#like that one where the further away it sounds the closer it is and vice versa

[goddess-of-graphite]

if a banshee screams in space can it still be heard

[nereidprinc3ss]

make me late

in which spencer finds a few minutes to spare with fem!reader in the morning

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: softdom!spence, sub reader, technically dubcon bc he doesn’t ask and she jokingly says stop but it’s not like that I promise, fingering (here we go again), 'slutty' is used to describe an action but not by spencer, spencer slaps r's ass one (1) time, (hot), mild overstimulation a/n: apparently need to post at least one fingering fic per week or i'll fucking die. very short and sweet but as always let me know if you like it, i have a crush on all of you!

You’re used to Spencer’s alarm going off early in the morning—typically you tune it out or sleep right through it. Today, however, it rouses you more than usual. You roll over, blinking your eyes open. 

“Sorry,” Spencer mutters, finally turning it off and leaning over to kiss your head. “Go back to sleep, angel.”

You wrap your arms around his torso, pulling him down again when he tries to get out of bed.

“Don’t go,” you beg into his shirt, slinging a leg over him. His hand slips under your (also his) shirt, rubbing the bare skin of your back.

“I have to. You know that.” 

“I just want you to stay for a little bit,” you insist. 

“No you don’t,” he drawls, voice still gravelly with sleep, “You want to make me late.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say innocently, burying your face further into his shirt as if you could extinguish the heat in your cheeks. 

His hand drops from your back to reach under your thigh, pushing your underwear to the side. You gasp when his fingers make contact with your soaked core, involuntarily pressing your hips closer. 

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Stop it! That’s not fair!” You squeal, attempting to wriggle away once you regain your senses. But the bastard wraps his arm around your waist like a vice, forcing you to stay in place as he sinks a finger into you with no preamble. Instead of satisfying him with a vocal response, you keep your face hidden in the crook of his shoulder and remain obstinately silent. When he begins to slowly pump his finger, you’re forced to bite the fabric of his shirt to shut yourself up. 

“If you’re not enjoying yourself, I’ll stop,” he says plainly, but obviously he knows that’s the last thing you want. His ring finger joins the other and your mouth falls open, a tiny, choked breath against his skin. “Do you want me to stop?”

Don’t give in, you say to yourself. Wait. What are you not giving in to? Fuck, that feels good. You hum quietly—an excellent display of self-control considering the noises you’re actively holding back. 

“Are we already getting whiny?”

“‘m not whining,” you bite. 

“You’re always whining.” There’s nothing to do but prove him right when he begins massaging that spot inside you with a practiced stroke of his fingers—the one that makes you arch your back further and spread your legs a little wider—makes you oh-so compliant and all together, a bit slutty. But Spencer has told you that by definition, you’re not a slut if it’s just him who you lose all self-respect around. “My pretty girl feels so good, huh?”

You agree with a mindless mumble, forgetting that you were ever going to try and fight the pleasure. 

“It feels so good.”

“I can tell, baby. Listen to the mess you're making.”

Soft, wet sounds emanate from where you’re probably dripping around his fingers. A moan is muffled by his shoulder as your own fingers twist in the fabric of his shirt and sink into the flesh of his waist—though you doubt he minds. 

“Please don’t stop, please please please—" It’s quiet, almost demure as you plead. 

“You’re so sweet when you get like this,” Spencer coos. “I wish you were always so well-behaved.”

No, he doesn’t. Both of you know he loves fucking the attitude out of you, and at times, back into you. But you’re not in any place to correct him right now, as his fingers slip in and out of you so quickly, exactly where you want to be touched. 

“Oh, right—right there, that’s—oh, god,” you squeak. 

Your face is still nuzzled in his shirt, your voice is still so delicate and weak with sleep, rising in pitch with your pleasure until it breaks. 

“Right here? This is where you need it?”

“Yes,” you practically cry, “I’m gonna come, Spence—” your hips rock back and forth to meet each stroke of his fingers inside you, vision going white with with pleasure. 

“Yeah? My pretty girl is gonna come all over my fingers?”

“Mhm!” You speed up the motion of your hips. He chuckles, which might offend you if you were in your right mind, but it’s early, and you’re tired, and your soul is trying to untether itself from your body. 

“Let me feel it, baby. I wanna feel you coming, can you do that for me?”

A breathy keen rushes from your throat as your orgasm begins to suck you out to sea like a riptide, flooding your lungs and blood and everything with so much easy pleasure you’re barely awake and you don’t care one bit. 

“Uh-huh, good girl,” Spencer murmurs, not letting up with his fingers as you fall through your orgasm. Another choked moan takes you by surprise when his free hand falls with a heavy clap to your ass, before rubbing the stinging flesh. “Let go a little bit longer, baby, I’m right here.”

You’re barely breathing, still seeing stars as he continues to fuck you leisurely with his fingers, more out of pure affection than anything else. Eventually he slips them out, teasing gently over your clit as your stomach tenses. But you let him keep going. You’ll do anything to keep him in bed for a few minutes longer. To that end, you gather enough breath to speak. 

“Can you please fuck me?” 

He hums pityingly, moving his hand from between your legs to lovingly soothe the tender skin he’d slapped just a moment ago. 

“You know I can’t, baby. I shouldn’t have even done this. I really have to get a move on.”

“But you did do this,” you say, eager to point out the fallacies in his argument, “which means you could also have sex with me and we could be really fast and you could just take less time getting ready for work.”

Your chin is now resting on his shoulder as you look up at him with wide, imploring eyes, and he leans down to kiss your nose. 

“The answer is going to stay no, sweet thing. I don’t care how much you beg.”

He’s already gently sliding you off of him and getting out of bed as you pout. A few moments pass, and you can’t think of a good retort as he moves about the room, gathering a towel for his shower and digging through the dresser. 

“You’re mean.”

“Aw, poor baby. You only got to come once. Nobody has ever had a harder life than you.” Spencer dodges the pillow you throw and laughs, coming back to lean over the bed as you glower at him. “I’m sorry I woke you up. If you can’t fall back asleep in the time it takes me to shower, I’ll make you fancy coffee.”

“Fine.”

“And I’ll be extra nice to you when I get home.” He kisses your head and then your lips, and then disappears into the bathroom. 

In a completely predictable turn of events, you’re dead to the world by the time he gets out of the shower. He makes you the fancy coffee anyway, leaving it in a thermos on your nightstand. 

He’s late to work. He can't pretend to be sorry.

[glorysbox]

leon x gn!reader

summary: re2r leon fucks you in his jeep... that's it. 1.5k

warnings: explicitly 18+, one pump chump leon LOL

“Fuck—“ Leon shifts under you, his grip on you tightening momentarily. The pads of his fingers dig into the skin of your thighs… a very, very desperate attempt to ground himself. “I can’t… slow down, please.”

Leon’s head thumps against the leather backseat of his Jeep. His eyes are screwed shut as he lets out a shaky breath, the calloused pads of his fingertips releasing and gripping you—squishing you. You can feel him throbbing inside of you. You can feel each and every twitch and motion of his hips as he’s desperate to keep his cool and not cum inside of you after just two minutes. It’s cute.

Leon is cute.

“You’re so sensitive,” You coo at him, your hands reaching to feel the muscles of his chest through his shirt. He’s clothed still—as are you, save for the way his pants and boxers are haphazardly bunched at his ankles and how yours have been thrown somewhere else. “I just started. You already can't take it?.”

It’s dark. You can barely see your boyfriend’s face, but you’re almost certain that there’s some semblance of a pout on his face as you tease him. It’s always like this when you’re on top. He can’t focus on anything but you. How you make him feel good. How pretty you look on top of him, even if he can’t fully see your face.

“Just… just give me a few seconds, okay?” Leon’s tone is shaky as he speaks, hushed as his hands start to roam further from your thighs and up towards your torso. They rise, higher and higher, the palms of his hands dipping under your shirt and exploring every inch of skin that he can reach. His cock throbs inside of you again. “Don't make fun of me. I can't... can't help it when I'm with you.”

You can practically *feel* the heat radiating from his face as you hold back a smile, squinting to see him from the darkness that surrounds the both of you in his Jeep. The tinted windows and the fact that it's the middle of the night do nothing to help... but Leon really couldn't wait any longer. He needed you now.

"I'm not making fun of you..." You reassure, cupping his face with your hands and making him look at you. It does nothing to stop the borderline possessive way that his hands caress your body. The feeling of his hands on your body isn't unfamiliar—it's welcomed. He seems to know all the places to touch that make you whine and press further down on his cock. "It's cute. Does that make you feel better?"

"No." He leans forward, his lips brushing against your own in a chaste kiss—before his hand escapes from under your shirt and cups your cheek, bringing you closer to him. The kiss is sweet—just like he is. He’s always sweet. Wetness pools between his thighs, staining the leather seat of the Jeep as he shifts under you again. Leon’s hands travel downward again, anchoring themselves on your hips as he pulls away from your lips.

“You’re so…” He trails off as he slowly brings you up, temporarily releasing himself of the vice you have around his cock. His breath is warm as you feel him let out a deep exhale—less shaky and more anticipating than before. “So good to me.”

With slow, deliberate motions, he sinks you back down onto his cock. Savoring the way you feel around him. Mindful to not be too rough with you. He can barely make out the features of your face in the darkness, but that doesn't stop him from trying. Doesn't stop him from imagining the way your eyebrows are probably drawn together and how your mouth is probably slightly ajar.

“I love you… fuck. I can’t…” Strings of praise and you feel so goods slip from his lips as he begins to guide you up and down, soft gasps accompanying them as the slick sounds begin to fill the air of the Jeep once more. It's only been a few moments, but he already feels himself obsessing over the way you clench around him once more. His eyes are trained on the junction where the two of you meet; his breaths quickening to match the pace that he's beginning to set.

Unsurprisingly, Leon’s hips are starting to press up into yours as he guides you down onto him. He wanted to be more gentle. But he never really was good at controlling himself. Especially when it comes to you.

“L—Leon—“ Your words come out in hushed gasps, cut off by the sounds of your own moans as you grip desperately at his shirt. He’s handsy as he fucks up into you: gripping your shirt, his free hand reaching up to grab onto your hair, his fingers pinching at the meat of your thigh, hand trailing along the curve of your stomach—desperate to feel all of you.

The slapping of your skin onto his gets louder and louder, his hands pulling you down onto his cock as he thrusts up into you to meet halfway—his moans in your ear as all of his inhibitions seemingly leave him at just the feeling of you. You can’t help it, at this point. Can't help the sticky mess you’re making on his lap. The way your face is buried into his neck only seems to spur him on more.

You can feel the SUV rocking in tandem with his movements. His hips tilt ever so slightly, desperate to meet that spot inside of you—to pull those noises out of you that he’s come to crave every single time. Leon always gets what he wants, too. The sound of your whine, pathetic and wavering in his ear makes him smile—his own sighs and groans as he slips in and out of you not much better.

“So good—you’re so good to me. Fuck. You feel so—“ He fucks you like he means it. He kisses you like he loves you. And it’s too much. Leon is quick to kiss you. His soft lips latch onto your own, splitting from you only to place more kisses on the side of your mouth and pressing more onto the skin of your neck. “So good. Come on, you can take it.”

The words are meant to be more encouraging than anything else… yet, he can feel the way you tighten and clench around him—can feel the way drool slips from the corner of your mouth and leaves wet spots on his shirt—can hear the muffled moans that you can’t hold back in his chest.

He wishes he could see your face. See the way your eyes are lidded and how they roll toward the back of your head when he hits the spots he knows you like... but from the way his thighs are flexing and twitching under you, he's not doing much better. Just the image of it in his head is enough to make him squirm.

Broken strings of praise and groans fall from his lips, the pads of his fingers digging into your hips nearly painfully as he shifts under you.

"Can't... can't, Leon. Please, I'm gonna..." You sigh out, barely managing to piece together the sentence from his nearly punishing pace as he fucks into you like it'll be the last time you'll ever be together. You feel his fingernails digging into the skin of your ass.

Even in the darkness from the tinted windows of the Jeep, you can see how his head lolls from side to side as he's so desperate to hold on to his control. To get you to cum first. Leon is a gentleman like that.

Well... he tries to be.

But the feeling of you wrapped so tightly around him... the way you paw at his shirt... the way your skin ripples each time it meets his own from his brutal pace.

To think that he'd even lasted this long truly was a miracle.

It’s not hard to tell when Leon’s about to cum. His hips tremble, he grips you with really no regard for his strength—he whines and whines and his hips stutter and lose their pace quicker than he was able to gain it.

“Fuck. Fuck. You feel so good—you feel too good—“ His tone is higher, his body taut and thighs flexing as his hips twitch and jolt under you. Leon pulls you down onto him, keeping you in one place as his hips uncontrollably rut into you. Thick ropes of his cum sputter inside of you as he cants his hips on you, grinding and pulling you as close as possible until he’s whining more because it’s making him feel too good.

It's silent for a few minutes after. Really, the only thing that can be heard are Leon's shaky and rapid breaths and the long forgotten music from the radio playing in the background. He trembles beneath you, hands loosening on the nearly punishing grip that they held on you only a few moments ago.

Leon's hands rub along your hips, his thumb pressing gentle circles into the spots he was just tugging on. You can't see his expression... but something just tells you that he's flashing you that toothy grin that he always does whenever he wants to charm you. "That was—"

"You lasted longer this time."

"Stop… are you making fun of me again?"

[dollwrites]

— ⟡ dizzy drabbles disclaimer !!

all dizzy drabbles are written when i am extremely high ( or, dizzy ) and they don’t contain a trigger warnings list. if there’s no indication by the request, you can assume that the fic is nsfw + probably dark-leaning, if not blatantly dark. noncon, dub con, and other triggering content may be present, read with caution ( enjoy your experience <3 )

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tartaglia was panting in your ear. repeating the affirmation in weak, happy moans, his breath hot waves crashing against the shell, sending your hair to stand on end. listening to him mewl for you was almost as fun as watching him chase the high that hides in your core. so, you didn’t mind too much that he was hiding his face from you. the face that you knew was screwed into a look of pure nirvana, and tinted rosy across his cheeks and his nose. “You feel so good, you feel damn good. I’m losing it in here, cutie. F-fucking losing it.”

another couple of deep, hard thrusts into you, sending your back arching off the bed and your eyes rolling back, and you knew what he meant. you could feel it— his neediness— in the force behind his fucking, and the depths that his base instinct yearns to reach, that he was close. beyond that, his cock was twitchy, the pink tip painfully swollen as it jabs at your spongy nerves.

he was about to cum.

“Ch—“ you hardly find a gulp of air, but it’s stolen almost as soon as you swallow, fucked out of you. “Childe!” your body reacts to his mercilessness. your cunt clamps down tighter around him, and your ankles lock against his lower back, spurring his body closer to yours, as if begging him to breed you.

“Feel that,” Tartaglia grunts, his thin brows stitching closer, his teeth grinding against each other like he was keeping the urge to bite your neck at bay, “feel you right now. My cute, little vice—“ one of your hands jerks at his ginger roots, nails scraping his scalp, while the other claws at the bed below, desperate to chip away that the immense pleasure building with each time his hips slammed into yours, now. “I’m going to cum, and this little pussy starts hugging me tighter. What’s the matter, cutie? Don’t want me to pull out? Finally going to let me put a baby in you?”

it was only mildly humiliating. after weeks, nay— months— of his incessant want to procreate and your vehement protest, you were weak to the prospect. maybe he’d worn you down, or you were swept too far out into a sea of ecstasy to care about the consequences, the reason didn’t really matter. your eyes struggle to stay open, your breathy heavy and ragged as you try to wet your whistle enough to speak without it sounding needy and raspy. it does, anyways. “D-don’t talk about it, just— d-do it!”

his forearms sneak beneath your body, cross-crossing against your back to jerk you upwards and to his chest, cradling you like a precious treasure, but the caress was merely a means to an end— to capture you in a position where he held all the power, and keep you there. “That’s a good girl,” he swooned, ignoring your plea to not humiliate you further. with his face buried in your neck, the sweat clinging to your roots stuck your hair to his face, and his lips dragged and smeared over your hot skin, teeth grazing your pulse point as he speaks, “being such a pretty, little baby oven for me, so warm and inviting.” Tartaglia growls for a moment, a harsh rumbling as he’s nearly crossing the finishing line. “This is going to be a big one, haaa��� I’m going to fill you up, that okay, cutie?”

heavens, was it ever.

you nod, now groping his fiery tendrils with both fists. each lock was slick with sweat and slid through your fingers, but you grappled constantly stimulating him further with the rough treatment.

he gurgles out a happy moan in the back of your throat. “Good cutie,” he whispers, “You want to give me lots of sons and daughters to spoil, I can tell. You’re so desperate to have my babies. And believe me— I am so fucking desperate to give them to you. Hold extra still, baby girl, here it comes!”

[boyfhee]

이희승 、SHARED VICE

heeseung has a bad habit, but with your help, he can fix it. unforeseeably, you turn out to be a bad influence instead.

ꔫ pairings : play boy! heeseung x fem reader ꔫ warnings : kissing, implications of smoking ꔫ notes : this was supposed to be a roommate series

“i thought i told you to clean up,” your voice takes in the way he fixes his t-shirt while looking in the mirror, pausing for a brief second as his eyes settle on you before travelling back to his reflection in front of him.

“giving me orders in my own room,” and he sounds a little too haughty, especially with the smirk that dances on his lips. his eyes travel down to you— up and down, as he looks at you with a teasing glint, kicking a few empty packets of snacks lying around his gaming setup aside.

“that’s a nasty habit,” you’re commenting this for the thousandth time ever since he moved in, the scoff that falls off his lips tells you how much he expected you to say the same words over again. 

“everyone has one,” he shrugs, sighing as he pushes the keyboard further on the desk, leaning against it before his lips curl up into a cheshire grin as he leans down towards you. “you have too, i know about it; your very, very nasty habit,”

and you feel your breath get stuck in your throat, knowing a little too well where this conversation was heading. he stares at you for a while, finally bored as he sighs, getting up from the desk and taking a step towards you— careful not to break eye contact. 

“i’m off, hope you clean this—” but you’re quick to react, taking a step back just as soon as he leans closer, looking away and pointing your index finger at the empty packets and unwashed clothes lying around. “—shit,”

“lend me a hand?” he leans back with a soft sight, slightly tilting his head to the side, the grin on his face never leaving. “i could really use some help here,”

“and why would i do that?”

“maybe, i can help you with your nasty habit in return,” he suggests with a certain innuendo, towering over you with a heavy gaze, one that figuratively makes it difficult for you to even move. “roommates need to look out for each other, right?”

and heeseung is a wrong deal in himself.

you’ve seen the way girls around the campus fawn over him and also the way they walk out of his room with tears. you’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve come back to the apartment, seeing him with a new girl. you know better than gravitating straight towards him, although your heart keeps swerving. you hate his habits, he smells of cigarettes and the strawberry candies that keep his mouth busy during hours of valorant sessions. it’s a deadly combination, vinously so.

“i don’t know—” 

“you can stare at me all you want while helping me clean the room,” another step towards you, another step back taken by you— and you’re against the edge of the bed, whipping your head around frantically as you almost stumble, although not sure if it’s because of his actions or the close proximity in between. “don’t you like to do that, pretty?”

or if it’s both.

“we’ve only been roommates for a while but i know exactly what you’re thinking right now,” he leans down further, lips almost brushing against yours. “do you think i haven’t noticed your eyes being all over me?”

your mouth is dry, mind rushing at thousand miles per minute to think of any words to defend yourself. you thought, you’ve been discreet with it— the stolen glances at him from across the room, the subtle smile on your lips whenever you two talk, despite most of it being just annoying banter. it wasn’t news to your friends when you told them about your little crush on your roommate, however you made sure to keep it a secret from him. he tilts his head to the other side, gazes switching between your eyes as your lips, the feeling incomparable to how you’re drawing him in.

“hee—” you’re cut off by the sudden movement of his arm around your waist, perhaps to keep you from falling down on the bed, but maybe it’s yet another excuse, this time made to hold you close, just enough to make you feel all the butterflies.

“maybe,” the words caress against your lips, making your head dizzy. “it’s a shared vice,” and before you could retract— his lips are yours, hands pulling you close by your waist to hold you in place, feverishly kissing you as you feel his tongue brush against your lips. 

it's another nasty habit, one he can’t get rid of— the one he won’t get rid of, especially at the way your lips feel against his, it aligns with how he thought you’d taste. your hands fiddle with the hem of his shirt in nervousness and yet, you leave him breathless and intoxicated with the lack of air. it’s like a drug, gets worse the way your hands hesitatingly rest on his chest as he tilts your head, pulling you even deeper into the kiss. it’s an addiction, and good for heeseung, you’re just as hooked as him.

[heich0e]

suguru's throat feels tight.

not in the nice way—like when someone pays you a compliment you aren't expecting, or you're given a thoughtful gift.

his airway is a vice; sticky and closing in on itself like a boobytrap in those terrible action movies that satoru always makes him watch, where the walls are slowly crushing inwards on the hero, leaving no obvious way to escape.

his face feels hot—too hot for the meagre amount of alcohol he's had to drink that evening. hot enough that he's sure his cheeks are flushed a vicious red. he looks down at his hands, still wrapped around the half-drained drink between them, and when he pulls one away from the circumference of the glass he sees the way his fingers tremble, moved by a force only he can feel.

he sets his cup down on whatever surface is within reach and looks for the nearest exit.

the bar is crowded, and every body that jostles him on his odyssey to the door makes him feel even more sick to his stomach—makes him acutely, and uncomfortably aware of just how many people are jammed into such a confined space. with every step he takes towards the fire exit (the one which at this point he just has to pray isn't connected to some kind of alarm) it seems to be growing further away, like his steps are a paradox he's trapped in.

finally, finally, his hands press down against the push bar of the door, and cold winter air hits his burning cheeks like a slap.

he's on his knees retching into the grimy snowbank that lines the back alley before the door has even fully swung closed.

"oh, wow,—"

suguru can barely hear you over the sound of his pulse in his ears. it was too noisy in the bar to make it out this clearly, lost in the thrum of the bass-heavy music and the spiral of his thoughts, but now it's unmistakable. it pounds in his head, under his tongue, trapped in the walls of his throat.

he lifts his head, his eyes bleary from the tears his exertion had sprung to them, and he sees a figure a few paces away from him with a cigarette lifted to their lips.

he blinks hard, willing the world to come back into focus. as it does (painfully slowly,) he can see you better. the first thing he can clearly make out is the oversized jacket you have wrapped around your frame (big enough that it can't possibly be your own.) his eyes flicker next to the bare legs that peek out from underneath it, and trail all the way up to the lines of your face as you watch him. but it's your eyes that make him falter for a moment: curious but strangely impassive at the same time.

"—rough night?" you ask, but you make no move to come any closer to him.

he's grateful for at least that small mercy, he can't help but think.

"sorry," he chokes out, spitting into the sludgy grey snowbank one last time just to try and get the terrible taste out of his mouth. he stands unsteadily, his hands braced against the brick wall of the bar to keep himself balanced. "i didn't even drink that much."

he's not sure why he feels the need to say it, or make any effort to save face when you've just seen him at what's surely one of the lowest points of his life. you're a stranger, after all. what does it matter, anyway?

you hum a bit, taking another drag from your cigarette. the sound is halfhearted, and it upsets him unjustly.

"i really didn't," he insists, wiping at his mouth with the back of his knuckles and turning to you properly. "i-i'm on these new meds and they've got me all fucked up."

your eyes widen a bit, and he watches the way the smoke slips out of your lips—painted a rich, ruby colour for the evening.

"no shit?" you ask him. "you shouldn't be out partying if you're sick, y'know. alcohol can really fuck up scripts."

"i'm not sick," he replies quickly. too quickly. too ardently to possibly be true. and the silence that follows is too heavy for such a cold, still night. he looks away, fixing his eyes on the road at the end of the alley.

"oh," you drag out the word, an understanding lilt in your tone. "those kinda meds."

suguru glances back to you.

"so," you take a step towards him, and it sets his teeth on edge. "what's your poison of choice then? paroxetine? fluvoxamine? good ol' fashioned escitalopram?"

suguru's head is still spinning from the liquor, but his pulse has died down a bit. now his mouth feels uncomfortably dry.

you keep going.

"are you taking it neat or did they give you a little chaser with it too for a bit more"—you make a little flourishing gesture with your hand—"oomph."

you're right in front of him now. close enough that the smell of your cigarette has finally reached him. suguru can't help but eye it covetously, longing for the pack in his own coat pocket, left somewhere in the bar. you follow his eyes and laugh a little, holding the half-smoked cigarette out to him. it has a lipstick mark on the filter, but he takes it anyway.

he sucks in a greedy, needy inhale.

the rush of nicotine hits him right away, comforting and familiar. his exhale feels almost rapturous.

he takes another little puff, then extends the cigarette back out to you.

"don't worry about it,"—you wave the gesture off—"you can keep that one on account of the whole... y'know..." your eyes flicker down to the snowbank where geto had just been retching.

oh, right.

"thanks," he mumbles appreciatively, wasting no time before he takes another drag.

the two of you stand side by side in the dingy alley while geto finishes off your cigarette. he crushes it under the heel of his boot, grinding it down into the cracked asphalt, once it's done.

"how'd you know?" he asks after a few more moments of silence. the cold is starting to get to him now—registering in a way that didn't when he first made it outside. the chill bites at his cheeks and his nose, stinging in its frigidity.

"know what?" you feign coyness, tilting your head a little to the side. he sees a flicker of something behind your eyes again that slips through the facade of composure—something mirthful, and maybe a little mean.

he swallows, and tastes tobacco on his tongue. "about the anti-depressants."

you laugh a bit to yourself, but the sound is strained like you're almost trying to bite it back. "don't take this the wrong way, but you just sort of look like the type."

he looks at you—really looks at you—then.

you're pretty.

he supposes he recognized that already, even if he didn't process it properly at the time. your lips look soft, your eyes draw him in, and in any other circumstance he thinks you might have been the type of girl he sidled up alongside in a bar just like the one he just fled and tried to start a conversation with.

but these aren't any other circumstances. you just watched him puke his guts up in a filthy alley and then guessed his SSRI prescription like the world's worst game show. and to make matters worse, his dick hasn't even been working right lately since he started these new pills.

as though life wasn't already cruel enough.

the fire exit flies open again, and all attention turns to it.

"there you are," shoko is standing in the doorway, half-in and half-out of the bar, cringing against the cool evening air. she frowns in suguru's direction. "we've been looking everywhere for you."

suguru watches as she ducks her head back through the doorway, but whatever she calls over her shoulder is lost to the music that's bleeding out into the alley from inside the bar. gojo appears behind her in an instant, his displeased expression brightening immediately upon seeing his friend. he pushes his sunglasses up atop his head, his white hair pinned back underneath them.

"suguru!" he cheers. "we lost you."

"i was just getting some air," suguru smiles blithely, in the way that he's perfected.

gojo shoulders his way out the door towards suguru, dragging him back towards the door with an arm slung around his neck. shoko's eyes flicker over to you.

"oh, hey," she says, nodding in greeting.

"shoko-senpai," you return her greeting politely.

"are you coming back in too?" she asks.

gojo and geto both pause in the doorway, turning to glance back at you.

"no, i'm heading home," you say with an easy smile, not unlike the expression geto had just shown. "you three have a nice night."

"get home safe," she calls after you, a lilt of curiosity in her tone. you lift a hand over your shoulder as you walk away, waggling your fingers in a lazy wave.

"who was that?" gojo asks as the door swings shut behind shoko. he leans in front of suguru so his voice can be heard over the loud music.

"she's a junior in my department at school," shoko explains, "don't you recognize her?"

gojo purses his lips as he contemplates it and then shakes his head definitively. it's not unusual for satoru not to recognize someone, especially a pre-med student instead of a physics student like himself, but suguru is a bit surprised that he can't recall meeting you previously.

satoru tugs suguru's arm back towards the thick of the crowd, and he braces himself for the oncoming barrage of stimulation. he freezes just before he takes his first step, whipping back around to the door.

"what's wrong?" satoru asks him, leaning over his shoulder. he's got his sunglasses on again, and now suguru can't through the lenses in the dim light of the bar, but he knows satoru well enough to picture the wide-eyed look of curiosity that must be behind them.

suguru's brow pinches in a bewildered furrow.

"was she wearing my coat?"

[silaslich]

Whispers to cold flesh

Simon “Ghost” Riley x gn!reader

Wc - 2.5k

Summary - Ghost and Soap get separated and Ghost seeks refuge from the snow storm in an abandoned house. Just when he thinks he’s alone, he finds you there - bleeding to death.

Cw - 18+, blood, injury, death ideation, angst

AN - didn’t really know how to tag this because it isn’t xreader but more just angst I had worming around my brain :)

The chill runs down to his bones. It seeps into his bone marrow when the wind shifts and the snow falls heavier.

Ghost isn’t that used to this; not these days. Maybe back in England when he was young. Everything from those days is locked away, a ball and chain clamped around that particular box of memories, thrown into the sea until it sinks to the ocean floor.

Forgotten

He slams the door behind himself with a resounding thud and it shakes the walls as the snowflakes fall from his shoulders, melting away to droplets on the floor. Ghost’s eyes scan his surroundings, a constant vice he had engrained into him now, even if he’s out of enemy territory- he’ll never let his guard down.

It’s the same now as he scans the rooms, one by one. Footsteps as quiet as he’s able, sharp eyes watching for any sign movement as he listens closely. All he catches is the wind whistling outside, rattling the structure of the building, as far as a rendezvous point goes - he’s seen worse. He’s waiting on the irritating Scot now, everything is tied up on their end, knotted in a pretty bow for the higher ups to deal with, he can wash his hands of it.

Soap had become separated at some point, his usual efforts of running in blind and taking a handful of men with him as he went, Ghost had stayed back to watch and observe, held up on his sniping point further up the snow-laden valley. He hadn’t been needed after all, they got what they came for, now it was a case of waiting it out for evac to come.

He’s walking through what looks to have been a kitchen, littered in dust and debris, years of unkept rot and decay taking hold of the once decadent foundations of this home. Abandoned and forgotten, Ghost knew that feeling.

As he’s scanning the walls and the dark corners, his eyes land on a slick smear against the dirty wooden floorboards. It’s fresh, he notes. Then he can smell it, the blood, copper pennies - sour in his nose. Instinctively, he raises his pistol.

Ghost lowers his shoulders and steps forward, he’s even quieter, eyes scanning as he follows the trail of crimson that soaks into the floor under his boots. As he nears closer, that’s when his ears catch it, the rattle of breathing, heavy and uneven - laboured in a way that sounds like a punctured lung. He steps fully around the corner of a kitchen island, gun raised and eyes narrowed, he expects to find an injured fugitive, one of the war criminals that’s somehow slipped through his fingers.

But it’s just you.

So weak from blood loss you can’t even raise your eyes to meet his. It’s a haze, a blur of movement when he steps even closer, it’s only the vibration of his footsteps that make you aware someone is there.

Your chest rattles with an intake of breath, stunted when you hack up blood into your palm, it doesn’t feel like you’re walking away from this one. Too many lucky strikes - you’re finally out.

Ghost cocks his head to the side, then he’s kneeling down closer, sliding his pistol back into its holster as he does. “You with me, mate?” He keeps his voice low, he doesn’t want to startle you, he can empathise with you in this moment, he’s been there himself, too many times to count.

He’s seen you around. Ghost is observant, it’s his job to be, there’s been a few missions that you’ve been on together lately. He knows you’re a marine, been on the circuit for years now. You’ve toured here, there and everywhere. You’ve only spoken to him a handful of times over a cigarette or an MRE but he knows you by name. Surely that’s enough. No, he knows where you were born and why you joined up, he knows where your favourite place to vacation is and the name of your first pet. It’s not enough, it’s too much. He can’t keep allowing this to happen, to get close to people and then watch them die, it’s something selfish that worms it’s way into his head - he doesn’t know how long he’ll keep being able to do this.

You raise your head from where your chin is tilted to your chest, your eyes drift lazily across his face, a realisation of who he is settling over you, he sees it. “‘m compromised Lt” you slur, coughing again, “looks like you’ll have to put that letter through” your teeth are cherry red when you smile weakly at him, he can’t find the strength to enjoy the quip.

You’re referring to one of the last conversations you’d had with him, asking him how he deals with the aftermath of a particularly unsuccessful mission. “You have to let families know?” You’d asked and he’d nodded, “sometimes” he breathed the words around the plume of smoke from his cigarette, side-eying you, “depends how many, if it’s a lot then I help out with the reports”. You hadn’t thought about that kind of responsibility from his role, something you’re not sure you’d want to do yourself.

He looks down at you, assessing the damage, he finds your hands clutching at your side, a steady stream of blood seeping through the seams of your fingers as you apply pressure. It’s as if you sense what he’s about to do or say and you stop him, raising your hand to block his in its path, it’s path to pry your hands away from your wound so he can see it. He dips his chin and meets your eye, a warning, but you don’t heed it. “Leave it” you huff, still struggling for breath. “I can’t fix it if you don’t let me look” his tone shifts, perhaps lighter, this looks bleak but he’d remembered to try his best at being positive- forever a pessimist.

You laugh, albeit dryly and with effort, “no fixing this, mate” your red teeth flash again and Ghost doesn’t know where to put his eyes, they’re fixed on the injury and then flicker back up to your eyes, watching them waver. “Don’t say shit like that” he gruffs, shifting his weight, he’s even closer now, eyes still trying to asses the damage despite your blocking hands.

If he’s being honest- he’d probably agree. At the rate you’re bleeding and have been bleeding at, he’d give it no more then two minutes before it’s lights out, blood loss is a nasty thing and it takes only minutes for it to become fatal. So it’s why he doesn’t forcefully pry your hands away and let him look, in other circumstances he might have done, but he doesn’t know how long you’ve been here for - and he can’t imagine it’ll be much longer considering how pale you’ve grown in the last minute he’s been here.

You hum. It’s almost a contented sigh, he guesses it’s the delirium stage, when the pain finally begins to flatline and the body tries it’s best to make light of the losing fight. You slide your head to the side, big glassy eyes looking in his direction, not meeting him directly. “Do me a favour?” You ask, your voice little more than a hum, eyes drooping lazily. He has no room to deny you, you’re dying, so you could ask him his opinion on mass genocide and he’d humour you until it was time.

Ghost has been around enough death in his time now to know how it goes. He’s seen people bleed out and get blown up, drown or be burned alive, there isn’t a lot he hasn’t seen or dealt with. He’s glad that this’ll be somewhat peaceful for you, of all the ways to go, this is perhaps the least gruesome in a military setting, he can’t confirm it’ll be painless for you however.

He nods his head despite his words, “depends what it is” it’s empty but it makes you crack a smile, with whatever strength you can muster, you extend your hand to him - crusted and wet with the slimy and congealing blood from your wound, when he looks from your hand back to your face, you simply wag your fingers at him. “Hold my hand” you’re still smiling, halfheartedly, but he just shakes his head. He slides his gloved palm across yours and he’s surprised when you clamp your fingers tight around his, mustered strength from a reserve you’ve hidden somewhere out of sight.

He looks at your connected hands and squeezes back himself, “can’t tell anyone about this when we get back” he smiles beneath the mask, it’s solemn - empty. You tilt your chin at him with a knowing air about the motion, there’s little emotion left in your features now, too tired and far gone for it. “I won’t tell anyone” you slur, looking at him, “I promise” the last part is whispered with what he can see is a slight smile. He squeezes your hand again, “good on ya”.

Reality cracks when the sound of the door almost snapping off of its hinges makes Ghost leap almost six feet in the air, he’d let his guard down a little too far and he’s quick to raise his rifle toward the doorway, leaving your hand cold as he stands over you, protective despite there being no real need to be. His finger threatens the trigger but then he lets the tension wash from his shoulders when he hears that familiar Scottish twang.

It’s Johnny

He steps into the room with his hands raised mockingly, stupid cocky smile plastering his face, “alrate, Lt?” The light in his eyes dims and his toothy grin falls when he notices the blood staining the wood he’s standing on. He hadn’t noticed you straight away, blocked by Ghost almost entirely. Ghost steps to the side as if in answer to the question, no- he’s not alrate.

Soap raises his brows, “steamin’ Jesus” he whispers, footfalls immediately carrying him quickly toward you. “Y’okay mate?” He asks quickly, running through the same motion as Ghost had only for you to clock him too. You hiss when his hand lays over yours on your abdomen and you attempt to jerk away, “leave off will ya’” you spit, brows pinched together in pain and frustration. Soap looks wounded by it, no one denies his offers of help, not the bright Scottish lad with a grin too wide and a humour so dark.

“Wouldn’t let me touch it either” Ghost rumbles, watching as you glare at Soap. There’s one thing about Johnny, he rarely takes no for an answer, “come on now” he speaks softly, laying a hand over your thigh so you’re not startled by the touch. “Let me have a look at it, please” his accent loosens and so does the pinched tightness of his face, Ghost watches as you consider the Scot, ultimately reaching the same verdict. You shake your head, “no point, Soap” you knock your head against the cabinet you’re propped against, “I’m done in”. You seem to genuinely believe this is it, to bleed out on a dirty safe house floor in the middle of rural snow-clad Europe.

Johnny swallows. “Either way, if you let me look I can either help-“ he cuts himself off, perhaps looking for a better way of wording whatever he was going to say “or I can be here with you” it’s an offer of his hand to hold or his shoulder to lean on. Ghost has seen it time and time again, he’s been on both ends of it, either thinking he’s the one who’s time is here or watching and waiting as someone dies in his arms. Despite the strength and bravado these men feel obligated to front with, it boils down to the same thing, no one wants or deserves to die alone.

You close your eyes and fight with yourself as you nod. It seems fair, even if you’re going to die, perhaps give them the piece of mind that they tried to help you. It’s why you don’t react when Soap springs into action, he’s cutting away the layers of your clothes around the area, fishing through his med-kit for gauze and tweezers, he’d try his absolute best.

Ghost watches it all unfold, how you don’t even flinch now, not even when Soap pokes around in the wound as he digs for a bullet he’s not even sure is still in there. Ghost doesn’t cringe, he’s seen people blown to bits, but it’s the fact that you don’t react that concerns him more then the squelch of your insides as Soap roots around in there.

It’s only a few seconds before Ghost hears something small and metallic clank to the floor, he watches the bullet roll away in a trail of fresh blood. “Got the wee bastard” Soap triumphs under his breath, you stare lazily at nothing, Ghost steps closer to examine as Soap begins to stitch the wound back together. He’s never been good at it himself, he’s stitched himself up before and a handfuls of others, they always healed deep and ugly - so he tries not to do it if he can get away with it.

His gun is hung hazily in his grip, hanging off the strap that’s over his shoulder, he’s watching Soap work intently until he feels the strap shift against his body. He stiffens but he doesn’t move, his eyes fall to you, watching as you wrap your fingers around the barrel of the rifle and lift it to sit against your forehead. Soap stills completely, eyes darting from you to Ghost.

“Put me out of my fucking misery” your voice barely carries, it’s hoarse and weak, close to dissipated. Ghost meets your eye, gaze glossed over as you stare at him - stare into him. He can’t shift it.

Soap pipes up, “bleedings stopped, pal” he interjects, “yer gonna be fine” wether he’s convincing you or himself - no one’s sure at this point.

You don’t drop your hold on the gun, nor do you drop Ghost’s gaze. “Just spare one bullet for me - please” he watches as the tears fall, smearing through the blood and dirt smearing your face, cutting through like sharp spines that travel over your cheeks.

He replays it over and over. Days later.

Watching as you sleep, wrapped in bandages and starchy white sheets in the medical wing, fed painkillers through a needle in your arm - over the worst of it all thanks to Soap.

It rattles Ghost. Not because it had been gruesome or particularly unpleasant of an encounter, it doesn’t come close to some of the shit he’s seen in his time.

He’s rattled because of just how close he had been to doing you a favour and putting a bullet in your skull.

All for the sake of not having to see you in such pain anymore.

[airbendertendou]

safety [of a killer’s arms]

gender neutral reader. no killer in mind so they/them pronouns used. killer is bigger / taller than reader [bc they're a lil monstorous it makes sense in my mind]

synopsis : an unnamed survivor [he/him] makes you feel sour - for lack of better words. one trial, you find yourself running to the murderer instead of away.

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.

he always made you uncomfortable. sliding up beside you at the campfire ; his hands lingering when he patched you up ; sly nicknames that made your skin crawl. with a gulp, you flinch as the generator you’re working on finished, lighting up the spot you were hiding at.

taking in a deep breath, you stand and slowly observe your surroundings. the lack of a heartbeat and chilling feeling of being watched was absent — you were safe for now. you tread along carefully, eyes peeled for any sudden movements.

“[name],” the hairs on your arms prickle just at the sound of his voice. you don’t turn — you only continue moving forward. “we’ll be safer together. come stand with me.”

you ignore him. lips parted, your breathing struggles to steady as panic starts to build up. you can hear his feet shuffle behind you ; he’s starting to speed up to catch you. “[name], come on! it’s only us now.”

it sounds like a threat. his tone is reassuring, words light and airy, but it still feels like threat. it’s only the two of you ; no one else around. you gulp again, speeding up just a little more. he lets out what sounds like a laugh, “are we playing a little cat and mouse game?”

“go find another gen,” you call out over your shoulder. you quicken your pace a bit more, “we can still win this.”

“i did win, [name].” he lets out another laugh — it sounds menacing ; dark. everything a survivor shouldn’t be. “i’ve got you, all to my self.”

your heartbeat picks up, pounding in your ears. on the edge of a sprint now, you can see the killer of this trial in the distance. you speed up more, ignoring the muffled curse behind you as you barrel straight into their arms.

a vice grip is around their torso. arms around their waist, you bury your head into their neck as your breath leaves in panicked pants. “jus’ kill me,” you whimper out. “please.”

their hands are raised above them, weapon still poised from when they prepared to swing it at you. curiously, their eyes fly to where you came from ; to where your fellow survivor had now made himself known.

“[name],” you whimper at the sound of his voice. his eyebrows furrow, playful smile falling from his face and growing stern. “let them go. now.”

“he won’t leave me alone.” you whisper it into their chest as you burrow further into them. “watching me. waiting for me. touching me. i— he won’t leave me alone.”

their hands had fallen to your hips now, peeling you away from their torso. you whimper again but relax when they pull you behind them. just what had this man done — what had he made you feel — that was so bad you looked to a murderer for comfort? for safety?

he lets out a huff, taking a step closer. you mold yourself into their back in retaliation. “[name], come on. we have to win this game. jus’ you an’ me now.”

you want to scream at him. want to cry and yell and hit him until he stops talking ; until he stops eyeing you so desperately and hungrily. phantom fingers dance on your thighs, reminding you of the hidden touches he’d take from you ; careful whispers echo in your ears of the things he’d do to you once you were alone.

you couldn’t go with him ; refused to.

the killer of the trial made a show of raising their weapon again before they flung it toward him, hitting him directly in the chest. with a small oof!, he falls to the floor before struggling to get back up. as he limps away, he glares at you and it feels more sinister than the heart beating in your ears.

“safe.” it’s a promise. your killer pats your shoulders as gently as they can, moving you so that you’re a little more hidden. they crouch so that your eyes look into theirs, “safe.”

stay here, and you’ll stay safe. i’ll take care of him while i’m gone.

the breath of relief you let out is immediate. and it’s so stupid — how secure you do feel with someone who’s life revolves around murder. but, compared to the creeping touches and lingering gazes of your fellow survivor, they are a safe haven.

they come back after a scream of terror hits the area you’re in, drenched in blood and almost skipping with joy. gently, your hand is looped into theirs as they tug you along the map.

“home,” they say. “take you home.”

and so you’re lead to the hatch, lowered into it because your legs are too shaky to handle your own weight. before you fall, your fingers grip onto the edge of it and you peer up at the killer once more. your lower lip trembles, “thank you. i can’t say it enough — thank you.”

every trial with them after that feels gooey — warm — as you’re always saved for last and treated less harshly than the others. he never looks at you again ; instead he shakes in fear at the thought of you and the giant bodyguard you’d acquired.

lingering gazes come from outside of the campfire now — but they make you feel protected and watched over ; safe. they always manage to make you feel safe.

idk where this came from so don't even ask hehe <<33 tagging it w killers i thinlk would act like this but you can always add your fave <3 airbendertendou © do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate my content on any platform. if you see my content under any other name than my own, let me know. i only have this tumblr and an ao3 account under the same name.

[uchu-no-bashira]

𝔅𝔢𝔶𝔬𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔢𝔱 𝔡𝔬𝔬𝔯 - Gyomei x Fem!BlackReader

Authors Note: I’m fixating. Send help.

TW: Minors Do Not Interact. Consensual sex between two business adults.

Maybe it was the way that his shirt squeezed his deltoids, or the way the thin fabric cradled the biceps on his arms. You stopped making excuses for why you’d go in his office to see him a long time ago, bringing him his nth coffee that you both knew he wasn’t going to drink. You picked up that… Maybe he just wanted you around, since he never complained despite the x amount of full cups on his desk, but that’s just y’all’s little secret.

For him, it was your pencil skirt, the way it hugged your curvy thighs almost majestically. It’s not like he couldn’t envision your robust outline - one he’d grown accustom to around the office since you were the “Vice President’s little helper.”

Or, Maybe it was the tone of your honeyed voice when you offered him things. “Here’s your coffee with no creamer, Himejima-san.”

God how he loved that sound. So much so, that today was the day he took a particular interest in why and how you sounded as divine as you did. One thing led to another, and he politely told you;

“Don’t ever stop speaking to me. You sound so beautiful.”

As if you could speak.

How could you? What with the bearable stretch tearing the formulation of words clean from your throat.

Heavy, stifled breaths dwindles the amount of time you have before hypoxia kicks in, or maybe you were just giddy from the pang of your g-spot being imposed on over and over as your nails grip the fabric of his dress shirt.

Your mind is spinning, apparent from the way your body leans back against the wooden shelves rocking behind you, your gasps and moans bouncing off the walls of the broom closet as the clatter of metal cans on the polished flooring warrants a shared gasp.

Gyomei slowed his pace for half a second, his finger pressing against your thick kissers while listening to the sound of determined heels clicking outside of the door. He sheathes himself deeper, pushing the air out of your lungs while pulling your knee up and away from the cleaning supplies.

“Has anyone seen Himejima? What about that new intern?! Where the hell is everyone?! I needed my iced latte and newly trained staff members yesterday!”

Shinobu shouts, veins rippling around the side of her forehead before she lets out a frustrated groan and continues past the solid wood door with the “Please use other closet” sign swaying slowly.

Once the footsteps fade, Gyomei removes his finger from your maw, chuckling softly at the way you sucked and hummed against it desperately. He tucks his forearm behind your other knee, pulling your legs further apart and angling his hips enough to make you whine in pleasure.

“Shhh.. We’ll get in trouble if you’re too loud.” He teases, squeezing your thighs tighter the closer you get to your limit.

Soon, the sound of panting fills the room as shelves beat in cadence with desperate moans, your left high heel dangles from the tip of your toes as composure slips free, you give in to your body’s carnal need for pleasure and allow him as deep as he can go.

The pit of your stomach flutters, sending a heat through each muscle, each tendon, each nerve. A high pitched squeal squeezes through your voice box, the back of your legs clench his forearms as your thighs vibrate against him.

A deep, guttural moan vibrates against your ear and the sensation of heat pooling in your stomach makes you shudder. Trails of white trickle between the two of you and drip onto the marble floor, leaving a mess for the janitorial crew to clean later…

[glitterguts13]

Jiaoqiu birthing his first borisin litter while Caelus is birthing his seventh borisin litter like a proper breeding bitch, seeing the other growing borisin pups yapping and barking at the adult borisin while one pup is being fussy and cleaned by Mok Tok while Hoolay watches with pride.

STOCKHOLM CAELUS!!!

TW: abuse, forced birthing, vomit

It's too much. The sound of crying Borisin pups echoing in the empty halls, the musky stench of birth, the rattling of chains and victory howls, every muscle, fiber and nerve in his body screaming for relief. His head is on fire, he can't focus on anything and somehow is focused on everything all at once.

Jiaoqiu screams, kneeling on one knee, gripping his swollen belly like a vice as the first pup plops onto the ground below him with a wet thud.

"Good job Jiaoqiu, you're doing so good!" the words send a shiver down the foxian's spine, golden eyes darting over to Caelus. The proud Trailblazer was a ghost of his former self, naked and heavy with pups, tits leaking milk like a faucet while his waters dripped messily between his bloody thighs.

Limping closer, the Trailblazer lifts the newborn pup from the ground, cuddling the snuffling baby against his chest. The cord still trailing from Jiaoqiu's body, Caelus smiles as the pup latches to his breast and begins to suckle.

"Such a perfect pup," he coos, "He has pink fur, just like you." something about the words sends a wave of nausea rushing through Jiaoqiu's aching stomach, and before he can stop himself, vomit splatters from his lips and drips down his heaving belly.

With a soft hum, Caelus produces a towel and cleans the worst of the mess from Jiaoqiu's body.

"It's alright, just let it out."

Jiaoqiu sobs, ears laid back against his head as another pup squirm further down his birth canal, the rest of the litter still kicking furiously inside his battered womb.

"Oh!" brows furrowing, Caelus's face screws up. Squatting, he grunts in deep, even tones, a pup dropping from between his legs.

"Ah...good....good pup." he brings his newborn to his other teat, and begins to nurse it as well.

"S...stop...just...go away." Jiaoqiu swallows back bile. Caelus was too calm, too used to this. Where had his fight gone? Was this is fate too? A broken, mindless broodmare?

"It's ok Jiaoqiu, I promise," he smiles again, stepping back as Hooley and Mok Tok grow closer. The younger of the Borisin men snips the cords connecting the pups to their mothers before Hooley takes the infants into his powerful arms.

"You've done well." the leader of the Borisin smiles, snort curling back to flash rows of pointed, yellow teeth. Caelus grins wider, eyes lighting up at the praise.

"Thank-" he stops, head dipping forward as his hands shoot between his legs just in time to catch his second pup, "You."

Turning his attention to Jiaoqiu, Hooley's proud expression drops.

"You should learn from Caelus. See how well he handles the birth? He isn't sniveling like a bitch."

Opening his mouth to bark back, Jiaoqiu's words did on his lips as a scream rips from his throat. His belly contracts around his squirming womb, the second pup crowning tightly.

Mok Tok kneels, grabbing ahold of the head.

"No! Please! StOPPPP!!" Mok Tok yanks the pup free, blood and fluid splattering the ground as Jiaoqiu falls to his side and convules. His belly spasms, hands clawing at the cold floor under him, eyes wide as his desperate scream comes out as a pained gurgle.

"You need to be faster," Hooley growls, nodding towards Caelus who was already pushing out his fourth pup, "Or we will finish it for you."

Jiaoqiu heaves, tail curling around his aching belly,

"Pl-pl-please...kill me...j-just kill me."

Hooley chuckles, one large claw caressing the side of Jiaoqiu's pale face,

"Never."

[pankowperfection]

Oh my gosh hi!! Could I please request something for Topper where he's maybe her bestfriend's older brother and he catches her in the shower? Maybe a bit of dark!Topper? Thank you so much!!!

Omg hi! sorry it too me so long to get to this. Hope you love it.

Warnings: smut, oral(fem receiving), dub con, dark!topper, 18+

Off Limits

God, I overdid it at that fucking party. I definitely smell like the mixed drink that touron sloshed all over me. I stumble up the stairs, not paying attention to what door I’m opening before I walk in.

The sight in front of me instantly sobers me up. After all these years waiting for y/n to notice me, I can barely believe my luck. She’s fully naked, steam filling the room as she massages shampoo into her hair.

The countless nights I'd spent fantasizing about her, how she'd feel underneath me while I fucked her senseless, what pretty sounds she'd make when I buried my tongue in her sweet pussy. Every dark desire I've ever had for my sisters best friend swirls through my mind, my resolve wavering with every passing second.

I take my time to appreciate her body while her back is turned to the door, each drop of water gliding down over her curves making me want to lick her everywhere. Blood rushes to my dick when she turns around, eyes still closed while she slides her soapy hands over her torso.

When her hands slip between her creamy thighs I lose the last bit of restraint, quickly peeling off my clothes as quietly as possibly. As she tips her head back to rinse out the bubbles I make my move, pushing my way into the shower and wrapping my arms around her.

“What the fuck?!” She screams, thrashing to get away from me and forcing me to bend one arm behind her, shoving her against the tile wall.

“Shhh, relax sweetheart. It’s me, Topper.”

"Top? What are you doing?"

She relaxes slightly in my hold, assuming she isn't in any danger but she couldn't be more wrong.

"Don't play dumb y/n," I whisper into her ear, her body reacting exactly how I'd planned. She shivers, unconsciously arching further into my touch. When she feels my hard cock pressing into her ass she whines, the sound like music to my ears.

"Ya know, I see the way you look at me. Always eye fucking me from across the room. So now, I'm gonna give you what you want. What we both want."

"I don't know what you're talking about Top, I'm s-sorry if I did something wrong."

She starts to shake, her eyes searching my face for something she won't find.

"Relax baby. Let me make you feel good. I bet this pretty pussy is dripping for me."

To prove my point I slide one hand down her body, my knee forcing her legs apart. When my fingers come into contact with her folds I grin in victory, she's so fucking wet. I tease through her pussy, gliding my fingers up and down agonizingly slow.

She starts to breathe heavier, eyes glazing over as her body gives in to the pleasure. "That's it baby, so fucking good for me."

When I bump her clit she moans, the sound going straight to my cock and making it twitch. I start to rub her little bud in circles, her head falling back onto my shoulder as her body winds tighter. I plunge two fingers inside and she gasps, eyes flying open to look at me while I stretch her out.

I let go of her arm, bringing my other hand up to rest on her throat. She swallows thickly, whimpers falling from her perfect lips when I start to curl my fingers inside of her.

"Top please," she begs and its the sweetest thing I've ever heard.

"Please what doll? Please stop or please don't?"

I don't get a response, her legs starting to shake as her orgasm races closer. Just when her walls start to flutter around me I stop, quickly pulling her ass backwards and burying myself inside her.

"Fuck y/n, so god damn tight." Her walls squeeze me like a vice, the urge to cum already forming low in my gut.

She braces herself on the wall, tears streaming down her cheeks from the stretch and overstimulation. I don't give her any time to adjust, I just can't resist any longer. I pull almost all the way out before thrusting back in hard, her body shaking from the impact.

I'm mesmerized by the sight of her ass jiggling every time I slam inside, my pace picking up as our mixed moans fill the air. The need to feel her lips on mine, to taste her, is strong so after a few minutes of giving it to her nice and deep from behind I pull out.

I spin her around, lifting her up in my arms and pressing her against the wall. Her eyes are glued between us, staring open mouthed at my dick resting against her entrance. When she finally meets my gaze I push inside and she moans, nails digging into my shoulders at how the new angle feels.

"Don't stop. Please let me cum." Her hands tangle into my hair, tugging harshly when I hit her sweet spot. I purposefully slow my thrusts, making sure to angle my hips just right to keep making her clench around me.

She takes me by surprise, closing the small distance between us and crashing her lips to mine. She tastes even sweeter than I could've imagined, my tongue sweeping into her mouth as she hangs onto me tightly. I break away first, sponging kisses down her neck and quickly finding her weak spot.

"Oh shit," she curses, back arching further off the wall as her pussy starts to tighten around me. She reaches between our bodies, rubbing her clit and sending herself straight over the edge. I silence her screams with my mouth, swallowing her sounds as my balls start to tighten.

When her teeth sink into my bottom lip its game over. My cock twitches before I'm filling her up, struggling to keep us both upright as the pleasure washes through me. I give her a few final strokes before pulling out, setting her on her feet and watching as my cum leaks down her thighs.

I can't resist, dropping to my knees and throwing her foot onto my shoulder. She watches me closely as I kiss up her thigh, teasing my way around her swollen lips with my tongue. Her hand is in my hair again and god I love when she tugs it like that. I lick once from her entrance to her clit and she shudders, leaning into the wall for support.

She tastes like heaven, between her thighs quickly becoming my new favorite place to be. I want to watch her cum again and again. Two fingers probe her entrance before pushing inside, she moans at the sensations and my dick hardens once again. How would I ever get enough?

I lap at her clit, flicking it slowly with the tip of my tongue and loving how her body trembles each time. "God, just like that Top. Feels so good." She starts to rock her hips into my face, eager to take all the pleasure I have to give her.

"Come on baby, want you to come on my tongue." I suck her clit into my mouth, giving it gentle flicks with my tongue while I curl my fingers inside of her. She's ready to fall apart again in now time, thighs trembling before she soaks my face. I eagerly lap up every drop, licking every square inch of her sensitive flesh.

She pulls me back to my feet, pushing her tongue into my mouth and moaning at the mixed taste of our releases. "That was incredible, but this can't happen again. Your sister will kill me."

I laugh, caging her back against the wall once again. "You think one time was enough for me? No sweetheart. You're mine now and I don't care what she thinks. You better not ever wear panties in this house again. You understand?" She nods and I take the chance to leave, quickly toweling off before heading to my room, the taste of her still on my tongue.

@adventuresinobx @starkeyobx @paradisehamilton @ailee-celeste @pankhoeforlife @outerbankspov @houseofperfecttaste @drewbooooo @maybankslover @maybanks-luver @blueicequeen19 @toystory2wasjustokay @onmykneesforrafe @penny4yourthoughts @maddie-routledge @ilovetheavenger143 @arsonistthornton

[sucrows]

uplloading this one in 2 parts because i got a bit carried away with writing HiMERU's half oopsies. also listing this as AFAB reader because that's what I meant to imply, but there's never actually any genitals specified 👍

1. Trying to impregnate their s/o  7. In rut, with an insatiable urge to breed  (AFAB READER)

(NSFW UNDER CUT)

HiMERU knows his cycle like the back of his hand, and he always makes sure to take his suppressants on time to avoid the brunt of his instincts. What happened this time? How is he so suddenly overcome with the need to breed? He locks himself into a random room in the CosPro offices and debates his options. He needs to get back to his apartment and get out of the square but… the only way to do so would be through getting someone to help him, and there’s no way he wants to call someone over just for that! Ibara is supposed to be busy most of the day, but maybe if HiMERU texts him for assistance, he’ll get back to HiMERU eventually to provide an alternative. Yes, yes that sounds good. In the meantime, he’ll just have to survive being alone in a random empty conference room.

Of course, things never go as planned. When HiMERU hadn’t shown up to your agreed upon meeting time, you got a bit concerned. You sent him a text and while he read it, he mysteriously did not respond. Well, he was already in the office building to your knowledge, seeking him out shouldn’t be too hard of a mission. Soon enough, you find yourself pointed down the last hall someone saw him walking down. You freeze when you walk in a certain room and find HiMERU, looking like more of a disaster than you’ve ever seen him before. Between the feral glint in his eye and the sweat dripping down his skin, it hardly takes a moment before the word “Rut” flashes through your brain.

While he tries to convince you to leave, he knows his fate is sealed from the moment he lays his eyes on you. Every muscle in his body aches with the need to feel you, and he can’t help but pounce on the opportunity to take you once you make the first move. From the way he literally rips off some of your layers and mouths at your neck, you already know you’re in for a treat.

Even with his rut-muddled brain, he still takes the time to prepare you for what's to come. He gathers some of his saliva on his own fingers and his hand slides down between your legs. Wrapping one arm around your middle to bend you over, he pulls your hips back into his own where you can just feel how hard he is in his pants. Soon, his patience runs out, and he finally ends up pulling down his own pants and lining himself up to you.

He pushes in all the way with one movement. You may be horny and prepped, but it’s still a lot to take someone like that all at once. HiMERU freezes at the sound of a whimper leaving your lips, clarity briefly filling his brain. There’s a few seconds where he does nothing but then suddenly, you feel his lips nibbling on the side of your neck once again, occasionally pulling back just the slightest bit to whisper small praises at you for taking him so well. Before long he has you shuddering in anticipation again and he decides to cut the last thread of self-control he has.

Whereas before he spoke in sweet, soft tones, now the only thing that leaves his mouth are growling, rough sounds. Every thrust echoes throughout the room with the force he’s using to hilt himself in you over and over again. Prolonging his suffering while preparing you riled him up even further than he was before- and you love it. His hands are rough both to the touch and with the way he’s using them to keep a vice grip on your hips, his body is leaning over yours and is slowly beginning to push harder and harder against your back, pushing you down onto a desk. You doubt your ability to stop him now even if you for some reason wanted to.

His instincts show no sign of releasing their grip on HiMERU as he gets closer and closer to his peak. Once again, you aren’t complaining, but knowing him, you’d expect him to pull out before knotting you… right?

If anything, he gets rougher, more eager as his knot starts to form. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume he’s really trying to knot you full of his kids. The bulbous flesh at the base of his cock starts to catch every time he tries to pull back and soon, he won’t be able to do so at all anymore. If you could see his eyes, you’re sure they’d be hazy and unfocused with the need to breed. It’s all something so unlike the HiMERU you’re used to…Maybe you should be a bit concerned? Maybe you should speak up and ask if he’s certain of what it seems he’s about to do, after all, there might not be any backing out once you’re tied together…

You open your mouth to speak, but the words “-are you sure?” have hardly left your mouth when he nearly snarls at you and buries himself in you as deep as he can go, answering your question with his actions. His knot inflates to its full girth and your insides start to flood with his seed, hot and heavy and with nowhere to go other than further inside you.

Perhaps he’ll regret it later, perhaps you will too, but for now, his instincts are appeased.

[haveihitanerve]

You Can Cry If You Want To-

Bruce Wayne was just on his way to bed when he paused in the hallway. He hadn't checked on anyones bedroom since steph and tim had moved out, and damian didn't seem the type to sleep heavy and feel secure if his father poked his head in the door at midnight. But Bruce missed watching his children sleep, missed watching as their chest rose and fell, missed seeing all the tension leave their bodies as they relaxed. Got to be children. Young. For the night. So quietly, in a way only a man trained by ninjas in the himalayans can move, bruce snuck over to his youngest sons bedroom, and gently pushed open the door. He frowned when the light fell onto an empty bed, his heart starting to race. He had checked all the cameras, he had raised dick grayson and jason todd, there was no way to escape the Manor without Bruce knowing and letting it happen. And no one could come in either. Cautiously, he stepped a bit further in, looking around. Maybe for signs of a struggle, or a packed bag or anything. But he found nothing. Bruces frown deepened and he walked in further, scanning. That was when he heard the sniffling. Bruce tensed, but realized it was… the sound of crying? He turned slowly, and spotted the closet door cracked open slightly, a small light, probably from a flashlight, shining through the slats in the door. So bruce crouched down and crept forward slowly, opening the door further. “Damian?” he whispered. The crying cut off. “F-father?” Damian's shaky voice floated out to him from behind a few racks of clothes and he let out a sigh of relief. “Hey dami. You alright Prince?” Bruce pushed aside the hangers and peered down at his youngest, huddled in the corner, alfred the cat curled up next to him, his knees up to his chest and tears streaked across his cheeks. “Oh baby.” Bruce reached out a hand, slowly, so that damian wouldn't tense, and gently wiped his tears away. “Whats wrong?” he asked. Damian blinked, and the confusion at the kindness, the simple act of fatherly behavior, made bruce want to snap Talia Al Ghul's neck. But he kept the anger off his face, instead crawling deeper into the clothes and pulling damian onto his lap. He carded his fingers through the soft brown curls and damian cuddled closer, digging his hands into bruces chest. “What happened?” Bruce asked softly, reaching out a hand to rub alfreds chin when the cat let out a put out meow. “I-I had a bad dream.” Damian answered quietly and the doubt and fear in his voice made bruce see red. But he pushed it away, focusing instead on the small, scared little boy in his arms. His heart squeezed. How many times had he been in this position before? How many times had he held dick, held jason, tim, cass, steph, and even babs when the things they had seen had been too much or memories of their past flooded their senses. And in that moment Bruce hated his sons mother. Hated the League of Assassins. He had kept damian’s conceiving quiet, not revealing anything to alfred as to how the child had actually come to be, for he knew that if the butler got even a whiff of it, or the exact details of what life had been like for damian there, he would tear the place apart to get to those who had hurt him. But in that moment, as he held his son who had been kept from him for so many years, had been hurt and trained to be a weapon, had been beaten for showing emotions so much so to the point where showing any here, in a place he was safe, when he had a nightmare and wanted comfort(if the vice grip he had on bruce was any indication) had scarred him so severely, bruce didn't know if he wanted to keep the secret any longer. Or hold alfred back when he did. 

But Bruce shoved all his emotions, his feelings of rage aside, in favor of calming the little boy in his arms. “Thats okay baby. Sometimes i have nightmares too.” He kissed damian’s head. “You wanna talk about it?” Damian shook his head, but he cuddled closer. “Alright.” Bruce said softly, wrapping his arms tighter around the boy. “Grandfather said we’re not to cry.” Damian whispered pitifully. Bruce felt a growl build up in his throat, but he swallowed it down, rubbing damian’s back soothingly. “That is because Ras Al Ghul is incapable of human emotion.” he kissed damian’s head. “You are ten. You can cry if you want to.” Damian didn't answer, but bruce felt his shirt grow wet. He didn't move, just held the boy closer. “You wanna sleep with me tonight?” He asked quietly. Damian hiccuped, nodding. “Y-yes. Yes please.” “okay.” Bruce stood and damian moved to get back on the ground, but bruce just held him, cradling him as he walked to his own room, alfred the cat trailing behind him. Damian sniffed, wiping his nose as bruce pushed open the door to his bedroom and walked to the bed. “Wait here okay? Ill be right back.” he promised. Damian nodded, hugging alfred close to his chest when the cat leapt onto the bed. Bruce hurried to get changed, slipping into his bed clothes before half running back out. Damian was seated in the same spot as before, alfred in his lap. Bruce smiled softly, coming over and slipping under the covers. “Come here.” he bade his son softly. Damian crawled over to him, snuggling underneath his arm. Bruce kissed his head and wrapped the blanket around them, pulling alfred in as well for damian to cuddle. Damian's eyes drooped and bruce smiled, opening his mouth to sing. He had used to sing goodnight lullabies all the time when dick and jason had been younger, but had stopped after a while. Damian let out a yawn, and his eyes slid shut. Bruce smiled, finishing the song and switched off the light. Damian rolled in his arms, snuggling closer.  “I love you baba.” he murmured, drowsily, before wrapping his arms around alfred and passing out. Bruce wiped at his eyes and kissed his sons head again. “I love you too Princeling.” He whispered. Neither noticed the flash of the camera, or the butler, watching from the hall with a smile. 

based on this little short but changed slightly because, come on, gotta give bruce some good dad points. he would so stand by his kids if they cried. he might not understand the emotion because hes been through too much, but he would let them cry

[hachiibun]

❗ PLEASE NO REBLOGGING TO NON-KINK BLOGS ❗

I'm honoured to have collaborated with the incredible @onetrickponi to celebrate a certain gravity-manipulating shorty's birthday! This has been in the works for a while now, and we're both really excited to finally share this with everyone!

Without further ado, we'd like to present Vigil.

— ♠ —

“I’ve always wanted to die in a church.”

Beside him, Chuuya snorts. “I thought you wanted to die in the Ooka.”

Dazai wrinkles his nose. “Not since it became a tourist trap,” he replies. “That wouldn’t be a peaceful death at all.”

“The amount of thought you’ve put into this disturbs me,” says Chuuya, his own nose creasing. His, however, is due to a low seated, buzzing itch along the bridge of his sinuses that has been lingering since breakfast.

Chuuya won’t give it the satisfaction of culminating into a sneeze, however; instead choosing to quash the soft tingle into oblivion with the sheer force of his willpower alone. Anything else would be unacceptable.

(—as well as fucking candy to the idiot next to him, if Dazai ever gets wind of…whatever this is.)

Chuuya swallows against a spark of itch that ignites in his nose and grits his teeth. When he thinks he can speak steadily he points to the pews with a gloved hand. “Find the flash drive,” he orders. “We’ve got a window of thirty minutes at—the fuck are you looking at, shithead?”

Dazai cocks his head to the side, blinks, and answers with, “Just admiring your striking resemblance to a cherub in this light.” It’s smooth and practiced, like most of Dazai’s bullshittery.

“Why, you–” Chuuya cuts himself off and exhales slowly through his nose. He tries not to wince at the slight whistling sound it makes. With a sharp sniff he stalks off to the sanctuary and begins sifting through the drawers there. Dazai scurries off to the apse with an excited noise, muttering something about how angelic his corpse would look strung up along the mosaics.

Chuuya’s nose gives a foreboding quiver.

It isn’t like Dazai hasn’t ever heard him sneeze, or vice versa. They’ve been working together too long for that. They’ve seen each other express every bodily function possible to man (in addition to the ones that aren’t).

And Chuuya might have even been okay with his current predicament, had it not been for a quip Dazai made last week about Chuuya being a “weakling.” It had stung because Dazai, whose lack of self care is, frankly, appalling, can operate seemingly unbothered by even the most serious neglects of basic needs. Chuuya’s seen him run at peak wit on days of sleeping ninety minutes a night, seen his hair and skin glow on a diet of crab cakes and sake…while on the other hand Chuuya’s the one with the—

Don’t say it. As if ignoring the problem will make it go away. It hasn’t worked with Dazai, so Chuuya is a fool to think it will work with his increasingly sensitive airways.

Chuuya rifles through some bibles, sparing a glance or two at Dazai before deeming it okay to swallow a couple of sneezes and throat clears into his sleeve. He’s perfected the silent stifle over time, which is a feat in and of itself since Chuuya tends to sneeze harshly, loudly, and in multiples. Perhaps the intensity is Corruption at work, but regardless, Chuuya enjoys scaring the living daylights out of people. Usually.

The flash drive is proving to be elusive. The Port needs it, badly, if they have any chance of winning over the west side gangs of the Pier. Chuuya jams a gloved knuckle against the side of his nose as he hitches, squints, and glares at the church pews like they personally offend him.

“Oi, Chuuya,” Dazai whisper-calls from somewhere behind a cupboard. “I think someone’s coming. You find it?”

“No,” Chuuya snaps. The dust of old, flaky books is making his already irritated nose twitch. He shakes his head and the tickle abates. Cocking his head he realizes that Dazai is right; the sound of slow footfalls is getting closer to the vestibule. “Shit.”

Dazai scurries lightly over to where Chuuya is glowering at nothing in particular, and takes him by the arm. “There’s a little den area over there,” he nods to a veiled corner, “where we can stay hidden until whoever it is leaves,” he says.

“Or we can just come back in the morning,” replies Chuuya, snatching his arm away.

“Mori-sama will be disappoinnnteddd,” Dazai sing-songs. Dammit. He knows how to hit Chuuya where it hurts and they both know it.

Chuuya sighs. “Fine.” He stalks over to the den and crouches in the darkness with Dazai just as the cathedral doors swing open. The gibbous moon twinkles through the stained glass windows enough for the two of them to make out one of the western gang’s right hands.

Dazai crouches low and squints through the shadows. “Maybe he’ll show us where the drive is,” he whispers.

“Shut up, slug.”

Dazai holds up his bandaged hands in a familiar, placating gesture. They watch the guy glide down the stone nave, rummage around some boxes along the altar’s steps, sift through a stack of papers, and make himself comfortable on a nearby cushion.

Well, there goes Chuuya’s hopes of a night in. And now with Dazai sitting so close, he’s bound to find out Chuuya isn’t in as good of shape as he claims. Chuuya’s not going to waste all of his energy hiding it, but he’s also not ready to be discovered because he couldn’t keep his damn nose under control.

He’d never hear the end of it from Dazai.

So when he feels a trickle of damp at the edges of his nostrils he takes a slow breath in and times a much-needed sniffle with their visitor’s dropping of a folder. Dazai shoots him a curious, but unsurprised glance, which Chuuya pointedly ignores.

The sneeze teasing the swollen membranes of his sinuses, however, is much harder to ignore. Chuuya knows he can stifle it, but he also knows that doing so won’t exactly solve the problem. The irritation needs somewhere to go, or it’ll just build fruitlessly until he lets them out proper.

He breathes carefully, making sure to hitch silently as he bunches up a handful of fabric from his jacket. Chuuya ducks his head in preparation for the sneeze (or sneezes, if this is indeed a…cold).

Dazai raises an eyebrow as he watches Chuuya curl into himself and shiver with two inaudible stifles. When Chuuya uncurls Dazai can see the bleary, hazy look of someone who still has desperately to sneeze but is trying very hard not to.

“Can you stop, Chibi?” whispers Dazai. Chuuya shoots him a look that is equal parts furious and embarrassed. It’s adorable. But…

“Frankly, I’d rather not get caught because you couldn’t tame your little nose there,” Dazai continues. “Are you suuure you’re good?”

Chuuya gives a curt nod. Which should be reassuring, but Dazai’s smile falters because this is actually very bad. He recognizes the lack of quip, even while hiding like this, means that Chuuya does not trust himself enough to speak. He’s seen it before.

Dazai flicks an errant strand of hair out of his eyes and sighs. “Maybe we really will die in a church, if you keep this up.”

Chuuya’s returning grin is feral. “Y-you wish.” No way in hell will he allow Dazai the satisfaction. The carpets blanketing the enclosed den mean that they can whisper without much of an echo. It’s a small relief, since Chuuya can feel the congestion crawling and pattering away in a far back place of his nose, dormant but threatening.

He focuses on how intently Dazai is eyeing him, knowing well what Dazai isn’t saying. Engaging would be easy, but it would be messy and they’re supposed to be currying favor with the west side gangs, not killing them (or in Dazai’s case, very emphatically bonking them on the head).

Chuuya’s right eye waters with the sharpness of the tickle, as the itchiness swells and becomes decidedly less dormant. He bites his lip. If this keeps up his nose is going to turn into fucking Krakatoa.

Dazai watches Chuuya massage his flaring nostrils through the fabric of his gloves and grins with as many teeth as he can muster. Chuuya’s losing battle with his nose is even more hilarious than the fact that he’s currently sitting on a pile of Communion pamphlets.

It won’t be long now, what with the way Chuuya has gone stiff and rigid. Dazai counts backwards from five in his head. He gets to two before Chuuya’s lip trembles as the itch erupts and overwhelms him.

“Gnt!” Chuuya’s able to pinch that one into submission, though it makes his head throb and the pulsating trickle along his nose intensify with unsatisfied need. “Gnt! Nt! H’Gnt!”

He starts to lower his hand, before—“Gnt!” Jesus fuck, can’t he be done?

The answer is no, apparently, because Chuuya feels his eyes begin to flutter shut and his chest start to jump with silent, building hitches.

Before he can sneeze again, however, he feels a tap on his shoulder. It successfully distracts him from the budding sneeze as Chuuya whips his head around to stare at Dazai’s familiar, shit-eating grin.

Dazai uses the finger he’d tapped Chuuya with to beckon. “C’mere.”

Chuuya sniffs carefully and squints. “Why?”

Rolling his eyes, Dazai grabs him (gently, Chuuya notices, which okay, is a little odd) and smashes his face into his long overcoat (a little less gently).

“Mnflgl?” Chuuya questions.

“Sneeze, Chuuya,” Dazai orders. Chuuya tries to shake his head because one, Dazai’s forgetting how harsh his sneezes are—sure to give them away, and two, Chuuya might hate the guy but he’s not going to sneeze on him.

Dazai seems to read his mind. “The fabric will muffle the sound,” he replies. “And you’ll pay for my dry cleaning.” Chuuya can hear his smirk. Asshole.

But he also wants very badly to sneeze. No; at this point he’s desperate to sneeze. His nose feels like one of his gravity bombs, pulsing, thrumming, and the itch is all consuming. It would feel so good to just let a few out. He really shouldn’t.

“I know you need to,” whispers Dazai.

So, against all logic, Chuuya does.

“Hep-MPPH! MPPHT! H’MPPH!” Somehow, the fabric dampens the sound better than Chuuya thought it would. So he decides he can sneeze a little more.

“Hh…hh…MPPHT! PHT! MPPHT! Hp!…H-Hep-MPPHH!”

He’s beginning to feel dizzy. It’s worth it, though, as the stuffy, spider-crawling prickle along his nose subsides for the time being. God, he’s never had to sneeze so badly in his life. Makes sense it’s now, when he needs to be quiet.

And Dazai—the utter prick—is patting his head, like Chuuya’s some sort of mutt. “You’re a mess, you know that?” he’s saying, fondly, as Chuuya shakes with sneeze after sneeze. It’s a wonder the gang’s right hand hasn’t discovered them yet.

Slowly, Chuuya comes up for air. He thanks some leviathan god that it’s dark, so he doesn’t have to look at what he’s done to Dazai’s coat. He’s not even going to look at Dazai, because this is probably one of the most humiliating things to happen to him in…well, not as long as Chuuya’d like to admit. This is Dazai, after all.

“Bless you,” Dazai says quietly. Chuuya’s head snaps to him because Dazai sounds wrong. Odd. Genuine. Ah, that’s why it took so long to place. Dazai rarely does sincere, and the few times he expresses genuine emotions tend to signify nothing good at all.

“Thank you,” Chuuya mutters between a clenched jaw because he may have made a mess of himself but he still has manners, goddammit. He blinks the remaining wetness from his eyes as he peers at Dazai for a suspended moment.

“Oh, and if you’re curious, the guy left five minutes ago.”

And the moment is over.

Chuuya jumps up. “You utter assho-ho–” He’s cut off by the familiar needling sensation at the back of his nose. Oh no you don’t. Jamming a fist under his septum hard enough to bruise, he points a finger at Dazai.

“I despise you,” he hisses. “All thihh…th…hih…”

Dazai holds a hand to his ear. “What was that?”

Chuuya shakes his head with a tickly sniff in hopes that his nose will make up its mind and move from where it’s currently settled—in the burning, stinging place between sneeze and not sneeze that’s driving him even more up the wall than Dazai is.

Dazai cocks his head at just the right angle that a piece of hair falls into his eyes. “That sneeze looks troublesome,” he observes. “Is it stuck? Like Chuuya’s growth spurt?”

Chuuya growls and kicks a nearby chair leg for good measure, now that they don’t have to concern themselves with being quiet. The sound is hollow and echoes across the large cathedral chamber.

There’s a wrinkled, damp spot on one side of Dazai’s overcoat that Chuuya pointedly avoids looking at. The crazy bastard had let him do that, all for, what? Funsies? To torture him? Chuuya will unpack that for later. It never bodes well to try to make sense of Dazai’s brain. Besides, the much-needed sneeze is still eluding him. If he could just–just…

“Hih…Hept! Hh…Fuck! Shit!”

Dazai sighs. “Okay, I can’t watch this,” he says, striding over to Chuuya. “Stay still, Chibi.”

Chuuya glares at him, irritation evident in his eyes and in his raw, wide-blown nostrils. “If you’re doi’g anythi’g other thad helpi’g, Dazai, I will obliterate you,” he says darkly, throat crackling and sore.

Dazai grins wide. “Relax,” he says. He wiggles a finger. “I know Chuuya’s sneeze spot.”

“What the fuck even is a—” Dazai presses a finger to the bridge of Chuuya’s nose, in the center, and gives it a circular rub back and forth. Chuuya stumbles back and manages a wavering, shaky curse in French before he snaps forward with a fusillade of unrestrained sneezes.

“Hih-ASHHHu! Hep’ASHHU! AHSSHU! AHSSH! AHSSHH! AHSSHU! Merde!…Heh-heh…hih’ASHHU!”

Chuuya sneezes and sneezes, for once uncaring about decorum. It’s a miracle his hat doesn’t fly off. He’s so overcome with finally scratching the itch in his nose that he almost doesn’t feel the tap at his shoulder. Dazai’s extending a packet of tissues that look like they were newly purchased.

“Goodness! I don’t know whether to bless Chuuya or call an exorcist,” he remarks.

“Shut up,” Chuuya mutters around a tissue. With that annoyance out of the way, it’s seeping in just how awful he feels. He sighs, heavy, and rubs at a temple. “Nom de dieu…”

“I really don’t know how someone so little can sneeze with such ferocity,” continues Dazai, ignoring Chuuya. It’s easy to say the man was put on this earth for the sole purpose of making Chuuya’s life miserable. “Hih…ASHHU!” Chuuya’s head gives a throb and things slide out of focus for a minute. He coughs, rough, and pushes some sweaty hair away from his face. How unsightly.

“Oh, and Chuuya?” Dazai makes a burlesque of leaning in and peering at him. “The next time you’re sick, call in, okay?” And then he reaches one lanky arm over and pats Chuuya’s head.

“I never said I was sick,” Chuuya snaps, jerking out of reach. Dazai makes to poke his nose again, but Chuuya evades him with a hoarse snarl. “Stop.”

In response, Dazai gives him a condescending look that Chuuya knows well. It’s the one where he purses his lips and crinkles up his large, dark eyes. The one he knows infuriates Chuuya the most. “Please,” he says, waving a hand. “I knew before we even got here. Just wanted to see how long you could keep it up.”

Chuuya opens his mouth to utter some expletive, he doesn’t know which one yet, but the sneezy feeling decides to return—bristling like a thousand tiny whiskers along the rims of his inner nose. Stifling it to refute Dazai’s point will only make his head pound harder, so Chuuya wrenches to the side with a sneeze. Which, naturally, makes him cough.

“Hmmm, you really don’t sound good, Chuuya.”

“Fuck you.”

Dazai makes a face. “Ew, no thanks. But since you’re already paying for my dry cleaning, why don’t I treat you to a nice bowl of leek soup and tea?”

Dazai is so confusing at times Chuuya could strangle him. Or at least blame him for the acute emotional whiplash.

“Hh’ASSHu! AHSSH! J'en peux plus…” Chuuya twitches his nose to the side and straightens his hat. “Whatever—let’s just find that drive and get the hell out of here so I can go to bed,” he grumbles. It’s not exactly a refusal (because tea does in fact sound nice), but Chuuya is more than done with this place.

“You mean this?” Dazai wiggles a little USB between two bandaged fingers. Chuuya sputters. “Yup. Found it ages ago and switched it with a fake.”

“AAH?!”

— Fin —

[profound-imagination]

A Whole New World - Fenrys Moonbeam

A/N: So this could potentially be the start of a new series if people want it.

In which our O/C Rory wakes up somewhere she didn't know.

W/C - 3.1k

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

What a terrible date. Awareness flared through her in boughts. She could hear people talking, they sounded panicked. "Miss? Miss can you hear me?" Her eye was pried open, a bright light shined into it and then the other. "No pupil response." Darkness again. Am I dying? She thought. How did I end up like this? It hurt to think. She couldn't move.

"She's losing a lot of blood! Miss? Can you hear me?" She tried to pry her eyes open but it was like someone had glued them shut, tried to ask the person to be quiet because her head hurt but she couldn't. "Found her purse, name is Aurora West, she's 20 and according to the lanyard in here she's a veterinary nurse." She cringed to herself, no one but her grandmother called her Aurora, she was Rory, she tried to move her mouth to tell them but nothing happened, she faded again.

The sound of a horn, a moment of panic and pain, then nothingness. It repeated over and over for she didn't know how long. Horn, panic, pain. Horn, panic, pain. Horn, panic, pain. And then she woke up and remembered nothing of the darkness or what had happened. Had she been kidnapped?

Rory had two emotions flood through her as her eyes opened. Relief that she was alive and breathing. Confusion at the fact she'd woken in the middle of a lush forest, the sun shining down on her face, the mossy ground was soft on her back and she wanted to curl into it and fall back to sleep but she needed to figure out where she was and how she'd ended up here.

She pushed herself up to her feet and realised then that she was barefoot. She was also wearing a light linen dress that looked like something from a storybook. What was happening? She owned nothing like this, if she wasn't in her scrubs she was in leggings and a big t-shirt. Nevermind that, no one wore dresses like this unless they were in some kind of play or TV show.

A branch snapped behind her and she span. She saw no immediate threat as she scanned the trees around her but she didn't know where she was or what would be considered as a threat. Were there bears in this area? Wolves and Mountain Lions? She didn't know but she pushed down her rising panic and picked a direction and started walking. She was a city girl, no one had ever taught her to follow the sun or how to identify which way was North, she couldn't identify constellations or survive in the wild so she had to find civilization quickly.

She'd been walking for hours, the sun was setting and her feet were essentially torn to ribbons as she stumbled through roots and brambles. Rory fought hard against the panic that was slowly gripping her like a vice, what if she was walking away from safety and further into the woods? She was cursing herself for all her late night scrolling about creatures that supposedly lived in the woods, ones that preyed on humans when they strayed off the trail, well she was so far off any kind of trail she wasn't sure one even existed. She was tired and cold, hungry and thirsty when through the trees she saw the flickering of a fire. Fire meant people right?

Rory approached the group, fully prepared to beg whoever was there for help, for water, she didn't care. The hairs on the back of her neck rose but she ignored it. As she grew closer she noticed something wasn't right about these people but again, she ignored it. "Excuse me? I'm lost and I need some help." All their attention turned to her at once. The orange glow cast upon their faces made her shudder. Their faces were sewn together as if they were wearing masks of skin. the more she took them in the more stitches she noticed, something really wasn't right with these people.

The one closest to her gave her a sickly smile, his teeth all wrong, sharp and jagged with pieces of what she assumed was flesh stuck in between them. Rory took a tentative and involuntary step back. A female approached his side and took her in. "She's pretty." Her voice was terrifying. "I want her." She said, the male looked down at his female counterpart and said in almost a lover's voice, "Then you shall have her." And he lunged.

Rory fell back another step as he lunged for her and then froze at the roar that came from their right. A flash of white launched through the air between them as the male swiped at what should've been her chest with claws that he shouldn't have. The wolf as she now realised it was, yelped as it went down, claws meeting its side instead of her and then it stood, shook itself off and growled. Rory's blood ran cold at the sound, it promised death she thought and prayed that it didn't promise hers.

Her assailants seemed to know this wolf, their panic and excitement was palpable. "The White Wolf!" The leader smiled that horrible smile again, "What a prize!" His female counterpart smiled an equally disturbing smile at him. "We'll both do well today."

A wolf. Rory had never seen a wolf in real life. Big dogs she'd dealt with plenty being a veterinary nurse but never a wolf and she knew through her training that wolves shouldn't be as big as this one was, not even the biggest wolf of record was as big as this one was. She couldn't stop staring as this magnificent beast stood between her and them. It turned its head once to look at her and huffed. "Run." Is what it seemed to say with that huff and its onyx eyes. But she didn't. She couldn't move as she watched the wolf tear into these people and them tearing back at the wolf.

It was over as quickly as it began. The only ones left standing were the male and female who had spoken to her originally and the wolf. Now bleeding in multiple places and his fur now more red than white. Still it stood it's ground between her and them, it had never once given them any ground to get closer to her. "This isn't over!" The female hissed, "I will have her!" The wolf sunk into a defensive stance, one she'd seen dogs make time and time again. The pair made no move to attack and the wolf continued to hold his ground as they backed away.

It wasn't until they were out of sight that the wolf turned and looked at her. Part of her was screaming at her that she should've run while he was distracted, the other part seemed convinced that she was perfectly safe with this apex predator walking towards her slowly, as if she was a deer about to bolt. He'd give chase if she did, she knew that. Deep in her very being she knew that this wolf was no threat and that it had chosen her to protect. "Thank you." Rory breathed out when it was stood directly in front of her, the words shakier than she wanted. "You saved me." The wolf seemed to understand her well enough as it dipped its head once and she couldn't resist the urge to scratch his ears while his head was down.

The wolf's head shot straight back up and she withdrew her hands. "I'm sorry!" She started to ramble, "It was a reward, like with dogs, when their good you scratch their ears and give them loves, I was just trying to thank you and obviously I know you aren't a dog, well you are kinda, like a really really big dog-" she was cut off as the wolf huffed again and Rory would swear for as long as she lived that it was laughing at her as it lowered its head again and nudged her hand. She started up her scratches again and the rumble that left the wolf's chest sounded content as she brought her second hand up to fuss him as well. "See, I knew you'd love this, you're just a good boy who deserves all the pets aren't you?" She asked in that stupid voice that everyone uses to talk to their pets.

"You're hurt!" She suddenly remembered and the wolf's huff sounded annoyed this time as she stopped her ministrations at the top of his head and around his ears. "Will you let me have a look?" She asked as its onyx eyes met hers once more. Instead the wolf walked past her a few meters before stopping and looking back at her expectantly. Rory didn't move. The wolf looked back into the forest and back at her and huffed in annoyance. "Oh!" She gasped, "You want me to follow you?" He lowered his head once more, his way of telling her yes she assumed.

With a quick consideration that she must be out of her mind to follow a wild wolf into the forest once more she moved to follow him. He waited until she was level with his front legs and started to walk again. "My name's Rory." She told him as they began to walk, she didn't know why, it's not as if he could use it, it just felt like the right thing to do. He kept pace with her, never once leaving her behind, he even allowed her to have a hand in the fur of his back to keep herself steady. She wasn't sure how long she'd walked for before they came across a shallow river. The wolf bounded forward and splashed happily through the water, rinsing the blood from his fur and his maw. Rory laughed at him from the bank, "You really are just a big puppy aren't you?" He bound towards her, the intent clear and she took a step back, "Don't you dare!" It was too late, he'd caught the end of her dress in his teeth and had dragged her into the river with him.

She could've sworn the wolf was laughing at her again as she resurfaced, hair plastered to her face, dress floating around her waist and completely see through. "I can't believe you did that!" She swept her arm across the water, splashing the wolf. "It does feel nice on my feet though." He lowered his head once more as if to say, "I know." She pulled herself out of the river and wrung out her hair. "Will you please let me look at your injuries now? You've started to limp, you must be in pain." He shook his head slightly and instead looked up the hill on the other side of the river, a cabin stood atop it. "We're going up there?" He lowered his head. "Will you let me look and help you when we get there?" He lowered his head again. It was getting dark and the temperature was dropping quickly so Rory scratched behind his ear and agreed.

Rory pushed the door open to the cabin, relieved that that had made it. The wolf was struggling now, despite the fun they'd had in the river, she knew he'd over exerted himself and he then helped her up the hill, walking behind her and pushing on her legs and lower back to support her up the steeper parts. The wolf limped in behind her and a fire roared to life in the hearth as soon as he entered. "Okay that was weird." Rory mumbled to herself. The wolf had curled himself in front of the fire and was closing his eyes to rest when she interrupted him. "No, no sleep, let me check!" He huffed in annoyance but let her fuss over him. There wasn't much she could do, she realised, not without any kind of kit. She tore open cupboards in the kitchen and bathroom looking for any kind of first aid or sewing kit as he watched her through the one eye he had open but she came up empty. The only thing she could do is wait and see.

"I think you'll be okay to get some sleep, I'll keep an eye on you." She told him gently, her hand scratching behind his ears again. It wasn't long until he was asleep. She considered running, but it was the middle of the night now, where could she run too? Besides, she was completely safe with the wolf beside her, she knew that in the very marrow of her being. He'd keep her safe, she thought as she drifted off to sleep.

When she woke, she was warm. She could see from her spot on the floor that the fire had gone out so why was it so deliciously warm. She cracked her eyes open and let them adjust to the light but as they did, something tightened around her middle. She looked down to find arms wrapped around her, keeping her pinned to a big, warm chest. Someone was curled around her and the wolf was nowhere in sight.

Rory screamed, as loud as she could, hoping the wolf would hear her. Instead the man behind her shot up, dagger already in his hand and moved in front of her into a defensive position quicker than she could comprehend. She scrambled backwards, as far away from him as possible before her back hit the wall and she had cornered herself.

The man turned to face her, "Rory, what is it? What's wrong?" She paled, "How do you know my name? Have you been following us? Where is the wolf? There was a wolf here!" He lowered his dagger, then dropped it completely. "I know your name because you told it to me, I wasn't following you, I was walking with you, it's me Rory, I'm the wolf." He told her gently, hands up in surrender and he took one small step forward as if she was a skittish animal. "That's impossible! Men don't turn into animals!" She threw back at him. He took another step. "You're right, men don't, but some Fae Males do, and Females."

This man was insane, she needed to leave, to find a way past him and out of the cabin but still, that feeling of safety remained. "Fae? What's a fae?" She asked. "You're not from around here are you? I'm a fae, see?" He showed her his pointed ears and his sharp canines. "We're faerie folk." He told her, she snorted, "Like out of story books?" He shrugged, "I'd say you're the one who is out of a story book, I'm Fenrys by the way." She couldn't believe it. "Fenrys? Like the wolf? From Norse mythology? And you're telling me I'm the one out of a story book."

"I don't know what that means," he told her, "but yes, like the wolf, see?" And with a flash of white he was the wolf from yesterday again. "It really is you?" She breathed and the Male as he'd made it quite clear that he was, stood before her again. "Why did you help me?" She asked, he flashed a flirty grin at her, "I love a damsel in distress and you're too pretty to be worn by a skinwalker." This was all too much. "How did I get here?" She asked him, "There's no Fae or Skinwalkers where I'm from, it's all just legend, folk lore, no men that can turn into wolves." He sat in front of her and crossed his legs, his hand grabbed hers gently, "I don't know Rory, but I think I know someone who might be able to help you. Besides, we don't all turn into wolves, Rowan turns into a Hawk. Dorian can be whatever he wants, so can Lysandra but their powers are vastly different." He stopped suddenly, "This is a bit much right now isn't it?" She nodded and he seemed to be thinking, "Okay, so let's take this one bit at a time, one question at a time, breakfast? Let's start with some breakfast? Sound okay?" Rory nodded at him and he gave her a gentle smile as he pulled her to her feet and steadied her by her waist as she tripped forward.

Once they'd eaten a breakfast of porridge with plenty of honey and some tea, Fenrys hunted through the cabin for something more suitable for her to wear, he came back with a pair of leggings, boots, wool socks and a loose shirt. "It's all I could find, the leggings and boots should fit but the shirt will be too big as it's mine." Rory nodded, "Thank you, is this your cabin?" That was her first question since they'd made the agreement to take it bit by bit, question by question. "It belongs to the Court, we all use it when we travel or hunt, we have them set up all around Erilea." She nodded and moved into the bathroom to change out of her dress.

He was right, the leggings did fit, very nicely in fact and they were so soft. With the thick socks on the boots fit nicely as well. He was also right about his shirt, it was huge. Rory rolled up the sleeves several times and did up half the buttons on the shirt, the other half she left undone so she could tie a knot in the shirt to shorten the length. She then tackled her hair, scraping it up into a bun on top of her head and securing it with a scrap of fabric she found on the side.

Fenrys stopped moving when she re-emerged from the bathroom and he was staring. "What's Erilea?" Rory asked, deciding to ignore his stares, but she couldn't hide the blush that stained her cheeks at the attention of such a beautiful male. She'd been subtly staring at him since this morning. "Is it where we are?" She continued her question. Fenrys pulled himself back into the room and stopped staring at her, "Yes, that's the continent you're on."

He approached her and wrapped a green cloak around her and secured it at her neck. Rory danced happily as she squealed, "I look like I'm in Lord of the Rings, like I'm part of the Fellowship! Are we off to destroy the one ring?" She asked him and Fenrys just looked confused, "I don't know what that is." He told her and she laughed, "I get the feeling we're about to walk a lot, I'll tell you the story of Lord of the Rings as we go." He nodded once and shouldered the pack he'd been putting together while she got changed.

"Ready?" He asked, smiling down at her, god he was tall and beautiful. Rory nodded at him and she took the hand he offered her. "Where are we going anyway?" She asked him, his smile broadened. "To see Aelin."

[idolish7imagines]

Uhm sorry Im a little embarrassed but can I request a Tenn and Momo x shy reader who is also VERY clingy and easily emotional (both when overly happy and upset)?👉👈 thank you.

Tenn and Momo x shy reader who is also VERY clingy and easily emotional

.::.

Kujo Tenn

Tenn being more gentle with you than others was already a given, you were his s\o after all

However, it is a bit of a learning curve dealing with both your clinginess and rapidly changing emotions

He loves you with all his heart though, so for you he's willing to deal with it; using less harsh words so he won't sound too critical and making sure there's not any other sources around you that would cause you discomfort (he's learned how to manage that well from his experience with his twin brother)

He doesn't mind your shyness, its actually refreshing after being around his fellow groupmates that can tend to get loud from time to time

It's actually kind of a relief since that means you won't ever draw attention to the two of you

Sometimes he isn't aware how much of your shyness applies to him though. In private, the two of you have your passionate moments, with him cupping your cheeks and whispering sweet nothings into your ear

A slow blink is his response to you getting flustered..before slowly realizing he enjoys the effect he has on you and wants to push it even further, a smirk playing on his features.

Your cheerfulness does tend to be infectious, usually even making him sport a small smile when he's had a hard day

Sometimes he wishes you would be less clingy in front of others though, he hates the teases being thrown his way if you so much as wrap your arm around his, resting your head on his shoulder

He hates leaving you on read due to work because he doesn't want you to be sad. Tenn tries to make it up to you by spending most if not all of his off days with you

When you have moments where you're easily upset, sometimes he isn't sure what to say to make you calm down (especially if he doesn't see what you're upset over as a big deal) but he doesn't invalidate your feelings and does his best to get you feeling happy again, offering to share sweets with you

"What am I going to do with you?" The angelic idol gave you one of his smiles that'd make even his most stoic of fans hearts melt, petting your head as your arms clung around his waist not wanting him to leave your side.

Momo

Honestly Momo is the exact same as you

He isn't shy in general but when it comes to people he greatly admires he'll turn stiff as a board at the notion of getting closer to them

so if youre clingy and easily emotional, he completely understands, even returning the feelings

Unfortunately one con might be that if you two were to ever argue (which would probably be over something extremely serious like Tsukumo or overworking himself since Momo is relatively easygoing otherwise) both of you would probably start acting out and need a third party Yuki or Okarin to be a voice of reason

The bright side though is Momo is quick to apologize and even get you flowers

If he needs someone to hype him up he knows he can always come to you and he always does the same vice versa

If you text him a lot when you miss him while he's working, he makes sure to respond as soon as he can so you feel less lonely

The cheery idol also doesn't mind PDA (while disguised of course so he gives you lots of kisses and hugs and holds your hand

his favorite is swinging your hands back and forth while walking

He's used to dealing with shy people so if you need him to speak for you he'll always do it

Though don't think that means you're exempt from his impish tendencies

Momo will still tease you sometimes. If you cover your blushing face with your hands, he'll grab them away and press a kiss on your nose

"Ehehe, (Y/N)-chan~ I'm already thinking about what I wanna do with you. Now that I finally have you to myself, you'll never escape as long as possible!" Your boyfriend playfully nibbles your neck. You're in for a nice cuddle session since both of you feel its been far too long since the last one.