#lazy drabble again

[beepboopappreciation]

Your mechanical lover, who tries so desperately to show how much it cares for you.

It was built for war. It has seen death up close. Brutality. Gore. It has experienced and created horrors you could not possibly imagine. It can be so ruthless.

But not with you. No, never with you.

With you, it is gentle. It is kind. With you, its touch is soft and forgiving. The guns it uses to kill others without reserve . . . instead are seen as protective over you.

The same appendages that have torn countless soldiers to shreds now present you with flowers picked from a nearby field.

It does not feel remorse for what it has done to others. Why would it? That is not part of its programming.

It should not feel the way it does around you. It should not feel. That is not part of its programming.

And yet . . .

[dramaticallytotal]

Please expand on the other contestants finding out about Noah’s International Harem, cause it’s hilarious to me that they see this no game barely there guy and bam! he is an international heartthrob.

"Wow, Noah! I didn't know you had it in you!" Chris exclaimed with a laugh.

"What are you talking about, McLean?" Noah asked with a frown.

Chris shook his head in fondness. Noah would always be Noah, even after being flirted with while being recorded for a reality show. He really didn't think that punk boy that showed up with that, basically a mob, group of other punks from the club Duncan had been performing at was Noah's type.

"I mean, it looks like you just got yourself a punk boyfriend, dude! What, was our resident delinquent not up to your standards or tastes?"

Duncan yelled in offense at that, which made Chris smirk.

Noah, of course, rolled his eyes at Chris. "Are you deaf Old Man? Ezra was just interested in my thoughts on my book since he's read it before."

The once noisy space was absolutely silent at Noah's words.

And as though he didn't notice the silence (he didn't), Noah continued, "Plus, he acknowledged we wouldn't have a lot of time to go too in depth in our comparative analyses because of the show and he was intrigued by my view on the last chapter when I get to it so we exchanged numbers."

Silence.

Finally, Noah noticed it and looked up to everyone staring at him like he was stupid, or they just looked plain shocked. "What?"

Slowly, Chris approached Noah and put a hand on his shoulder, "Kid....that dude was hella flirting with you. Like...hella. The book was an excuse to talk to you."

"What? No, it wasn't." Noah said, though he didn't sound as sure as he usually did.

"Yeah, no. Chris is right, Noah. That guy was really hitting on you. He chose the book as an excuse because otherwise, you would have made him cry for even approaching you. He probably noticed that and thought the best way to get your attention was to ask what you were reading." Courtney stated.

Poor Noah just looked so lost. "But what about...?"

"Woah! Noah! That means Ezra is like the sixth boy to hit on you using books as an opening and the sixth to get your number from it. Haha, wild!" Izzy laughed from her perch on Owen's shoulders. Despite them not dating anymore, they were still touchy-feely friends.

"Excuse me!?" Chris was fine with the one dude but six. SIX. Who do these boys think they are???

"HOW!?" Heather yelled. She wasn't the only one who looked like they were thinking that, but she was the one to voice it.

"SIX!? WHEN?" Everyone turned to who shouted that, and it ended up being Alejandro, who also looked surprised at his shout.

"Well, there was that one in Egypt who was staying at the same hotel as us, and Izzy wanted to swim! So I dragged Noah, Eva, and Owen with. Then there was the cutie in Japan when Owen wanted to go to that karaoke restaurant, and Noah didn't like our duet, so he went outside. Oh, oh! Then! There was the American in New York who -" Izzy's rant was cut off by Noah somehow climbing up Owen to silence Izzy but putting a hand over her mouth.

His face was noticeable red, and he looked so distressed.

"Holy shit..." Duncan whispered before he started cackling. Everyone just watched as the punk laughed and laughed till there were tears in his eyes. "Who knew the loser had it in him!"

"Dude....six guys is..." Gwen looked like she was trying to hold back her own laughter. She failed and also started laughing. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Noah, it's just... dude! You have no game! None! How?"

"Hey!"

"No 'hey', man, you know it's true." Chris finally said despite the fact he would definitely be asking Izzy just who those boys were later.

"OHEMGEE!" Everyone startled when Sierra, who had been abnormally silent till then. It had scared Izzy and Noah so bad that they both fell off Owen's shoulders. "This is like so many animes I've watched! Noah! You have a harem! I can't believe I get to see one happen, IRL!!"

Chris had never seen Noah go from so flustered to pale in seconds flat before, but there was a first time for everything. The aforementioned boy quickly scrambled off the floor, huffing and puffing before pointing at Sierra dramatically, "You will not make that a thing! It's not even a thing! I don't have a harem!"

"My little buddy is so popular!" Owen squealed.

"Owen!" Noah screeched betrayed.

"You...are very popular amigo..." Alejandro chuckled, but even to Chris, it sounded forced.

Well... this is not what Chris had intended to happen, not that he knew what would happen by teasing Noah about the punk boy, but still. "So, are you going to message them all once the show is over?" He had to know.

Heather was still just standing there with her mouth agape while Courtney was yelling at Gwen and Duncan to get a grip. Cody looked like he wanted to comfort Noah, who was sandwiched between Izzy, Eva, and Owen, but he currently had Sierra gripping his arm and talking his ear off about the harem trope.

Alejandro, though, Alejandro looked shocked beyond words but also very angry. Chris would say the guy looked more jealous, but no way was he going to voice that.

Tyler looked confused but supportive.

Poor Noah looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. Like a bomb going off, the boy pulled away from his friends and seemed to explode. "HOW CAN I MESSAGE THEM ALL IF THEY ALL WERE SUPPOSEDLY INTO ME?"

"WHAT KIND OF PERSON WOULD THAT MAKE ME?" Okay, this was a bigger reaction than Chris had anticipated. "I CAN'T JUST MESSAGE THEM ALL?? WOULDN'T THAT BE ME LEADING THEM ON? I DON'T WANT TO LEAD ANY OF THEM ON! THEY WERE NICE! BUT I THOUGHT THEY JUST WANTED TO DISCUSS BOOKS! THAT'S WHAT I'M GOOD AT! WHAT IF THEY- WHAT IF-"

It was when Noah started hyperventilating that they realized just how distressed Noah actually was about this. That's what it took to get Gwen and Duncan to stop laughing.

It snapped several people into action. Namely Gwen, Courtney, Heather and Eva who rushed to calm Noah down and the rest who awkwardly watched.

Oops.

[kangaracha]

CATSKIN for @feelbokkie

prompt felix + twisted fairytale (catskin)

TW for blood, minor character death, mentions of sexual assault, medieval type violence

word count 4444

---

I.

When first you meet, it is like two stars colliding - like the sun and the moon dancing around each other in the sky, and love at first sight is a dream for foolish, insipid children and you know that to be true, but...

Maybe in this moment, you forget. Maybe you see his face, warm against the cold ice of the cape that falls over his shoulder, or maybe you watch the soft curve of his mouth as he laughs at something his brother says, standing so subtly apart from the crowd that no one notices they are there. Maybe your eyes meet across the room, sun-warmed brown to striking blue, and time stills and the dance stops and your heart thinks that here and now, nothing else could matter but the taste of his name on your tongue and knowing what his hand would feel like in yours.

But this isn't real. The ballroom is crowded, and he is a familiar face you have never met, and you are a stranger with the moon draped over your shoulders for the night. The band strikes up a dance, a lively rhythm that swings fast and slow, and you are swept into the rush of the current, your feet moving in a pattern that they know from heart. Your hands are still stained with coal; you take every suitor's hand palm-down, hiding the black stains that won't quite scrub from already-dark skin, and you waltz without meaning until pale, slender fingers take yours and hold them tight, tugging you from the dance before you can be passed on to the next partner in line.

"Wha-" you begin, and then you look up into the eyes you've dreamed of for days and months and years and forget what you were going to say at all.

"Sorry," he says, and drops your hand with all the haste you'd expect someone like him to once he looked close enough to see the lie shivering beneath your skin. "I just wanted to know your name, before I lost you in the crowd."

Love at first sight is a story mothers tell to put their children to sleep at night, and you have lost all your senses because in that moment, your mouth opens as if to answer him.

"There you are," a voice says behind you, too sweet to be any you know; and an arm loops through yours, and here is Hyunjin suddenly, jewels dripping from his brow and a fire burning in the back of his eye where only you know what it is for. "It's so like you to wander off. Come on; our friends are looking for us."

"Before you go-" says the mouth you'd seen laughing from across the hall, the prince it belongs to reaching out a hand - but you are already gone sliding away through the crowd that fills his ballroom from wall to wall with more dazzling finery than you've ever seen in your life.

"That was close," Hyunjin breathes in your ear, and there is the voice that you recognise, liquid fire and undertones of dark shadow. "You're supposed to avoid him, you know."

"I know," you mutter and allow yourself to be swept away, all thoughts of love and the sun and the electric feeling that had jumped from his hand to yours swept to the side.

II.

The king likes the ballroom to be full and the people to be colourful, and he likes the crowd to be lively.

The wine flows freely for the last day of the summer, the lords and ladies stripped of their cautious humours and careful tongues. Their laughter is raucous as you slip out into the garden, the sun pulled over your shoulders in lengths of fine silk that cut away the cold wind that bites at your exposed skin. Already, the trees have begun to turn and the grass is wet with the season's rain; you stand in the centre of an autumn scene and watch the leaves flutter and fall, the light of the lanterns glittering from your skirts and the swirl of beading across your breast, woven from the finest gold.

"It's you," says the man beneath the tree; and when he steps out into the light, dressed again in pure white, you forget to pretend that you hadn't seen him, or that you'd simply come out here to breathe in air that wasn't stifled by the laughs of a thousand other people. "I was looking for you, you know."

"Were you?" you ask with the curve of a smile, your tongue loosened by the quiet of the cooling night and the seclusion of the garden. "Or could you just not find someone to dance with?"

You'd seen him earlier, standing at the edge of that floor. Gently turning away the hands of countless maidens in gowns that dripped in jewels under the guise of speaking to his brothers, searching the crowd with his eyes at every moment he thought that eyes weren't watching him. The guilty smile that plays on his face says that he knows exactly what you are thinking of; the step that he takes within your reach says that he isn't going to hide it. "Maybe I was waiting for the right person," he says, and then his cheeks turn pink in embarrassment, his eyes sliding momentarily away from yours.

"You'll waste your entire night if you think like that," you tell him lightly, and then you glance over your shoulder at the doors to the ballroom - to give him a moment to himself, you tell yourself, and pretend that it wasn't because you thought you felt the creep of Hyunjin's watchful gaze over the back of your neck. There is no one at the door though, no one watching through the backs that are turned to the glass. Only he can see you here, the sun standing in the middle of the night's darkness.

"I never got to ask your name the last time I saw you," he says; and with a start that jolts up your spine like electricity, you turn back to him. 

"I never got to ask yours either," you say, in lieu of the answer that you cannot give him. Never mind the danger of him recognising you too closely after this night - if he mentioned to Hyunjin the name of a girl he'd met in the garden, if Hyunjin knew what you were doing between the tasks you'd been given...

"Everyone knows mine," he scoffs; not because he thinks so highly of himself, but in the reluctant acceptance of someone who had never known a moment of privacy. "You can't have come to the woodlands knowing so little."

"And what if I didn't?" you question, playing along on this string of a conversation rather than letting him turn it back around to the question he'd really tried to ask. "What if I'd simply come here to enjoy the night, and seen a man across the room that I thought I'd like to know?"

His smile grows wider, his eyes softening. You like the way that smile looks on him. "Then I'd tell you my name is Felix," he tells you. "And I'd probably ask you to dance before we met like this, out here in the garden where no one is looking. And it probably wouldn't be such a scandal if we were seen either."

"That doesn't sound like as much fun though," you say. "Isn't it much more interesting to meet like this, than to have it all planned out?"

"Are you someone that likes trouble?" he asks, head tilted to the side in question; and the words seem cautious, probing, but he draws in closer again anyway, enough that his hand can brush yours in the folds of your dress.

"Maybe I am," you tease, your heart fluttering and jumping around in your chest like a nervous rabbit. "Aren't you?"

"I think I could be," he says, and his hand brushing your chin is followed by his lips brushing yours; and it is only a question, a stepping across boundaries that promises to rescind immediately if you push him away, but love at first sight is a dream and you think maybe, in another life, you might have been a terribly indulgent dreamer.

You kiss him with all the certainty that had driven you to this point, this garden and this night and this man, and his lips are soft and he smiles too much, and his hands are hesitant to wander, but you've already tried hot, heady passion and men who take what they want. Soft is new, and questioning sends a shiver down your spine, and you think this is a better man. 

And then you stop because you remember, but you play it off as the toll of the bell startling you from a daydream. "I have to go," you say, which is true, and then, "I hope you find someone to dance with tonight," which is not.

"Will I see you again?" he asks; and it's notable, you think, that he doesn't reach out of try to stop you. That he accepts on face value that you are telling the truth and that, even though his eyes say they want you to stay, his mouth would be rude to ask.

"Maybe," you say, the word drawn out like honey dripping long and slow from your tongue. "If you have another ball."

He laughs, his eyes squeezing closed with the pain of it. When they open again, you make sure you are gone from his sight.

You're pretty sure you dropped something like your heart there in the courtyard, but you don't dare to go and get it back. Not yet.

III.

You're cutting through fine hallways of tapestry and stone from the garden, your basket filled with vegetables and your face streaked in dirt. You aren't supposed to be here - a scullery maid shhould be in the dark spaces between the walls, scurrying up and down steep and spiralling stairs, but you're late and the cook is a stone-faced woman with a tongue made for lashing, and you hadn't thought-

The prince stops to look at you, confusion furrowing in his brow as he stares at your face. Recognition; except that today you are hiding under the brown of the dirt and the mantle of wild fur, cobbled together from the backs of many animals but none so fine as te ermine that lines his coat. 

Your heart sinks even as it pounds in alarm at the thought of him finding out what you are and where you've come from. It is a disaster if it happens, surely, but at the same time - maybe you'd tricked yourself into thinking that he remembered you the same way you did him. Or maybe he had tricked you, with the way he'd so quietly given you his name in the garden, the earnesty with which he'd nearly asked you to stay.

"Your highness?" Hyunjin asks at his shoulder, dressed all in his own princely regalia, and Felix turns away. And for a moment you hate Hyunjin, as you slip to the side of the hall where your feet should be, out of the way; because how could he be so beautiful, and so detached and so true to his beliefs that he could play the prince, and you are so suited to fur and treachery that you stand here a maid?

"Sorry," Felix says, to Hyunjin and not to you, and pretends to move on. You can see his eyes flick back again as he leaves though, trying one last time to see past the furs and the dirt, to place where he has seen you before.

You can see Hyunjin's too, piercing when they look directly at you. Warning, that you are overcomplicating things. That this is all about to be a mess, and you are no longer prepared for it. 

Your ire rises again. You know what has to happen, and what he will do to facilitate it, and you know your own roll. You know it all has to end. Who is he, to think you can't carry through on a promise? Who is he to doubt you?

IV.

The final coat is made of feathers plucked from the birds of the sea cliffs, tawny brown and ochre and cream. Hidden in the tunnels of the castle, Hyunjin tucks a sprig of samphire into the curl of your hair, picked from the edge of the world before you had left and wrapped carefully in paper made for preserving these kinds of things. A piece of home, brushing up against your ear every time you turn; a signal to those that you have let in the back door that you are a friend, in case you are caught in the havoc.

"What happened to your hands?" he asks as he steps back to look at you, his own lifting your wrists so that he can see the black marks on your fingers.

"There was grease on the gate lock, to stop it sticking," you reply. "It doesn't wash off like blood does."

He drops your hands just as fast as he'd picked them up, his eyes scanning the feathers again. As if it was this coat that you'd worn when you'd taken a knife to the man at the gate, as if he would find evidence of the blood on your hands smeared across the vanes if he only turns you this way and that. Silly of him, really - the edge of the fur coat was the one that bared the stains. The fur was made for the work of the hands. The feathers were only sent as a signal, a draw of the eyes, dropping in the path of your feet as you walk towards the ballroom.

"Stay away from the prince," Hyunjin warns you, his attention turning in the direction of his own path to the party. "He's looking for a particular girl that he saw last time. He'll have eyes everywhere."

"Not on the ground though," you answer, shaking out the coat and watching a feather of mottled brown drift to the floor. You ignore the way that your stomach dips at the mention of a girl. You neglect to mention that the girl he's looking for might be you, and the rouge brushed across your cheeks and the glitter of gold on your eyelids will only draw his eyes. 

You should have worn the dirt and hidden in the shadows, but that's not how they had prophesised it. The witches had whispered of a feather coat and a dress made of the sun and a moonlight shawl, and you'd been the one foolish enough to wear them, and no one in those rooms had been able to resist the magic of them, least of all the prince.

"Time to go," Hyunjin says as the bell tolls seven, and with one last look between you, you turn your seperate ways. 

You don't know where his heart resides, but you know that yours is in your throat. You hope that he survives the night. You hope that whatever he came here for is worth what it is going to cost.

V.

At the moment the ballroom bursts open, the black soldiers streaming in from every entrance, you are looking at the prince.

You hadn't meant to. You had taken Hyunjin's advice, as much as it grated at you to do it, and you had avoided him, skirting around the edges of the room while he searched in all the wrong places for you, dropping your feathers where the feathers wanted to fall and hiding in crowds of garish colour that sniffed and sneered at your coat of soft brown; but even though you don't wear the sun or the moon, you still orbit around him and him around you when you are in this room, and to stay away from him was-

Impossible, in the moment when you turn and there he is, right on your tail like the hunters following the birds to their nests in the cliffs, willing to jump from the rocks just to collect the eggs that might hide below. Except that he wasn't here to steal from you, or to catch you in his hands and tame you - he only thinks that you are beautiful, or that he could love you if only you gave him a chance.

And then the feathers ruffle and shift in the breeze, and the doors open, and the room fills with the men of the sea, axes and knives glinting in their hands and white teeth snarling within their faces.

Eerie silence falls as the room stutters to a halt, the shiny, red-faced aristocrats turning to stare at the army that have entered their sanctuary. The first one falls by the main entrance, his wine arcing through the air as he tumbles to the ground under the sharp blade of an axe; and then they scream, and they move in every direction, and in the maelstrom of silk and chiffon and eyes of horror you lose sight of the prince.

Slipping across the room is like fighting upstream against a raging river, ducking between bodies and around blades that don't have time to see the samphire behind your ear. You fade away into the one hallway you hadn't marked with a feather, disappearing into the black of the walls and the twisting tunnel down to the kitchens where just moments ago maids had scurried out to deliver the feast, and your heart breaks at the red-suited body that tumbles in on your heels, the eyes of a man in armour of beaten iron that take in your feathers and your face and turn away, back to the bloodbath, but you can't go back. You can't save him. 

And then a gutteral cry echoes down the tunnel, and a body blocks the light that flickers from its entrance, and there he is, your prince. His eyes are scared and his mouth open as he gasps for breath, the little knife he'd used on your countryman held in a white-knuckle grip in front of him as if he thinks he might need it again at any time. Blood splatters the front of his snow-white coat, tarnishing the pearls and sinking into every fibre of the cotton and wool that holds it together.

"It's you," he gasps between breaths, the words reverberating from the stone walls. "I found you."

"You-" you begin to say, but the words are lost in the storm of thoughts that cloud your mind, the race of scenarios that you can imagine coming from this unfateful meeting, this turn in the story that was never anticipated. Every step has been told to you up until now - the coats, and the feathers, and the rush of men into the ballroom that leads to the fall of a kingdom - but no one said a word about this. About him, the prince, the hands that now cup your heart to their chest, and the knives at his back as he stands there, just one step shallow of safety.

You think too much about what has happened and what could happen next, but you don't think at all when you reach out and grab him, dragging him down the tunnel and into the darkness, where only sporadic lanterns burn to guide the way. Around this corner and then that, down a staircase so steep that countless girls have broken their necks tripping on its uneven stones, into the warmth and light of the kitchen, where the smell of the pig roasting over the fire fills the air and the stack of pots waiting for you to wash them later in the night teeters towards the ceiling, stacked in one corner by several pairs of careless hands.

No one is here. They'd timed it deliberately for the arrival of the feast, when the attendants of the ball would all reconvene from the corners of the palace to the ballroom to fill their already ample stomachs. Incidentally, this meant that the kitchen staff were all in attendance too, arranging dishes under the watchful eye of the cook, which meant that when you tried to hide a prince in the kitchen-

"Wait," he says, dragging back against your hold on his arm. "Wait, I know a way out of the castle. I can take you where it's-"

"No," you cut across him before he can finish, and you tug at him again, dragging him step by step towards the maid's quarters. "They're in the hidden tunnels too. There's no way out."

He's so surprised that he forgets to resist you, his body going slack with his jaw and his feet following you across the room. "How do you know that?" he asks.

You don't dare to look back at him as you enter the room you share with the other girls, as you open the little chest-of-drawers that holds everything you brought with you (but not everything you own) and you pull out the clothes you wear day-to-day - grey trousers and a cream shirt slowly staining brown, and the coat of a thousand furs, its edges stained with fresh blood. "Put these on," you order him, shoving them into his arms without looking him in the eye, and then you turn your back.

"I wouldn't punish you for pretending to be from the court," he says to your back as he changes, the white jacket thrown to the dusty floor and then his shirt and breeches. "Or for knowing whatever you know. You saved my life." His boots are too nice to be a servant's, but yours won't fit him; you reach for Alice's old pair while he is busy, set neatly at the foot of her bed, and hand them to him when he is done, picking up the clothes he has discarded instead.

You saved my life too, you should say of the man he had killed, to keep up the illusion, but the lie seems wan in the face of the truth you are going to have to admit to him by the end of the night. You stalk past him instead, headed to the fire with the truth and the lies still sitting sour on your tongue.

The shirt and pants burn easily, the leather of the boots slow to sink between the logs that fuel the flame. You hesitate a moment before throwing the coat in after them, eyeing its precious pearls and hand-woven patterns of leaves and swirls. A silver brooch pinned to the lapel catches your eye; your thumb runs over it, feeling the careful details its maker has pressed together and the chips of diamond that embed its surface.

"That was my mother's," Felix says behind you, a certain grief hidden in the stiffness of his voice. "But you can burn it if you have to."

"I don't have to," you reply, and you work it free of the fabric with delicate and practised fingers. The coat feeds the flame; the brooch pins onto your dress, just above your heart.

 "Pretend to be a servant," you say as you turn to look at him. Your hands reach out to fix his coat, to smear the soot from the fireplace into his golden curls and down his cheeks. "I can't keep you alive if you're a prince, but if you're just a boy from the kitchens-"

His hands catch yours as they slip from his face, the ash that clings to your skin staining his as he grips them tight. "Who are you?" he questions. "What have you done?"

Tight-lipped, ashen-faced, you look up into his eyes - pale blue to forest brown, liar to honest truth. "I'm the feathercoat," you say, as if he will understand the words of a fable that people only whisper over the sea cliffs and the raging storms of the ocean. "I'm the one that brings the woodlands to their knees. I'm-"

Your voice chokes in your throat, your fingers growing numb from the force of his grip on your hands. There's a knife still tucked into his waistband - there's a knife behind him, stuck by its tip into the surface of the cutting board. You only have your feathers, and the excuses that stack up in the back of your throat; that the witches told us it would be so, or your land is the only gift my father will accept in place of a marriage to that man, or haven't you seen the way your father encroaches on our cliffs? Haven't you seen the way your farms destroy our hills and valleys and pollute our river? But those are all reasons that blame someone else, and you are the one that stands here, and the grease from the gate stains your fingers, not theirs-

"I loved you," he says, and he lets go of you like he has been burned. "I saw you across the room, and I thought no one could be so beautiful, and you can't even tell me the truth when-"

A shout echoes down the hall you'd escaped from, the rattle of armour and the thunder of heavy boots against the floor. "Wait," you say to him, a hand suspended in the air between you. You're afraid to touch him, when he could reach for that knife - when he deserves to see your blood run, for what you have done - but you can't let him run to his death all the same. "Wait until we live, and then I'll tell you, and then you can kill me. But wait. Take my hand and wait."

He hesitates, his eyes wary like he doesn't believe you, but the man on the stairs shouts again, calling for someone to follow him, and the fear shoots right into his heart and his hand slides into yours, his pulse fast but his fingers cold. 

"I don't want to kill you," he says, like a promise you can't believe he will keep. "Just keep me alive, and when the sun comes up, tell me everything. Please. I don't have any reason to kill you if everyone here is already dead."

"I will," you reply, and this is a promise that will be kept, whether or not he reaches for the knife when the light of the dawn comes. "I love you too, you know. I didn't mean to hurt you."

And yet, you have. And yet, the guilt and the feathers eat you alive.

---

PERMANANT TAGLIST

@amyyscorner @kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @keepswingin @rylea08 @puppysmileseungmin @thatonedemigodfromseoul

[grxysuit]

[] - TIME - 03:00 .DATE - [CLASSIFIED] - LOCATION [ CLASSIFIED]

-- LAB 0139

------ CELL. 02.

SPECIMEN STATUS - LUCID. INJURED[ ATTENDED TO] SEDATED. [85]

ADHERE TO ALL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES. ANY ERROR OR MISSTEP WILL BE PROSECUTED. ALARMS ARE ACTIVE.

------------

Pryde's able to walk again, which given the degree of injury he should have taken PTO, but he can't, not now. His mission is almost at it's finale. He also, is unwilling to deal with the gloom of his homelife. So... Eat, sleep, and heal on company time.

He can walk, but not well, not yet. There's still a gnawing pain in his innards that no amount of medications seems to quell, something to study later on no doubt. For now, he wants to see his hunt, his charge. The RD who this entire slaughter and fuss this operation was about.

By now getting through the security is habit, barely noticeable, all the precautions much more tolerable than the itching in his stitches. Finally, he's able to come at least close enough to this insane caged animal. It's not comfortable by any means, the viewing 'tank' is actually in a different room to the holding cell, allowing a clinical and invasive observation of the subject.

All sorts of pipes and cords are inserted in him intravenously. Pryde's not a science guy, he doesn't know the exact nature of what everything does here. Only that for the time being its proven effective at stabilising and otherwise cutting off certain avenues of distortion. And lying in an uncomfortable fetal position, the guy almost looks human. Almost.

Ignoring all the dressings and cords, and of course the marks from his own recent surgery. He even got an industrial wash, which is probably the first he's had in his life. Looking like a slightly damp toad or wet cat in a shelter. Like some pitiful inbred dog with 30 health conditions at the pound.

Though the reality was this was some ungodly abomination that should be put down as soon as they were able.

"Mr Kurosawa..Good morning." He greets, clicking the communication on as he settled on an office chair, pad and pen in hand as he scribbled some notes of his own.

The Nephandus groggily lifts his head, no doubt jolted by the 'helpful' electronic pulse that forced him awake from his reverie to respond to questions. His expression is impossible to discern, both parts sleepy and displeased. He cants his head, cracking his neck uncomfortably, camera following his movement.

"Agent- what was it, Pryde?" He greets drily, moving into an awkward, hunched sitting position. Surveying his captor with a heaving sigh and a grunt.

"Nice set up. I'm impressed, I am." Constance continues, eyes darting to stare ahead, fingers stiffly tracing one of the cords poked into his hand.

"How was the cleanup? What I'd give to see the autopsy report on those carcasses. Especially the blacksuits." Constance grins, skew teeth showing, as he gives a hoarse laugh, clearing his throat before spitting.

Pryde just writes, not yet responding or showing emotion. Give the enemy no sign of your internal conflict, any emotion can be used against you.

"Are you proud of yourself, reality deviant? For you specifically, this was quite mild, sweet of you to pity the Progenitor." Pryde prods, though he--.

[ information request; denied]

There's an extended silence, shit the RD definitely noticed the glazed look and whirr of his mechanical pupils. No matter. Keep going.

"Not my best work, but it was fine. Fun enough for an evening out. This place is kind of maddening. Everything has a switch, a hum, the lights- oh they fucking sing their own tune. The metal, the sterile, clinical, banal -"

[Sedative increase- 20%]

Constance hisses, looking more - no he doesn't even look like an animal. Like some amorphous imitation of a human. Hissing with pain, head extended like his body is being puppeted, sigils twitching and moving on him like water. Trying to protect their host from the invasive biotech that held him in place. A tar like substance fills some of the pipes.

Sweat beads on his forehead, how human, to contrast the evil thing that pants with pained groans, teeth grit as latent magic struggles against its bindings. Desperate for something-anything to be the target.

Pryde watches, still aware that this was all experimental, and there was an off chance this abomination would get out, that he was charged with overseeing the science and frontline 'testing'. At whatever cost.

But the nephandus does calm, against his will. Staring ahead.

" I see why Constellation hasn't tried getting out yet.. There's a rot here. Agent Pryde. Things twitching 'neath the surface, waiting for a fatal misstep. A door way.. hm, maybe not even that. Maybe it's already started, small.. Overlooked. Like a mold in the shower caulk." He gives a hoarse exhalation, trying to stretch vainly against his wiring and restraints, eventually settling to lying on the floor, eyes tracking the camera.

" Because the second I can, I'm going to do a pretty little dance, and turn that little crack into a door. " He grins, but it doesn't reach the eyes.

[fightingthetides]

For the accompanying drabble to go along with the first one: [x] Just another part of me trying a lil test.

-

As per usual, Yamamoto went for an early morning jog as part of his conditioning regimen. It was important to him to keep in shape as well as making sure to set some time aside to lose himself in his thoughts.

He may be the Rain Guardian, but that didn’t mean he was always calm and gentle. He also had a side to him that could be dangerous and cold like the biting rain.

“Oh? Yamamoto-kun! Good morning!” A familiar and friendly voice calls out to him from behind and he slowly brings his pace to a halt, allowing for Haru to catch up to him. He didn’t expect to see a familiar face this morning, but it’s a nice change of pace to have a break in the usual routine.

“Mornin’! What are you doing out so early in the day? I thought I was going to see you at Tsuna’s place yesterday.” It was a common occurrence for them all to congregate at Tsuna’s place after school. Haru wasn’t always a presence at the Sawada household (she was a busy person), but she did try to drop by as much as she could before she had to leave for whatever it was she was doing.

It was either her needing to run errands, or going to tutoring lessons. Some days, she wouldn’t come over because she had her own club activities to attend to. Gokudera was the one who would make some kind of comment about how he wasn’t sure if Haru could even perform gymnastics properly.

He could only picture her messing up.

Haru did have a bit of a clumsy streak, he couldn’t deny that, haha. Still, it was clear that Haru had a streak of athleticism to her as well as an adventurous heart that paired well with her sense of dramatics. It’s always a surprise to know she’s not in the drama club rather than being someone who helps them with costumes from time to time.

Yesterday was one of the days Haru normally would have dropped by, yelled at Gokudera for bullying Lambo, and then play with the kid to allow the guys some peace while trying to finish their homework. It wasn’t to say that he only missed her presence because Lambo made focusing on their homework harder.

It wasn’t right to view her that way- but it always felt like something was missing if she wasn’t around to play with Lambo and I-pin.

A dramatic sniff.

“You see… Haru got caught by Hibari-san yesterday. She was forced into servitude for a few hours, so she wasn’t able to find time to visit Tsuna-san yesterday. A shame too, because she wanted to see Lambo-chan and I-pin chan.”

Startled, Yamamoto’s eyebrows furrowed with worry. Was Haru forced into servitude for hours? That didn’t seem very much like-

“Hahi! Haru is joking, you know? She wasn’t forced to work for nothing. She got to play with the hibirds. They’re very cute, you know?” He watched as she nervously flailed her arms around as if she’s frantically trying to clear Hibari’s name.

The athlete couldn’t help but chuckle quietly to himself. Sometwaswas hard to tell when Haru was being serious and when she was overexaggerating something for dramatic flair. Even if she was being dramatic, there was always some truth to what she was saying. ‘She probably was asked to something menial as punishment for trespassing. Hibari doesn’t act violently so thoughtlessly.’

Sure, Hibari Kyouya was known for having a temper and a penchant for violence, but it normally was warranted, albeit a bit extreme at times. He still upheld a level of decorum as the face of Namimori. He wasn’t a mindless thug like some people made him out to be.

If you were to ask Yamamoto, the guy acted violently based on necessity, and his mood. As a disciplinary officer, it was his duty to discipline unruly students and rule breakers. Some people don’t learn unless you beat it into them, and that’s probably what Hibari was doing—or so Yamamoto always hypothesized. He didn’t torment children, animals, and girls without a good reason for doing so.

There were some exceptions like the kid or Adelheid. Hibari’s patience towards animals was on another level. Looking at Haru again, an image of her eating her fill of cakes on appreciation day come to mind. ‘She does look like a hamster.’

Aside from the fact she wasn’t a student of Namimori and therefore outside of his jurisdiction (not that it would stop him anyways), maybe Haru’s hamster-like nature was a reason she would be spared from much of Hibari’s violent and scary outbursts. Her politeness should curb some of his anger to some extent.

“Haha, how did you get ‘caught’ by him anyways? Were you okay?” Knowing how Haru could be, if she was caught by Hibari and subsequently threatened/warned, she may have broken down into tears. The way she could go into hysterics at a flip of a switch was impressive by all means—but that also would piss off Hibari, no doubt.

He notes the way she blinks a few times in confusion, tilting her head in confusion. She looked like she was confused by his asking if she was okay. Was that not the normal response one would give when told ‘I got caught by Hibari’? Surely Tsuna would’ve been asking her a million questions out of concern by now.

“Haru is okay. Haru has been accosted by the disciplinary committee before for trespassing, but she’s not faced any harm.”

This wasn’t her first time being caught by Hibari or the other disciplinary committee members? How many times has it been already? Haru Miura was quite bold to repeatedly trespass onto Namimori grounds.  

“Haru sometimes drops off some treats for the birds when she has some time, but other times, Haru gets caught trespassing and she’s told to watch over the birds for a time.”

Hm? Doesn’t that mean that Haru has spent some time with Hibari without the rest of them knowing about it? How long has this been going on for? Somehow, Haru visiting to play with the birds didn’t seem unheard of. Haru has before walked up to the others and ask them to bring out their box animals to give them some pets. What was it she says all the time?

“You know, your box animals work so hard! They deserve to be spoiled every once in a while. Let them have some fresh air without the need to jump right into battle! So, Gokudera-san, bring out Uri. Haru brought fish treats for her.”

Wasn’t it Haru that coined the name Hibird for Hibari’s yellow buddies? What was their relationship that a nickname Haru came up with actually stuck?

“That reminds me, you were the one who coined the name ‘Hibird’ for his birds, weren’t you?”

“Oh!” She claps her hands with excitement. “Haru has always seen the bird perched on his shoulder or on top of his head. It always calls him like ‘Hibari, Hibari!’ It’s really cute.”

It was cute watching her mimic the yellow birds by flapping her hands like they were wings. Somehow that solidifies his theory that Haru is just a small animal that you’d feel bad for biting to death.

“It’s like… a pocket monster. Haru thought that ‘Hibird’ was a cute and fitting name. Somehow the name stuck.”

Never mind, there is a valid chance that she could get herself beaten to death if she voices half the things she thinks aloud. He’s sure that she’s smart enough to know what not to say around Hibari. All the horror stories Tsuna has told her about Hibari’s ‘violent tyranny’ probably had an impact on her.

‘Not enough to keep her away from Namimori or the birds, though.’ He mentally laughs at the thought. Was it that she was just bold or that cute things outweighed her fear? ‘With how Haru isn’t afraid to slap a future mafia boss because he was being a bad influence on kids, she probably thought cute birds outweighed Hibari’s scariness’.

Right you are, Yamamoto. Right you are.

“Sounds like you’re getting along with him just fine. Just be careful not to wake him. He gets cranky from what I hear. Aside from that, he’s not a scary guy.” In fact, Hibari is a reliable guy so as long as you don’t get on his bad side. It was always a relief to have him on your side when in battle, but it was also exciting when he was on the opposite team as well.

The memory of when Hibari joined Fon’s ‘team’ surfaces to the forefront of his mind and it brought about a bubbling sense of amusement from deep in his chest. That Hibari, he loved fighting too much. He gets it though.

Yamamoto would love to play baseball with all the teams in Japan and outside of the country as well! He loved baseball and testing out his skills against different players meant that he could potentially elevate his own level by broadening his horizons. How was it any different from when Hibari wanted to fight against strong fighters even if he may be at a disadvantage? You only improve by struggling and trying hard.

‘It does make it hard to coordinate with him though.’

That said, Hibari was a pretty simple guy as long as you knew what made him tick. As long as Haru was respectful, minded her volume, and continued to be nice to his birds, she should be fine. Yamamoto trusted that Hibari wouldn’t enact senseless violence on an innocent hamster-like Haru. He’d have severely misjudged Hibari if she ever does face harm by Hibari’s hand, however.

Haru playfully salutes, “Roger~ Haru will heed your advice. Haru won’t keep you from your morning jog for much longer. See you next time~” Haru waves him off and she starts walking off in another direction. He sets off on his jog again, starting slow before warming back up to a brisk jog.

“I didn’t know they got along that well that he allows her to play with his birds.” It didn’t seem like Hibari would allow the birds to associate with just any random person. Haru is a rather sociable person, so maybe she somehow warmed up to Hibari enough that he was willing to let her play with the birds.

“Is she changing targets?” He shakes his head and laughs, “Haru would hit me if I actually thought that.” The girl was wholeheartedly faithful to Tsuna, even if he didn’t pay her any attention. He offers her a silent apology in his head for doubting her for even a second.

He knows just how much she likes Tsuna and how despite knowing he’s obsessed with Kyoko, she wants to keep trying so she can proudly state that she did all she could before giving up.

That, is a story for another time.

Yamamoto enjoys the crisp morning air and continues on his jog, smiling when he sees a bird flying overhead. “A shame it isn’t one of his buddies.”

[excusemyobsessions]

(Affectionate) Love Bites

Sylus x MC/You/Reader

Genre: Drabble, Fluff, Gender neutral (requested) Scenario: Affectionate biting between Sylus and you Word count: 400 words

Little note: this is tiny because I'm slowly trying to get back into writing. I'm sorry 🙏🏻

Warning: obvious mentions of biting, Sylus affectionately calls you cuddly, lazy and clingy

Sylus had quite the particular way to show his affection, you'd found. From the first moment you'd offered him your hand to hold his face and he'd left you a ‘gift’, in the form of a bite mark on the juncture between your thumb and index finger.

It never stopped.

The closer you got, the bolder his bites became.You could be doing absolutely nothing and you'd feel his teeth latch onto your cheek out of nowhere.

He'd bite you everywhere now. Arms, hands, legs. His favorite place to bite down were your thighs. He couldn't get enough of their supple flesh between his teeth.

Most of the time, he'd bite down gently. Affectionately.

Sometimes, he'd latch onto your skin, suckle down to taste it, leave actual marks of his endless, fervent love.

The first few times, it startled you. To feel his teeth sinking down on your skin. And then you got used to it.

He'd steal giggles out of you, little grumbles and little groans. It delighted him.

Eventually, you found yourself acquiring that same habit of his and becoming quite addicted to it.

You'd bite his fingers, his hands, up his arms. His neck, his jaw. You'd climb onto his lap, kiss his whole face and then bite down on his cheek when his smile was so big it wrinkled his eyes.

“You know, sharks latch onto their mates much like you are latching onto me right now,” he mused, deep voice laced with amusement.

You paused your chewing just enough to lean back and look him in the eyes.

“I am a shark, didn't you know?” you responded.

And soon you were latched onto his other cheek, stealing a chuckle from the big man.

“I do agree you are in fact a shark. A zebra one, most likely,” he told you, those big arms of his circling your waist.

“Why a zebra shark?” you questioned, bemused.

Both his cheeks were red from being chewed on and you couldn’t help cupping his face and running your thumbs over the bite marks. He leaned into your touch, eyelids fluttering much like a big, spoiled, lazy cat.

“Because you're cuddly and lazy and clingy,” he answered, without missing a beat.

You scoffed and bit his nose. He chuckled once again, openly, relaxed.

“You don't seem to mind,” you noted, one eyebrow lifted.

“You're right, I don't,” he admitted.

[ninisdollie]

lazy morning sex with boyfriend ni-ki 𓈒ིུ ❤︎

⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❤︎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ content: +18MDNI

fem! reader x ni-ki, established relationship, lazy morning sex, very cozy and kind of fluffy, unprotected sex, a bit of dirty talk, creampie, reader riding riki, short drabble i wrote this in like 10 minutes so it’s not perfect.

Your boyfriend Ni-ki is sooo lazy in the mornings.

The fan spinning in wide, slow arcs above the bed, doing little more than stirring the thick, humid air. The curtains shifting lazily with the breeze, thin sunlight leaking through in soft golden ribbons. The whole room hot, summer clinging to the sheets, to your skin, to every shallow breath.

You draped over him, straddling his hips, chest pressed to his, so close your heartbeat feels like it’s echoing into his skin. The backs of your thighs stuck to his, sweat beading along the curve of your spine. You still half-asleep, eyelids heavy, lips parted against the side of his throat where you rest, breath brushing warm over his flushed skin.

Ni-ki hasn’t really woken up. His arms are still folded behind his head, long body stretched out on the mattress, completely bare beneath you. His hair is a mess, black strands damp with sweat, stuck to his forehead. His jaw is slack, mouth a little open, and his chest is rising in slow, rhythmic waves like he’s still dreaming.

But he’s inside you. Thick and hot and pulsing with every slow, lazy grind of your hips.

He lets out a low sigh that flutters against your temple. “You’re such a tease in the mornings,” he murmurs, his voice rough and syrup-slow. “You don’t even wait for me to wake up properly.” You smile against the curve of his jaw, not bothering to open your eyes either. “You were already hard,” you murmur, hips tilting just enough to make him twitch inside you. “Didn’t think you’d mind.” “I don’t,” he breathes, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “You feel too good to complain.”

He still hasn’t moved, still has his arms folded behind his head like he’s just letting you use him, warm, heavy, thick inside you. The slow grind of your hips is barely enough to be called fucking, but it’s perfect. Just the weight of him, the lazy stretch, the slow press of his cock dragging through your soaked cunt, is more than enough.

Your bodies stick together everywhere, your thighs to his, your chest to his, your fingers brushing sweat off his ribs. Every movement makes that slick, messy sound where your bodies meet, where his come from last night still clings to your skin. And when you clench around him, just a little, he lets out a choked whimper.

“Mmph… feels so good,” he whispered, barely audible. “Don’t stop. Don’t even wanna move.”“You’re not even helping,” you breath, a soft laugh leaving your lips, sweat dripping down your back. “I am helping,” he mumbles, not even opening his eyes. “I’m being your personal toy.”

You roll your eyes, but your body trembles at the way he twitches inside you. You’re dripping around him, soaking him, your slick making every drag extra slow and messy. “Fuck,” he says, eyes fluttering open for just a second. “You’re gonna make me come just like this. Not even moving. Just melting around me.” “You love it,” you whisper against his neck, licking at the salt there. “You love being lazy and messy and letting me do everything.” His breath shakes when you sink down again, taking him all the way in. “I do,” he groans, voice wrecked and trembling. “You’re so wet… feels so fucking good.”

You press your forehead to his, breath mingling, hips grinding in slow, shallow circles. He’s so warm inside you, so deep, and every shift makes your walls flutter around him. The pressure is thick, building slowly, pleasure curling low in your stomach like smoke.

“Mhm…” he hums, letting his head fall back into the pillows, the veins of his neck popping “Just like that. Ride me, baby…. take your time” You leanforward, lips brushing his ear, slick bodies pressed together. Your pace is slow but steady, rocking your hips in a rhythm that had both of you floating. Sticky thighs, messy kisses, breath shared between mouths too tired to speak.

Ni-ki’s hands slip up your back, pulling you down until you are flush against him, your chest pressed to his. His cock twitches inside you when you moan again, the sound so soft, so breathy, it made him swear under his breath. “Please don’t stop,” he whispers, a hint of a whine in his voice now. “Just like that. Want you to ride me slow, ‘til I come. Wanna feel you squeeze me.”

You let out a shaky breath and keep going, hips stuttering every time he pulses inside you, every vein feeling like it was made for you. It’s all so much, his heat, his voice, the way your clit brushes against him every time you move. And then he’s gasping, the noise punched out of his throat like he can’t take it.

“Gonna come—fuck, I’m—baby, please—”

You kiss him just as he spills inside you, his cock twitching hard, his whole body jerking beneath you. He moans into your mouth, a soft, broken sound that makes your whole body clench in response. His release is hot and wet, dripping out around him, making the mess between you even worse. But you don’t stop. You keep moving, slow and steady, chasing your own high now, using him as he trembles, as his hands tighten around your waist like he’s holding on for dear life. “God—come for me, princess” he begs, breathless, voice cracking. “Want you to make a mess all over me.”

You do, with a soft, strangled cry, your body going tight, your walls pulsing around him as the heat finally crashes through you. You feel it everywhere, your chest, your thighs, your throat. It’s not loud or fast, it’s drawn out and slow and deep, like your whole body’s unraveling in waves.

And when it fades, you collapse onto his chest, still full of him, skin slick with sweat, his come leaking between your thighs.

His cock is still soft inside you, and you’re both so wet, the mess between your legs warm and sticky where your thighs meet his hips. The sheets are a wreck, kicked halfway off the bed, your skin sticking to his in places. Ni-ki’s still catching his breath, arms wrapped lazily around your back now, stroking a single hand up your spine. His voice is soft, syrupy when he finally speaks. “Such a menace,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple. “Jumping on me before I’m even fully awake.”

You smile against his skin, nuzzling into his chest.

“You looked too good. Couldn’t help myself.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he says, breath huffing out in a lazy, fond little laugh. “Didn’t even ask if I was ready. Just sat on my dick and started grinding like it was your personal seat.” You hum innocently. “You weren’t complaining.” “I’m still not complaining.” His palm slides down to rest on your ass, squeezing lazily. “Just saying. You’re lucky I like being used like a human vibrator.”

You lift your head just enough to meet his eyes, still heavy-lidded and warm, and give him a smug little smirk. “You love it.” He rolls his eyes playfully, tilting his head back on the pillow. “I do. And i love you.”

[sourkiki]

niki during sexxx!! like fav positions, how he would sound, what he would call his gf like pet names or dirty and what phrases would he use the most during it!! can’t stop thinking definitely hard thoughts 💥💥💥🤯

ALBUM'S CONTENT: explicit mature content, headcanon+drabble format, established relationship, dom! 西村力 x fem! reader, unprotected sex (wrap it up) ❀ 843... ᧔♡᧓ catalogue.

FROM PRODUCER: this is more of a headcanon rather than a drabble because uh, i'm too lazy whoops

Favorite position: missionary.

As much as Riki likes having sex with you, he prefers to have you in positions where he can see your face. Why? Simple. It’s so he can see how good he’s making you feel. It’s a common thing for him to have you in a missionary position. This allows him to have a clear, undisturbed view of seeing your face filled with nothing but pleasure. This also gives him an ego boost as he knows he’s the first and last to have you like this. If you try to cover your face, Riki will move your hands away, pinning them above your head, leaving you helpless as he fucks into you. 

“Ngh, R-Riki, fuck,” you whined, back arching off the bed at heavenly it feels with his cock hitting the same spot, again and again. Your boyfriend grits his teeth, tightening his grip around your wrists while the other holds onto your hips for support. Your legs were loosely wrapped around his waist, allowing him to slide in deeper. You swore you could feel his cock kissing the entrance to your cervix, making your mouth form a silent ‘O’ shape. 

Favorite position: cowgirl.

Sometimes, Riki likes letting you take charge. He doesn’t mind putting in the work but the mere thought of you leading turns him on. He likes it the most when you’re seated on his lap, like he’s your throne and you’re the queen. He won’t do anything, other than having his hands on your waist, letting you ride him, use him to your hearts’ content. 

“Shit, baby, you feel so good,” he groaned, unable to look away from the stunning, arousing sight of you bouncing on his lap. To add fuel to the fire, you were even wearing one of his shirts that completely engulfed you with your collarbones covered in hickeys exposed as it hangs off your left shoulder. Riki had pushed the shirt up, giving him a crystal clear view of your pussy lips stretched as wide as possible as you sucked him in. 

Sounds.

Maybe this is just me but Riki isn’t the type to be shy of making sounds. He’s not very loud but he isn’t quiet, either. So he’s somewhere in between. The most common sounds he’ll make is probably either a moan or a groan. He does this whenever he has you seated on his face or when he’s fucking you, mind spinning with how tight and warm you feel around his cock or mouth. 

No drabble because I’m too lazy for this shit. 

Speeches.

As discussed with my fellow freaki, we believe Riki will switch between degrading and praising. But it heavily depends on his mood. Sometimes he’s in the mood to take things slow, be a tease and edge you into oblivion until you’re a trembling, sobbing mess beneath him. 

“Riki, please..” You pleaded, a tear droplet trickling down your face when your boyfriend pulled his fingers out.

Your pussy was practically pulusing, begging for its much-needed release but Riki wasn’t satisfied yet. He smirked, eyes darkening at how desperate and needy you’ve become. And it’s all because of him. He didn’t give any warning, pushing his fingers back in, eliciting a startled gasp from you. You whined, hips jerking forward to take more of him inside, wanting to feel more—

But he pulled out again. 

Riki coos, faux sweetness in his voice. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. You can be good for me, can’t you? Only good girls get a reward, so don’t cum, or you’re not cumming at all. Not until I say so.” 

But whenever he’s going through rough times in his life, Riki’s demeanor does a switch. Screw the slow, soft sex. Now, he just wants to get rid of his pent-up stress and what other way to do it other than by releasing his stress onto you? 

“W-Wait, too much,” you weakly protested, still feeling the aftereffects of your unknown climax but your boyfriend didn’t listen. In fact, he wasn’t already listening the moment he laid his hands on you. His bangs fell forward, hovering over his dark, lust-filled eyes as he continued thrusting into you with newfound determination. At this point, you could only lay there helplessly, letting him fucked into your dripping, loose pussy. Some of your body fluids trickled down your inner thighs and seeing this, Riki scoops them up and pushes them back into your cunt, making your legs twitch. You weren’t even aware that your hips had jerked forward, meeting him in the middle. 

“Fuck, look at you, dripping wet for me. You kept saying no but your pussy still lets me in,” he sneers, reaching down to give a light smack on where you’re connected with one another, drawing a high-pitched whimper. You tightened around him and that didn’t go unnoticed by him. 

“Maybe I should make you sit on my cock everyday, split you open to keep this needy little thing full. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He continues, drawing breathless whimpers and mewls from your bruised lips. 

taglist: @minjunis, @byshens, @emisluvr. @riqomi, @rikisoup

[syluses]

thinking of sylus comforting his wife reader!!

content: insecurity, comfort, fluff, soft sylus, slight possessiveness, suggestive content

sidenote: whaaaaat a fluffy drabble?? ( ᵒ̴̶̷̤◦ᵒ̴̶̷̤ ) yes ignore me yall it’s just about that time of the month u feel me 😞 taking preemptive measures to cope with pms which means writing small comfy lads drabbles :] dunno if anybody will fw this cuz it’s purely self indulgent LOL but yeah ♡ short n sweet (1.7k 🌝)

You haven’t left the full-body mirror for several minutes, now.

No, see- there’s just something about your reflection that’s keeping you rooted in place there.

Sylus has slipped in and out of the bedroom as he gathers his things to go, his black card the last accessory needed for the evening out- tucked safely in his pocket- but now, he settles into a lazy lean against the doorway.

Watching.

There’s a slight notch in his brow as he stands there, arms folded, and lets out a forbearing sigh.

“Sweetie: You look nothing short of captivating. You’re breathtaking,” he arches an inquisitive brow, “You know that.”

Wide-eyed, held prisoner by your own portrait staring back at you— no. You don’t.

You don’t know that, and fuck if that doesn’t gut him a little on the inside, but for all the efforts he’s made to remind you of your beauty (though, that’s putting it in gentler terms; he’s inculcated you, really. Drilled it in (and in more ways than one)), your insecurities are very much built with the intent to last.

Throughout much of your relationship, they have.

Sometimes they’re a quieter thing, manageable. Other times, they stick their foot in between you both and rear their despotic heads, bent on tearing you down- and if he’s left as ruin as well in the fallout, they don’t even care.

Those wheedling, rotten voices make compelling arguments sometimes, but they eventually lose out to the greater thing: your love for Sylus, and his for you.

…That’s not to say that the battle isn’t ever close, though...

Now is one of those times where it’s advancing on you, and fast.

Right now, stuffed in your glittering, cocktail dress, with its slip in the thigh and its low-cut cleavage a hair’s width from scandalous— it’s meant to be elegant, but you feel like a fool.

A whore, even. A cheap, low-end girl insinuating herself into a space where she doesn’t belong- a world full of class and finery you were truthfully never tailored for. You’re like a bull in a china shop or a sore thumb.

Your breasts are snug, your curves are embraced by the silk, and the makeup you’d spent over an hour perfecting- your done-up hair, too- is impressive even to the most critical part of your brain.

But still, your body- it’s….

Sylus, now propping off the doorframe, eyes tracking your every expression all the while, moves to slide up behind you when your gaze flutters to the floor no different than ash and remains there. Your chest heaving with the beginnings of a mini breakdown.

Whatever it is, whatever you are— you can’t bear to look. You don’t want to. You- You won’t.

You aren’t his graceful, sophisticated trophy wife- or even half the effortlessly beautiful model you’d seen depicted in the centerfold Sylus saw you originally fawning over, the one that spurred this rash purchase on in the first place- no, what you are is ridiculous.

Your glossy eyes flit up again.

It’s all awful. But like a bad car crash, you just can’t find it in you to really look away.

He brushes aside your hair with a lithe, broad hand, exposing your neck looped with fine gold and diamond (nothing you’re deserving of, either), and stoops down to kiss your shoulder. The ruby red eyes pinned to your crestfallen face never stray far from it though, even as you close your palm over the back of his while he clasps your waist, crooning in your ear with a heavy breath.

“Kitten, what’s troubling you?”

Like he doesn’t know.

“Everything,” you shake out, tears pricking at your lashline. All that keeps you from bursting out into waterworks like a child right this very moment is the knowing that your meticulously-applied mascara will wash down your cheeks in black rivulets, effectively ruining your foundation and eyeshadow in their paths.

“E-Everything’s troubling- just look at me.”

“I am looking at you,” he hums gently, breath warm agaisnt your skin where his chin is perched on you. “And I promise you, Sweetie, I’m not seeing the same thing that you are. Tell me,” he murmurs, pasting down another chaste, lingering kiss- to the exposed nape of your neck this time- for good measure, “Do I have any reason to lie to you?”

A muscle in your cheek jumps. Your lashes flutter down. “N-No…”

“You know,” he murmurs. “Loving you’s easier than you think.”

Hesitantly, you twine your little fingers around Sylus’s forearm, his wristwatch catching a blocky highlight from the dim, flax sheen of the light fixture behind you.

“You’re gorgeous. How perfect you are—“ he mumbles at your ear, voice low and velvety as ever, composed. And yet the undertone of desperation is there; woven like fine threads throughout- it’s like a broadcasting of his eagerness. “That’s all I can see,” he breathes. “But I want you to say it, though. What do you see?”

Your answer comes quick: the first of a few others of its kind. “A whore.”

In the full-body mirror, his brow quirks in subtle, slow motion. His lips draw back from the smooth column of your dazzling neck. “What?”

A whore? …That much is new to him.

“And I feel stupid- I… I feel gross in this dress. They’d think I’m some concubine hanging off your shoulder-“ the frantically spewed words and the growing tremble in your voice is the mark of a ramble, and yet you cut yourself short. Swallowing it down as you dip your head, eyes screwing shut.

He’d preach a whole sermon if he could for all the faith he has in you. Your self-consciousness and those silly, yet disastrous little things you hold near and dear to your heart— that dictate your life while you sit back and watch— would be dismantled as soon as he got behind the podium.

…But you just don’t hear a word he says, do you? You don’t hear to begin with.

Yes- Sylus has long understood that it’s not always as easy as that. That words can fall short. He’s always considered himself a man of action, but sometimes even then it’s hard to get through to you when you shyly evade his touch and weasel out of his arms before they can even wrap around you.

Stubborn woman.

Obstinate woman.

Make him break his neck while sticking it out for you, woman.

But oh he’d lift his hand to do anything for you, woman.

The day will come where he’s made you see it.

“Concubine,” he scoffs, laughing dryly. You don’t hear that often from him, that level of bitterness, but it’s there in bounds when he huffs in your ear and turns you around to look at him, lifting your jaw up in one graceful motion.

“Let me clear this up for you, Sweetie. When people see you, their first thought they have is not that you’re some… gaudy sidepiece. The opposite. And if there’s any lingering doubts in their mind,” he explains smoothly, taking your hand in his to kiss the back of it, holding your uncertain stare all the while. “This ring puts them all to rest.”

Scarlet pools ripple with warmth, an almost playful edge to them as he attempts to lighten your mood- but you don’t quite miss the flash of woundedness that passes through.

“Besides…”

Adoration, reverence, the resolve to make you understand these truths (that you’re beautiful; pure in his sight)- a little bit of exasperation and a little bit of vulnerability— they blur together on him like winded vanes of a pinwheel. Too fast to color, too fast to catalogue.

But evidently not fast enough to pass you by completely. And so as your heart squeezes painfully in your chest—

“Does your husband’s opinion not matter to you the most?”

You bluster, “It does,” doing your damage-control as you wrap your arm around his neck and pull him impossibly closer, a hand on his jaw to cradle it reassuringly. The flutter of something so briefly small in his eyes hauls you into reality, grounds you.

“It’s all I care about, Sylus,” you implore, “But don’t you understand that if they think poorly of me, it’ll just tie back to you in their heads? They’ll think lower of you if your wife isn’t—“

“Isn’t what?” He snips back, but leans into your touch.

You fall silent.

Eyes fiery, they search yours, his breath warm and minty against your parted, floundering lips. “What they want? Well, kitten, let me be perfectly honest with you,” he chuckles lowly, tone scraping the bottom of something undeniably possessive, “I don’t want any of them to want you…. It’s pretty reasonable that the idea of somebody craving what’s mine would upset me, no?”

Not providing him with an answer- frankly unable to- he again fills the space where you can’t.

“But I like you in this dress,” he states, gaze dropping down to rake over you in a few strained breaths. Your wine lipstick. Your décolletage and the jewels draped there, blinding, hanging over the valley of your breast.

…A hickey you did a half decent job at covering, he smugly supposes.

“Much more than like, even. So if they stare, what does it matter? Let them. Like I said,… they won’t be thinking anything poor of you-“ he offers a small, blithe chuckle, “the worst will be a jealous woman or two. Nothing worthy of ruining our night out, however.”

You take a moment to ponder all of his words. Not just this evening’s- but the countless that came before, too.

You weigh your options— stubbornly continue on in your self-sabotaging ways, thoroughly exhausting yourself and Sylus out in the process; or caving to his reassurances and choosing to believe them— and then weigh your eyes shut.

Slumping into his broad chest to let him hold you, you stand against the miniature insurrection happening inside you and go for the latter.

“You really don’t mind?”

A warm hand smooths down your back; the other, petting your hair in a featherlight hover to not ruin its style, pauses for a second. “Mind what?”

You huff. “You know. Me in this dress.” Earning a longsuffering sigh on his end.

“Why do you doubt yourself? I told you. You look breathtaking in it. You act like it’s such a problematic thing, Kitten, but I only know of one person who will want to have a word with you about it…”

“O-Oh yeah? Who?”

When your husband pulls back some just to stare at you, your hands resting on either of his broad shoulders as your heart hiccups in your chest, all that keeps you from erupting in another small bout of panic and dread is the daring little quirk of his brow— the barest of grins tugging at one end of his cupid-bow lips.

As an answer, he dips his head in and angles it just so to graze his mouth over yours, the tip of his bumped nose poking your cheek as he moors you to him by the small of your back and taunts,

“Perhaps you’ll just have to find out for yourself tonight, hm?”

Something’s in his pocket, you realize as he embraces you— semi-hard, just a little insistent against your tummy— and no, it is not his credit card.

[hyunniesamericano]

Just the tip

Pairing: Bang Chan × fem! Reader

Genre : smut (drabble)

Synopsis: after purposely making Chan jealous, you’re left to fall apart on just the tip—taunted, overstimulated, and utterly ruined by his slow, punishing control.

Your thighs ache from how long he’s kept you open, how long he’s kept himself just out of reach.

Chan’s barely touched you tonight. Barely kissed you. Barely even looked at you when he first came in ...just a tight jaw and that calm, dangerous silence that made your stomach twist. You thought maybe he’d let it go. Thought maybe he wouldn’t say anything.

But now? Now he’s between your legs, cock in hand, and you're wrecked...from his fingers, his mouth, and his patience that’s clearly not kindness.

“You thought you were being cute, didn’t you?” His voice is low, rough, words dragging like honey over broken ice. “Acting like I wouldn’t notice.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your throat’s tight, eyes glassy, lips swollen from all the whining. You’re already so sensitive, twitching under his every touch but it’s not enough. Not even close.

And he knows it.

He drags the thick head of his cock through your soaked folds, up over your clit and back down to your entrance. Every pass makes your hips jump, your fingers curl in the sheets.

“You want me to fuck you now?” he asks, smirking as you whimper and nod. “After the little stunt you pulled?”

“I'm sorry,” you whisper, but it sounds more like begging. “I need you, Channie, please.”

“You will get me, sweetheart,” he hums, lining himself up with lazy precision. “I told you I’d fuck you. Didn’t say how much.”

And before you can speak again he pushes in.

Just the tip.

The stretch is immediate—hot, unbearable but it’s barely anything. You clench around him, already needy, but before your body can even adjust, he stops.

Your eyes flutter open. “Wha… why’d you stop?”

Chan leans over you, his smirk lazy, dangerous. “That’s all you get.”

Your lips part in shock, a soft whimper escaping. “N-no, Channie—please—”

He draws back slowly, then pushes in again with the same shallow depth just enough to make your body twitch, your thighs shake.

“You think you get to act like that,” he murmurs, his tone smooth but sharp, “and I’ll still let you feel all of me?”

You don’t respond ...you can’t too consumed by the way he’s moving, maddening and precise, just the tip brushing your walls in those short thrusts.

His voice drops, darker now. “Batting your lashes at someone else. Laughing like I wasn’t there.”

Your face burns. “I didn’t—”

“You did.” His hips press forward, just a little deeper but not enough. Never enough. “And now look at you. Spread out for me. Crying for my cock.”

You whimper as his thumb finds your clit—barely touches it, just grazes it and your whole body jolts.

“Sensitive already?” he taunts. “And I haven’t even given you a real stroke yet.”

His pace stays slow. Shallow. Rhythmic. It’s torture your body clenching desperately, needing more but he gives you nothing. Just that thick, teasing pressure and his words in your ear.

“Is my tip not enough for you now, huh?” he murmurs, breath hot against your skin. “After the little show you put on?”

You gasp, fingers clawing at the sheets. “Please, Channie… I need all of you.”

He chuckles, low and dark, thrusting just deep enough to make your toes curl then pulling back out to the tip again.

“No,” he growls. “This is all you get. For being such a reckless little thing.”

Your back arches. The build-up is unbearable now, that slow grind of frustration and overstimulation coiling deep in your gut. You try to shift your hips to get more but he holds you down.

“Don’t even try,” he warns. “You’re not getting a single inch more.”

He starts moving just a little faster, the wet slide of him inside you obscene, his tip hitting the same sweet spot over and over.

Your thighs tremble. Your breaths turn ragged.

“Gonna cum from just this?” he taunts, low and satisfied. “From barely anything? That desperate for me?”

You’re nodding before you even realize it, vision swimming.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You are. You’re gonna cum like this. Look at you.”

The coil inside you finally snaps—hot, sharp, overwhelming.

You cry out, falling apart on just the tip, your cunt fluttering around him as your orgasm rolls through, too strong to hold back.

Chan doesn’t stop.“Shit—” he grits, his thrusts faltering as your tight walls milk him. “Gonna—fuck—”

He presses forward, still just barely inside, and you feel it...his cock twitching as he cums with a low moan, warm pulses spilling right at your entrance.

But even then, he’s not done.

He pulls out, slow and deliberate, and you whimper at the sudden emptiness. Then his fingers slide down collecting the mess he left and drag it through your soaked folds, over your swollen clit.

You jolt. “Channie—!”

“Mm,” he hums. “Didn’t think my tip would break you.”

You can barely move, still twitching, but he leans in, voice a whisper against your jaw.

“Next time you want my attention,” he murmurs, rubbing lazy circles through the cum slicked over your clit, “just ask. No more games.”

[deepspace-scenarios]

[scenario/drabble] Not Like That

Summary: LIs react when you hum a breakup song around them, getting worried when they pick up on the lyrics about an unhappy relationship. You comfort them when you realise they misunderstood and got spooked. It all ends well <3 (based on a submitted prompt)

Genre: Fluff (mild hurt/comfort bc the men got terrified)

SYLUS

You hum the chorus while folding laundry, oblivious- until Sylus’s hand stops yours. “Interesting choice of lyrics.” His tone is light, but his crimson eyes are sharp. “Care to explain why you’re singing about replacing me?”

Your stomach drops. Oh, shit- the lyrics. “Wait- I just like the melody-”

He takes a step closer. “Because I hear you singing about... needing someone ‘inside’,”

His lips brush the shell of your ear. “And if that's your wish, I’ll ruin you until you forget your own name.”

His words send a flurry of flashbacks to the night before- him carrying you from the living room to the bed, with you already kissed breathless at that point. And what happened after you got to the bed still brings a fresh wave of heat creeping up your neck to your cheeks.

“You’re thinking loudly again, kitten.”

“Yeah, of you.” You tiptoe, draping your arms on his shoulder to look into his eyes. “Only you,” you murmur, kissing him softly when he leans down, “You’re all I ever want and need, Sylus. I mean it.”

He nips your lip. “Mm. Why don't you say that again?”

You slap his chest lightly, “Don’t push your luck,”

His hands find your hips as he holds you against the dresser, closing the space between you. “Hm. But you owe me a proper apology, sweetie.”

Sylus never pouts, but this is the closest expression he’s ever made. And you see it- just barely hidden by his calm facade- is an earnest longing for reassurance. As if you'd ever, ever need anybody else when he is standing right in front of you. It tugs at your heartstrings.

You brush your thumb along his ear. “I’m sorry for scaring you, baby. I’ll make it up to you,”

His chest rumbles with a satisfied hum as he brings you closer to him.

_____

ZAYNE

Zayne pauses mid-sip of tea as you sing "He gives what he can~" under your breath, pouring yourself a second cup. His hazel-green eyes narrow. “Are you… unhappy?” The question is calm, but his knuckles tighten around his mug.

You open your mouth to explain, but he cuts you off. “I’d rather you tell me than sing it to a playlist.”

His bluntness speaks volumes- while he could be curt and straightforward, it’s rare for him to speak like this on lazy weekend mornings. You feel your heart sink when you see him watching you with unmasked concern. You hurriedly set the teapot down on the coffee table, turning to him.

You place your hands around his, guiding him to put his mug down. “Oh, Zaynie- I’m- it’s not that,”

He blinks, then exhales, gazing at his hands enclosed by yours. Only then, do you move closer to cup his face. “It’s just a random song. I promise. You make me happier than anything.”

He nods, pulling you into his chest. “... Please choose one that doesn’t make my pulse spike.”

You think of the cutest, cheesiest love ballad from animated movies- then you start singing, serenading him. You barely get to the pre-chorus when you see him struggle to fight off a growing smile, and you poke his cheeks, continuing to sing.

“Thank you,” He whispers when you stop, his smile gentle.

You tackle him in a hug, “Don’t thank me, you silly, beautiful man I love you so, so much”

_____

XAVIER

The last of the night’s dishes are cleared away from the table and stacked near the sink. Xavier’s blue eyes widen as you sing "Softer, harder, in between" while rinsing soap off some dishes he hands you.

“You- want that?” His voice cracks.

“Huh?” You freeze when realization hits- you’ve been singing for a while now, and the lyrics are hardly anything suitable for a cosy night in. It’s about intimacy, sure- but also about heartbreak, cheating, and things that you won’t ever relate to. “No! It’s just catchy!”

He steps closer, rinsing his hands under the tap and using the front of his shirt to dry them hastily. Fingers trembling as they brush your waist. “If there’s anything I’m doing wrong, or something I’m not doing… whatever you need. Just let me know.”

Pain squeezes your heart. “Xavier, you’re my everything. There’s nothing wrong with us, it’s just a song.”

With a shaky sigh, he buries his face in your neck. “My starlight, please don’t scare me like that. I don't think I can bear the thought of... whatever you were singing about,"

You wrap your arms around him, reaching up to stroke his hair. “Xavi- I shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry, I really am,”

You feel him press a kiss to the side of your neck. “It's ‘kay,” he murmurs, soft lips brushing your skin as he speaks.

"I should've given you context-" you continue, but he shakes his head as he pulls away to look at you, his blue eyes as calm as ever.

His hands on your waist are steady now- firm, even. “There is only one context that matters. Which one are you requesting for tonight? Softer… or harder?”

_____

RAFAYEL

Rafayel drops his paintbrush when you murmur the lyrics "He is stable, you are deep."

“Excuse me? I’m the boring one?!” His eyes flash as whirls around, bristling with indignance.

You try to backtrack, but he’s already draping himself over you. “I’ll drown you in ‘deep,’” he huffs, covering your face in kisses as he nuzzles against you like a disgruntled cat marking his owner. As much as he hates cats, he does act like one in times like these.

“Raf, I'm sorry! It really mmmph–” he smothers you with another kiss, “it's just a song- I'm not-”

You get cut off by a flurry of kisses pressed to your cheeks, the corner of your lips, then your mouth.

You cup his face and squeeze his cheeks likely. “My love, I'm trying to apologize to you!”

He frowns, “And stable is not in my vocabulary. Glub glub,”

(He kisses you senseless, and only then does a satisfied smile return to grace his features.)

_____

CALEB

Caleb’s grip on the steering wheel tightens as you absentmindedly sing a tune that's been on your playlist for the past week.

When you get to the lyrics "Oh yeah, baby, touch me”, he stops you, voice quietly cutting through the cabin. “…Who.”

It’s not a question. You panic when understanding dawns on you. “Wait- it's not- It’s just a song, Caleb!”

He lets out a sharp exhale, keeping his eyes straight ahead and drives until you exit the highway.

He pulls over.

“Then why does it sound like a confession of sorts? Are we having a falling-out?” He grits out.

You gently place your hand over his white-knuckles, brushing your fingers over his. “This song's just been on my playlist… it means nothing to me. I promise, Caleb.”

He sighs, flexing his fingers to release his grip on the steering wheel. He catches your wrist softly, then presses a kiss onto your palm. “Just… tell me if there's something wrong, yeah? You can take it out on me, but just- just don't sing breakup songs like that,”

The desperate tinge in his voice makes your heart sink, and you pull him close to peck his cheek, then his lips. His shoulders loosen, yet his violet eyes glimmer with depths of unspoken fears.

“Okay,” you nod, then tap the tip of his nose lightly. “Mr Colonel, I'm guilty of making you worried, so- you can deal with me as you see fit when we get home,”

He breathes a shaky laugh, raking his fingers through his hair. “God damn, pips. You're really trying to give me cardiac arrest today,”

Note: This came from a submitted prompt <3 It was a little tricky to write bc i couldnt fully imagine how they'd react in that situation ngl?? Lmk what yall think :') also I have a few WIPS but atm my brain is playing kpdh songs all day and its a bit hard to think and write i keep wanting to write lads men as the saja boys ANYWAYS THANKS YALL FOR READING <33 Comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated <3

✨️

[madamechrissy]

Fucking Hiromi Higuruma's face <3

pairingss- Boss Hiromi x F! assistant reader

warnings- it's literally just a oneshot/drabble of Hiromi wanting you to fuck his face so he can de-stress from his busy day :') Oral (f receiving) some teasing, Hiromi being desperate for you, jerking off, panty stealingg

This is my first time writing for himm ahhh hope I do okayy!

Hiromi can't stop staring at his pretty law assistant - you - every time you bend over. He also can't help how irritated he gets when men in the office flirt with you. But, you're not his...

Yet.

"Mr. Higuruma, here." You're smiling as you hand him a stack of papers you've notated for him, looking too damn pretty in that red blazer and pencil skirt.

"Thank you, love," he murmurs softly, taking them from you, and you frown a bit. "What's wrong?"

"You look exhausted, everything okay?" He smiles a bit, thin lips crooking up as he eyes you, there are bags much more than his usual under dark eyes.

"I'm always tired." He mumbles, swiping a hand over his face.

"But you look very tired, is there anything I can do to help more?" You walk up to him now, a hand brushing his shoulder over his black suit jacket, his heart thrums in his chest at the contact.

If you knew the filthy things he thinks about you, the way he strokes his cock imagining you when he gets home, the way he glimpses those panties you wear when you cross and uncross those legs. He's thought of fucking stealing a pair, just to taste you, it's gotten that bad the obsession with you.

You're younger, you're bright and so energetic, perhaps the opposite of him, exhausted constantly from taking on far too many cases lately, throwing himself into his work. Your fingers are burning through the layer of his jacket, he faintly notices your breasts rising and falling with your breaths.

"I could rub your neck, it looks tense. Or is that too forward-"

"Can you fuck my face?"

"Huh!?"

"Huh?" You blink for a moment, so confused, your lips parted. "I said nothing," he clears his throat and yanks on that black skinny tie, veins pressing up under the tanned skin.

"Nothing, huh?" You lean down, tugging at the tie, yanking him just a bit so that he moans softly. "You sure it was nothing?"

"I'm very tired..." his breath is right against your lips now, you're tugging him right to you, making him lose it. He's already blurted it all out there, too.

Fuck he's so screwed.

"Say it again, Hiromi," the way that rolls off your tongue is way too sweet now. "Did you say you needed a massage?"

"No," he admits, cheeks more flushed the closer you get. "I said... I want you to fuck my face."

Your tummy clenches, letting go of the tie somewhat, he eases back in his office chair, you sit right up on his desk, shoving stacks of papers on each side. He licks his lower lip as you do, hands gripping your thighs and shoving up that pencil skirt. "Well, then, get down there and I will."

"Fuck, you're the best assistant ever, y'know that love?" You try to act bold, but when his breath is on your cunt over your panties, you whine out, his long nose bumping your clit over the cloth soaking. "Smell so sweet..."

"I do?" He moans, nodding, burying himself in your scent desperately, long tongue lapping as you grip strands of dark brown hair in one of your hands, head falling back as he soaks the fabric. "Mmnh!"

"Shh," he murmurs, a hand slipping up your calf gently, goosebumps rising along his touch in a trail, while he nuzzles your cunt. "Want people to hear you being so slutty?"

"Y-you're slutty," Hiromi chuckles against your skin, pulling back now, leaning in that seat, loosening the tie so part of his collarbone is exposed just a bit, watching you with dilated pupils under those lazy lidded eyes. "Mnh, get back there."

"Take em off, hmm pretty?" you can't tell if he's letting you take the lead or if he's keeping it. You bite your lower lip, shaking your head, making him raise a brow. "I said, take them off."

"Yes, sir." The way he commands you so gently has you trembling, thighs already sticky as arousal slips down from your little hole, aching from his teasing. You slip them down, leaning on your elbows and lifting your hips in the quiet little office, light filtering in through the blinds and casting shadows of your form and his on one of the cream walls.

He's exhaling when he sees your cunt for the first time, his cock leaking even more precum, glistening and puffy already. "Barely touched you yet," he taunts softly, dragging your panties down your ankles, right over your pretty black heels. "Why so wet already?"

You don't get to respond really, he's kissing you then, one because he wants to taste your lips, and two, he needs to sneak your panties into the pocket of his slacks. You are lost in his kisses, the lazy and leisurely way his tongue slips inside your mouth, your nails gripping his starch white dress shirt, fingers slipping between your thighs and rubbing your slit.

"Fuck, so wet for me, love..." he's whispering against your lips, leaving trails of saliva as his kiss gets messier, nose bumping against your before he leans back, sinking to his knees.

The sight of your boss like that is heady, his knees on the rug beneath you two, his hands spreading your thighs now, burying his face right back between them. He's hungry, messy, so desperate as he devours your pussy like he's starving, so intense how his tongue fucks your hole, how his nose bumps your twitchy clit, and you're grinding on him, so wet it's dripping all across his face.

Hiromi laps up every bit of wetness you have, his other hand palming his erection, throbbing and leaking, moaning against your slick heat and causing vibrations that have you almost screaming out. You bite down on your knuckles to prevent a scream, your other hand stuck in his hair as he moves his head side to side.

"H-Hiromi..." You're whispering his name, dragging him away from your cunt for just a moment, his eyes so lidded you can hardly see his irises.

"Yes, love, what do you need?" He's your boss asking you what you need, on his knees, the movement of two fingers slipping into your hole with a messy squelch making you whine out.

"Wanna cum, please," he smirks just a little, that tired smile he always gives you, face coated in your slick.

"Then cum for me, you deserve to, such a good law assistant, aren't you?" You eat up the praise as he eats up your juicy cunt, messy and sloppy with it. He's filthy in face, moaning into your hole as he spreads you so wide, and your hips arch up and down. "That's it, fuck my face."

You realize that is exactly what you're doing, fucking his face, his nose slips between your folds at certain points, tongue moving up and down in wicked stripes. You hear it, the wetness mixing with your soft whines and his hushed moans, buried against your cunt as he pushes you right over the edge.

"Gonna cum-" knock knock knock.

You curse, and Hiromi pulls back, scowling at the door. "I'm busy."

"Mr-"

"Busy." He says it so firm, making you even needier, throbbing around nothing as you stroke back his strings of hair falling over his now sweat covered brow. "Cum for me,"

You can't not cum, not when the knocks subside and the footsteps echo away, and Hiromi has his tongue curling inside your gummy walls, they convulse around the wet muscle, as you scream out into your palm, leaned back on the desk. Your entire body radiates from the sweet pressure in your core, until you're seeing black spots, back arching up as you ride it out against his long nose, his lips, his entire fucking face.

"Use me, fuck," you never expected those words, but you do just that, much to Hiromi's pleasure, pulling his hair so hard it's painful, just making him stroke his cock once, twice, so hard it's painful. You use him and ride out one orgasm into another, suffocating him between your thighs.

It's perfect.

"Oh my g-god..." you're shaking as you come to, movements halting, Hiromi pulls back and licks his lips, standing and hovering over you, pinning your hips to the desk while you swipe some of your cum off his face, cheeks heated at how much there was. "Did that really relax you?"

"Oh, it did." He tilts your chin up, kissing you, letting you taste yourself all along his lips, while one of his hands entangles in your hair, loosely fallen from its ponytail early. "Mmm, get back to work."

"Get back to work? what about you?" He just presses a kiss on your head, smiling.

"I'm well relaxed. Same time tomorrow?" You nod shyly, giggling a bit as he eases you down on wobbly legs. You're too fucked out to notice your missing panties, so Hiromi uses them to cum in right before his meeting with the new law interns, burying them in one of his drawer after busting his load, sighing and standing, stretching.

That was just the trick for his exhaustion.

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[millermouth]

teeny tiny request from me bc ily and your brain:

lazy morning sex with obsessed jackson!joel 🧎‍♀️

(think about him sleepily praising you…. yum)

joel miller x you drabble

|| smut MDNI 18+, plot what plot???, praaaaiiiseeeee kinkkkkkkk, edging, pinv, fingering?? kinda?? dirty talk so much dirty talk, daddy kink, pussy pronouns, picture either joel ||

a/n: I had a moment where I needed to step away from this and ask myself wtf am I doing. thank you for the request!!

Once upon a time, you'd shown old man Joel the art of edging.

You know, bringing you to the brink of an orgasm just to be denied and denied over and over again. The concept had confused him at first, not because he didn’t understand it, but because on a spiritual level, it offended him. Joel was a man who believed in finishing what he started. His favorite thing in the world was eating you out. He believed in slow, drawn out sessions where he'd bury his face between your legs and nearly forget to breathe. He’d make you come on his tongue and over and over. Leaving you on the edge of release, teasing you only to pull back? That shit felt cruel to him. Damn near a sin.

But then he'd done it once. With you beneath him, soaked and trembling, eyes half-lidded and unfocused, lips parted like you’d forgotten how to breathe, he saw your mind go far away, drifting slow through the heat pooling in your gut. It broke something in him wide open.

Or maybe it built something.

Because now he was obsessed.

So this morning, curled up in bed on a quiet Sunday, you refused to wake, even as the sun bled through your closed eyelids and painted the darkness behind them red. You'd barely stirred, body drowsy from sleep and overstimulation from the night before, your skin damp with sweat that had long since slicked fresh again. Joel had you spooned up tight, bare skin pressed against bare skin. His arms were wrapped around your ribs, thick and strong, locking you into place against his chest. One palm was splayed across your breast, fingers occasionally squeezing to feel the twitch of your spine. His other hand was beneath your hips, holding them at just the right angle so he could stay buried deep inside you.

He was moving in slow, controlled thrusts, fucking up into you from behind, steady and deep. Each time he pulled out, he dragged against your walls with painstaking precision, then drove his cock back into your slick, overstimulated cunt like he was slotting himself into a lock built just for him.

“So pretty,” he breathed into your ear, voice thick. His breath was hot, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he pushed in again. His cock hit a tender, spongey spot high inside you and you moaned, walls clamping down on him like a vice, still trembling from the second orgasm he’d denied you.

“Joeeel,” you whined, voice barely audible, one hand stretched up over your head, fingers laced in his damp, messy hair.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, lips dragging across your neck to your pulse as he pressed a kiss. Your skin was fever-warm and slick. His hand at your breast squeezed tighter, grounding you, while his grip on your hip never wavered, keeping you perfectly aligned for each slow, deliberate push of his hips.

“I could fuck you all damn day like this,” he said against your skin, lips brushing your shoulder, your neck, the soft edge of your jaw. His stubble scraped you raw in places already rubbed red from him kissing you over and over again. He pulled his cock out halfway, and you could feel the exact moment it dragged over the ridged front of your walls—the thick, curved head brushing the same spot again and again, making your toes curl and your breath hitch in your throat. Your mouth fell open, a mewling cry breaking out as your eyes rolled back.

“Shh, shh,” Joel cooed, voice like warm gravel, “You hear that?”

Your eyes blinked open, a little sleepy and dazed. He was peering over your shoulder, chin perched on your collarbone. His eyes were dark, wild, hungry. But soft, too.

“Can hear just how much she likes it, can’t you?” he murmured, hips giving a small roll that pressed him deeper, the obscene, squelching sounds of you soaking around him filling the room in time with your breath. The evidence of your arousal was everywhere. It shone along your inner thighs, it dripped against his balls, and soaked the bedspread beneath you. You were a mess.

“This is all she needed, just needed some love from daddy,” Joel added.

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered, your voice breaking on the words. Your head fell back against his shoulder, neck arched, whole body pressing into him, “Please, please, Joel—”

You rolled your hips in a desperate circle, seeking pressure, angle, anything that would fill that maddening void inside you. But he held steady.

“Gotta wait for it,” he said, casual, calm, but his voice was tight with restraint. “Be patient like daddy. You don’t want this to end already, do ya?”

You whimpered. The ache in your hips and spine was starting to burn, muscles trembling with the effort to hold it in while he fucked you slow and deep, like time didn’t exist. His cock throbbed inside you, dragging over your g-spot with each movement. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t hard. It was worse. It was agonizingly slow. And yet so, so addictive.

He was torturing you.

Because Joel didn’t just edge you anymore. He’d started edging himself. He wanted to drag it out, hold back, hover on the brink of release until his whole body was shaking, the same as yours. He finally understood how it made the orgasm stronger. That it made you tighter around him, clenching like a fist. Said your cunt would milk him dry every damn time.

And fuck, he was right.

He let go of your breast, hand trailing down your sweat-slick stomach, fingers slow and lazy as they traced toward where your bodies were joined.

You let out a strangled noise when his finger grazed your soaked folds, feeling the obscene stretch where his cock disappeared into you. He pushed deeper at the same time, a slow, relentless press that had your thighs twitching.

"She's openin' up real nice for me, ain't she, baby? She loves daddy's cock, huh?"

“Yes,” you gasped, brain blank, body buzzing like live wire. His fingers slid over your clit, the poor thing swollen, raw, so sensitive it felt like you were burning from the inside out.

“Yes, daddy, yes yes yes—”

He didn’t rub or stroke it, though. He merely brushed the lightest tease over your clit, so faint it barely registered as touch, but your body screamed at the sensation. He pushed his cock back in again, slow as syrup, grinding forward until you swore he was reaching your lungs.

“On one, you’re gonna come with me, alright, babygirl?”

You nodded frantically, tears stinging the corners of your eyes, breath shuddering through your lips.

“Five.”

He brought his fingers to your mouth, coaxing your lips open. You sucked them in obediently, wrapping your tongue around the two thick digits, tasting yourself faintly on his skin. Joel growled in your ear, low and primal, hips twitching at the sight of you like this, so desperate, and aching for release. He knew how much you loved it too.

“Four.”

His fingers left your mouth with a wet schlick, sliding down to toy with one of your nipples, just rubbing lightly around it, enough to make your back arch like a bowstring. You writhed against him, grinding back into his cock, brows pinched and breath shaking. His mouth was on your shoulder again, then your neck, his chin hooked over your clavicle.

"Three," he moved his fingers down, and thank every god in heaven above, began to stroke your clit in little circles. Your body jolted like you’d been shocked. You let out a mewl, high and desperate.

"You gonna be my good girl?"

“Yes, Jesus fucking Christ, Joel, I swear to god—”

“Two,” he cut you off, a slow grin curling against your skin as he lifted his fingers away, “That ain’t no way to be thankin’ me, baby. You were doin’ so good a minute ago. Maybe we should start over.”

“No, no, no, I’m sorry,” you cried, trembling hard now. “I’ll be good. I’ll be good. Please, please—”

“I know, I know,” he said gently, fingers sliding back to your clit with that same maddening precision. “My best girl. Prettiest girl I know. Prettiest pussy too, sweet baby. You wanna come for me?”

“Yes!” you shrieked, every nerve in your body sparking, heart slamming against your ribcage as you hung onto him for dear life, holding back the pressure that was building in your belly and your hips.

“Okay, baby. You can come for me,” he breathed heavily, groaning, "Come with me, pretty girl, there you go, there you go, yes—"

Your whole body seized as your head was thrown back, mouth open in a scream that sounded like a cat in heat. It tore through you, wave after wave of hot, unbearable pleasure. Your vision blacked out in bursts. Your eyes were blinded white, then red, then nothing but color and sound and Joel’s voice in your ear.

He held you tight, growling low in his chest as you clenched around him like a vice. His hips bucked, fucking himself through his orgasm as his release spilled into you.

The room spun, your limbs like jelly. You barely registered the soft kisses he pressed to your shoulder, your hair, the corner of your jaw.

Eventually, your eyes fluttered open again. You turned your head, still half-limp, lips curved into a lazy, euphoric grin.

“I’ve created a monster,” you whispered against his lips.

Joel just chuckled, deep and warm, and kissed you again before saying, "Good mornin' to you too,"

[emisluvr]

‎ 𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗦𝗘⠀✦⠀𝗣.𝗦𝗛

박성훈 as your bf that you suck awake ! ⭑ ── wc. 707 ୨ৎ mature drabble ✧ w. smut ( 18+ mdni! ) , oral sex , explicit language , hair pulling , light choking

‎ ꒰◞ ˕ ◟୨୧꒱ REBLOGS + FB !

the soft glow of morning sunlight filters through the blinds, shining over sunghoon's sleeping form. he's lying flat on his back, his body stretched out lazily, one arm draped over his forehead. his toned abs peek beneath his shirt, slightly lifted in his sleep, accentuating his v-line as his sweatpants hang loose, practically begging to be pulled down.

gosh, he looks so good, even in his sleep. a little too good, and your wetness starts pooling in your panties, just from the sight of him and every little feature. your eyes lock on the evident rise of his cock pressing up against his sweatpants, like it wants to be free.

you move on the shared bed, settling right in between his sprawled-out legs. gently, you tug his sweatpants down, careful not to wake him—yet. his cock springs free, close to your face. you press your lips together, staring at him for a moment, unable to stop yourself.

you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to take him right then and there. how could you not? his cock was quite literally a work of art, bright and proud in your face, screaming to be inside you.

your lips wrap around the tip, licking up any pre-cum that’s already there. you hum at the salty taste, your tongue flicking over his sensitive head, collecting every drop. the sound of him groaning in his sleep makes you go slower, savoring every inch, every second. your mouth slowly takes all his inches in, working yourself up and down his length.

your eyes slightly widen when you feel a hand on the back of your head, gently but firmly pushing your head down further on his cock. "fuck, angel.." he groans, eyes still shut, his voice thick and sleepy as he lays there and lets you suck him.

his hand doesn't let go, guiding you deeper, pushing you to take more of him. his cock hits the back of your throat, slightly choking you. you go faster, eager to bring him closer to the edge. your mouth works on him, your lips pulling away just enough to tease, then taking him all the way back down, your tongue swirling around his base.

the moans and grunts he lets out get louder, more desperate, and you can tell he's completely lost in the pleasure. "fuck..." he groans again, gripping your hair tighter as you continue to suck him, feeling him twitch in your mouth. his body jerks slightly, as if he’s trying to fight the growing sensation, but he can’t, and you know it.

you speed up again, the rhythm of your head bobbing matching the desperation you’re feeling. his cock hits the back of your throat again and again, your mouth getting wetter, drool dripping down your chin as the sound of your sucking fills the room.

his fingers tug tighter on your hair with each groan he lets out, "sh-shit, so good... gonna cum." his voice cracks with the intensity, and you can feel his cock twitch again, his breathing shallow as he fights to hold back his orgasm.

but you don’t stop. you increase the pressure, your tongue pressing against the sides of him, feeling every vein as you go down on him again. you want him to lose it, want him to fall apart in your mouth, and you know you’re about to get him there.

you feel him twitch once more before the warm, salty release fills your mouth. his cock pulses against your tongue, and you swallow it down eagerly, feeling the hot liquid slide down your throat.

he lets out a low moan, eyes still closed as his body relaxes against the bed. "swallow, baby," he murmurs, and you do just that, licking your lips as you take every drop he gives you.

you pull away slowly, eyes meeting his, watching him stir just enough to lift his head. a lazy smirk plays on his lips as he stretches, letting out a satisfied groan. he pulls you up to kiss him, tasting the remnants of himself on your tongue.

has this become his favorite way of waking up? yes. will he repay you by eating you out the next morning? oh, without a doubt.

© emisluvr 2025. all rights reserved.

[kthologue]

meet cute — dick grayson

synopsis. dick finally meets his match.

contents. fluff, meet cute, banter!!, dick found someone that matched his freak, matchmaker haley, established relationship

notes. quick drabble. there’s nothing i love more than writing banter for dick

The first thing Dick registers is the smell of coffee, its scent curling through the morning air. The second thing is the warmth pressed against his side, a familiar weight shifting slightly as the bed dips.

"You make the coffee, or am I dreaming?" he mumbles, cracking an eye open.

"Dreaming," you tease, brushing your fingers through his hair. "But I got up first, so I figured I'd be nice."

Dick hums, pulling you back down beside him. "Mm. Marry me."

"Already did, remember?"

"Best decision of my life." He presses a lazy kiss to your temple. Dick softly grips your chin before slotting his mouth against yours. Outside the bedroom, Haley lets out an impatient whine, toenails clicking against the hardwood.

A smile curves against your lips as Dick deepens the kiss, his free hand trailing down your back, holding you close like he never wants to let go. His grip is firm, his warmth intoxicating and you already know exactly where this morning is heading.

But the insistent scratching and pitiful whines from outside the door refuse to be ignored.

You pull away just as Dick leans in, earning yourself a dramatic whine of protest. His lips chase yours, his grip tightening. "Babe," he murmurs, a little breathless, "she can wait."

"She’s been waiting," you counter, amused. "And she’s missed you."

"Well, I missed you," he huffs, leaning in again, only for you to dodge him, fixing him with a knowing look.

He sighs, defeated. "Alright, alright. Duty calls."

Grumbling, he rolls out of bed, and you laugh, tossing a pillow at his back as he trudges to the door.

“Be nice,” you tease as he lets Haley in.

The second the door cracks open, she barrels into him, tail wagging so hard she practically vibrates. Dick catches her effortlessly, laughing as she smothers him in licks, all lingering traces of sleep and reluctance melting away.

“She’s our little matchmaker, after all,” you remind him, watching the way his face softens.

Dick looks up at you, a smile tugging at his lips between Haley’s eager kisses. His laugh fills the room, warm and familiar. Your favorite sound.

"How could I ever forget?"

Dick hadn’t expected anything unusual that day. It had been a normal walk. Until it wasn’t.

Haley was a good dog. A well-trained, even-tempered pitbull who never pulled on the leash, never bolted, never strayed. So when she suddenly yanked forward with enough force to nearly dislocate Dick’s shoulder, he barely had time to react before she took off.

"What the–" He staggered after her, half-jogging, half-stumbling as she dragged him down the street. "Haley, slow down! What has gotten into you?"

She wasn’t listening. Her ears were perked, tail wagging like she’d just spotted the world's biggest stash of treats. Dick barely had a second to brace himself before she barreled straight into a woman standing at the corner, nearly knocking her over.

"I'm so sorry–Haley!" Dick gasped, yanking the leash back.

The woman let out a startled laugh, catching herself just in time. "Wow, okay. Not how I expected to start my morning."

Dick winced. "Yeah, sorry about that. She doesn’t usually– uh– body-check people. Are you okay?"

"I think so. Can’t say the same for my dignity, though."

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, if it helps, she only does this to people she likes. Which is a very exclusive club, by the way."

"Oh? So I should be honored?" you asked, arching a brow.

"Very." He smirked. "You’re in the same category as rotisserie chicken and that one mailman she has a crush on."

You snorted. "High praise. I’ll try to live up to it."

The two of you linger on the sidewalk, grinning at each other like idiots. The moment stretches just long enough for him to realize he had forgotten to introduce himself.

“Oh– uh, I’m Richard. But everyone calls me Dick.”

Your lips twitch as you nod slowly. “Nice to meet you, Dick.”

The way you say it is so smooth, effortless. It shouldn’t make his brain short-circuit, but damn if it doesn’t send a spark straight through him. He swears he can feel it in his fingertips.

Great. He’s a fully grown man, and somehow, you’ve got him feeling like a teenager with a crush.

Haley’s tail was going so fast her entire body wiggled with it, pure joy wrapped in fur. You crouched down, scratching behind her ears. “Well, aren’t you gorgeous?”

Dick cleared his throat, barely audible. “Yeah, you are.”

Your head snapped up. “What was that?”

“Must’ve been the wind.”

“Oh,” you mused, turning back to Haley. “Your dad’s got a pretty face, but I think he might be a little unhinged.” You don’t bother being discreet.

The pitbull tilted her head, eyes flicking between the two of you like she was weighing the evidence.

Dick huffed a laugh. “She’s deciding whether to defend my honor or side with you.”

“Smart girl, taking her time with the verdict.” You grinned, giving Haley an approving pat. “But seriously, I’ve never seen a dog so determined to tackle a stranger. Did you train her to be your wingman, or is she just naturally talented?"

Dick placed a hand over his heart. "I would never exploit my dog for romance."

"Uh-huh. So this is just a coincidence?"

"Purely."

"Right." You smirked. "And I’m supposed to believe this isn’t a well-rehearsed scheme?"

Dick grinned. "If it were, I’d like to think I’d have prepared better material. I’m usually much smoother."

"You’re really not."

"That’s the tragic part."

You laughed, standing up and dusting off your pants. "Well, Dick, I think your dog just got you a date."

He blinked. "Was that a yes? Or did Haley just finesse me into this?"

"Guess you’ll have to keep up and find out."

Dick opened his mouth, then paused, brow furrowing. "Wait, did I even get your name?"

You grinned. "Did I give it?"

"No, but I feel like I should have it before I let you con me into a date."

You tilted her head, considering. "I suppose that’s fair. But where’s the fun in just handing it over?"

Dick huffed a laugh. "So what, I have to earn it?"

"You’re catching on."

Haley barked once, tail thumping against the pavement like she was enjoying this far too much.

"Alright." Dick crouched, giving his dog a scratch behind the ears. "Haley, girl, looks like we’ve got a mystery to solve."

You laughed, shaking your head as you turned to walk away. "Try to keep up, Dick."

In that moment, he knew he was in trouble.

Dick didn’t have to be told twice.

comments n reblogs are appreciated!

[dismalflo]

i’ve been thinking about james with a reader who really enjoys physical touch and closeness.

i feel like james would be sooo about physical touch, just glued to readers side. just massive loverboy energy from him all the time

idk if this is enough detail to be a proper request, but would love to read you thoughts or something similar to it

you're so real for this actually, anon! here's a little drabble for you <3

James Potter x reader ✩ 550 words

cw: just fluff

“I wish I could crawl inside your skin,” you murmur, your voice thick with sleep, barely more than a whisper.

James’s fingers stay tangled in your hair, warm and steady. It’s late – far later than either of you should be awake – and the soft pull of exhaustion drapes over you both like a heavy blanket. But you cling to the last flicker of wakefulness just to stay here a little longer, pressed close to your lovely boyfriend.

“What?” His voice carries a bemused lilt as he tilts his chin down to look at you, eyes soft beneath the dim light. You’re sprawled against his chest, your face warm and hidden.

You bury yourself deeper into the heat of him, nuzzling the thin cotton of his shirt like you’re trying to dissolve into it. His arm tightens around your waist in response, and though you can’t see his face, you feel the slow, familiar grin spreading beneath you.

“Nothing,” you mumble, voice muffled and low. If you could melt right into the mattress, slip into the sheets and become one with them, you would. 

James lets out a soft laugh that rumbles low and warm under your ear. He tilts his head, his chin brushing the crown of yours, a featherlight touch that sends a shiver down your spine. Then, without warning, he pokes you in the ribs. Not hard, just enough to make you flinch and squeak in surprise.

“That’s weird,” he says, feigning innocent curiosity. “Because it sounded like you said something about crawling into my skin, you freak.”

“Stop,” you hiss, squirming as his fingers press into your ribs again. Your laugh slips out anyway, tangled in embarrassment and affection. “You’re the worst.”

“Oh, I know,” he grins against your hair, voice warm and sing-song, “but apparently, I’m such a delight that you’d like to unzip me and wear me like a hoodie.” His breath tickles your ear. “That’s love, baby.”

You groan, mortified, and try to wriggle free, but he’s quicker, curling around you like a vine, anchoring you with his arms and laughter. His hand creeps up your side again, fingers poised like they might tickle.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say weakly, knowing full well you’ve lost all credibility.

“Oh no, I believe you,” he murmurs, voice low and fond. “I just think you’re unwell.”

“You’re unwell.”

His voice drops even softer, a secret between you two. “Yes. Terminally.”

His fingers loosen just enough for you to sink back into his hold, your body folding into his like two puzzle pieces finally clicking together. He nuzzles his head into yours, a warm sigh steady against your temple, and your legs instinctively tangle beneath the covers, desperate to feel every inch of closeness.

A soft giggle escapes you, light and unexpected in the stillness. His breath catches, and he pulls back just a fraction, brow raised in curious amusement.

“What’s funny?” he asks, voice gentle, teasing.

You trail a lazy finger along his collarbone, heart still fluttering, and whisper, “Seems like you’d like to get in my skin.”

His grin deepens, eyes sparkling in the low light. “Never said I didn’t, angel.”

“Freak.” 

masterlist <3