#<- tags after I wrote

[fallminlove]

[01:07]

c/w: little suggestive (making out, slight mentions of friends of benefit), mentions of alcohol, cursing, bad punctuation because i’m not going to edit this since I wrote this while tipsy

It was just another weekend night, you met up with Mingyu, you decided to invite him for a drink at the local bar near your house, just because you felt like having a couple of drinks yourself.

Mingyu wasn’t just any friends but, rather a special one. Usually on nights like these you would not have ask him to met up at a place other than you house, but tonight you just feel like you wanna get a little tipsy and maybe Mingyu will buy into it.

By the time Mingyu have gotten to the bar you’ve already had 2 drinks yourself. Not particularly being a heavy weight, you felt your mind already feeling fuzzy alrighty,

“Gyu!” you called out as you see him entered, “you’re late buddy, drink up” mentions to the beer you’ve ordered for him.

“buddy?! I’m just a buddy to you now?” Mingyu huffs as he chugs the beer, “I thought you were calling me up so we can have some fun again”

“Well I was,” you motioned to the bartender for another drink, “I’m just pregaming for what will happened later.” You took another sip of your drink, you don’t know why but you just felt like feeling drunk tonight.

“Dude I gotta tell you about this thing…” You started rambling about how you got your coffee order wrong earlier this week, and then about how good the company lunch was, then to the stray cat in your neighbor, basically, you were drunk rambling.

Mingyu gave the appropriate response, nodding or making a short comment, until you were just rambling and drank so much and tripped over yourself and fell in his lap.

“oh gosh, I’m sorry, I swear I’m usually not like this,” you said as you were trying to regain your balance.

Mingyu just looks at you, held you by the shoulders and he didn’t say much, or you couldn’t really tell because your mind was already kinda fuzzy from the alcohol.

You kept on apologizing and continue rambling on what you were saying, Mingyu stares for a bit and places his lips over yours to interrupt your intoxicated thoughts.

When Mingyu pulled away, he mutters “shit… I can’t tell if I like the taste of your lips or the taste of the alcohol…”

At this point of the night you couldn’t really hear him over the music and the dimmed lights of bar, you just pulled him in, to taste his lip over and over again.

[lilacxquartz]

love you, love you, love you;

mr. crawling x reader

plot: some things are best expressed without the need of words — themes: spooning/cuddling, smut, maybe yan vibes — w.c: 1.1k

a/n: my first homicipher related fic. i want to try one for mr. silvair & mr. gap next, bc they were also my favs. this game has been taking over my life so much lately. like it’s been in my dreams, haaah.

masterlist • ao3

Mr. Crawling was always loud when he was excited within your company; his laughter filled out the vast empty spaces that were otherwise unadorned with familiarity. Whatever you once sought from those winding corridors was ever-fleeting, temporary, leaving you stuck within the confines of his company.

Yet, when he felt what you could only interpret as affection—that’s when Mr. Crawling then became different—quiet, soothing, kind but also… curious.

And when you would usually sleep, he would stand watch, knelt over the floor as per his usual stance but sometimes crouched near you, sometimes leaning back against the wall with his legs pressed up against his chest. He would watch you as his life depended on it, unwavering in focus and with eerie intensity. He would watch as your chest rose and fell, leaning close on occasion to catch the sweep of your breath and sometimes, he would trace the pad of his milky fingertips in long, languid strokes against your face. Always so delicate, so tender, but for the most part, quiet and even shy.

Having once caught a glimpse of Mr. Gap in your blanket space, however, set something territorial off for Mr. Crawling and he was never able to recover from such an invasion. The very idea that someone else was able to infiltrate what he deemed to be your space—especially someone who he disapproved of—wasn’t something he could stand for. Especially with the sort of trickster Mr. Gap was, he couldn’t bear to see you get hurt. It would kill him on the inside (and on the outside, too).

So, just as you were getting into bed to rest up once more, he too, slipped in under the covers with you. At first, you were startled as usual, turning to face him with confusion evident in your eyes, murmuring out some words in a language that he still could not understand. He repeated something back, the meaning lost and indecipherable upon your ears, though soon surrendering to emphasis using gestures instead. A hug to bring you closer, a reassuring pat on your head and a small, longing kiss over your nose.

You listened to his words again, repeating over and over like a broken record.

Perhaps he meant no harm, after all.

You turned your back to him and settled into his chest, finding that he was surprisingly warm for what he was. His taller frame encased your body, wrapping his ashen arms around your waist—accidentally brushing the fabric that sat over your breast—nicking the cloth ever so slightly. Your breath hitched in surprise and as though in sheepish realisation, he withdrew right away, terrified that you were upset with him.

You drew out a long breath, reminding yourself again, that after everything that has happened thus far…

That, Mr. Crawling does not want to hurt you.

That Mr. Crawling has only ever helped you.

So perhaps, right now, Mr. Crawling only wanted to be closer to you.

You relaxed your breathing, settling into his comforting shadow once more and allowed for his presence to envelop you. He repeated the soothing motions of his grappling arm, although he held onto you softer that time. His hands explored your body with a delicate touch, as though afraid of breaking you—of upsetting you again—his motions growing confident the longer that you didn’t protest. It wasn’t long before he, otherwise not disturbed by your lacking, conscious awareness, decided to explore further with you. Mr. Crawling’s fingers didn’t ask for permission that time, creeping beneath the clinging fabric, feeling your skin against his palms, inviting a pleased, almost delighted smile to curl on his lips.

The silence remained unbroken as Mr. Crawling continued his explorative focus on you; the quickly-building evidence of his need growing harder the longer he pushed himself behind your body, the repeated touches arousing something warmer within him. To both his surprise as well as your own—you were not repulsed, allowing him to creep even lower, below the skirt of the dress and up, brushing his hand up to your exposed skin and, reading into it—you communicated your consent from the moment you parted your legs, allowing him to get even closer.

Confidence surged in Mr. Crawling as he pushed himself into your hilt, allowing his hardened length to slip inside. Betraying the stagnant silence, he shuddered out a ragged gasp before giving into his own rising need; grinding himself into your sopping sex with steadily increasing fervour. His fingers clamped around the curve of your hips as he held you in place, slamming every last inch of himself deep into your core.

Ever touch-starved yet wanting nothing more than to surrender to the sensation of you, Mr. Crawling continued to drive his cock into your needy cunt, soon wrapping his winding arms around your body and holding on tight. He bucked intensely as you soon succumbed to breathless whimpers, incoherently begging for his name. Equally desperate whines rolled off the slip of his tongue as he found his lips pressed into the crook of your neck, dampening your skin with sloppy wet kisses—as many as he could give.

It felt overwhelming for you in a way to be worshipped like this but you did your best to keep up with such intensity, especially as the warm, tingling pleasure built up inside of you, too. You held on just as tight as he did, your hand seeking out his own—fingers weaving into his bony digits—interlocking and squeezing tight the closer you got, your grip and otherwise clenching need tightening simultaneously. To feel him losing himself inside of you was dare you admit, addicting, feeling him completely fill and stretch you out leaving you almost dizzied from the impaling force.

Mr. Crawling, like you, soon surrendered to the rolling bliss from the flick of his hips, feeling a surging warmth mount and rise, encouraging him to lose himself to the searing heat of the moment and you. Encircling your body in a possessive hug, he suddenly began to mutter out a new word in a strained mantra, again and again.

Given how desperate he seemed to be, you understood the meaning as ‘close’, especially as his actions grew more strained and less controlled.

“Close, close, close,” he repeated.

It didn’t take his chased release to catch up as his hips grew to a stutter, rutting out one final pump before melting into you. Mr. Crawling cried into your neck, spilling out the entirety of his overflowing love, feeling the pent-up devotion trickle down your thighs—yet not letting you move away—still retaining his claim on you.

Instead, he kept you even closer than before, not allowing you to part from him ever again (despite understanding your yearning for rest).

Words were never the problem, it seemed.

Mr. Crawling would have always found a way to… connect with you.

[tawnysoup]

the fritter (frin critter)

[starstruckloves]

i don't know who needs to hear this but your f/o will not be upset or weirded out if you're getting upset over something "tiny". if an activity/interaction/situation is getting you just overwhelmed or frustrated or even angry to the point of tears, they aren't gonna be weirded out or think of you any less. they aren't gonna tell you to chill out or that you're over reacting.

what they are gonna do is try to help you through. try to maybe offer a distraction from the thing making you frustrated or just try and calm you down. maybe breathing exercises if they are familiar with them or a hug if you like those. anything just to help you. because they care about you <3

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[feelo-fick]

it can't be too hard right?

it's easy not to think about things, he tells me i don't think all the time! wait...

—

a scene from a fic that i have no clue if ill finish, let alone post, but look i made fanart of my own thing that doesnt even exist :D

[houseofpsychoticwomxn]

♱ 18+ smut !! ♱

thinking about smoking with simon while u ride him ᜊ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᜊ

♱⋰ ⋱✮ he’s convinced he’s corrupted you, turned you into some ‘cockdrunk stoner’, shaking his head at your insistent whines in his annoyingly clothed lap.

“you can’t get what you want all the fuckin’ time.” he griped, stilling your hips that seemed to have a mind of their own. of course he was a hypocrite, still-lit blunt gripped between his fingers pressing into your sides.

“why not?” you pouted, using the hands planted on his chest to lift yourself up and back down again, intent on torturing him just as much as he was you. he could be mean — deny you completely just so you’d really beg him for it, even make you get yourself off on his thigh without any help while he watches, but he couldn’t deny the effect you had on him; currently prevalent in his tightening jeans. he took another drag before grabbing your jaw, exhaling warm smoke into your mouth as your eyes closed.

soon enough you’re grinding on his dick — just lazily rocking your hips while he watches you. you take the blunt from his hand before he gets ash all over the couch, turning it towards him after tapping it against the glass tray on the table next to you, holding it for him so he can keep his hands gripped tight on your waist. your pace only gets more lax as you get higher, a loud smack to your ass reopening your eyes for you.

“c’mon ride it like you mean it. attagirl.”

˚₊‧꒰𓆩 ♱ 𓆪꒱ ‧₊˚

[soybean-official]

(not ship)

[thelilylav]

You’d have to stop the world just to stop the feeling

Good luck, babe….

ref:

[shalom-iamcominghome]

I am absolutely begging people to stop treating nazism as their big, bad blorbo caricature they can just invoke when they're mildly irritated about people who (they think) have Bad Opinions.

Nazism is not just "any time a Bad Guy does Bad Things." Nazism is not your final jojo stand you can invoke to win discussions or debates. It is a real life ideology that is intrinsically linked to the radical antisemitism it espouses and ignoring that is fundamentally harmful to the point of being radically antisemetic.

Since this is on-topic, I've been reading People Love Dead Jews (I am on chapter two), and I think downplaying nazism is absolutely part of de-emphasizing and reprioritizing antisemitism to make it about everything else but the antisemitism. When nazism is everything, then it can't be fundamentally antisemetic. You won't have to acknowledge that jews are the primary target of nazis and nazism if nazis are everything else. It's not a coincidence, especially seeing how many jews people call nazis. This is part of the dead jew that people love - if your eye is turned away from the fact that jews both exist still and are affected by violence and oppression, you get to say, "the jew is dead!".

Regardless, you will never live in a world without us**

עם ישראל חי

[riddlerosehearts]

okay but. in trey's dream, leona says he feels sorry for riddle because his two underlings are both dreaming of changing who the boss is. and then idia agrees and says that people like cater and trey are scary because they smile and hide their true feelings while secretly being dissatisfied with riddle and wishing someone else was the dorm leader. and i'm guessing, as i haven't ventured into the tags yet, that while i waited to be able to watch an english translation the rest of the fandom spent the last few days taking leona and idia's words at face value and hating on trey and having discourse over this!

but my first thought? was that those two couldn't be more wrong, and that cater and trey were subconsciously being so kind to riddle. seriously. they can't imagine the trauma his mother caused him being entirely gone, that's just too far off from reality and what they know, but they can imagine it being softened a little. they can imagine him being allowed to start healing instead of spending his first year at school getting worse and worse. they can dream of a world where riddle doesn't have the stressful responsibility of being dorm leader, a responsibility that contributed to keeping him under his mother's thumb by allowing him to tyrannize the dorm and force his obsession with rules on everyone else. cater dreamt that he was dorm leader and riddle was not only a normal card soldier, but a DJ for cater's parties, and having a fun time! trey dreamt that chenya not only went to NRC with them but became the dorm leader--that the happy trio of their childhood was reunited and riddle would be known as a great student who others could always ask for help, who lets himself feel free to eat what he wants instead of continuing to follow his mother's rules. both cater and trey's perfect dream worlds took away riddle's role as dorm leader, something that for his whole first year at NRC had served to prolong his trauma, and replaced it with him remaining a normal student so heartslabyul could be a safe place where he was free from his mother's influence instead. that's just so sweet it makes me want to cry.

[cheswirls]

short asl thing based on @where-does-the-heart-lie's modern au :) i started this over a year ago but the beginning is all dialogue and felt more like a script to me i suppose??? which deflated my desire to work on it. anyway i checked it over recently and it's completely fine lmfao, self-confidence restored here we go !

-

"Yo. Aren't you usually in the middle of your shift by now?"

"I've been banned from the hospital."

"Like, for life?"

"No. For the next, uh.. Twenty-two hours."

"That's oddly specific."

"It was twenty-four, but I fell asleep after leaving the building."

"That wouldn't have to do with why they kicked you out, at all?"

"Hmmm. I'm too sleep-deprived, apparently."

"Ah. And, um, you called me because...?"

"I pressed a random number in my call log after waking up. Lucky you, I guess."

"Yeah. Right. Lucky me. And your car keys are...?"

"Confiscated."

"Ah, right, of course."

A beat of silence. Two. Three, then "Look, if you're busy, then–"

"No, no.  You called me, so I'll be there. Give me twenty minutes."

"Alright. Thank–"

"Thank someone else. Also, if you fall asleep in my car, I'm taking it as express permission to drive you around wherever I want."

"Ugh, go die. I don't even know why I bothered."

"LUCKY YOU, I guess," sounds off way too loudly in his ear. "No take backs. See you in ten."

"I thought you said–" Sabo breaks off as the call ends, leaving him staring blankly at his phone's too-dim screen. He squints, turns the brightness all the way up, and still squints as the sunlight proves too strong for the display.

Ace shows up in more than ten but decidedly less than twenty minutes. Sabo doesn't waste much brain power on it, only climbing into the passenger seat and yawning into his palm while his other hand fixes the seatbelt into the buckle. Not a second too soon, too, as Ace roars the engine to life and peels away from the curb at record speed.

Ace fiddles with the radio. He turns the music up, then dial it back down to inaudible. They hit the expressway and he leans over the steering wheel, frowning with his eyes fixed on the road far ahead. Sabo yawns again and this appears to be the limit to his patience. 

"Hey, so, I had a thought after you hung up on me."

Sabo grimaces. "You mean you–"

"Today's Wednesday."

He doesn't elaborate. Sabo is too tired to process. "Yes," he follows, after a second. He glances at the sky out the front window. "What time is it?"

"Oh, uh." Ace fumbles with hand placement so he can lift his watch to his face. "Nine forty."

Sabo takes a couple beats to try and process this, moves his eyes away from the skyline, and sighs as he pulls his phone out. 2:47 is what the display reads, which sounds much more believable.

"How did the minute hand get off?" he mutters to himself, chancing a look at Ace's busted wristwatch. Ace raises a brow, taking his gaze off the road to scrutinize Sabo. "No, it doesn't matter," he mutters to himself once more, sliding his phone away back on his person and out of his hands.

"My point is," Ace continues, like he hasn't just been interrupted by a whole thing. "Your timeout will be done midday Thursday. Did they switch your days off?"

"No." Sabo sighs. "They technically gave me the next thirty-six hours. Technically closer to forty. Something like that. I go back in on Friday. Sometime.” He tries to smile and it turns out very lopsided, from that he can make out in the rearview mirror. “Can you tell I’m tired?”

“I don’t think ‘tired’ is an accurate description,” Ace quips. “When did you eat a proper meal last?”

“Uh, yesterday. Maybe.”

“Maybe??”

“A ‘proper meal’ means different things to the two of us,” Sabo huffs. “On my account it was yesterday. I’ve had food since then, of course.”

“Alright, so here’s the plan,” Ace announces before absolutely whipping it around a curve. Sabo is his passenger in the passenger seat and had fully prepared to be so when he got in the vehicle, but he’d been vastly underprepared for this sudden course of action, which is how he ends up halfway out of his seat with his cheek slammed into the cold window. Ace doesn’t quite notice his brother’s terminal velocity until the car is once again on the straight and narrow, and only then it’s because of the audible thunk Sabo’s face makes when it collides with the glass.

“Aw shit. You good bro?”

“Ow,” Sabo mutters. “If I have broken bones I’m suing your ass.”

“Well, if you’re good enough to make jokes, I think you’re better than you’re letting on.” Ace keeps the wheel steady with one knee while he takes both hands away to crack his fingers. When he glances over at Sabo again, he looks even more pathetic – like he’s becoming one with the glass. “Anyway, as I was saying.

“I’m taking your ass home. You’re going straight to sleep and while you crash, I’ll make you something decent to eat and stick it in the fridge for you to heat up later. I’ll even make you two servings to eat two different times, since you clearly can’t be trusted to take care of yourself correctly.”

“Ouch.”

“I want you to conk out for as long as your body allows. We can reset your sleep schedule tomorrow, alright? Put your phone on silent; do not answer any calls. In fact, you know what, just give it to me.

Sabo glances over to see Ace’s hand held out to him, palm up. Fingers wiggling expectantly. His lips pull up into a grimace. “I’m not doing that.”

“Fine.” Ace takes his hand back. “But you will comply with everything else.”

“Wow! It’s so funny, I didn’t realize you turned into my mother overnight! Really tapped into your mom potential, huh? Anything exciting happen in your life that would cause that? I guess I wouldn’t know, since I’ve been a zombie for the past two days.”

“There’s nothing wrong with acting like your older brother, you dipshit, especially if you keep putting yourself through the wringer like this. You go home. You sleep. You wake up and eat. You go back to sleep. Then we do laundry. Does that sound agreeable?”

“That’s negotiable, at the least,” Sabo mumbles. “I will accept good food as a form of bribery.”

“Oh, nice, because I’m flat broke at the moment.”

Sabo makes a mental note of that, and then they’re pulling into the driveway. Ace lets him exit the vehicle by himself and then promptly manhandles him all the way onto the couch where it will be easier to force his body to relax than in a real bed. Ace knows this, so he calls him weird before chucking a loose blanket at his head. Sabo is almost too tired to function at this point, so he lets Ace have the last laugh in favor of finally closing his eyes.

Coming to is a surreal experience, especially since the sun is still out. He must make a noise because Ace is suddenly within view. His limbs are tangled in the blanket and still so heavy that he doesn’t bother moving. “Thought you would be gone,” he half-groans, eyes slipping shut again for a moment.

“I did leave,” Ace confirms. “I had to go pilfer some stuff to make stew with. It’s almost done, so I’ll hang here until then.”

Pilfer. That could mean any number of things. Sabo chooses to believe in the option where Ace is an upstanding citizen, and then remembers Ace saying earlier that he had no money. He frowns and squirms on the cushions enough to where it looks like he’s checking his pockets. “Where’s my wallet, Ace?” he bluffs.

“Somewhere around here,” Ace pipes up. “Your stomach will thank you for your contributions to the Portgas Household’s pantry!”

“Ugh, I got robbed,” he complains. “This sucks. ‘m going back to sleep.” He rolls over so his back is to Ace.

“Yeah, you do you, bro. Stew will still be here later. I’ll see you when you’re back in the world of the living.”

—

Luffy comes in late that night and slams the front door shut as loud as humanly possible. When he appears in the main room, he doesn’t seem to be upset, so Ace writes it off as a Luffyism. Sabo hasn’t stirred at the noise, so it’s all good.

Realizing this, Luffy pads closer to Ace’s side and looks at Sabo’s unmoving body warily. “Why is Sabo passed out like a corpse? Is he sick?”

“No, he’s not sick, he just can’t take care of himself. Which is why we are going to let him sleep for as long as possible.”

Luffy just nods to this, but it’s the uncomprehending Luffy-nod that means he’s just going to end up doing whatever he wants to regardless. Ace sighs, then jerks his head towards the kitchen. “He ate a little earlier, but I want him to eat again when he wakes up. There’s stew in the fridge if you want it – just leave him a little. Got it, Monkey D. Luffy?”

Luffy throws him a salute and then runs off in his socks. “Yippee! Ace made stew!”

“Think of your brother, Luffy, and make good choices!” Ace calls after him. “He’s a pathetic man who needs food to feel better or he’ll end up sleeping through Laundry Day!”

—

Sabo does not sleep through laundry day, but he does sleep for sixteen whole hours, so it’s just around noon when he forces himself up off the couch and into a warm shower.

Ace is around, which is mildly unexpected. But he’s still half-asleep, so everything is at least a little unexpected. He glances up from playing video games with Luffy to see Sabo leaving the steam-filled bathroom with his hair hanging around his shoulders. “You look like a wet cat,” he calls.

“Sabo’s awake!” Luffy cheers. “Ace thought you died at one point.”

Ace elbows Luffy in the gut, making him hunch over. “I did not!”

“He totally checked to see if your heart was still beating!”

“I’m undead, actually,” Sabo says completely seriously.

“Does that mean you don’t need to eat anymore?” Luffy questions. “Because I ate all the stew last night.”

“I saw that coming and made extra.” Ace finger-guns in Sabo’s general direction. “That’s why I bought two sets of ingredients. With your money!”

“With my money,” Sabo echoes, because it’s such a wild statement to have to deal with this early in the day. Well, early for him. “Fuck you.”

“I mean, I can tell Luffy where I hid–”

“Thank you, Ace, for agreeing to share your quarters with both of your brothers so we can all do laundry today on your dime!” Sabo raises his pitch so his voice is mockingly squeaky when he says this. He starts moving down the hall before Ace can start to argue, letting his and Luffy’s voices bleed into the background.

When he comes back out, now dressed, it smells significantly better than before. “I reheated the stew,” Ace announces, gesturing for Sabo to take a seat at the kitchen counter. “Let’s all have lunch before we head out.”

“You have to drink this too,” Luffy tells Sabo, sliding a Gatorade across the counter so it sets in front of him when he finally does take a seat. “Ace’s orders.”

“Gotta get those nutrients back somehow.”

“Aren’t we so considerate, Sabo?”

“Do you even know what ‘considerate’ means?” Sabo asks, lips quirking up into a half-smile. At Luffy’s shrug, it turns into a real smile. “Well, thanks anyway. Both of you.”

“No sweat. And look!” Ace brandishes a five dollar bill for both to see. “I found this baby for us to use on coins! It’s all on me today–”

“Where’s my wallet, Ace?!���

[hyakunana]

Two researchers and a granute walk into a lab

[ao3-crack]

(x)

[xinyuehui]

Her pov: He knows what to do His pov: Clueless (and a lot more pink)

Love Game in Eastern Fantasy · 2024

[intotheelliwoods]

This is Part 2! Part 1 can be found here...

Sprout... hey Sprout... we love you Sprout... we wish only the best for you, you are doing amazing Sprout. I promise you will feel better after your much needed breakdown here <3 we are all cheering you on

Apologies for the cliffhanger, we will check in with Poptart sometime soon~

Masterpost

[tartagliove]

Thinking about fox shifter!Childe who loves to chase bunny shifter!Reader. He chased you when he first met you, fox paws pinning you down in your squirming rabbit form, until you wore yourself out and he took you home with him. But after he knows you, he still loves the chase.

The tinge of instinctual fear intermingled with nervous thrill in your scent makes his blood pump. His fox ears are out, tail streaming behind him as he chases after you, following the noises you make as you bound and leap through the forest, trying to stretch out the distance between you and him.

You’re fast, but Childe has trained tirelessly over the years to hone his senses and master his body—both human and fox form, and the in-betweens. So he gains on you, your scent growing stronger to the point he can almost taste it.

He can tell you’re tiring.

Once he closes the distance and catches you, hands wrapping around your waist and spinning you around, he pushes you up against a tree. Before you can get a word out, he tears through the sleeve of your shirt with sharp claws, his fox features still present with the adrenaline running through his veins. Your noise of surprise is ignored. He swipes his tongue along your neck, savoring the taste of your skin: slightly salty from running, but your sweet scent is so strong here. Childe can hear your blood pumping, see your pulse fluttering, and he can’t help himself.

He bites.

Sinks his teeth into your skin, where your neck curves into your shoulder. You whine in shock at the sting of pain, but a shiver runs down your spine. His canines are sharper than a normal human’s, but he takes care to not break skin—this time.

He pulls back slowly when you thump your fist into his chest.

“Get off! Why did you have to go and tear my top?”

Childe runs his tongue over his teeth. He can taste you on his tongue, in his mouth, and he grins. “You ran from me.”

Your fingers brush over his bite mark. “I thought that was the whole point of what we planned,” you complain. “Why am I getting punished for it?”

“That’s not a punishment,” he says, blue eyes darkening. “It’s a reminder that I’ll always catch you, no matter how far you run.” He’ll be satisfied with the possessive mark left on your neck for now. It will fade in a few days, but that will be the perfect excuse for him to chase you again.