, back against the cushion, legs on either side of his, with him laying on your stomach, arms wrapped around you.
"It's so fuckin' stupid... I could have made those goals but their goalie kept catching the ball, tch," Michael groaned into the sofa, his face blatantly angered, yet numb.
"It's just... I don't even know... I'm mainly pissed at myself, I guess. I know I have the skill to beat that team. They weren't even that good." He continued rolling his eyes, pausing to hesitate on whether he should speak his mind.
"But we're... I'm going to improve. We're going to play them again, and we will beat them. We will beat them" He stated aloud, repeating the words as if to concrete his confidence that they'll win in the end.
"Mein schatz... You'll watch the game when we win, right? In person, and you'll give me a kiss for every goal I score too," Michael whispered, meeting your gaze.
The look of longing he had in his eyes was surprising. He never let his guard down, never letting his pride drop.
"Of course Micha. Of course. I will always be there for you, in person or not. And one loss doesn't mean you will always lose. You have to experience it to feel the dedication to finding new ways to win, my love. Now rest," You planted a kiss on his forehead, feeling his muscles relax as you gently ran your fingers through his hair.
It wasn't much longer until Michael's breathing slowed, reaching a steady tranquil pace as he fell asleep.
Reblogged
stalker!au michael kaiser x reader
The gloomy atmosphere. The rain hitting hard. There you were, standing under your umbrella, waiting for your brother, Alexis. And that very day changed Michael for good.
Seeing you, your soft skin, your sweet-honey like voice, those kind eyes that could make him commit any crime. He knew it right away; he needed you. You had to be his. He would do whatever it took.
The faint reminder of Alexis’s voice rang through his head,
“Don’t even breathe near her. I don’t need you ruining her.”
Was that really stopping him? No way.
Watching you. Lurking. School. Class 3-C. You sat in the rear middle. Cafe. You ordered a [DRINK]. Field. You were picking up Alexis. Home. Your bedroom was on the second floor, the one facing the left side of your house.
He knew everything about you. Everything. He wouldn't let anyone else have you. No way, you were his. His and only his. He would do anything to have you, to taint you. You were made for him. He was going to do whatever it took.